My scribe in no ways let me down, or shows anywhere as much as
embarrassment as you both contradicting each other, and having me killed
merely acknowledged the fact that you both know what happened.
Regardless of your accusations to me, I do not care for either of your
lives, and I would gladly accept your heads. I am a Warden, my honour is
my bond, and I state that I will not rest until he has paid his crime in
deaths. Make sure your defenders know my face, and they know to kill me,
lock and bar your gates.

My mind was not in its right state when I discovered what had happened,
and I don't deny my threats to you, and I almost wish that they would
occur. So that you might know a taste of her fear as he committed his
crimes.

If he would dare speak for himself or step outside his City, then he
would bear the brunt of my anger. As it is, cowering behind his sisters
and his mothers skirts, clutching desperately like a child, he deserves
no respect or time.

Grunthor Treune-Cridhe.

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Letum, in the year 473 AD.