The Vexin fortress gates swung open to the sight of Damon's returned company, their faces weathered but victorious. Cheers erupted from the men, women, and children of the stronghold as the wagons of newly won grain were unloaded. The cold air filled with a sense of relief and quiet celebration. The northern campaign, which everyone had feared would be a long and bloody drain on their resources, had been a success.
Damon made his way through the crowd, a sense of grim triumph on his face. He found Arion and Isolde waiting in the main hall. He placed his sword on the long table with a heavy thud, the sound commanding their immediate attention.
"The king's mission is complete," Damon said, his voice low. "The northern rebellion has been crushed."
Arion's face was a mixture of relief and suspicion. "What of the rebel lord? Did you bleed him dry, as the king wanted?"
"No," Damon replied, a flicker of something new in his eyes. He recounted the duel, the quick, decisive victory, and his decision to spare Lord Elric's life. He then revealed his plan: he would send a false report to the king stating Elric was dead, while in reality, the northern lord had pledged to become a secret, hidden ally.
"His lands are isolated, his men loyal," Damon said, his gaze sweeping from Arion to Isolde. "He is a power the king no longer knows he has lost. He will keep us informed of any movement in the north. Our house is now stronger, and the king is none the wiser."
Arion let out a slow, heavy breath, a broad smile finally breaking across his face. "A stroke of genius, brother," he said, shaking his head in admiration. "You played the king's game better than he could have ever imagined."
Isolde's heart swelled with pride. She had seen the truth behind the king's orders, and Damon had used her insight to turn a trap into a victory. He was a leader who valued life over power, and that was a kind of strength she had never known.
A few hours later, a watchman announced a small group of men at the gate. There were maybe a dozen of them, dressed in the furs and leathers of the northern marches. They were the men who had fled the duel, the ones who, in their fear, had abandoned their lord.
Damon ordered them to be brought into the main hall. They entered with their heads bowed, their weapons left outside. They knelt before Damon, their faces a mixture of shame and hope.
"My Lord Vexin," one of them, an older man with a grey beard, spoke, his voice trembling. "We are a shame to our people. We fled on the day of the duel. We heard of your honor, of how you defeated our lord and spared his life. We have come to you, not for mercy, but to offer our fealty. We ask only for a chance to serve an honorable man."
The Vexin knights who stood at the hall's edges muttered with disdain. To them, these men were cowards. But Damon, with a quiet authority, held up his hand.
He looked at the men kneeling before him. "You fled because you were afraid," he said, his voice low and firm. "Fear is a powerful enemy. But you returned. You returned because you believed in honor, and you believed in the promise of a lord who would not break his word. You have sought me out, not to save yourselves, but to offer your service. That is not the act of a coward."
Damon gestured to a nearby knight. "Give these men food, and see to their wounds. They will be placed in the watch, and they will be given a chance to prove their fealty. If they serve with honor, they will be given a place in this house. A man who can face his shame is a man who can be trusted."
Isolde watched the men rise, their eyes filled with a gratitude that went far deeper than a lord's mercy. She saw Damon not just as a great warrior, but as a leader who could turn enemies into allies, and cowards into men of honor. He was building his house not just with stone and steel, but with loyalty and respect. As she looked at him, she knew that with every passing day, the fragile cage of her marriage was being replaced by a home built on a foundation of trust.