186 CHAPTER 186

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CHAPTER 186

293 AC

POV THIRD PERSON

The closed training ground at Moat Cailin lay nestled within the heart of the ancient fortress, hidden from prying eyes and shielded from the outside world. Enclosed by sturdy stone walls adorned with the sigil of House Drasil, the training ground exuded an air of secrecy and exclusivity. Only the oathbound servants and soldiers were granted entry to this hallowed space.

Upon passing through the imposing gate, one would find a sprawling expanse of well-tended earth. The ground, a canvas for battles and practice, bore the marks of countless footfalls and combat maneuvers. The sparring ground's hard surface was marred by the imprints of blades and feet, a testament to the rigorous training that took place within its confines. Once in a while, Aermir would fix the surface with some earth magic.

At one end of the training ground, wooden moving targets and dummies were arranged in strategic configurations, offering a variety of challenges for the warriors to overcome. The distant echoes of steel meeting wood resounded through the air as soldiers practiced their forms and techniques with those targets and dummies.

A small structure stood in a corner where strategies were discussed, equipment was adjusted, and wounded were cared for after rigorous training sessions. Even the wargs and skinchangers honed their magic here. It was a space where Aermir's vision of unity and power was being realized, one strike and one strategy at a time. And within its sheltering walls, the future of the North was being shaped by those who had sworn themselves to Druid Aermir's cause.

Aermir's focus, divided between the sparring and the strategic meeting, moved with practiced grace among the wargs and skinchangers; his every moment was full and precious. Amidst the controlled chaos of the training warriors, Steward Artos's voice cut through, recounting the rumors spread by the Boltons. Harlik's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white with the pressure. 

"This is an affront, my lord," 

He growled, his voice a low rumble of indignation. 

"Roose Bolton dares to use your name and twist it to his advantage. I say we ride to the Dreadfort and put an end to this treachery once and for all!"

Jory, his usually jovial face marred by a scowl, nodded in agreement. "Aye, my lord. Let's show the Boltons that they can't manipulate your name for their gain."

As he slammed Jorah Glover to the ground, Aermir's steely gaze flicked between the two, his mind working quickly to weigh the consequences of their proposed actions. As much as he shared their anger, he also recognized the delicate nature of the situation. A single misstep could unravel the fragile alliance he had worked so hard to build.

"Harlik, Jory," 

He began, his tone measured but firm, 

"I understand your frustration, and I share it. But we must tread carefully here. Acting on an impulse will not bring anything to us. I could destroy House Bolton or put them in their place by showing my fangs, but this would alienate the other lords. We can't solve every problem with a hammer."

Harlik's jaw tensed, his knuckles relaxing slightly. 

"My lord, I know you're right. But we can't let the Boltons get away with this."

Aermir's gaze softened as he placed a reassuring hand on Harlik's shoulder. 

"We won't, my friend. But we'll do it strategically."

As Aermir was thinking about how to act, Dacey Mormont lunged at him with formidable force. Reacting quickly, he cast Rhovagon grēze(Bark armor), a darker skin tone encased his body, creating a protective membrane on his skin. Dacey's arms and shoulders were as thick as Harlik's, and those thick and long arms with fur on them looked slightly off compared to her toned body. Now, she was able to transform up to her shoulders. 

The enhancements from her skinchanging abilities, combined with Aermir's teachings, resulted in a remarkable transformation. Her strength had been bolstered to 15, and her speed had risen to 13 when she used her magic.

With his rising arcane knowledge, Aermir was starting to mutate his muscles and bones and become so much more powerful without his buffs. Now he had 13 strength and 14 speed. Using his buffs, he welcomed Dacey's mace while crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Aermir stood firm as Dacey swung her mace, the impact absorbed by his heightened strength and defense. With a swift step, he deflected the blow and countered with a quick jab, his enhanced speed allowing him to maneuver effortlessly. Dacey adjusted her tactics, abandoning the mace in favor of her own natural weapons—her claws.

Their sparring continued, the clash of blows filling the air. Aermir's calculated movements countered Dacey's ferocity, their skills pushing each other to adapt and evolve. In a final maneuver, Aermir swiftly closed the distance between them, locking Dacey in a chokehold. She struggled for a moment before finally relenting, a sign of respect for Aermir's superior skill.

As she completed her practice routine, Dacey's chest heaved with exertion. She wiped the sweat from her brow and turned to Aermir, a mix of excitement and disbelief in her eyes. 

"I can feel it, Lord Aermir. The strength, the speed—it's like the bear is an extension of myself."

Aermir nodded, a satisfied smile curving his lips. "Your abilities as a skinchanger are allowing you to tap into your inner potential. It's as if the animal spirits within you are harmonizing with your physical form. There is still much to learn, but you will be more powerful than any normal bear when you reach your full potential. Not even the Mountain would be able to contend with your strength. You would be able to kill him with one swipe."

 As she gazed up at him with a mix of admiration and awe, Aermir's thoughts shifted to the problem at hand. He signaled the next challenger to wait. Accepting a towel from a servant, Aermir turned to his advisors, his eyes sharp and determined.

"If Bolton finds amusement in spreading rumors, then let us play his game," 

Aermir declared, his voice carrying the weight of his intent. Turning to his spymaster, Kegan, he continued, 

"Kegan, gather our Ravenguard operatives and set them to work. I want rumors to circulate that Roose Bolton sought the favor of Druid Emrys, and he even wanted to kiss his feet but only to be rejected. Embellish this narrative; paint the image of a man humbled by his own ambitions. Let the humiliation be a lesson."

Kegan nodded in understanding, the wheels of his mind already turning as he prepared to weave the web of rumors. Beside him, Aermir's other advisors exchanged knowing glances. With the intrigue set in motion, Aermir's attention turned to the physicality of the training session once more.

The sparring, though demanding and intense, continued with a newfound vigor. Aermir's movements were a symphony of martial prowess and finesse, and his fellow wargs and skinchangers could only watch in awe as he effortlessly tossed them around like ragdolls, even without any buff or magic.