With the aid of Havenar of Wanderhalt I write this confession. For I am moved to great sorrow and have not the strength of hand or clarity of eyes to write.
Let all who read it see my guilt. I ride forth today to make right whom I have wronged. I ride forth to judgment. Twenty-one years have I reigned and I at last have an heir to succeed me.
In 4519 as the Elves reckon time, I rose to the throne of my fathers and was given the crown and sword which bound my fate to that of my kingdom. I received also my spouse that day, and was married before God and my subjects.
Fairest was Lydia, my queen, and ever did she her duty by me. Tirelessly she worked to produce an heir, but the curse of thin blood was upon me. After five years and five still-births, she could not deliver an heir that lived unto the second day. As my fathers before me, my seed was weak and would not take strong root within her.
Many battles fought I with the Stream of Anguish, sword of the Kings of Collonia from the dawn of time. Many foes I defeated and rivals aplenty. Men I slew and monsters, also -- even the hordes quailed at my hand. For I greatly wounded the King of the Pomarj, leaving him at the very gates of death. Nevertheless, for all my strength and achievements I could not produce an heir.
Once upon a moonless night I saw a woman lovely to behold with her head covered in a veil as though a bride, but as for other clothing, she had none. Her form was flawless and as though it were sculpted by the masters themselves. It caught my breath and held it.
So passion rose within me and I went unto her, but she hid among the trees and asked what I sought.
I told her I seek but an heir to succeed me.
Just one, asked she.
I agreed it was so.
Are you bereft of sword, she asked.
I agreed that I was. Save only the sword of my passion.
Disrobe said she, and come unto me.
And I did.
So passion rose within us and I went unto her and mounted her and filled her with my seed until the coming of dawn. Whereupon she said that the act was complete and I must leave before the light of day.
When I was dismounted she said, "Return hither in nine months and collect what is yours."
So I made haste to my keep under cover of darkness and in shame, but for nine months I waited and could not bear the waiting. Neither could I go unto Lydia my wife, for my ears ever heard the hissing of snakes. But my wise men counseled that such was the weight of guilt upon my mind and to heed it not. As for Lydia, she grieved at the drought of my affections, but said naught, thinking herself to blame.
Finally, after nine months, I rose again on a moonless night to steal unto the glade. This time, I did not go swordless, for along the way I thought that I might take my own life because of the weight of shame. Though I wanted an heir, I was tempted moment by moment to fall headlong upon the Stream of Anguish, sword of my fathers and the Kings of Collonia from the dawn of time.
When at last, I came to the appointed place, I saw there the same beauty whom I had known and whom I had filled with my seed. And there crying, was she for my seed had not taken root.
Betrayal, laughed she.
So eyes closed, I drew the Stream of Anguish from my scabbard and smote her upon the neck and killed her dead with the strength of one blow.
When I came again unto my keep, Lydia, my faithful and beautiful bride was waiting. There I went unto her for comfort and for the drought I had previously offered her, she stood ready to receive me. There and then we conceived a son, my heir, who is more precious to me than my own life's blood.
When the morning had come, upon the bed of our passion I confessed my failure to her.
Then Lydia grew pale and smiled not again from that day forward. She was disconsolate and walked long walks alone upon the parapets of my keep. Her hands ever upon her belly. She would not take meals with me, nor be entertained by song, and she slept only fitfully for she swore she heard the sound of many snakes.
When her time was fully come, she gave birth with the best midwives attending and my heir was born. But Lydia was not comforted at the sight of him and called him the Son of her Betrayal. After she had nursed him and handed him to the ladies attending, she flew to the solace of her walks. That night she flung herself from the parapets and took her life. Many called it an accident of wet stone, but I know she grieved too much to live, just as I greive this very day.
I have seen now the passing of ten years without a wife in my arms or a smile upon my lips. My son is hale and Lydia bore him well into the world. Having done all I go now with a weight of shame I cannot bear. I go meet my enemy. For his horde has grown strong and he has sent me many signs of his desire to kill me and to sack Wanderhalt.
I fear for my son and for this Kingdom. Under a flag of truce I go to him. I shall offer my life and the Goblinsilver in perpetuity in atonement for my deeds.
