Marriage

As Argon draws nearer, he sees more than just Brolan. A horse wagon is visible, laden with what looks to be supplied, and beside it stands eight male slaves. They are diverse in age and size, some burly and towering, others lean and wiry. Their faces are gaunt, their clothes ragged. But it's their eyes that stand out to Argon. Despite their circumstances, there's a spark in their eyes - a will to survive, a determination that Argon knows will serve them well.

However, what truly surprises Argon is the group of soldiers that accompanies them. A retinue, armoured and imposing. Among them, a familiar figure catches Argon's eye – Isolde. Her presence brings a surge of confusion, but Argon puts it aside for the moment. His focus is on Brolan.

He strides forward, a grin spreading on his face. With a rough, playful gesture, he grabs Brolan off his horse. "Eyyy, how are you, you fucker? Did you enjoy your holiday?" Argon jests, his tone brimming with mirth.

Brolan chuckles, a smile creasing his weathered face. "It's good to see you too, Argon. I've got many of the things we needed."

Their reunion is a moment of camaraderie amidst the daily struggle. A moment that bolsters Argon's spirit.

Before Argon can respond to Brolan, a clear, melodic voice pulls his attention away. Turning, he finds Isolde poised on horseback, her golden hair falling in waves around her shoulders, shimmering in the sunlight. Her gentle blue eyes hold a hint of amusement, a smirk playing on her lips. She is dressed in a gown that perfectly complements her slender figure, another clear sign of her high status.

She clears her throat in a deliberate manner, attracting Argon's attention. "Uhum, Ser Argon, I didn't come all this way to be ignored," she says, her tone light yet suggestive. Her gaze is steady on him, her smile slightly teasing. "May we talk?" Isolde asks; her voice is soft yet assertive, clearly used to having her requests met.

Argon turns his attention to her, curiosity piqued. Despite the complex power dynamics at play, he can't deny a certain fascination towards the young noblewoman.

With a cheeky grin, Argon replies, "Ahhhhh, Isolde, is that you? Gosh, I didn't even notice you there!" He knew his comment would rile her up, and sure enough, her delicate features twisted into a scowl.

Argon responds nonchalantly to her amazement, "As you wish, Lady Isolde."

Leading Isolde into his manor house, The grandeur of the place, and the evident progress made in such a short span of time, doesn't go unnoticed by Isolde. "Wow, you've made a lot for yourself in quite a short period of time," she observes, admiration and surprise intermingling in her voice.

"Yes," Argon acknowledges with a casual shrug, his voice laden with a sense of accomplishment, "I'm an industrious fellow. Now, why did you feel the need to come here? What urgent business do we have to discuss?"

Isolde's tone becomes grave as she informs him, "I've been slaving away with my father trying to convince him to keep your head on your body."

Argon, unshaken, fires back, "And let's not forget who put me in this position in the first place. I followed your advice to retaliate against the patrol." His words reverberate in the room, a stark reminder of their tangled history and shared responsibilities.

Isolde's voice adopts a sharp edge, "I told you to deal a blow to the patrol, not to take a bloody village!"

Argon, unapologetic, responds with a dismissive shrug, "Well, when a man's blood runs hot, a village is on the menu."

Isolde retorts, her frustration apparent, "You idiot, you have no idea the delicate position we're in!"

Argon interjects, his voice oozing indifference, "You're right, I don't. And honestly, I don't care. Our deal was 'I scratch your back, you scratch mine'. I dealt a big blow to Silverthorne, so now it's your turn. What the fuck have you done for me?" His words cut through the air like a knife, underscoring the tension between them.

Isolde, maintaining her poise despite the harsh words, retorts, "I've kept you alive. My father was tempted to hand you over on a silver platter to Baron Waleran."

Argon, unimpressed, shoots back, "Wow, thank you so much. Let me remind you that I'm only in this position because I did your favour. The way I see it, you're heavily indebted to me. Silverthorne thought your dad was a pussy until I stabbed them."

Their words, laced with unspoken tension, echoed through the manor. Each one was measuring the other, the line between ally and adversary becoming increasingly blurred.

Isolde, staring at Argon with an unreadable expression, sighs, "You make a good point, I did kind of put you up to this."

Argon, smirking, retorts, "Finally, a bit of honesty."

Argon continues, a tinge of regret in his voice, "When we made our partnership, I thought you'd be able to offer something politically. But now, I find myself at the mercy of the baron's wrath without a paddle."

Isolde merely raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this change in dynamics. The room fills with silence, the tension hanging in the air. Even as the words echo in the hall, Argon and Isolde are locked in a silent standoff, each one trying to predict the other's move.

Isolde, seemingly lost for words, finally manages to say, "While I did ask you to strike a blow to Silverthorne, I never expected you to go so far."

Argon, his smirk never leaving his face, retorts, "When asking a soldier to jump, he never says how high. I followed your commands to the T and all I get is shit in return."

Isolde blinks at him, her face now pale under the harsh truth of Argon's words. There is a long silence that follows, both of them contemplating the consequences of their actions and the path they have now set themselves on.

Argon, his smirk now replaced with a cold stare, says, "When you made your request of me, Isolde, I expected you'd give me a greater position or a larger amount of resources. But now I realize you're just a spoiled daughter of Eldridge."

Isolde, taken aback by his words, seethes, "Shut your mouth! I kept your neck out of a noose. Baron Waleran demanded restitution for the damages, leading to a disagreement with my father in the court of Viscount Farrenway."

She pauses, her eyes blazing with indignation, before continuing, "And guess what, Viscount Farrenway, the overseeing authority, stepped in. He ruled in favor of Blackwood, since Silverthorne was the initial aggressor. This has caused even more friction between the territories."

She finishes with a huff, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Meanwhile, Argon listens quietly, the seriousness of his situation dawning on him.

Argon casts a calculating look towards Isolde. "Still, you're the one who instigated this whole fiasco. Don't lay the blame at my feet," he retorts, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "And let's be honest, you wouldn't have shown up here if you didn't feel a pang of guilt."

Isolde huffs, her proud posture sagging ever so slightly. She studies Argon for a moment, her blue eyes narrowing. "So, what do you want then? Considering I owe you... slightly," she finally concedes, her tone filled with a reluctant admission. Her gaze never leaves Argon, anticipating his next words.

A smug grin spread across his face. "The way I see it, I currently am at the helm of the greatest fighting force in the territory. After all, I've taken down Silverthorne's greatest knight," he says, his tone laced with satisfaction.

"An arrogant daughter of a Baron doesn't have much that I want." His words hang in the air for a moment, their meaning clear.

Isolde's eyebrows arch upwards, her face a picture of surprise. "Not much, but clearly something," she retorts, her voice laced with caution as she watches him intently.

"Yes, you're very observant," Argon responds, his grin widening at her reaction. He leans forward, his gaze meeting hers unflinchingly. "I want your hand in marriage."

The words strike Isolde like a blow. Her mouth drops open, and for a moment, she is speechless. The shock on her face is evident as she struggles to process his audacious proposal.

Isolde steps back, crossing her arms over her chest as she levels a firm gaze at him. "Argon, you're dreaming way above your station," she retorts sharply. "I am to be used in a political marriage with other territories. You're not even in the running."

Argon merely chuckles, the sound rich and confident. "Hmm, that does sound wise," he admits, his gaze roaming over her. "But I know you'd rather be married to me."

Before Isolde can retort, Argon moves closer, his arm snaking around her waist, there's a moment of stunned silence, and then Isolde pushes him away.

However, the brief hesitation before her refusal isn't lost on Argon. He grins, noting that she wasn't totally opposed to the idea. There was resistance, yes, but also intrigue – a spark of possibility. This gave him hope and even more determination.

Without waiting for a reply, Argon leans in, his eyes capturing Isolde's with compelling intensity. "Seriously though, I did you a big favor. How do you intend to repay me?" he asks, the smirk on his face broadening.

Isolde huffs in exasperation, averting her eyes as if trying to regain some control over the situation. "Well, I could provide you with more soldiers... or perhaps supplies," she suggests hesitantly, her gaze flicking back to his.

Argon dismisses the suggestion with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "I've already sent my men out for these things. I have them in abundance," he responds confidently. There's a pause before he continues, his eyes locked onto hers, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "There's only one thing I want from you, Isolde."

Before she can ask what he means, he leans in closer, his voice a husky whisper. "My bed grows cold," he tells her. And before she has a chance to react, he steals a kiss from her, an audacious move that leaves her speechless.

The kiss is swift, a brief connection that strikes like a lightning bolt. Argon's lips press against Isolde's, a demanding heat infusing the contact. The intensity is shocking, and before she can register what is happening, the connection is severed. The audacity of the act leaves her frozen, wide-eyed, her cheeks flushed with surprise. His lips were firm against hers, and the taste of him lingered even after he'd pulled away, a teasing hint of the audacious lord.

Isolde's voice reverberates in the silent room, her sudden outburst ringing in the air, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Her blue eyes flare with defiance, a spark of rebellion kindling within them.

With a swift jerk of his arm, Argon pulls Isolde close to him, her surprise evident in the widening of her eyes. He yells back at her, a dominant roar that reverberates in the room, "Shut the fuck up, bitch! You think I don't see the game your father is playing?"

His breath fans against her face, his eyes blazing with an intensity that roots her in place. "Sending you to me is tantamount to throwing a juicy steak to a hungry wolf. He's clearly rewarding me, you're mine whether you like it or not."

Argon's words hang heavily in the room, his intentions clear as day. He seeks to claim her as his, to solidify his power and mark his territory. His claim was non-negotiable, his grip on her firm and unyielding. The authority in his voice leaves no room for argument, a stark declaration that cements his position.

"You owe me a great debt, Isolde. And there's only one way you can pay it off. I'm taking your hand in marriage. There's nothing else you have that I value," he adds, his gaze unwavering as he meets her stunned stare. His words echo in the silence of the room, a bold challenge that leaves no room for refusal.