I grow tired of not being trusted. I have been here for more than two years now, and yet I know that suspicion still lingers towards me both in this household and outside of it. I understand too well that there’s nothing else to do but wait, nothing else to do but prove myself towards my new friends and family, but it tires me. I’m past my prime. Soon I’ll start to feel the claws of age digging into shoulders, face and mind. It frustrates me that my early memories are as elusive as the morning fog past Nadar river; they could dispel the doubts around me, yet I don’t want to give myself time to remember.
The memories and the grief over Hantonne are still fresh. Having been able to revisit its land two years in a row I’ve been reminded all over again that I was content there. It was home, but it is no longer. In these times it’s good to have a companion who understands what I’ve lost. What I left behind.
I thank my lucky star for my domina, my sweet lazy _amor_… She has given me a son this summer, which indeed is why I continuously loose myself in thought even though I try not to. I seem not to be able to shake the uneasy feeling, which is why I’m taking the time to formulate them in this book.
When I was younger, much younger, I was approached by an old hag in dark robes. I’m not much for the superstitious kind, but she grabbed my attention. She told me that I was supposed to save someone in the future, someone important. She said that this was because the scales were uneven and that I would save a life for the one I lost.
Until this day I have never understood what she possibly could have meant, but it struck a note in me, and deep inside I’m still waiting for that moment.
Years later I met her again. She took my hand and turned it over whispering to herself as she looked at it. This time she said that should a son of mine become a knight, he would be fated to die. I asked why, I asked how, but she only gave a grin that made my blood turn to ice. I write these lines as my son lies in Supera’s arms with rosy cheeks and clear eyes. I have never seen such a healthy child. A child like that would make an excellent eques when he grows up.
I feel torn between having been cheated of my rightful heritage as the lawful lord of Hindon, and the notion that if I had inherited the manor as I should have, my son would be doomed. I curse myself for believing such nonsense, but yet I can’t seem to put it from my mind. I get iratus thinking that someone has stolen parts of my life from me, and it makes me furious that my sister thinks me a mendax, a cheat.
They should count themselves lucky that I’m here instead of lying dead in the mud. I will prove all of them wrong. I will prove my love for this family, and demonstrate my loyalty. I will find the missing years that have been stolen from me, and they will all know that it was not a well planned “coincidence” that Ennis son of Bryn, heir to Hindon came back the same year eques Melkin died. It was simply fortuna.