'My darling son, these are the hardest words I have ever had to set down, they say time heals all wounds, but that presumes the source of the grief is finite....'
I can barely bring myself to write the words, but I must. Your father has relinquished his hold on life and has passed into the afterlife. Of all the things that may have taken him from us, the enemies that he has made, the chances he has taken, this seems the cruellest hand that he has ever been dealt. There was no glorious death, nay, he was taken by illness, and knowing your father he would have roared with laughter at the irony of it, and that no chancer, no snot nosed boy would have made a name for himself by plunging his blade into him, be it his heart or his back.
To think of him leaving this life alone without me there to comfort him...ah, that is painful for me, but he would not have been phased, your father did not need anyone. He lived his life by a code, a man who believed in hard justice, that he applied to himself as well as others, he was consistent. Despite his reputation, good or bad, your father liked anyone until they gave him a reason not to. Many men, and women would ask me what I saw in him when he did not treat me so well, and the answer I would give was “because you have to ask me that, you will never see the man he is for yourself”. And it is true.
The truth is Branston, I am frightened, truly frightened. He has gone, I can not reach out to him in times of need, for his counsel. What if day by day my memories of him fade and when you are old enough I am unable to relay the truth of your father to you so that you will truly know him, if anyone of us truly did know him? I can promise you this, I will endeavour to do all that I can to preserve his memory and raise you so that he will finally be proud of us both. But I do not have to do this alone, and I have chosen not to. Hardoleth, will not thank me for this, for he did not like the man, but in fairness he did not come to know him. I have allowed myself to love again, and I could not have found a better father for you, though I had not sought to find one. His name is Deredan, he wishes to adopt you, and I would not hear of it, whilst your blood father lived, but now that he is dead it is the greatest service that I can do for him and you. Forgive me my boy, that my anguished mind would deliver this to you in the same entry that I record your blood fathers passing, but it is important that you know.
Death would not have found him a willing comrade, but Hardoleth shall live on, in my own precious memories that I will share with you, and in the tales you will hear of him, both good and bad. There is but too much for me to record this night, nor do I have the strength, nor the clarity of mind to write on...
Life has to end, love does not...
