The scent of aged parchment and polished oak filled Hakon's study, a rich, dark aroma that clung to the heavy tapestries depicting ancient hunts and the spines of countless leather-bound tomes that lined the walls from floor to ceiling.
Dust motes, like tiny, golden insects, danced in the slivers of afternoon sun that pierced the tall, leaded windows, illuminating the intricate carvings on his massive desk, a testament to generations of craftsmanship.
He sat, a figure of quiet authority, his broad shoulders filling the high-backed chair, his gaze fixed on a meticulously drawn map of Norlandia, its territories delineated in faded inks. A soft, almost imperceptible rap echoed through the room.
"Enter," Hakon's voice, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very floorboards, broke the silence.
The door creaked open, revealing Sofie, her usually vibrant, eyes clouded with a hesitant uncertainty that belied her confident stride.
She stepped in, her posture a little too rigid, her hands clasped tightly before her, a nervous habit she'd never quite shed. "Father, I have some questions."
Hakon's fingers, long and strong, paused their tracing of a jagged mountain range on the map.
It must be related to that Lucian, haha what surprise you bring me today Sofie? he thought.
He lifted his gaze, his eyes, the color of a winter sky, fixing on her with an unnerving intensity. "What is it?" he said.
Sofie shifted, her gaze flickering from his unreadable face to the worn rug beneath her feet, a pattern of faded lions and wolves.
She swallowed, her throat visibly bobbing. "Father, the Frostbanes were stronger than the Starks. If you had allied with them, like the Starks, then Lucian and I might have been married." Her voice, initially firm, wavered on the last words, a blush creeping up her neck, staining her pale skin.
The air in the study, usually so still and controlled, seemed to hum with her unspoken longing. She paused, then, as if realizing the impropriety of her confession, she quickly added, her voice hurrying, "Noooo, I didn't mean that. What I mean is, we would have gained capable people under us. Their warriors, their wizards… it would have strengthened our House considerably."
The correction felt forced, a thin veil over a raw, unacknowledged desire that was as transparent as glass to Hakon.
Hakon leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under his weight. A faint, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips, a chilling curve that never quite reached his eyes.
His voice was a silken thread, devoid of judgment, yet laced with a chilling casualness that made Sofie's skin prickle.
"Just as you have desires, Sofie, so do I. I wanted Lucian's mother as my concubine. A woman of rare beauty and spirit, I recall. Now, tell me, would you have done the same if Lucian had been within your grasp? Would you have sacrificed a strategic alliance for a personal desire, even if it meant gaining a powerful asset?"
Sofie's eyes widened, her face draining of color, leaving her complexion ashen. The air in the study seemed to thicken, pressing in on her, suffocating her with the implied comparison. The casual brutality of his admission, the stark mirroring of her own hidden longing, struck her with the force of a physical blow.
"OF COURSE!! I will choose Lucian," she stammered, her words tumbling over each other, a desperate, frantic attempt to retract the impulsive, honest affirmation that had escaped her lips. "No..,I mean, I would seek… I would find a different path, one that benefits the House first, of course."
Hakon's smile vanished, replaced by an expression that transformed his eyes into dark, fathomless abysses, devoid of light or warmth.
The very air in the room seemed to dissipate, leaving behind a cold, stark silence that pressed in on Sofie. His voice dropped, each word a stone falling into a deep, echoing well, final and absolute. "Leave. There is nothing further to discuss on this matter."
Sofie flinched, her shoulders slumping, the weight of his dismissal crushing her. Her face burned with humiliation. Without another word, she turned on her heel and almost fled the room, her movements stiff and unnatural.
The door clicked shut behind her with a soft, final sound that resonated with her profound shame and the crushing weight of her father's disapproval.
Eirik, who had been patiently waiting in the shadowed alcove just outside Hakon's study, a silent sentinel, straightened as Sofie emerged. He watched her hurried retreat down the hallway, her head bowed, her shoulders hunched, a clear and unmistakable sign of a conversation gone awry, a swift and decisive defeat.
A knowing smirk touched his lips, a familiar expression of amusement at his brother's ruthless pragmatism. He pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped into the study, the faint scent of Sofie's floral perfume still lingering in the air, quickly replaced by the familiar, comforting aroma of old books, ambition, and Hakon's own subtle, earthy scent.
"Brother, you can fool Sofie, but not me," Eirik said, his voice a low, conspiratorial murmur, as he moved to the large, brass-bound magical ball in the corner, idly spinning it with a practiced hand.
"You're not one to succumb to mere lust. Your desires run deeper, colder. So, I can only conclude one thing: Solphie must bring us more benefits than the entire Frostbane family ever could. A more potent leverage, a more strategic gain, perhaps?" His eyes, sharp and perceptive, met Hakon's, a silent challenge in their depths.
Hakon let out a short, dry laugh, a sound devoid of genuine mirth, more a rasp of air than an expression of amusement. "You overestimate me, Eirik. Or perhaps, you overestimate yourself."
Eirik chuckled, a deeper, more genuine sound that filled the momentary silence. "Then why? brother, did you signal me to let Lucian and Leora go after they killed the hunters, we hired to capture them? A small squad of our army, gone. Don't tell me you've suddenly found kindness in your heart, or a newfound respect for their fighting prowess?"
The question hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in a jest, probing at the edges of Hakon's carefully constructed facade.
Hakon's laughter died, replaced by a noncommittal shrug, a subtle shift of his broad shoulders. He picked up a quill, examining its tip and he said with a grin. "I have no idea what you're talking about. My memory, it seems, is not as sharp as yours on such trivial matters. But enough of that. Why are you here, truly?"
He deftly steered the conversation away, his eyes betraying nothing, a master of misdirection.
Eirik's expression sobered, the amusement draining from his face, replaced by a flicker of genuine apprehension that entered his gaze. He walked closer to the desk, his voice dropping to a near whisper, the weight of his concern evident in every syllable.
"Are we truly going to keep challenging every other Low-Jarl in the Jarl of Stormhold's territory? We've already dealt with the Frostbanes and Starks, leaving their lands under our camp. Only five Low-Jarls remain, and three of them are our sworn allies."
Eirik took a long breath and said,
"If you conquer the entire region, absorb their lands, their resources, their people… won't that inevitably spark a full-blown house war with the Jarl of Stormhold? After all, tradition dictates, and the old laws state, a Jarl must command at least three Low-Jarls within their domain to maintain their standing but if conquer all the Low-Jarl it is same as challenging his authority."
The political implications weighed heavily on Eirik, the shadow of a larger, devastating conflict looming over their ambitious plans. The Jarl of Stormhold was a formidable power, a titan whose wrath could shatter even the most cunning of plans, a force that could bring their burgeoning empire to its knees.
Hakon's expression remained unperturbed, a mask of serene confidence that bordered on arrogance.
He simply waved a dismissive hand, as if swatting away a bothersome fly. "Do not concern yourself with such trifles, Eirik. The Jarl of Stormhold is an old and ambitionless man. His reactions are well within my calculations. There are always… arrangements to be made."
A faint, almost imperceptible glint entered his eyes, hinting at a deeper, more intricate web of schemes.
Eirik hesitated, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach, a cold premonition. He knew better than to press his brother when Hakon had made up his mind, especially when that look entered his eyes.
"Very well," he said, the single word a reluctant concession, a surrender to Hakon's unyielding will. He turned and left the study, the door closing softly behind him, leaving Hakon alone with his maps and his silent, dangerous ambitions.