Harold smiled at his customer. A homely woman with a flawless face and farming clothes.
"Hello miss, may I interest you in my services?" Harold asked, ignoring her look of surprise. Many people had stared at him like that, though he had grown used to it. The rags he wore made him very suspicious. After all, who knows what a homeless peasant would do for food?
"I can fight, I can cook, I can clean. Anything you may need me to do, miss." Harold bowed. Although he still felt that sinking feeling that was his pride weeping, he had to do what he had to do. With his reputation - one that hadn't died in it's five years of life - it was hard to find honest work. So, he had to make do.
"What happened to you?" The woman asked. Harold was taken aback. He wasn't use to people asking his story, nor did he like it. This woman though... Something seemed familiar.
"I may have killed a High Virgin..." Harold said involuntarily, then cursed himself for saying so.
The woman blinked several times. "No, you didn't" Harold witnessed his second shock. "You only gave her a child."
Harold jumped back, drawing the fine sword he kept under his rags. "Damn you! You did this to me!" He yelled, realizing who this woman was. "If it wasn't for your poison, I would still be a general! It was a dull life, but I was happy!"
The woman scowled at his sword, then at him. "I didn't drug you!" She shouted back, anger covering her tone and causing a few men on the street nearby to back away. They most likely thought Harold had insulted this farm wife. "It was that Warlock!"
Now Harold was confused. "What the hell are you talking about?" He yelled in reply. She sighed and walked further into the alley. Harold just backed away and kept his sword pointed at her. He saw how her hand was hidden in her skirts. All those years of soldiering taught him something: never underestimate a woman.
"Look, I need your help," the woman said earnestly. Harold watched her eyes. He was good at reading eyes. It was a little something he had picked up while he was a beggar. He had been able to get the best chances, then. This woman had an anger in her, something deep and menacing, but it seemed suppressed by something else.
Well, he could understand her anger.
"What is it? Can you pay?"
She gritted her teeth and scowled at him. "The payment is you meeting your daughter."
Harold nearly dropped his sword. His daughter? She had gotten pregnant all those years ago? Why hadn't she come forward? Harold would have protected her. Or... did she really come to kill him at that time?
Harold started to yell accusations and curses at this woman, but instead, he asked something else. "What is she like?" He said in reverence.
The woman smiled genuinely then. "She is beautiful." Harold smiled as well. He wanted to yell at this woman and possibly threaten her, but he just found himself thinking of this child. He had a daughter.
"Her name is Rowan," the woman continued, "and she does look a little like you."
"Why are we waiting?" Harold said, "Let's go." He cursed himself for agreeing so easily, but he felt propelled to meet his daughter. He only hoped she saw him as her father. A daughter. It was like a dream. "By the way, I'm Harold."
"I know that," the woman said with a scowl.
"Wow... We have a child together and you know my name, but I don't know yours."
"Victoria," she said sternly.
Harold knew it was a bitter thing he had done, but why was she so mad? "I want to know why you hate me and I want to know what were doing."
Victoria stared at him viciously. "A warlock drugged you an me five years back. He wanted our child, so I promised it to him after she turned five." Victoria shrunk a little. "Payment time came up and I had changed my mind... He took her anyway. He took my Rowan..."
Harold saw the woman on the verge of tears but ignored it. She deserved this. The Warlocks were a selfish bunch that only thought of power and social standing. To be a High Virgin was to know this and still she made a deal with them. Foolish girl.
Harold retreated to where his sack of belongings lay and dressed in the fine suit he stole a few months back. It was a little lose, but it worked. He then fixed his hair by sliding it back and shaved his stubble of a beard. After a while, he looked almost as neat as a lord. He had done this several times trying for a job, but to no avail. At least now the clothing wouldn't go to waste.
"Lets go," Harold told Victoria as he passed her. She had just finished crying, but Harold had no sorrow for her. There were only two things he felt sorrow over: the innocent and those he had wrongly killed.
When he killed this warlock that had his daughter, however, he would not feel sorrow.