The truth in our words was just that. Truth. Not judgement or accusation. Just a statement of what was.
Williams mother—the whore Id interviewed, given to my son, and bought her child—helped me gain employment with her current madam. And I was grateful. William was growing well. He wasnt sickly and grew strong. He would make a fine Hawk someday. All I had to do was provide for him at his youngest, so in turn, he would provide for me at my oldest.We moved around a lot that first year, living up to the last name Hawk given to us by the court. Hawks were scavengers, predators, always ready to swoop and steal. Id never liked the name, until now. Now, I embraced it and nurtured my grandson. All his life, Id told him bedtime stories of what the Weavers did. I took him to the neighbourhood park where Sonya would walk her children and show him the daughter who would soon belong to him.
He watched that little girl with untold interest, begging me to introduce them, to play with her. It took a lot to ignore his requests. I didnt know what would be better. For them to meet as children or as adults. What would be easier to carry out the terms?More years passed and I picked up work in sculleries and markets. Along with the occasional trick in a dark alley, we had enough to get by. We made do. William continued to grow, his interest in our history and what the Weavers had done increasing as the years rolled on.However, he took matters into his own hands when it came to meeting Sonyas daughter. On his fourteenth birthday, I gave him a few coins and told him to head to the local market to pick up whatever he wanted for his birthday treat.
Only, he came back with the money and a story of meeting a Weaver girl who asked to be called Cotton, even though her name was Marion.Time had sped up and soon both firstborn children would be of age to begin the Inheritance. However, I often caught William doing strange things. He was strong, oh yes. He was well-spoken, kind-hearted, and hard-working, but there was an oddity about him I couldnt explain.
I would lay in bed at night pondering why he was so different. Why he was so aware of others plights, why he would often give our hard-earned money to those deserving, or soothe random acquaintances in the street.
As he grew older, he couldnt handle crowds as well as other young men. Hed shake and sweat, striking fear into my heart that he would fall ill with the sweating-sickness like his father.Dean clenches his jaw. Bloody hell.
I see what they mean.A blockade stands on the horizon, wooden palisades, soldiers, all blocking further entry into the realm. Levi's crimson banners hang from the fortifications.
When did the bastard set this up? asks Dean, weaving his horse left and right to get a better view.Maybe when he took Stonehill, I suggest. Or perhaps his Generals set it up after he disappeared. Niam is planning to take the realm.