Sofie lowered her sword, its tip resting on the polished stone floor, a faint scrape echoing in the large room. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and when she turned to face him, her eyes, usually so bright, held a profound, almost hollow sadness, a weariness that seemed too deep for her youth.
"Uncle, are there truly people stronger than you? Even stronger than Father, in this world? It feels… endless." Her voice was flat, devoid of its usual youthful vibrancy, a quiet resignation in its tone.
Eirik laughed, a hearty, booming sound that filled the large room, attempting to dispel the gloom. "What a silly question! Of course, there are. You've met the Jarl of Stormhold, haven't you? He could defeat both of us together without breaking a sweat, I assure you."
He clapped her lightly on the shoulder, a gesture of avuncular affection. "Remember this, Sofie: there will always be someone better than you. Be confident in your own strength, but never arrogant. That is the path to true growth."
Sofie's eyes, still holding that hollow, depressed look, met his, a flicker of something akin to despair in their depths.
"Uncle, Father also said the same. That's precisely why I ask: why should we keep striving if there will always be someone superior? If the goalposts keep moving? Shouldn't we be content with what we have? With what we've achieved?" Her voice carried a quiet desperation, a plea for understanding, for an end to the relentless climb.
She looked around the vast training room, then back at Eirik, her gaze searching, pleading for him to see her point. "Uncle, our family wasn't always Low-Jarls, but we were lower nobles then Low-Jarl, and we could do almost anything within our own lands, right? We commanded respect, we had comfort."
Eirik nodded, his brow furrowing in confusion, sensing a deeper current beneath her words. "That's largely true, Sofie, but what are you getting at? What troubles you so deeply?"
"Then why this relentless push to advance? To grow stronger? To conquer?" Sofie's voice gained a touch of passion, a spark of her usual fire, her frustration finally bubbling to the surface.
"We're Low-Jarls now. The food we eat isn't much different from what the High-King enjoys; we can afford any dish, any delicacy from across the seas. We can wear any garment we desire, silks from the South, furs from the frozen Laru mountains.
And most importantly, you, Father, everyone, can have any beautiful woman you wish, any man… right?" She gestured around the room, encompassing their comfortable, powerful lives, the vast wealth they commanded.
"So why this obsession with rising higher? I don't believe we can truly overthrow the High-King family. They are too entrenched, too powerful, too… divine."
She laughed "Let's not talk about High-king from the birth of Kingdom till now only one new High-Jarl family has appeared in the Norlandia and legends say they are son of concubines of Royal blood and that is the reason they were given title of High-Jarl who are equivalent to Church Knight.."
A shiver ran through Sofie, and her eyes widened with a sudden, raw horror, a memory surfacing that chilled her to the bone.
Her voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "And not only that, Uncle, we've also offended a family whose head is a Church Knight. A true Knight of the Sacred Order, sworn to the Holiest of the Holyland, their power unquestionable, their reach far beyond our understanding."
Eirik's confusion deepened, a cold dread beginning to seep into him, a prickle of unease. "Wait... what do you mean, 'offended a Church Knight family'?"
This was new, dangerous information, something Hakon had not mentioned, something that could unravel everything. "Who? How? When did this happen?"
Sofie looked at him with a questioning gaze, a hint of suspicion in her eyes, a silent accusation that he, Hakon's closest confidante, was out of the loop.
"Didn't Father tell you? Then I cannot speak of it, I'm sorry. It is not my place." She clamped her lips shut, a silent wall erected between them, her gaze unwavering.
She continued, her voice dropping, almost a whisper, as if fearing the very walls would hear her. "Seeing your expression Uncle, I can tell you're somewhat afraid, Uncle. But consider: who are the High-King family? You know, don't you? They are descendants of the Archangel of the War. It's not just a myth, Uncle. The power flows in their veins, a divine right. They are touched by the Gods."
Eirik shook his head, a dismissive scoff escaping him, though a seed of doubt had been planted by her earnestness.
"That's merely what's written in the holy bible, Sofie. A comforting tale for the masses. Do you truly believe such myths, such ancient fables? We deal in steel and gold, not divine lineage." He preferred hard facts, tangible power, not ancient legends that could not be quantified or controlled.
"But they are still far stronger than us, aren't they?" Sofie insisted, her voice tinged with despair, her eyes pleading for him to acknowledge the overwhelming truth.
"I'm weary of constantly striving for strength, only to discover the world is vast, and you are but an insignificant ant in comparison. When I first became a wizard, I believed I could transcend the mundane, that magic would make me boundless."
She heaved the sigh and said "But then Father explained there are many ranks of Wizard, and we are just a small noble family controlling a tiny part of Norlandia, a mere speck on the map. And it kept on repeating, Uncle. Every step forward reveals a hundred more steps, a hundred more mountains to climb, and always, always someone taller, I am tired of this,"
Her shoulders slumped further, the weight of the world's vastness pressing down on her, crushing her spirit.
Then, with a sudden, desperate movement, Sofie bowed deeply to Eirik, her voice thick with emotion, raw and exposed. "Uncle, please, could you ask Father to allow Lucian to become my partner? I… I love him. If we offer his mother in exchange for Lucian's, a fair trade, perhaps? We could secure a lasting peace, a powerful alliance through marriage, and I… I could finally have him."
Her words tumbled out, a desperate, almost delusional plea, revealing the true depth of her longing.
Eirik slapped his forehead with his hand, a loud, resounding thwack that echoed in the training room. He threw his head back and burst into laughter, a mixture of amusement and exasperation, the tension finally breaking.
"So, this was all about Lucian! All this talk of existential dread, of grand strategy and divine lineage… and here I thought you were having some sort of profound philosophical or mental crisis!"
He straightened, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, a mischievous glint returning to his gaze. "If you wish, my dear Sofie, I can procure for you lean, thin, beautiful boys who resemble girls like your Lucian, to serve as your slaves, to attend to your every whim. They are quite popular among the younger nobles these days, I hear…"
Before he could finish, Sofie roared, a raw, furious sound that echoed off the training room walls, cutting him off abruptly. "NO! I don't want them! I only want Lucian!"
Her face was flushed crimson, her eyes blazing with a fierce, unyielding resolve, a passion that, for all its misplaced focus, was undeniably powerful.
"..."
Eirik shook his head, his laughter fading into a weary sigh. If only she were like her brother (Sofie brother), he thought, who cares for only one thing that the person should be a girl with large breasts and thighs, a simple, uncomplicated desire. He watched Sofie, still seething, her chest heaving with indignation, and knew this particular battle, this clash of ambition and desire, was far from over.