Ah, the wailing of babes. Is there any wonder I am going out of my mind unable to think. Sweet and gentle Kríea, I still do not know how she views our relationship. It was never formally so or ever spoken of. She is so unwell she has hardly moved from bed. I forgot what it is like to be woken at all hours by infants. That is the only reason I touch you, you infernal book.
Today the insane rumours propagated from long ago resurfaced quite laughably so in the form of a young woman named Cirywen, not spread by her no. But she blind-sided me with them for a moment because I couldn't quite believe my ears, it is a slow month it seems for gossip for the rumour mill have nothing better to do than go over old hat. It is, how shall you put it a little dull but I do so enjoy playing to their warped perceptions.
You just know, that with certain kinds of folks it literally doesn't matter what you do or say. If they have it in mind that you are a bogeyman then you are a bogeyman so I may as well have fun mocking the assertions. It was my misfortune to have simply been sowing my wild oats at a time when there were a spate of kidnappings in the area a long time since. What could possibly lure these women they wonder, he must obviously be tampering with their drinks. Absolutely absurd. Those who know me otherwise know the ridiculousness of their assertions. And none who I have confided with in close capacity would ever do anything but laugh it off. As far as I have in them that is. There is a cold place in the afterlife full of many horrors waiting for slavers and those who would rob an individual of their freedom and I am potentially likely to send them there, This is true. I am capable of drawing cold bloody steel whilst not batting an eyelid.
That the many women I have lain with consented and still live to tell the tale. Well, no matter of that. I have already nearly broken my rule of only laying with whores in the brothel and no outside connection these days not once but nearly twice. For I had a tryst with Anyaris the other week whilst we were both drinking. I won't even bother to explain who she is poor reader. I visit the farm girl who so cheered me up the other day but I could not focus. There are always plausible ways of explaining away an inattentive mind but it's not the aforementioned accusation that bothers me.
My mind now wanders to Cirywen or Cryptic Ciry as I now have decided to call her. Fond of games and attempts to appear as mysterious as possible, even attempting to unnerve and vex me with some admirable though quite failed persistence. With every passing moment she at once repulses me but intrigues and attracts me at the same time so I indulge her games though she said something quite curious, something I thought was true but it seemed a little ironic coming from someone behaving such as her. I've known girls like her, I can sniff them out a mile off. Ever since I did but meet her I knew something rankled with me. She talks and she talks and talks and it is rather amusing to watch her head swell up. I wonder if some day it will pop. Yet I tried to steal a kiss off her for sheer amusement's sake. She is rather pretty after all and you never get anywhere without being cheeky. And though I was not successful in stealing my kiss... You need to stop this Seaver. This old behaviour. However subdued. This has to end, though you wriggled away one way or another this time how many bastards do you have to sire...
Funnily enough, she reminds me of the subject of the one accusation that has any hint of truth though I will not basely judge her foul as of yet. Or she at least has traits of her. I actually rather like her.
Though she was not my birth mother. Eacanwyn, the secret of your death I bear for Leofric's sake. For the sake of the inheritance you bequeathed him so it is not tarnished. But does it really matter? Should the whole world not know who you were and the weight that I have carried on my shoulders all of this time? You must be laughing in your cold and frozen grave every time I am expected to feign upset or indignation at your slaughter.
I do so want to admit it. To own it. To say, Yes. I stuck my sword in between your tiny pathetic shoulder blades and read you your last rites. You made me a pawn complicit in your scheme under false pretences after you had manipulated and twisted my father into what he became. Ilaru I could not kill, not morally. Despite how much I wanted to. She even became a friend afterwards though that didn't last forever and that's a whole other story. Still, I wish her well. My father in that instance deserved to die. Some many think me selectively naive but I do think he was still redeemable from the few conversations we had but I cannot defend his actions in that instance.
The little book that you, Eacanwyn left behind for your son to one day read so that he truly will know how wicked a wretch you truly were is still in my possession. You were arrogant. You thought you had me under your control. You thought I was a malleable pawn just like the rest of them. I want to climb up to the rooftops and scream that I did it, I ended the reign of terror of the most vile seductress ever to walk this Middle Earth in the form of woman. You spoke of men and women as though they were cattle fit only for your amusement. All I have to do is present it and I am at once vindicated. Skarletta, I could have killed you for spreading those rumours when baseless accusations of all sorts were already being thrown around by sad individuals. Wherever the vile harpy's spirit is now you unwittingly did her bidding in your initial grave misjudgement. You helped me though, we resolved our differences and I will forever be grateful for that But no, no, I do not want my little brother to be known as the son of that foul creature I always told him how gentle and lovely a lady you were Eacanwyn. Well, laugh it up. The torture you are enduring right now in the frozen pit of the afterlife must be ten times worse, Far outstripping whatever mild entertainment this consolation gives you.
Wait, my mind snaps back to the present location as I have these thoughts and I am stood within the confines of a dairy farm with the cheery lass I met the other day. Skyberry she was called. I can not share any of these thoughts with this woman. What are you even doing, Seaver? Kríea turns up out of the blue with a child so you walk to the first woman's home you see and somehow manage to invite yourself in. She is sweet and naive. Hardly likely to approve of the drunken womanising individual you have been so what do you do? Seduce her under false pretences? No, that's not exactly worked out for you well so far. Leave. And I did. So here I am, sat with a gurgling ginger boy. Yet again tugging at my beard. If he keeps looking at me so affectionately I might actually start to reciprocate. Béma's sake. You reap what seeds you sow Seaver. Quite literally in this case. Sigstæinn. I do like the name.
