The morning was cold, the sky a uniform gray that seemed to weigh on the village like a leaden shroud. Cassian stepped out of his hut, pulling his black cloak tight against the biting wind. The village stirred slowly: women carried buckets of frozen water from the well, hunters sharpened spears by a fire, and children darted between cabins, their laughter muffled by the snow. Cassian observed, his sharp gaze cataloging every detail—a man casting a wary glance his way, a woman whispering to another, a hunter striking his flint too hard, betraying frustration.
Bjorn waited by the palisade, his massive frame leaning against a wooden post. He wore his fur cape, but his hands were bare, reddened by the cold, gripping his axe handle. "You're late, pretty boy," he growled as Cassian approached.
Cassian raised an eyebrow, his tone light. "Late? No, Bjorn. I'm exactly where I need to be." He stopped beside the Northerner, glancing at the hunters gathered by the fire. "Today, we win the village. Not Torvald, not Hilda—the men. The hunters, the warriors, the ones who carry weapons. They're the ones who'll tip the scales."
Bjorn frowned, his voice low. "The hunters? They follow Torvald. And Gunn leads them. He respects me, but he hates you."
Cassian tilted his head, his smile sharpening. "Then we make them follow you. Gunn's an obstacle, but a predictable one. Come, let's talk to them."
They approached the fire where five hunters were gathered. Gunn, the red-bearded man, stood at the center, sharpening a spearhead with a flint. The others, men with faces weathered by cold and combat, looked up as they neared. One, a young man with tousled blond hair, spat into the snow. "The exile and his dog," he muttered, loud enough to be heard.
Bjorn stiffened, his hand tightening on his axe, but Cassian placed a firm hand on his arm, stopping him. "Let it go," he murmured, then addressed the hunters, his voice clear and friendly. "Gentlemen, a fine morning for preparing the hunt, no?"
Gunn looked up, his gaze hard. "What do you want, stranger? You don't belong here. You've got no place with us."
Cassian ignored the hostility, his smile steady. "Maybe not yet, Gunn. But Bjorn is one of you. And yesterday, he did something few of you would dare: he stood up to Hagen of the Frostfangs."
The hunters exchanged glances, some skeptical, others intrigued. The blond, named Sven according to Bjorn, snorted. "Stood up? He talked, that's all. Words aren't spears."
Bjorn stepped forward, his voice rumbling. "And yet, Sven, Hagen listened. He gave us three days to consider an alliance. Not a drop of blood spilled. Can you say the same?"
Sven flushed but didn't reply. Gunn set down his spear and stood, crossing his arms. "An alliance? With raiders? You sound like him now," he said, pointing at Cassian. "Those are his words in your mouth, Bjorn."
Cassian stepped in, his tone soft but firm. "My words, perhaps, but his voice. Bjorn spoke for the village, for all of you. If Hagen agrees, you hunt without fear of raids. You come home with game, not wounds. Tell me, Gunn, what's better: a spear in hand or meat on the table?"
A murmur ran through the hunters. One, a stocky man named Rolf, nodded slowly. "He's not wrong. The Frostfangs cost us too much. If Bjorn can stop them without a fight…"
Gunn grunted, his gaze shifting from Cassian to Bjorn. "And if Hagen betrays us? If your words lead us into an ambush?"
Bjorn answered before Cassian could, his voice steadier than before. "Then I'll be the first to fight, Gunn. But I believe in this plan. Not for him," he gestured to Cassian, "but for the village. For our families. For winter."
A heavy silence followed, charged with new tension. Cassian watched the hunters, noting how Rolf and another, a gray-haired man named Einar, seemed to reflect. Sven remained hostile, but he was young, impressionable. Gunn was the real obstacle. 'A man who fears losing authority. Predictable, but dangerous.'
"Think it over," Cassian said, breaking the silence. "In three days, Hagen will give his answer. If it's yes, you'll have Bjorn to thank. If it's no… well, you'll still have your spears."
He signaled Bjorn, and they walked away, leaving the hunters to murmur among themselves. Once out of earshot, Bjorn muttered, "Gunn's going to be trouble. He's got the ear of the young ones, like Sven."
Cassian nodded, his gaze fixed on Torvald's cabin in the distance. "Let Gunn talk. Every word he speaks against you weakens him. Tonight, we'll visit the village women. They influence more than you think."
Bjorn frowned. "The women? They cook, they weave. They follow Torvald and Hilda."
Cassian smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And that's exactly why they matter. Men fight, but women hold the village together. Win them, and the village follows."
That evening, Cassian and Bjorn went to a communal cabin where the village women gathered to spin wool and prepare meals. The room was warm, filled with the scent of baked bread and damp wool. A dozen women were there, some old, some young, their hands busy but their eyes curious. Hilda was absent, which Cassian noted with satisfaction. 'Fewer complications.'
A middle-aged woman with graying hair in a thick braid looked up from her spindle. "Bjorn," she said, her voice neutral but tinged with curiosity. "And the stranger. What do you want?"
Bjorn cleared his throat, uneasy under the scrutiny. "Frida," he began, "I'm here to talk about the alliance with the Frostfangs. If it works, winter will be easier. No more raids, more game for your tables."
Frida narrowed her eyes, setting down her spindle. "And why should we believe you? It's him who does the talking, usually," she said, pointing at Cassian.
Cassian stepped forward, his smile charming but respectful. "Frida, you're right. I talk a lot. But it's Bjorn who faced Hagen. It's him who carries this plan for the village. I just help him find the words."
A young woman, cheeks flushed from the fire, spoke up. "And if the Frostfangs betray us? My brothers hunt. I don't want them coming back hurt… or not coming back at all."
Cassian inclined his head, his tone sincere. "I understand, miss…?"
"Lena," she replied, slightly intimidated by his gaze.
"Lena," Cassian repeated, his voice soft. "No one wants to lose a brother, a son, a husband. That's why Bjorn is pushing this alliance. Not to take risks, but to avoid them. If Hagen agrees, your brothers will come home with game, not wounds."
Frida crossed her arms, her gaze shifting from Cassian to Bjorn. "And if Hagen refuses?"
Bjorn answered, his voice firmer than before. "Then I'll fight, Frida. Like always. But I believe in this plan. For you, for the village."
A murmur of approval ran through the women. Lena nodded, and even Frida seemed softened. As they left the cabin, Bjorn muttered, "You're a real snake, Cassian. They listened to you like you're one of us."
Cassian laughed softly, his breath forming a cloud in the icy air. "Not me, Bjorn. You. They listened because you spoke for them. Keep this up, and this village will be yours."
Bjorn stared, a spark of ambition in his eyes. "And you? What do you really want?"
Cassian smiled, his gaze lost in the starry night. "Me? I told you, just a place to rest my head. Two days, Bjorn. Two days until Hagen's answer. Be ready."