From the Journal of Mattyw Lews
I’ve sworn a few oaths in my day. Mostly, that I would never steal again, honest. Or that back to see her that evening. Of course, I have broken some of those oaths. I make no claims to being a good man.
But never have I broken an oath doing something worse than what I’ve seen ‘good men’ do in the name of the gods.
It’s enough to make me wonder what ‘good’ means. Or ‘bad’, for that matter. Am I less of a man because I don’t preach about Mother Rhoyne? Less because I’ve stolen a loaf of bread?
By what is a man truly measured? His height? Voice? The way he laughs?
What makes a king better than the rest of us? Blood? Divine appointment?
Is there some reward for keeping every oath you make? Some sort of pride, I suppose, but I am proud of myself, aren’t I?
This is on my mind because I impersonated one of Mother Rhoyne’s children today. I did it to try to save a friend, who didn’t need saving. It came easily, the platitudes, the praise. I was going to ‘marry’ him to a poor girl who I feel was setting him up for something. Just to make sure he got away from a sound drubbing from a massive smith. Does this mar me, somehow, to so tarnish and make mock of the Rhoyne-mother? I hope it doesn’t earn me her displeasure, for I meant no harm.
I suppose that’s me… meaning no harm.
I’ve never made claim to being a good man.
But I certainly hope I’m good enough.