#hoo boy. i may write more of this actually i like the madanach weylin dynamic. father and son

[amendozu]

"He's asleep," Bothela sneaks into the room, careful not to make any noise that might rouse the sleeping child as she sits down across from Madanach. "Only after what felt like a dozen different stories to settle him down."

Madanach had brought the young boy to the Hag's Cure in the hopes that Bothela had some sort of treatment for his injury. She did, of course, and she treated him free of charge. One of her best qualities was her unwavering sense of humanity, though it was not obvious upon first meeting her.

"Eola madan, fridane," Madanach says. His Reachspeak is nothing short of beautiful to listen to. Carrying that boy across the entire city to her had exhausted him after an already exhausting day, and still he chose to converse in their ancestral tongue. Even sitting in her parlour, disheveled and weary, Madanach has an air of greatness about him. Bothela might have even considered marrying him, had the circumstances allowed it.

"I truly do appreciate you opening your doors for me. I hate to think what would have happened to him if I hadn't found him," he continues in their language.

"Don't thank me, Madanach," Bothela says, in Reachspeak rustier than Madanach's, but still quite fluent, as she hands him a cup of mountainflower tea. "You know you can always come to me for things such as this."

Madanach smiles and drinks the tea. "Oh, Bothela. The look in his eyes when he asked if we were going to the Temple..." He gazes into the fire, a hundred emotions flickering across his eyes.

"I know," she extends her hand and meets Madanach's own, "I know, cairin."

"I saw him, sitting in that alley, alone and helpless, and I saw the face of every brother and sister, every child of the Reach who has suffered like us. Every one of us who has lost something to these... these thieves."

Bothela does not respond at first. Madanach, who carries himself with such purpose, whose destiny is fraught with great and terrible responsibility, looks as if he is about to weep for this boy. The boy he carried on his back to a shady apothecary, in the hopes that he would get the help he needed. She tries to come up with words to soothe his troubled mind, but she comes up with nothing. Instead, Bothela moves to sit next to him, and rests her head on his shoulder. Madanach, luckless son of the Reach, closes his eyes to drift off into a dream.

"Bothela," he says. "Mark my words. There will come a time when boys like him will lay claim to our home yet again." Madanach's voice, the voice of a king, grows soft as he succumbs to sleep.

"Madanach," Bothela responds. "There will come a time when you wear a crown on your head and lead our people to peace." Her voice soothes Madanach into a calm sleep. "For now, you and young Weylin must rest."

Madanach, Bothela, and Weylin sleep soundly that night.