Sitting here, in my bedchamber, I begin to muse upon the irony of the world around me. That I should die slow and in constant pain, fitting some might claim, for the lives I have taken and Ironic for the swiftness of their demise to the drawing out of my own.
The cloth gauze burning into my scarred back as the liquid it is doused with offers a mixed relief small jolts of pain, mired in the kindness of healing. Albeit, healing a wound internal, and never fully. Merely is it slowing the decay.
None but my most trusted soldier knows I suppose as I sit here I begin to know none can know. Not until the time is too late and it is already borrowed. Ignoring the sounds of those outside in the main halls, and on the streets of Ost Forod, I find myself looking to the stars and lower, much lower.
Finding myself catching a glimpse with one of the townsfolk here, we exchange but a singular nod; hers of fear, fear knowing the monster I could be, mine of understanding that she knows this. False pleasantries. After all, I did kill her Husband. Had to be done though. I suspect my passing will bring her joy, and comfort. Perhaps even closure.
Still, these bones have been broken before, this body burned, battered, and scarred, with each movement I do as I find myself restless, tells a tale such as the ink which covers; and reveals the lessons and steps of the journey completed; mired now by time and mistakes. But I endure as I tell myself the words I tell none other; I live for them, those who follow, who give faith. If I need suffer but false smile and secretive scorn from a Widow here, or Soldier there; a small price for the overall good.
Most I have found in these strange Western Lands would sacrifice the few, overstep them, or step upon them; to save many countless faceless. For me, It has always been the few over the many.
As I pull myself from this bed, the ache returns anew; the armour placed upon my form in private giving weight to the pain, dawn breaks and causes my vision to blur as I return the greeting, each weapon placed upon me, but more weight to carry, and more than anything the smirk I need to don. For those few who reside in the walls of Ost Forod; I need be as I always am. Tempered as Steel.
Looking from my window once more; I have but a solemn thought: they are now my Family, and Man should do all to protect his own. So many mouths to feed, bodies to clothe that thought alone fills my mind with each day and yet, together we do fine. Shaking my head does little to still the thoughts or press them away from the forefront of my mind. So little else for me, but to leave and yet again; provide for them.
At the point of a Sword.
