The Iron Judgement – Chapter 19

The Choice No Lord Wants

The wind shifted after midnight.

Dægan felt it before anyone spoke of it. He felt it in the way the torches guttered along the walls. There was an uneasy movement of horses in the lower yard. He also heard the distant sound of iron being worked where no forge should have been running.

Storm weather.

Not rain.

Men.

He stood alone in the solar, staring down at Leofric’s scattered papers. Wax shards. Timber orders. Draft proclamations meant for a dead man.

For a brother who had refused to die.

The door creaked.

Dægan didn’t turn.

“I told them to keep you in bed.”

Thunorric’s voice came rough and low.

“I told pain to mind its business.”

Dægan exhaled slowly and looked back.

Thun leaned against the doorframe like gravity was an optional suggestion. His throat was bandaged thick, bruises blooming purple and black along his jaw and collarbone. One arm hung stiff at his side.

Still standing.

Always standing.

Dægan’s mouth tightened.

“You should not be walking.”

Thun smirked faintly.

“Didn’t walk far.”

“You were hanged.”

“Briefly.”

Dægan turned back to the table before his face betrayed him.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“That’s what they said at the gallows too.”

Silence stretched.

Thun’s gaze drifted over the papers.

“Lore been busy.”

“Lore has discovered we are sitting inside a trap.”

Thun nodded.

“Aye. Heard the shouting.”

Dægan’s jaw clenched.

“They built the rope before they had you.”

Thun went very still.

That was the thing about him storms didn’t always roar. Sometimes they went quiet first.

“…Figures.”

“They want a siege,” Dægan continued. “They want villages to burn. They want me declared traitor.”

Thun’s eyes flicked to the window slit, to the flicker of torches far below.

“How many now?”

“Refugees?”

“Yes.”

Dægan hesitated.

“…One hundred and twelve.”

Thun shut his eyes for a moment.

“Children?”

“Forty-three.”

A slow breath left him.

“Food?”

Dægan didn’t answer.

Thun opened his eyes.

“…How bad.”

Dægan swallowed.

“Three weeks, maybe four, if no more arrive.”

Thun nodded once.

Then he stepped ahead.

It cost him.

Dægan saw it in the tightening of his mouth, the way his shoulder dragged.

Still he came.

Thun planted himself opposite the table.

“You need to give me to them.”

The words landed soft.

Like a knife laid down.

Dægan looked up sharply.

“…No.”

Thun didn’t blink.

“Yes.”

Dægan laughed once short, incredulous.

“Absolutely not.”

Thun leaned on the edge of the table.

“They’re not after you,” he said quietly. “They’re after what I started.”

“They forged writs in the king’s name.”

“They did.”

“They planned an execution before you arrived.”

“They did.”

“So don’t insult me by pretending surrender fixes that.”

Thun’s voice didn’t rise.

That was worse.

“They want a symbol. They already got one.”

Dægan stared at him.

“No.”

“They do,” Thun insisted. “Stormwulf escapes the rope, countryside riots, lord shelters outlaw”

“I am not”

“so the crown rides in with fire and sermons.”

Thun straightened as much as his ribs allowed.

“You hand me over.”

Dægan slammed his palm on the table.

“No.”

“You send word,” Thun continued. “Say I fled again. Say I left at dawn. Say you chased me.”

Dægan rounded the table in two strides.

“You are not walking back into chains.”

Thun met his eyes.

“You let them take me, and they leave the estate alone.”

Dægan laughed again, sharp this time.

“They will not.”

“They will for long enough.”

“For how long?” Dægan snapped. “A month? A season? Until the next clerk sharpens a quill?”

Thun’s mouth twitched.

“That’s all any of us ever get.”

Dægan shook his head.

“They will kill you.”

Thun shrugged.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Dægan grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

Instantly regretted it when Thun hissed.

Dægan loosened his grip but didn’t step back.

“They hang you again and I lose my brother.”

Thun’s eyes softened.

That was new.

“I’m offering so you don’t lose the rest of them.”

Dægan’s throat tightened.

“You think I don’t know what that costs me?”

“I think you’re trying to be a good lord.”

“And you think being a martyr fixes my granaries?”

Thun held his gaze.

“I think letting me fight will turn this place into a battlefield.”

Dægan went still.

“…Fight.”

Thun’s lips curved, slow and wolfish.

“Other choice.”

“You surrender or I go to war,” Dægan muttered.

“No,” Thun said gently. “I surrender or you do.”

Dægan stared at him.

Thun tilted his head toward the window.

“They already look at you like a banner.”

Dægan didn’t answer.

“They’re hungry,” Thun went on. “They’re angry. They watched a rope fail.”

“That is not my doing.”

“That’s how revolutions start.”

Dægan dragged a hand through his hair.

“Leofric will say you’re wrong.”

Thun smiled faintly.

“Lore always says that. Then he proves me right three days later.”

As if summoned—

The door opened.

Leofric stepped in with ink on his sleeve and murder in his eyes.

“…I knew you were out of bed.”

Thun lifted a hand.

“Hello, brother.”

Leofric froze when he saw him upright.

“…Sit.”

“No.”

Leofric closed his eyes briefly.

“I am going to staple you to the mattress.”

“After this.”

Dægan didn’t look away from Thun.

“He says I should give him up.”

Leofric blinked.

“…He what.”

Thun repeated calmly.

“Turn me in. Save the estate.”

Leofric stared at him for three full heartbeats.

Then:

“No.”

Dægan exhaled like a drowning man.

Thun sighed.

“See? Predictable.”

Leofric stepped closer.

“You surrender and they hang you in a market square with a larger rope.”

“They.”

“They will.”

“And then?”

“They declare Dægan obstructed justice. They confiscate the estate. They disperse the refugees into ditches.”

Thun frowned.

Leofric continued coldly.

“And then they write a ballad about how the Storm died and the land learned obedience.”

Silence.

Thun glanced at Dægan.

“…You didn’t say that part.”

“I didn’t need to.”

Leofric folded his arms.

“They already prepared purge orders. Your death is not an end. It is a preface.”

Thun considered that.

Then he looked back at Dægan.

“Alright.”

Dægan blinked.

“…Alright?”

Thun nodded once.

“Then I fight.”

Dægan’s pulse thudded.

“No.”

“Oh yes.”

“You can’t stand.”

“Temporary.”

“You can’t breathe properly.”

“Also temporary.”

Leofric pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is the worst family in Britain.”

Thun’s gaze sharpened.

“They come for this place, I don’t let them starve it into submission.”

Dægan stared.

“You would turn my lands into a fortress.”

Thun shrugged.

“They already did.”

Dægan looked toward the window again.

At the torches.

At the refugees.

At the quiet movement of Black Shields among civilians.

“…You’re enjoying this.”

Thun smirked faintly.

“No.”

Beat.

“…Little bit.”

Leofric groaned.

“They will bring banners.”

“Good.”

“They will bring priests.”

“Less good.”

“They will bring numbers.”

Thun’s eyes gleamed.

“Then I bring storms.”

Dægan closed his eyes for a second.

When he opened them something in him had changed.

“I will not hand you over.”

Thun nodded.

“I hoped.”

“And if they come in force”

“They will.”

“then this estate becomes a problem for the crown.”

Leofric’s lips curved, thin and dangerous.

“Yes.”

Dægan straightened.

“…Then I suppose I stop pretending I am neutral.”

Thun smiled slow.

“There he is.”

Dægan shot him a look.

“I am going to regret keeping you.”

“Frequently.”

Leofric cleared his throat.

“…Scouts returned an hour ago.”

Dægan stiffened.

“How far.”

“Two days’ ride. Court colours.”

Thun rolled his shoulders carefully.

“…Told you.”

Dægan met his gaze.

“You start this war and I finish it.”

Thun’s grin went feral.

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

Outside, a horn sounded.

Long.

Low.

Warning.

Dægan turned toward the window.

“…Looks like tomorrow came early.”

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