She had been the daughter of a neighbour, a soldier. The two families had known each other for generations, had played together as children and grown up.
Haloch’s family, in his youth, had, like his neighbours, come from a long line of soldiers; his older brothers had all been in the army. And they had all died, in various hazardous campaigns, fighting Goblins. By far the youngest, Haloch was not soldierly material. He was tall, placid, given to daydreaming and wandering . . .
Haloch’s father had noticed this with resigned indifference, and lived through his older sons, until one by one, they had died.
Haloch’s father was never the same again. He began thinking and behaving irrationally, and thinking to preserve his bloodline, had the young Haloch tutored as a Scribe’s Novice. This was clearly mad, as Scribes seldom, if ever, married. The reason was financial. They couldn’t afford to. Realising this, Haloch’s father prevailed upon a friend, one of the aforementioned neighbouring families, to set up an arranged marriage for his son.
The neighbour who had made this promise was spared having to make good on it when Haloch’s parents died suddenly. Haloch had never been told of this, but his mother, thinking to preserve the honour of the family name and what remained of her husband’s dignity, poisoned both her husband and herself one day when Haloch was away.