Marry me

The resounding echoes of the knock on the door stirred the air, ushering in an unexpected turn of events. As Aragon and Freja composed themselves, a soldier walked in, asking permission to enter. 

The heavy oak door creaked open, and Aragon, still caught in the delicate web of recent contemplation, turned his attention to the soldier who stood at attention.

Freja, her eyes still fixed on the window as she wrestled with her own thoughts, appeared unaffected by the interruption.

Aragon motioned for the soldier to proceed, and with a respectful stride, the messenger approached him. "Apologies for interrupting, my lord," the soldier began, sensing the lingering tension in the room. 

"There is a visitor from the Southern Provinces requesting an audience with you."

Aragon, his countenance still marked by the earlier disturbance, inquired with a touch of impatience, "Who is this visitor, and what business do they bring to the king's capital?"