Nellye's Men
Opening the leather bound book she had purchased from the Scholars she sat for a while, just looking at the empty pages. Pages that would now be filled with her own, painstakingly slow, written words.
She was not a quick writer, having to think of her penmanship and spelling a lot. Quite often stopping and looking up with a confused look on her face, struggling to find the words.
Thinking back at what had made her starting the journal was the constant chatter behind her back by the women in town. Always finding a way to wag their tongues of things she presumably had done, all the men she had bedded.Shaking her head at this, mumbling to herself " If they only knew..". And that was the reason she had started this.Wanting to get the anger it caused out of her system, before she went after them, showing them all how easy a tongue could be severed by her dagger.
She had decided to write it all in her journal, starting at the beginning.
My Father
My Father.What a despicable man he was.Never did an honest days work in his life.Always sneaking around in the dark of night, stealing from good folks homes, out of hard working folks pockets.
Most of the items he stole was sold to traveling merchants who was just as corrupt as he was.They never asked where he had gotten his hands on the things he brought them. Knowing they would be far from Bree before The Watch came asking around.
The coin he made, more often than not spent at the Pony, drinking himself into a stupor.
He was not a violent man.Not with his peers at the Pony. Oh no, he was the center of attention among them, with the stories he told, with his easy going ways and thundering laughter.
Coming home when the sun was set to rise, he was a different man.Oh don't think that he would become violent against my Mother, that was not the case. No, he adored her. Adored the coin she made from her frequent visitors in the bedroom.
Nor did he mind my brothers. Why would he have? They were just like him from an early age.Fighting in the streets as young boys,joining his crew of friends at the Pony as young men.
No. It was me he was after.I always had to dodge a hand that suddenly lashed out in anger as I passed by. A fist curling around my hair to drag me out the door, only to slam it shut behind me.Yelling at me for " bein' some horse lords bastard wi' tha' straw colored hair of yers!". I never understood why he said that until I was older.But it has no meaning to me.I'm just a whore's daughter and a drunkards child.And after the last night in his life, I am no ones but my own.He died as he lived, in the gutter.The bastard should never have laid his hands on me.
