Trouble Brewing

The silence in the room stretched, becoming an almost tangible entity before Eldrige finally broke it. His gaze was hard as stone, locked onto Argons. "I am not too pleased with you of late, Argon," he began, his voice steady yet filled with an undercurrent of rage. "What possessed you to act against my direct orders and attack Silverthorne?"

Argon met his gaze unflinchingly, his voice calm. "I never received your orders and acted your best interests," he replied.

Eldrige scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Do you think I'm a fool? I find it hard to believe that Aldric never mentioned my commands".

"My lord," Argon began, his voice firm yet respectful, "Aldric... He didn't pass on your orders to me."

Surprise flickered in the Baron's eyes, swiftly replaced by a frown of disapproval. "And why would that be, Argon?" he questioned, his tone hinting at the accusation.

Argon held his gaze, refusing to waver. "I can't say, my lord. Perhaps an oversight on his part," he offered, his words careful, "But rest assured, it wasn't out of intentional neglect or disobedience on my part."

Eldrige's gaze slid past him. "And your two men... now in Dayless?" Eldrige continued, his tone laced with disbelief and indignation.

Argon turned his gaze back to Eldrige, a defiant look in his eyes.

"They were spoils of war," Argon responded confidently, leaving no room for argument. The room became silent again, the tension between the men growing with each passing second.

Eldrige's gaze sharpened like the edge of a honed blade. "And what about my daughter, Argon?" he questioned, his voice holding an edge. "It's intriguing how she, who has rejected every match I've proposed, suddenly wishes to marry you. How did you manage that?"

Argon gave a respectful bow of his head. "It is not for me to guess, my lord. Perhaps your daughter saw something in me that appealed to her," he offered, careful to keep any hint of arrogance out of his voice.

Eldridge’s gaze hardened. "Let me be clear, Argon. Your rise in rank has been fast, indeed. However, don't let it cloud your judgment. While a marriage to my daughter may offer you protection, it does not make you invincible."

Argon nodded, accepting the veiled threat in the Baron's words. "Understood, my lord," he said, his voice steady. "I'm here to serve and protect, not to make enemies."

Argon took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking, his gaze steady on Eldridge. "I had quite an eventful night recently, my lord. An assassination attempt," he began, pausing momentarily to observe Eldridge's reaction. "I suspect it could have been Baon Waleran's doing."

Eldridge's countenance hardened momentarily, his sharp gaze studying Argon before responding. "I wouldn't put it past Waleran," he admitted, his voice maintaining its usual calmness. "He agreed to the settlement, but there would always likely be repercussions."

His gaze then softened somewhat as he added, "But now, with you marrying Isolde, hopefully, he will see reason and step back. You're a valuable asset to us, Argon, and I would like to believe that your union with my daughter will bring stability."

Garrick, who had been silent up to this point, finally spoke, his voice dripping with disdain. "You're being far too generous, Baron," he said, glancing at Argon. "A sewer rat like him doesn't deserve Isolde nor this swift ascent in station."

He paused, turning to face Eldridge fully, his face grimacing. "You could've easily handed him over to Waleran and washed your hands of the whole affair. That would have certainly appeased him and avoided any potential... complications."

Argon, unperturbed by Garrick's words, said, "Threatened, are we?"

Garrick laughed heartily at the accusation. "Not at all. I admit, I wouldn't be able to take down Bornmowe as you did. But let's not forget; I've bested you many times. I wager you employed some devious strategy against Bornmowe and just got lucky. And I heard you got wounded badly... well, that's quite the price to pay for victory, right?" The taunting smirk on his face made it clear that he was deriving great pleasure from this verbal spar.

Eldridge shifted his attention to Argon, an air of stern resolution replacing his earlier composure. "This discussion leads us to a more pressing concern," he began, a determined glint in his eyes.

He continued his voice steady and authoritative, "News from the kingdom's border points towards escalating tensions with Tharen. Many dismiss these as inconsequential squabbles, but I see a larger pattern."

He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in, before adding, "I've navigated the tides of conflict before, and the signs suggest a brewing storm. It won't be long before the drumbeats of war echo across our lands."

"I'm simply ensuring affairs are in order first."

Argon's face reflected shock as he took in this new information. His world had been restricted to Duskhaven and Horntide, and he knew little of the broader politics of Seric. "Tharen? I don't even know where that is. Is war a frequent occurrence?" he questioned, brow furrowed.

Eldrige let out a dry chuckle, his eyes holding a knowing look. "There are always skirmishes on the border, it's just a matter of scale. Typically, both sides manage to keep it small and in check, but recently Tharen has been escalating their attacks," he explained, his voice hinting at apprehension. "The last full-scale war was twelve years ago. Don't you remember? As soon as the kings get involved, it gets quelled. They sanction raiding and skirmishes, but a full out war is too dangerous for both sides."

Eldrige leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning distant as he continued. "Once high level artifacts come into play, all bets are off. One of the kings could be killed, resulting in chaos all over the continent. Since each side is roughly matched, they don't dare escalate it. They just let the low-level grunt nobles like me fight and die for nothing. It's more about ego than anything else," he grumbled.

Argon absorbed his words, trying to process the gravity of the situation. "And where is Tharen exactly?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

Eldrige shot him an annoyed look, his patience wearing thin. "You truly are as dense as a rock, aren't you? Tharen lies to the south of Seric. Their people are peculiar, to put it lightly. They worship a four-eyed goat, if you can believe it." He released an exasperated sigh, his eyes rolling slightly as he relayed this last piece of information.

Eldrige leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples with a sigh. "Enough of that for now. You should get better acquainted with Isolde. We'll hold the wedding tomorrow. It'll be a small ceremony in the chapel. You'll be given a dowry of a hundred gold, and I'll provide you with additional soldiers. But remember," he pointed sternly at Argon, "You are, and always will be my loyal dog. Now, consider yourself promoted to 'son in law dog'."

Eldrige's voice had an edge of sarcasm, but the rugged look of his eyes left no room for argument. Argon had always been a pawn in the nobleman's hands, but now, it seemed, he was being moved into a position of greater importance.

"Isolde!" Eldrige boomed through the room, the stern and authoritarian tone replaced by a much softer, more affectionate one. "Isolde, my darling! Come," he beckoned, his eyes gleaming with an uncharacteristic warmth as he spotted his daughter opening the door. "Get more acquainted with your fiancé. I'm sure you both have much to discuss...and scheme about."

As he spoke, Eldrige's eyes flickered back to Argon, the warmth giving way to a knowing smirk that reminded him of the true nature of this engagement. It wasn't just a marriage but a strategic move in the complex game of power and politics.

Argon stood, giving Isolde a slight nod as they prepared to leave. Their departure was silent, the heavy oak door creaking open. Brolan was spotted through a slightly ajar door, deep in discussion with the council members. Argon paid little attention, instead drawn to the lady by his side.

Isolde, her voice a soothing lilt amidst the echoing grandeur of the mansion, suggested, "Shall we take a stroll through the gardens, Argon?", "As you wish," Argon agreed, following her lead as they ventured outside. The mansion's exterior, majestic in its grandeur, faded behind them as they ventured further away.

Outside, the atmosphere was different. The men who had accompanied them on the journey from Blackwood were waiting, their imposing figures clad in armour. At the sight of his lord, Brom sprang to attention, his eyes warily scanning the surroundings. Argon, noticing his knight's alertness, motioned for him to relax.

"Brom," Argon called out to his lieutenant, his voice calm yet commanding. "Ease up. We're merely taking a stroll around the garden."

With that, he turned back to Isolde, lightly touching her elbow as they walked on. The mansion grounds were expansive, filled with vibrant flowers and towering trees. It was a peaceful contrast to the tension that had filled their day. The air was filled with the soft chirping of birds and the distant rustling of leaves, adding a serene backdrop to their walk.