The hot air of early summer still clung to the air, seeping through the thick stone walls of Hakon Ironfang's study but winter snow clung stubbornly to distant peaks.
Inside, scrolls lay unfurled across a heavy oak table, maps marked with Hakon's bold strokes. The scent of old parchment and beeswax mingled with the faint, metallic tang of sword-oil.
A soft knock interrupted Hakon's thoughts.
The heavy oak door creaked open, revealing a young man with familiar features: the same sharp jawline, proud nose, and intense eyes, though softened by a boyish earnestness.
"Can I enter, brother?" Eirik's voice, usually booming, held a touch of uncharacteristic deference.
Hakon, hunched over a cluttered map, looked up. A wry smile played on his lips. "When did you become so polite, Eirik?" He chuckled, gesturing to a sturdy chair. "Come in, don't hover like a nervous raven."
Eirik stepped inside, a faint flush rising on his cheeks. He settled into the chair, running a hand behind his head. "Brother, I'm not a kid anymore. Treat me as an adult."
Hakon's smile widened. "Indeed. You're becoming a fine leader, Eirik. A bit too impatient, perhaps, but time may help."
He gestured to the maps. "Sit and tell what you have to say? Something tells me this isn't about your latest hunting journey."
Eirik's demeanor shifted, becoming serious. "The task you gave me, to send the challenge for the duel of dominion to the Stark family, it's been accepted. Their raven arrived at dawn. The duel is set for April 6th, on the Grey Plains."
He paused, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "But brother, aren't we moving too fast? I'm afraid if we grow at this rate, the Jarl of Stormhold will undoubtedly hinder our development. His spies are everywhere, and his connections are something we can't comprehend."
Hakon's laughter filled the study, deep and resonant. "Hinder us? My dear Eirik, sometimes the best way to avoid a problem is to outpace it entirely. The Jarl of Stormhold is a cautious snake. He won't break the rules of Norlandia easily. "
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'll give you a hint, brother: what will happen if we secure the support of a family with a member who is a Church Knight? A family with deep roots, and even deeper connections?"
Eirik's brow furrowed in confusion, then his eyes widened. "Wait… don't tell me… you've made connections with members of the High-Jarl's family?"
The High-Jarl' were the supreme ruler only under the High-King, they were like Dukes if compared to nobility system of South.
Their power absolute. Their family connections were legendary, especially within the powerful Church Order.
A Church Knight was an emissary of divine authority, untouchable by temporal lords and requirements for becoming a church knight was so high that only genius with high resource like High-Jarl family could produce them.
Hakon merely smiled, a secretive, knowing expression. "Let's not worry about the future just yet, Eirik. The threads are being woven, but they are delicate. Our immediate concern is to finish off this Stark family.
He paused and said "Only then can we truly begin to chart the course of our destiny. "
The Ironfangs, under Hakon's relentless ambition, were indeed like Icarus, soaring towards the sky with all their might. Their rise had been meteoric, a whirlwind of calculated risks and audacious moves.
They had absorbed smaller clans, secured vital trade routes, and their warriors were becoming legendary.
But a nagging fear lingered in the hearts of some: the higher they flew, the greater the potential for a catastrophic fall, an annihilation as complete as Icarus's descent into the sea when his waxen wings melted.
Hakon, however, seemed oblivious to such fears, or perhaps, he merely embraced the risk, believing his fire to be hotter than any sun.
Days blurred into a whirlwind of preparations, strategies, and the sharpening of steel. The Ironfang warriors, fueled by Hakon's unwavering confidence and the promise of new lands and riches, marched towards the Stark territories.
The air crackled with anticipation, the scent of impending battle hanging heavy. Eirik rode at the head of the vanguard, his earlier concerns forgotten in the thrill of the approaching conflict.
The "duel of dominion" was not a chaotic battle of armies. It was a sacred, latest law.
Three individual duels, one-on-one, between the strongest warriors chosen by each household. The clan that won the majority of these three contests would claim dominion.
The losing household would become servants, their lord reduced to a slave. It was a brutal, all-or-nothing gamble, designed to minimize bloodshed while settling disputes of power.
The duels were fought on the windswept Grey Plains outside the Stark family's formidable stronghold. The Stark warriors, renowned for their defensive prowess, met the Ironfangs with desperate ferocity.
Eirik himself stepped forward for the first duel, a towering figure. His great axe was a blur of motion, felling his opponent with terrifying grace.
In the second duel Hakon stepped up, fueled by his brother's example, fight with a controlled fury, securing another victory for the Ironfangs.
As both duels were won Ironfang's there was no need of third duel.
When the dust settled, and the ragged cheers of the victorious Ironfangs echoed across the desolate field, Hakon stood amidst the losing warrior in front of him.
This person was no other then Head of Stark house.
Hakon armor was streaked with grime and the crimson of battle. Blood, both his own and his opponents', clung to him. Yet, in his eyes, there was only triumph, a wild, untamed joy.
He threw his head back, a laugh tearing from his throat, raw and primal. He could bear no longer and recited his ambitions in the form of poem,
In my heart,
I feel the weight of my sins,
but the fire of ambition burns brighter,
so grand,
it won't let me stop.
Even when I falter,
it pushes me forward,
a flame too strong to be extinguished.
I can't look away from the blue moon hanging in the untouchable sky,
and the seven stars beyond it wishing to conquer them all,
unmoved by the hell that will come in death.
I know I will survive the hell,
I will walk through the fire of hell,
and it will not burn me,
for the fire in my heart
is a blaze that cannot be outburned.
Hakon's poem was not for his men, but for himself. It was a stark confession of his ambition, a recognition of the moral compromises he made, the "sins" he carried.
Yet, it declared that his inner "fire" – his drive, his purpose – was an unquenchable force. The "blue moon" and "seven stars" symbolizing his boundless aspirations, his desire to conquer all, even the seemingly impossible.
He acknowledged the "hell" that might come with such a path, but asserted his own invincibility, his belief that his internal flame was stronger than any external torment.
It was a declaration of his singular, unyielding will, a glimpse into the mind of a man who saw no limits to his destiny.
Here was Hakon whose ambitions were boundless trying to conquer moon and the seven stars beyond it, then there was his daughter Sofie who thought there was no point in having such high ambitions because if one will just die in the end why not live life full of pleasures and bliss.
This tale shall be interesting among the infinite tales I have recited, Let's see how it goes.
Alas as an omnipotent and omniscient being nothing is interesting for me.