Father, my darling Aela, should you read this I scribble quickly to you in the hope that this will reach you before the unthinkable happens, you were right. The enemy have razed half of our camp but we've managed to contain them... the air is thick with smoke and the stench of the damned wild men but they are managable, unless they're reinforced they cannot hope to stand toe to toe in against our wall. They slaughtered a good number of us like cattle afore the alarm could be raised, at half-strength we are already and our horses lay either butchered or run amok... Leofric holds the shield wall but I fear for him and the men. I know what it is you must think of me father, for which I am shamed forever and an embarrassment, but get her to safety.
I cannot see Grimlang... whatever you do please see her right. Our numbers are thinning but the lads are standing their ground admirably and doing you proud, doing me proud, fire in their bellies and the strongest hearts in the Folde. Now out into the frenzied clash of steel and curses I go, they shout for me hoarsely as they shed the vile blood in my name and who would I be to dissappoint them?
Should I die there is no fitter hour, but whatever the outcome, I will carry on my work should the trial go wrongly, revocation, imposed exile and outlawry or nay with no thought for - ...
[The letter seems to be half finished, a splodge of ink strewn across the latter half of the page as though spillage has occured in a struggle.]
- Siward
