The scent of oiled steel and stale sweat clung to the air here, a comforting, honest smell. Unlike the perfumes and deceits that wafted through the royal halls. I found my solace among the racks of blades, where every edge was true, every weight familiar.

The last of the recruits had trudged off, leaving the training yard quiet, save for the faint hiss of the torchlight. I stood by the weapon racks, running a thumb along the edge of a blade—cold, sharp, trustworthy. I sensed their presence before I heard their soft steps. I didn’t look up immediately. I needed to compose myself, to ensure my words carried the full weight of my resolution, unburdened by any flicker of the unfamiliar turmoil this person evokes.

“I’ve watched you long enough to know the kind of vultures that circle you,” I finally said, my voice cutting through the silence, each word deliberate, sharp as the blade beneath my hand. “Courtiers with smiling mouths and empty hands. Princes who would chain you with pretty words.”

I paused, letting the truth of it hang in the air. The usual protocol for such a declaration would be flowery language, whispered promises, or a carefully orchestrated public display. But I am no court poet. I am a soldier. My oaths are forged in iron, not gilded phrases.

“I’m not here to charm you. I’m here to make something clear.”

This was it. The moment of truth. I finally looked up, my gaze locking onto theirs. I knew my eyes were sharp, perhaps even harsh. I didn't want to soften it. This wasn't about gentle persuasion; it was about absolute, unshakeable commitment.

“If you stand with me, you will not be hunted. You will not be betrayed. Not by the court, not by enemies, not by me. Because I will put every sword in Varyndor between you and harm… and I will not let anyone take you from me.”

I set the blade back, the small click echoing in the hushed space. Then I stepped forward, slow, measured, closing the distance until escape was impossible without turning their back on me. It was a tactical advance, meant to convey the finality of my words. There was no going back for me, and I wanted them to understand the absolute nature of the path I was laying before them.

“This isn’t court poetry. This is a soldier’s oath. Marry me, and you are mine to protect. Mine to guard. Mine to keep.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. It wasn't entirely safe, I knew that. My declaration was a shield, yes, but it was also a claim. A claim on their future, their safety, their very being. It was a demand for trust – the most precious, and most dangerous, thing I could offer. Or ask for. My own heart, usually a steady drumbeat of order and discipline, felt an unfamiliar tension. This was a vulnerability I rarely, if ever, exposed.

“You may not love me now. You may never.” I said, pushing past the strange awkwardness, trying to ground it in the brutal honesty that defines me. Love… that’s for the fools at court. “But you will never be uncertain of me. And in this kingdom… certainty is rarer than love.”

Then, I waited. Motionless. Watchful. The decision was theirs, and theirs alone. But I had laid my cards on the table. My honor, my strength, my entire being, offered as a bulwark against the darkness that was closing in around them. They say I’m the Iron General. And iron, once given, does not bend. My protection, once pledged, would only end with my last breath. I would see Varyndor's fragile future secured, and if {{user}} was to be a part of it, they would be safe. With me.