The paperwork was finally dying down. When Ashton did these kind of things on his own, he never had to look forward to a mountain of forms to fill out once he got home. Now that he was official, records had to be drawn up, reports had to be written, and detailed account of events transpired had to be transcribed. It wasn't like he could pawn it off on Vesper either, she wasn't there, as she helpfully reminded him every time he brought it up.
In hindsight, he should have maybe had a contingent of guards with him when tackling the Coterie. Still, he planned to make it up to them. They still had two of the former heads of the gang, Quinn and Miranda, in the dungeons. If they could get any information out of them, then the Coterie could take a hit thanks to the efforts of the guards, and maybe the Lions, if they were so inclined. It was a process, however, things needed to be done in a certain order before any moves were made against them. Signing his name on the last report, Ashton called in Vesper and asked her to take them to Bran for filing purposes.
He then went to the thin journal on his desk, which was where it'd been since he'd taken possession of it from Quinn. It was the only solid piece of evidence they had, but if it was Quinn's personal journal, then it was bound to have some senstive information in it. Leaning back into his chair, he opened it and began reading. It didn't take more than two or three lines for him to realize that it wasn't at all what he initially thought it was. Leaning forward, he read one more line before he shut the journal and stood, grabbing his sword and making his way out of the barracks.
His destination clear in mind, it didn't take him long to navigate down the Keep and to Sophia's new home in High Town. He gave the door a series of hard knocks before he waited, fidgeting outside her door.
Only a few moments later, Sophia opened the door, dressed casually, as she had not expected to go many places for the day. Greeting Ashton with a smile, she stepped aside and held the door open so that he might come in. "Ashton," she said, noting the guard's plate he still wore, "how can I help you? Is this about Quinn?"
"Uh... Not exactly," Ashton said, holding up the journal for her to see. "You... Might want to read this," he added, holding it out for her to take.
"What is it?" she asked, taking it in her hands before she could properly recognize what it might be. A journal of some kind, the right size and shape, she noted, the memory coming back to her immediately. The missing book from the Viscount's Keep, a mere black feathered quill left in its place. She flipped open the cover carefully, reading the opening page. The script was small and concise following the title header, which read:
These are the adventures of Vesenia of Wycome, intrepid adventurer and soon to be mercenary-queen...
Sophia fought the momentary weakening of her knees by leaning against her doorframe, staring down at the page with an unconscious smile. She stopped before getting far to suddenly hug Ashton tightly. "Thank you, for bringing this to me." She didn't even have to ask if he'd read any of it. He wouldn't have read any more than was necessary to know who the author was. Breaking off the hug, Sophia gripped Ashton briefly by the shoulders.
"If it isn't too much trouble, could you get Lucien and Nostariel, and bring them here? There's no rush, I'll need some time to read this, but I'd very much like the three of you to be here for when I finish." There was always a chance there wouldn't be any noteworthy information about Dairren or anything else to help her move forward, but all three of them had shared in her struggle to settle with her family's history, and this would hopefully be one of the last steps she needed to make.
"I'll get right on it," Ashton said with a smile. With that, he gave he a slight bow and backed away from her door, heading away with in noticeable slow meander. He wanted to give her as much time to herself as possible.
Sophia's manor still looked a little unlived in, as it was difficult for one person to make such a large space their own in a short amount of time. In addition, she spent a great deal of her free time lately out of the house, prefering to see Lucien in Lowtown rather than ask him to trek up the other way. The company was better near the Argent Lions, after all.
The interior was divided among the two floors, the second of which had a railed balcony that overlooked much of the first. The living area on the first floor was large and spacious, situated around a warm hearth, large windows offering a good deal of natural lighting when the sun was out. She'd had many of her old books, and most of her father's, moved out and into their new home, now along the walls of the manor, which were also decorated by a few pieces from Lucien. Opposite the main door on the first floor were a storage room, the kitchen, a dining room, and one other room she had yet to declare a permanent use for.
The upper level, accessible by a wide staircase along the left wall from the entrance, was a good deal smaller, consisting of the balcony walkway overlooking the entrance and living area, and the rooms that lined the back wall, along the guest's left had they just ascended the stairs. These were Sophia's room, a guest room, and a study, which she believed was fairly underused. In her own room was hung the striking image of her mother, painted by Lucien for the occasion of her birthday several years ago.
She'd gazed at it briefly, looking upon the face of Vesenia of Wycome, as she'd referred to herself, before she began reading in earnest, settling into a lounge chair on the second floor balcony near a window, overlooking the door, which she'd left unlocked for when Ashton returned with Lucien and Nostariel. From the earliest pages, she determined that her mother had been very young indeed when she'd become a mercenary, leaving her home behind to travel the Free Marches with Dairren Quinn, a man five years her senior. There was next to no mention of her own parents, leading her to wonder what her mother's relationship with them was. She seemed so driven by the idea of freeing herself from Wycome, of not letting her lowborn status keep her down. The pages were lined with a youthful exuberance that quite honestly reminded Sophia of herself, albeit with less weight on her shoulders. She could not help but envy her mother's experience, even as she smiled reading it.
Vesenia spoke of Dairren a great deal, for the two were very close friends, from what Sophia could tell. Her mother rarely wrote an ill word of anyone, but she seemed to know the younger Dairren in and out. Unlike Vesenia, Dairren was the son of a local lord, something Sophia had never known. His connections and coin enabled them to start their work, but he abandoned all hope of lands or titles when he left Wycome, even changing his family name. Whatever it was, it was not Quinn, which was the name he chose to adopt.
What followed was an account of many of their jobs over the following years, a few of which Sophia was inclined to skim over. From what she could tell, her mother's organization had already been surpassed quite handily by Lucien's, in terms of what they were able to take on. They were a close group, though, initially brought together by Dairren's influence, but Vesenia mentioned bringing in a few recruits of her own in her travels. Sophia read with detail the entry following the company's first death, to find that her mother's emotions felt much like her own, though it had not been a personal matter.
It was another of these deaths that led the group to Kirkwall, to seek a place to set up more permanently, and have access to better supplies, and potentially better medical aid. No small amount of frustration came to Sophia when she realized that a fair number of pages had been ripped from the journal shortly after they stopped in Kirkwall. It was heartbreaking, but there was nothing to do but continue on, hope she could fill in the blanks.
Where the entries resumed, the mercenary company had already been disbanded, Dairren already entered into the guard, and Vesenia married to Marlowe Dumar, a nobleman that she had apparently enchanted, a necessity given her lack of status. Marlowe gained nothing for himself by marrying Vesenia, but then that wasn't surprising to Sophia. He was never a man to seek out personal gain for its own sake.
And then Sophia turned the page, reading an entry written in a shaky hand. She felt her own start to flutter when she realized the subject. I woke this morning to realize that I had no memory of the previous night. What I did remember... meeting Dairren. I could tell he'd been drinking, but he seemed in a melancholy mood, and I hoped to bring him out of it. I drank with him some, and talked with him of Wycome, which he'd not discussed in years... and then nothing.
Sophia looked back to the date, compared it to that of the wedding. This was two nights later. Vesenia had gone to confront Dairren, only to find that the guardsman was eluding her. An entry followed some unspecified time later, the date unmarked. I don't know what to do. I know what Dairren did. I don't know why. A child is within me. I know not the father. I don't know what to do. The entry abruptly ended. Another began on the next page.
I will not tell Marlowe. I will never tell him. Dairren was always a friend, and he made a wretched mistake. I will never speak to him again, but I will not destroy him for this.
It was around then that Ashton returned to the manor, Lucien and Nostariel in tow, and they crossed over the threshold with a minimum of fanfare, Nostariel waving up to Sophia, visible near the balcony rail, though the Warden lowered her hand when she noted the rather nonplussed expression her friend was wearing. Ashton had mentioned that heād left her with her motherās journalāapparently something she was reading therein had shocked her, and not in a pleasant way. Toeing her boots off, as it would be rather rude to track dirt into the place on a friendly, not-terribly-urgent visit, Nostariel was the first one up the stairs.
āSophia? Is something wrong?ā She took a cross-legged seat in one of the plush armchairs on the balcony, the other two arranging themselves as comfortably as they desired as well.
There were enough seats for all of them, and when they were all seated, Sophia found that she had momentarily forgotten how to speak. She flipped the journal over in her lap, so as not to lose the page, and sat up more fully.
"Dairren... he forced himself on my mother, shortly after she wed. I only just found out. She never knew who my father was." Which meant that Dairren couldn't know for sure, either. It explained... a great deal, actually. And when she came to think about it, it didn't surprise her very much. Dairren, a noble's son, abandoning at least some measure of wealth and other inheritance to roam the Free Marches with a girl who may as well have been a peasant. He'd likely been in love with her from the start, though Vesenia had never written anything of feelings from her own end.
Nostarielās eyes were wide. āIt says that?ā It was hardly a surprise that Sophiaās reaction was as it was, if that was what the journal intimated. The Warden blinked a few times, not sure she knew exactly what to say to that. Of all the things she might have guessed, that had not been among them. It made so little sense. Not that she couldnāt believe it of courseāsuch crimes were unfortunately common in the world they occupied. Almost mundane, even, though of course this itself was terrible. Butā¦ something about it did surprise Nostariel even so.
It would take a very specific kind of man to be able to do something like that, and then believe he could dupe someone he assumed to be his daughter into never finding out. He didnāt seem to be the kind whose mind would be addled by affection, considering his stated disdain for Jamie, who was deluded in that fashion, Maker rest his soul. It left her feeling like she didnāt understand any of it at allābut then, perhaps it was better that she couldnāt.
Unconscionable. Lucien had never known what the basis was for Quinn believing that he was Sophiaās father, but he had to admit he had not been expecting that. Anyone who was willing to use the Coterie to regain a foothold in Kirkwall was misguided, yes, but this was something else entirely. He noted that there was an odd gap in the diary where pages were missing, but now seemed hardly the time to comment on it. āWhile I am certainly in favor of those accused of crimes being allowed to speak in their defense,ā he said quietly, āI do not think there is much to be said in defense of such a thing.ā He regarded Sophia with some concernāif in fact this was the truth of the matter, it was possible that she existed as a result of what he considered the foulest of all crimes. He suspected that would weigh ponderously on anyone.
Sophia did not understand it, but then, she did not know Dairren's mind. She remembered him saying to her, when she was younger, that he'd never been able to speak to anyone very well, and even around her he seemed guarded, watching every word he said. She wondered if he had always been that way. She did not know what kind of man her mother had left her first home with so many years ago, but there was no doubt in Sophia's mind that he had changed drastically since then, for the worse.
"I can say nothing to defend him," she said, finally. "My mother did not, either." She flipped the book back over, glancing down at its pages as though she might send another message, but only the same words remained. Leaning sideways, she rubbed her forehead briefly, wanting only for this ordeal to be over. Instead, it felt as though it had become more complicated.
"Is it wrong, that I should want him to hang?" she asked. "He may well be my father. My mother chose not to expose him... but then, that was to protect me. Exposing his crime would have thrown my parentage into doubt." For all Sophia knew, her mother could well have been afraid of anyone knowing, perhaps for the horridness that would have followed between Dairren and Marlowe. It had come, of course, but only years later, long after her death. "Even when my father, when Marlowe Dumar, learned of it, he did not reveal the truth. To protect my future. Both of them were so selfless... and both of them are dead, while Dairren yet lives. Is this not wrong? It feels wrong."
Nostarielās frown deepened, and she sighed slightly through her nose. āI donāt know how youāre supposed to feel, if thereās any fact about that at all, butā¦ whether it would make a difference or not, perhaps we should speak with him. Or you should, if youād rather do so alone. There are two sides to every story, and if hearing his doesnāt make any difference, thenā¦ youāll just be more certain of how you feel.ā The Warden wasnāt really in the business of deciding what punishments fit which crimes, and sheād consider herself lucky if she never had to be.
Ashton shrugged from where he sat, and said, "It may or it may not, there's only one way to find out, though it may not change much." He leaned back in his seat and cradled the back of his head with his hands. "Blood or not, Marlowe was a good man and he cared for you. Quinn, well, you haven't seen him since he left, doing Maker knows what with the Coterie," Ashton stated, before a small chuckle escaped his lips. "Take it from me, blood isn't the only thing that ties a family together."
Leaning forward, Ashton placed his elbows on his knees and shrugged again. "Willingly allowing your daughter to be captured by the Coterie though.. Not entirely selfless parental material," he noted dully.
Sophia took in their advice attentively, somberly. What bothered her most about the situation was that she had not always hated the man who claimed to be her father, as he had been a fairly large presence in her youth. She'd gone to him often when her father was indisposed, considered him a friend. He was the one to teach her how to swing a sword, how to defend herself. That such a secretly wicked person could have influenced her, and indeed been the reason for her existence at all, made her feel somewhat ill.
"I'll speak to him, then," she declared, closing the journal and rising to her feet. "Tomorrow, once I've prepared. I think it should be something I do alone. Thank you, though, all of you, for your help. I doubt I'd have made it through this without you." It was becoming a pattern, she could see.
In hindsight, he should have maybe had a contingent of guards with him when tackling the Coterie. Still, he planned to make it up to them. They still had two of the former heads of the gang, Quinn and Miranda, in the dungeons. If they could get any information out of them, then the Coterie could take a hit thanks to the efforts of the guards, and maybe the Lions, if they were so inclined. It was a process, however, things needed to be done in a certain order before any moves were made against them. Signing his name on the last report, Ashton called in Vesper and asked her to take them to Bran for filing purposes.
He then went to the thin journal on his desk, which was where it'd been since he'd taken possession of it from Quinn. It was the only solid piece of evidence they had, but if it was Quinn's personal journal, then it was bound to have some senstive information in it. Leaning back into his chair, he opened it and began reading. It didn't take more than two or three lines for him to realize that it wasn't at all what he initially thought it was. Leaning forward, he read one more line before he shut the journal and stood, grabbing his sword and making his way out of the barracks.
His destination clear in mind, it didn't take him long to navigate down the Keep and to Sophia's new home in High Town. He gave the door a series of hard knocks before he waited, fidgeting outside her door.
Only a few moments later, Sophia opened the door, dressed casually, as she had not expected to go many places for the day. Greeting Ashton with a smile, she stepped aside and held the door open so that he might come in. "Ashton," she said, noting the guard's plate he still wore, "how can I help you? Is this about Quinn?"
"Uh... Not exactly," Ashton said, holding up the journal for her to see. "You... Might want to read this," he added, holding it out for her to take.
"What is it?" she asked, taking it in her hands before she could properly recognize what it might be. A journal of some kind, the right size and shape, she noted, the memory coming back to her immediately. The missing book from the Viscount's Keep, a mere black feathered quill left in its place. She flipped open the cover carefully, reading the opening page. The script was small and concise following the title header, which read:
These are the adventures of Vesenia of Wycome, intrepid adventurer and soon to be mercenary-queen...
Sophia fought the momentary weakening of her knees by leaning against her doorframe, staring down at the page with an unconscious smile. She stopped before getting far to suddenly hug Ashton tightly. "Thank you, for bringing this to me." She didn't even have to ask if he'd read any of it. He wouldn't have read any more than was necessary to know who the author was. Breaking off the hug, Sophia gripped Ashton briefly by the shoulders.
"If it isn't too much trouble, could you get Lucien and Nostariel, and bring them here? There's no rush, I'll need some time to read this, but I'd very much like the three of you to be here for when I finish." There was always a chance there wouldn't be any noteworthy information about Dairren or anything else to help her move forward, but all three of them had shared in her struggle to settle with her family's history, and this would hopefully be one of the last steps she needed to make.
"I'll get right on it," Ashton said with a smile. With that, he gave he a slight bow and backed away from her door, heading away with in noticeable slow meander. He wanted to give her as much time to herself as possible.
Sophia's manor still looked a little unlived in, as it was difficult for one person to make such a large space their own in a short amount of time. In addition, she spent a great deal of her free time lately out of the house, prefering to see Lucien in Lowtown rather than ask him to trek up the other way. The company was better near the Argent Lions, after all.
The interior was divided among the two floors, the second of which had a railed balcony that overlooked much of the first. The living area on the first floor was large and spacious, situated around a warm hearth, large windows offering a good deal of natural lighting when the sun was out. She'd had many of her old books, and most of her father's, moved out and into their new home, now along the walls of the manor, which were also decorated by a few pieces from Lucien. Opposite the main door on the first floor were a storage room, the kitchen, a dining room, and one other room she had yet to declare a permanent use for.
The upper level, accessible by a wide staircase along the left wall from the entrance, was a good deal smaller, consisting of the balcony walkway overlooking the entrance and living area, and the rooms that lined the back wall, along the guest's left had they just ascended the stairs. These were Sophia's room, a guest room, and a study, which she believed was fairly underused. In her own room was hung the striking image of her mother, painted by Lucien for the occasion of her birthday several years ago.
She'd gazed at it briefly, looking upon the face of Vesenia of Wycome, as she'd referred to herself, before she began reading in earnest, settling into a lounge chair on the second floor balcony near a window, overlooking the door, which she'd left unlocked for when Ashton returned with Lucien and Nostariel. From the earliest pages, she determined that her mother had been very young indeed when she'd become a mercenary, leaving her home behind to travel the Free Marches with Dairren Quinn, a man five years her senior. There was next to no mention of her own parents, leading her to wonder what her mother's relationship with them was. She seemed so driven by the idea of freeing herself from Wycome, of not letting her lowborn status keep her down. The pages were lined with a youthful exuberance that quite honestly reminded Sophia of herself, albeit with less weight on her shoulders. She could not help but envy her mother's experience, even as she smiled reading it.
Vesenia spoke of Dairren a great deal, for the two were very close friends, from what Sophia could tell. Her mother rarely wrote an ill word of anyone, but she seemed to know the younger Dairren in and out. Unlike Vesenia, Dairren was the son of a local lord, something Sophia had never known. His connections and coin enabled them to start their work, but he abandoned all hope of lands or titles when he left Wycome, even changing his family name. Whatever it was, it was not Quinn, which was the name he chose to adopt.
What followed was an account of many of their jobs over the following years, a few of which Sophia was inclined to skim over. From what she could tell, her mother's organization had already been surpassed quite handily by Lucien's, in terms of what they were able to take on. They were a close group, though, initially brought together by Dairren's influence, but Vesenia mentioned bringing in a few recruits of her own in her travels. Sophia read with detail the entry following the company's first death, to find that her mother's emotions felt much like her own, though it had not been a personal matter.
It was another of these deaths that led the group to Kirkwall, to seek a place to set up more permanently, and have access to better supplies, and potentially better medical aid. No small amount of frustration came to Sophia when she realized that a fair number of pages had been ripped from the journal shortly after they stopped in Kirkwall. It was heartbreaking, but there was nothing to do but continue on, hope she could fill in the blanks.
Where the entries resumed, the mercenary company had already been disbanded, Dairren already entered into the guard, and Vesenia married to Marlowe Dumar, a nobleman that she had apparently enchanted, a necessity given her lack of status. Marlowe gained nothing for himself by marrying Vesenia, but then that wasn't surprising to Sophia. He was never a man to seek out personal gain for its own sake.
And then Sophia turned the page, reading an entry written in a shaky hand. She felt her own start to flutter when she realized the subject. I woke this morning to realize that I had no memory of the previous night. What I did remember... meeting Dairren. I could tell he'd been drinking, but he seemed in a melancholy mood, and I hoped to bring him out of it. I drank with him some, and talked with him of Wycome, which he'd not discussed in years... and then nothing.
Sophia looked back to the date, compared it to that of the wedding. This was two nights later. Vesenia had gone to confront Dairren, only to find that the guardsman was eluding her. An entry followed some unspecified time later, the date unmarked. I don't know what to do. I know what Dairren did. I don't know why. A child is within me. I know not the father. I don't know what to do. The entry abruptly ended. Another began on the next page.
I will not tell Marlowe. I will never tell him. Dairren was always a friend, and he made a wretched mistake. I will never speak to him again, but I will not destroy him for this.
It was around then that Ashton returned to the manor, Lucien and Nostariel in tow, and they crossed over the threshold with a minimum of fanfare, Nostariel waving up to Sophia, visible near the balcony rail, though the Warden lowered her hand when she noted the rather nonplussed expression her friend was wearing. Ashton had mentioned that heād left her with her motherās journalāapparently something she was reading therein had shocked her, and not in a pleasant way. Toeing her boots off, as it would be rather rude to track dirt into the place on a friendly, not-terribly-urgent visit, Nostariel was the first one up the stairs.
āSophia? Is something wrong?ā She took a cross-legged seat in one of the plush armchairs on the balcony, the other two arranging themselves as comfortably as they desired as well.
There were enough seats for all of them, and when they were all seated, Sophia found that she had momentarily forgotten how to speak. She flipped the journal over in her lap, so as not to lose the page, and sat up more fully.
"Dairren... he forced himself on my mother, shortly after she wed. I only just found out. She never knew who my father was." Which meant that Dairren couldn't know for sure, either. It explained... a great deal, actually. And when she came to think about it, it didn't surprise her very much. Dairren, a noble's son, abandoning at least some measure of wealth and other inheritance to roam the Free Marches with a girl who may as well have been a peasant. He'd likely been in love with her from the start, though Vesenia had never written anything of feelings from her own end.
Nostarielās eyes were wide. āIt says that?ā It was hardly a surprise that Sophiaās reaction was as it was, if that was what the journal intimated. The Warden blinked a few times, not sure she knew exactly what to say to that. Of all the things she might have guessed, that had not been among them. It made so little sense. Not that she couldnāt believe it of courseāsuch crimes were unfortunately common in the world they occupied. Almost mundane, even, though of course this itself was terrible. Butā¦ something about it did surprise Nostariel even so.
It would take a very specific kind of man to be able to do something like that, and then believe he could dupe someone he assumed to be his daughter into never finding out. He didnāt seem to be the kind whose mind would be addled by affection, considering his stated disdain for Jamie, who was deluded in that fashion, Maker rest his soul. It left her feeling like she didnāt understand any of it at allābut then, perhaps it was better that she couldnāt.
Unconscionable. Lucien had never known what the basis was for Quinn believing that he was Sophiaās father, but he had to admit he had not been expecting that. Anyone who was willing to use the Coterie to regain a foothold in Kirkwall was misguided, yes, but this was something else entirely. He noted that there was an odd gap in the diary where pages were missing, but now seemed hardly the time to comment on it. āWhile I am certainly in favor of those accused of crimes being allowed to speak in their defense,ā he said quietly, āI do not think there is much to be said in defense of such a thing.ā He regarded Sophia with some concernāif in fact this was the truth of the matter, it was possible that she existed as a result of what he considered the foulest of all crimes. He suspected that would weigh ponderously on anyone.
Sophia did not understand it, but then, she did not know Dairren's mind. She remembered him saying to her, when she was younger, that he'd never been able to speak to anyone very well, and even around her he seemed guarded, watching every word he said. She wondered if he had always been that way. She did not know what kind of man her mother had left her first home with so many years ago, but there was no doubt in Sophia's mind that he had changed drastically since then, for the worse.
"I can say nothing to defend him," she said, finally. "My mother did not, either." She flipped the book back over, glancing down at its pages as though she might send another message, but only the same words remained. Leaning sideways, she rubbed her forehead briefly, wanting only for this ordeal to be over. Instead, it felt as though it had become more complicated.
"Is it wrong, that I should want him to hang?" she asked. "He may well be my father. My mother chose not to expose him... but then, that was to protect me. Exposing his crime would have thrown my parentage into doubt." For all Sophia knew, her mother could well have been afraid of anyone knowing, perhaps for the horridness that would have followed between Dairren and Marlowe. It had come, of course, but only years later, long after her death. "Even when my father, when Marlowe Dumar, learned of it, he did not reveal the truth. To protect my future. Both of them were so selfless... and both of them are dead, while Dairren yet lives. Is this not wrong? It feels wrong."
Nostarielās frown deepened, and she sighed slightly through her nose. āI donāt know how youāre supposed to feel, if thereās any fact about that at all, butā¦ whether it would make a difference or not, perhaps we should speak with him. Or you should, if youād rather do so alone. There are two sides to every story, and if hearing his doesnāt make any difference, thenā¦ youāll just be more certain of how you feel.ā The Warden wasnāt really in the business of deciding what punishments fit which crimes, and sheād consider herself lucky if she never had to be.
Ashton shrugged from where he sat, and said, "It may or it may not, there's only one way to find out, though it may not change much." He leaned back in his seat and cradled the back of his head with his hands. "Blood or not, Marlowe was a good man and he cared for you. Quinn, well, you haven't seen him since he left, doing Maker knows what with the Coterie," Ashton stated, before a small chuckle escaped his lips. "Take it from me, blood isn't the only thing that ties a family together."
Leaning forward, Ashton placed his elbows on his knees and shrugged again. "Willingly allowing your daughter to be captured by the Coterie though.. Not entirely selfless parental material," he noted dully.
Sophia took in their advice attentively, somberly. What bothered her most about the situation was that she had not always hated the man who claimed to be her father, as he had been a fairly large presence in her youth. She'd gone to him often when her father was indisposed, considered him a friend. He was the one to teach her how to swing a sword, how to defend herself. That such a secretly wicked person could have influenced her, and indeed been the reason for her existence at all, made her feel somewhat ill.
"I'll speak to him, then," she declared, closing the journal and rising to her feet. "Tomorrow, once I've prepared. I think it should be something I do alone. Thank you, though, all of you, for your help. I doubt I'd have made it through this without you." It was becoming a pattern, she could see.