The village of Torvald woke under a steel-gray sky, low clouds promising more snow before nightfall. The air was sharp, heavy with humidity that seeped into the bones. Cassian stepped out of his hut, his black cloak carefully adjusted, his boots crunching on the frozen ground. He watched the villagers: men hauling logs to the central fires, women mending hides near the cabins, and a few children sliding on a patch of ice, laughing despite the cold. The atmosphere was taut, like a bowstring ready to snap. Hagen's response loomed, and the village seemed to hold its breath.
Cassian spotted Bjorn near the artisans' workshop, a low cabin where the scent of tanned leather and heated metal filled the air. The Northerner was talking to a lean man with calloused hands, a blacksmith named Torfinn, who hammered an arrowhead on an anvil. Cassian approached, his step light, his smile subtle.
"Bjorn," he said, stopping a few paces away, "I see you've started without me."
Bjorn turned, his face marked by visible tension. "Torfinn wanted to know about the alliance. The artisans are talking, Cassian. They want to be sure we're not risking their tools or supplies for nothing."
Torfinn set down his hammer, wiping sweat from his brow with a grimy rag. His small but sharp eyes studied Cassian. "You're the exile, eh? Bjorn says your plan can stop the raids. But if it fails, we'll have no game, no hides, and the Frostfangs will have our lands."
Cassian inclined his head, his tone respectful but confident. "Torfinn, I understand your concern. Your tools, your hides—they're the heart of the village. Without them, no hunting, no clothes for winter. But consider this: the Frostfangs' raids already cost you supplies. How many hides were lost last year? How many spears broken in ambushes?"
Torfinn grunted, crossing his arms. "Too many. But why should I trust a stranger like you? Bjorn, I know. You, you're just a talker."
Bjorn stepped forward, his voice firm. "Torfinn, I'm the one who spoke to Hagen. I'm the one who offered the alliance. Cassian just helped. If Hagen agrees, your sons will hunt without fearing a knife in the back."
Torfinn stared at Bjorn, then Cassian, his gaze less hostile but still wary. "And if Hagen refuses? What do my sons risk?"
Cassian answered, his voice clear. "If he refuses, Bjorn will be the first to take up his axe. But I believe Hagen will say yes. He knows winter's close, and his clan's as hungry as yours. An alliance is their best chance—and yours."
Another artisan, a sturdy woman named Astrid, sewing a deer hide nearby, spoke up. "And who guarantees the Frostfangs will keep their word? I lost a brother to them two winters ago."
Cassian turned to her, his smile softening. "Astrid, I'm sorry for your brother. No one here wants that again. That's why Bjorn offered a clear deal: poor lands for peace. If the Frostfangs betray, they'll lose more than we will. They know winter doesn't forgive mistakes."
Astrid nodded, her hands slowing on her needle. "Maybe. But I want to hear Bjorn say it."
Bjorn squared his shoulders, his voice strong but sincere. "Astrid, Torfinn, I swear on my axe: if this alliance fails, I'll protect this village, as always. But I believe in this plan. For your sons, for your families."
Torfinn exchanged a glance with Astrid, then grunted. "Alright, Bjorn. We trust you. But if your exile leads us to ruin, you'll answer for it."
Bjorn nodded, solemn. "I will."
Cassian stayed back, letting Bjorn seal the exchange. As they left the workshop, Bjorn muttered, "Gunn was here this morning, before you. He talked to the artisans, tried to turn them against us. Says I'm letting you manipulate me."
Cassian raised an eyebrow, his tone light. "And yet, Torfinn and Astrid listened to you. Gunn can growl, but he's losing ground. Tonight, we'll see the families. The mothers, the fathers. They want safety for their children. Give them that, Bjorn, and they'll follow you."
Bjorn grunted, but a spark of determination glinted in his eyes. "You talk like it's already won."
Cassian smiled, his gaze fixed on Torvald's cabin in the distance. "Not yet, Bjorn. But the chessboard is taking shape."
That evening, they went to a communal cabin where families gathered to share a meal. The scent of venison stew and baked bread filled the air, and about thirty villagers sat on wooden benches, their faces tired but attentive. Hilda was there, near the entrance, arms crossed, her piercing gaze fixed on Cassian. Torvald was absent, likely in his cabin with the elders.
Cassian gave Bjorn a subtle nod, and the Northerner stepped to the center of the room. Conversations stilled, all eyes turning to him. "Brothers, sisters," Bjorn began, his voice strong but measured, as Cassian had taught him. "Tomorrow, we'll have the Frostfangs' answer. If Hagen agrees to our alliance, your children will have enough meat this winter. Your husbands, your brothers will come home without wounds. I went to Hagen. I spoke for you, for the village."
An elderly woman with white hair tied in a bun raised her hand. "Bjorn, we know you. You're a good warrior. But him," she pointed at Cassian, "he's a stranger. Why should we listen to his ideas?"
Cassian stepped forward, his smile respectful. "You're right, ma'am. I'm a stranger. But I don't speak for myself. I speak for Bjorn, for this village. The alliance is his idea, his courage. I just help him carry it."
Hilda cut in, her voice sharp. "His idea? Or yours, exile? You twist words like a snake. If this alliance fails, it's our families who'll pay."
A murmur of unease rippled through the room. Bjorn spoke before Cassian could, his voice firm. "Hilda, if the alliance fails, I'll be the first to fight. But I believe in this plan. Not for him, not for me—for you. So your children get through winter warm."
A man, father to two young boys seated beside him, nodded. "Bjorn, you've always been straight. If you say it can work, I trust you. But if the Frostfangs betray…"
"They won't," Bjorn cut in, his voice surer than before. "Because I looked Hagen in the eyes. He knows winter's against us all. He'll choose peace."
The murmurs softened, some villagers nodding. Hilda stayed silent, but her eyes never left Cassian. As the meeting ended, Cassian and Bjorn stepped into the freezing night. Snow began falling again, fine and silent.
Bjorn muttered, "Hilda won't let up. And Gunn's still rallying Sven and the young ones."
Cassian nodded, his gaze fixed on the dancing flakes in the dark. "Let them. Every word they speak against you makes you stronger. Tomorrow, Hagen gives his answer. Be ready, Bjorn. This is your moment."
Bjorn clenched his fists, his voice low. "And if Hagen says no?"
Cassian turned, his smile sharp. "Then we play another game. But I don't think he'll say no. Not after what you offered. Go sleep, Bjorn. Tomorrow, the North starts to change."
Bjorn nodded, heading to his cabin. Cassian lingered outside, letting snow settle on his shoulders. 'One more day, and the web will spread.'