The long, ornate hallway stretched before Eirik, its polished marble floor reflecting the light from the high, arched windows that overlooked the inner courtyard. Tapestries depicting ancient battles and mythical beasts lined the walls, their muted colors adding to the hushed grandeur of the ancestral home.
As he walked, his leather boots making soft thuds on the marble, a faint, rhythmic sound drifted from one of the more secluded wings – a muffled panting, followed by a soft, almost guttural moans of many girls and a single man.
Eirik's lips thinned into a grim line. He shook his head, a weary sigh escaping him, a familiar wave of exasperation washing over him.
"Why are my brother's children like this?" he muttered to himself, the words a low grumble, barely audible above the distant sounds of the castle.
"Brother is almost emotionless, always scheming, always focused on power, and then there are his children, perpetually engaged in these… base, sexual activities. It's a constant embarrassment."
He thought of the unnamed son, whose indiscretions were a constant source of quiet scandal within the household, his liaisons with servants and minor nobles whispered about in hushed tones.
And now Sofie, with her clumsy, transparent infatuation with Lucian, so easily read, so easily exploited. It was a stark contrast to Hakon's cold, calculated ambition, a difference that often grated on Eirik's nerves.
Seeking a different kind of peace, a respite from the castle's suffocating politics and personal dramas, Eirik turned towards the training room. It was a place where the clang of steel and the scent of sweat replaced the stifling air of courtly intrigue.
He still remembered Hakon's words, spoken years ago when Eirik was but a young child, eager to prove himself, desperate for purpose and attention.
"Eirik," Hakon had said, his voice unusually soft, almost gentle, during a rare moment of shared solitude on the battlements, "I need a right-hand man, someone who will help me conquer impossible dreams. Someone I can trust implicitly, someone who understands the true nature of power."
Young Eirik, always looking up to his brilliant, enigmatic brother, had clung to those words, desperate for Hakon's attention, for a purpose that transcended his own minor noble standing.
From that day, Eirik had only one goal, one burning desire: to help his brother achieve his dreams, no matter the cost, no matter the blood spilled or the alliances broken.
He had dedicated his life to it, honing his skills, studying strategy, becoming the perfect complement to Hakon's ruthless intellect.
After walking for some minutes, the muffled sounds of exertion growing louder, the rhythmic thwack of a sword against a dummy becoming clearer, he entered the training room.
The vast space was filled with the metallic tang of steel and the earthy scent of sweat, a raw, honest smell that Eirik found strangely comforting. Sunlight streamed through high, grimy windows, illuminating dust motes dancing above the worn training dummies and the scarred practice floor.
In the center, Sofie moved with a practiced grace, her sword a blur of silver as she parried and thrust against an invisible opponent, her movements fluid yet lacking the usual fiery passion that characterized her training.
Her brow was furrowed in concentration, but there was a subtle heaviness in her movements, a lack of the usual vibrant energy.
Eirik smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across his face, a rare sight for those who knew him only as Hakon's stern lieutenant. "You are very diligent, Sofie. Continue training like this, and you will surely be the next head of House. Your dedication is commendable."