The sun, pale and distant, struggled to pierce the gray clouds dominating the valley. The village stirred with a murmur of activity: the crack of axes against wood, the shouts of children playing in the snow, and the grunts of hunters preparing their bows for the day. Cassian stood at the entrance of the borrowed hut, watching the scene with keen attention. Every gesture, every exchanged glance, every whispered word was a piece of the puzzle he assembled in his mind.
He adjusted his cloak. The villagers still eyed him with suspicion, but he sensed a subtle shift in the air. His speech the previous day, that bold idea of an alliance with the Frostfangs, had planted a seed. Not hope, not yet—these Northerners were too pragmatic for that. But curiosity. And for Cassian, curiosity was a door ajar.
Bjorn appeared around the corner of a cabin. He wore a thick fur cape, his axe hanging at his belt, more out of habit than threat. His eyes met Cassian's. "Torvald wants to see you," he said, his voice rough. "Now."
Cassian tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Already? Our chief is an early riser. Let's go, Bjorn. We shouldn't keep him waiting."
Torvald's large cabin was more lively than the day before. Besides the chief, seated on his carved wooden chair, a handful of villagers had gathered: weathered elders, hard-eyed warriors, and a middle-aged woman with tightly braided hair and a piercing gaze. Cassian noted her presence immediately. 'Trouble,' he thought. Women in places like this were often unseen pillars, more dangerous than armed men.
Torvald stood as they entered, his imposing frame casting a long shadow on the packed dirt floor. "Stranger," he began, his deep voice resonating through the room, "your words yesterday got people talking. Some here think you're a fool. Others, a liar. I haven't decided yet. But I'll give you a chance."
Cassian bowed his head, his smile impeccably polite. "A chance is all I ask, Torvald."
The chief crossed his arms, his gaze probing Cassian as if searching for a crack in his charming armor. "Your idea of an alliance with the Frostfangs… it's risky. But winter's coming, and our stores are thin. A war would finish us. So, speak. How do you plan to make those raiders yield without spilling blood?"
Cassian stepped forward, aware of the eyes fixed on him. He had an audience, and he knew how to play one. "The Frostfangs aren't beasts," he began, his voice clear and confident. "They're men, like you. They want what you want: to survive, to thrive, to protect their own. The difference is, they act through force because no one's offered them better."
A skeptical grunt came from a warrior in the crowd, the red-bearded man who'd greeted Cassian at the village gate. "Better? They steal our game, attack our hunters. You want to give them land so they can rob us more?"
Cassian turned his gaze to the man, his smile unwavering. "And if, instead of robbing you, they became your shield? Sharing unused winter hunting grounds is a small price for an alliance that guards your flanks. Imagine: the Frostfangs, feared by all clans, fighting beside you against other enemies. No more raids. No more losses. Just peace—and the strength that comes with it."
A murmur rippled through the room. The braided woman, who hadn't yet spoken, stepped forward. "And if they refuse?" she said, her gaze unflinching. "If they take our land and keep raiding? Your plan hinges on their good faith, stranger. And the Frostfangs have no good faith."
Cassian shifted his attention to her, his smile softening to show respect. "You are?"
"Hilda," she replied, her eyes steady. "Torvald's daughter."
Cassian noted her role. "Hilda, your caution is wise," he said, inclining his head slightly. "But I'm not counting on their good faith. I'm counting on their self-interest. The Frostfangs are weakened by winter, just like you. They know a prolonged war would break them as much as you. Offer them a way to survive without fighting, and they'll listen. And if they don't… well, an enemy who refuses an outstretched hand is a divided enemy. A divided enemy is easier to defeat."
Hilda narrowed her eyes but didn't respond. Torvald nodded slowly. "You speak well, stranger. But words aren't enough. If we send an emissary, it must be one of ours. Someone the Frostfangs will respect."
Cassian glanced at Bjorn, who stood back, arms crossed. "I suggest Bjorn Ironfist," he said, his voice carrying just enough for all to hear. "A respected warrior, strong, but able to talk without striking. The Frostfangs will see a man they can't ignore."
Bjorn straightened, caught off guard but flattered. The villagers exchanged looks, some approving, others wary. Torvald stared at Cassian, then Bjorn, his expression unreadable.
"Bjorn," the chief said at last. "What say you? Are you ready to carry this madness to the Frostfangs' camp?"
Bjorn hesitated, his gaze flicking from Torvald to Cassian. The latter gave him a subtle nod, a quiet but firm encouragement. 'This is your moment, Bjorn. Seize it.'
"I'll do it," Bjorn said finally, his voice firm but tinged with restrained tension. "If it's for the village, I'll speak to the Frostfangs."
A murmur of approval ran through the crowd, though some faces, like the red-beard's, remained skeptical. Torvald sat back, his gaze still on Cassian. "Very well. Bjorn leaves at dawn tomorrow. But you, stranger, go with him. If your plan fails, you'll be the first to pay the price."
Cassian bowed his head, his smile intact. "I expected nothing less, Torvald."
As the assembly dispersed, Hilda approached Cassian, her gaze sharp as a blade. "You're playing a dangerous game, stranger," she murmured, low enough for no one else to hear. "If Bjorn fails, or worse, if he dies, this village will tear you apart."
Cassian met her eyes, his smile taking an amused edge. "And if Bjorn succeeds, Hilda? What will you do then?"
She didn't answer, but her gaze didn't waver. She turned on her heel, leaving Cassian alone.
Outside, he found Bjorn waiting by the palisade. The Northerner looked nervous, his fingers fidgeting with his axe handle. "You sure about your plan, pretty boy?" he asked, his voice low. "The Frostfangs aren't soft. If I go there and they laugh in my face…"
Cassian placed a hand on his shoulder. "They won't laugh, Bjorn. Not if you speak as I'll teach you. Tonight, we'll prepare every word, every gesture. When you stand before them, they won't just see Bjorn Ironfist. They'll see a man who can change the North."
Bjorn stared, torn between doubt and growing ambition. "And you? What do you get out of this?"
Cassian laughed softly. "Me? I get a place to rest my head."