One day when your mother gives you this journal to read, and you see what she and others have written for you, I hope I will be beside her, though battle may take me before then. Whether I live or not, I would have you know that you are my true son and heir, whether any others have been born of my blood after this time. I love your mother with all of my soul, and I have known you as a part of her since you were a tiny babe in swaddling, too small even to crawl. Your birth father is dead, and that is why I realised that it was time for me to write here.
I have been intending for several weeks to speak to him, and to tell him that I intend to adopt you. I have hesitated because I did not think he would like the idea, and because we did not like one another, Hardoleth and I. Now he is gone, and you have need of a man to stand for you and say 'this boy is mine, I own all his faults and all his virtues'. I love you, Branston, my little pickle, and I will be all that a father should be to you. I will teach you what I know of the world, and pass on my skills to you, such as they are; I will provide for you and protect you. There are many others that will care for you also, for your father was a much loved man, a leader of men and women, and his company, The Bloody Dawn, thinks that you belong to them. So you do, in a sense, but I will have no more of the name you have been given, the 'Bastard of the Dawn'. You are my own son henceforth, and any who would call you bastard must cross swords with me.
You father was a hard man, brave and resourceful, a charismatic leader with a good strategic mind. He had a hard life, and was born into poverty; you will grow in comfort and in wealth, but I am a knight, and I will raise you as a knight's son, with discipline and hard training. Whatever claim the Dawn may have on you, you will have no need to be a sellsword, and I hope that you will hold lands and defend them, as a nobleman should. Do not forget your birth father, or disavow him, for it was no easy thing to rise to the station that he held from the beginnings he had, and I admire him greatly though I had no love for him.
Your mother loved Hardoleth greatly; time heals all, and by the time you read this all will be mended, but at the time I write her grief is raw, a terrible thing, a great void that leads me wondering where my place is in her heart, what room there could be for me when she is so consumed with longing for a man who breathes no longer. She does not love lightly, and nor is she a poor judge of character; I am certain that Hardoleth earned her love, though it is hard for me to see, and I believe that he deserves yours, though he will be long in the earth before you even speak his name.
When you read this, I hope you will know me as the man who loves and nurtures you, who does all that he does for your wellbeing, who is there for you every day, your arms master, your riding and archery instructor, your guide to life, your teacher and your friend. But if you do not know me as such, or you do not know me at all, be sure that such was my intent, and if I have failed to achieve it, such is the frailty of man; it is not due to any lack of feeling for you. You are my son.
