CHAPTER 202
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CHAPTER 202
294 AC
POV THIRD PERSON
The crackling of the campfire filled the chilly Northern night, casting dancing shadows that played across the faces of the Stark brothers and their friend, Aermir. The fire's warm glow contrasted with the cold, starlit sky, providing a comforting backdrop to their hushed conversation. Aermir's eyes bore into Jon as he voiced his lingering frustration.
"I'm still mad at you, Jon."
Jon furrowed his brows in puzzlement. "Why?"
Jon, who had always been one to carry the weight of his decisions with solemnity, was left momentarily perplexed by Aermir's declaration. Aermir, leaning closer to the flickering flames, let out an exasperated sigh. "You know exactly why I'm mad at you, Jon."
Jon's gaze flickered to the dancing flames, a mix of emotions playing across his face. He spoke softly, the words laced with nostalgia.
"Ever since I was a child, I've dreamed of joining the Night's Watch. It's like a Stark family tradition. In most generations, a Stark takes the black. And on the morrow, I have to go back with Benjen. I have already taken the oath."
As if fueled by his unresolved feelings, Aermir impulsively grabbed a stick and used it to pluck a burning ember from the fire. With precision, he hurled the sizzling coal toward Jon, who managed to sidestep it just in time, avoiding the scorching heat.
The tense silence that followed Jon's explanation was broken only by the crackling of the fire. Aermir's expression remained stern, his frustration evident in his narrowed eyes and clenched jaw.
"You're such an idiot," Aermir exclaimed, his voice tinged with exasperation. "I've asked you to join me so many times. I need trustworthy men by my side. Now you won't even have a family! You're a virgin, Jon, and you're going to die a virgin!"
Jon's cheeks flushed with irritation, and he couldn't help but respond, "What does that have to do with anything?"
Aermir, having achieved the reaction he'd aimed for, couldn't help but let a mischievous grin curl across his lips ear to ear. His eyes sparkled with amusement.
"No reason, Jon. I just wanted to mess with you."
For a brief moment, Jon was caught off guard and left stunned, frozen in place. Then, fueled by both irritation and good-natured camaraderie, he lunged at Aermir.
"You little asshole!"
"Little, who are you calling a little, you shorty? I am 20 cm bigger than you!"
Robb, attempting to be the peacekeeper, moved to separate the two friends but ended up getting an unintended punch for his efforts. With annoyance, he decided to join the lively scuffle himself.
Amidst the cheerful chaos, Rickon and Bran, who had been sound asleep earlier, were roused by the commotion. Aermir, finding himself in a tussle with Jon and Robb, was momentarily caught off guard as the two younger Stark brothers enthusiastically jumped into the fray.
Rickon, with his untamed mop of hair and a mischievous glint in his eyes, landed on top of Aermir's stomach with a triumphant grin. Bran followed suit, adding to the playfulness of the moment.
What had started as a heated disagreement among the older boys had quickly transformed into a lively, laughter-filled wrestling match, echoing the joy of brotherhood. As they rolled in the dirt, trading playful punches and laughter under the vast, star-studded Northern sky, Aermir couldn't help but savor the fleeting moments of connection amidst their arduous journey. These precious memories were the bond that strengthened his resolve to protect the North from whatever challenges lay ahead.
...
Every time Aermir returned to Winterfell as the Druid, he would always enter the library under the watchful eyes of Maester Luwin. Aermir's past days in Winterfell were a relentless quest for knowledge. He pored over every ancient tome, scroll, and source he could find regarding the enigmatic White Walkers and their ominous leader, the Night King. His purpose was clear: gather every piece of information that could help him prepare for the impending threat he knew was looming. The weight of responsibility pressed upon him, for he understood that he would need all the wisdom he could acquire.
His thoughts constantly revolved around the intricate details of his plan. He needed to transport the Wildlings from beyond the Wall to safety on the southern side, but he couldn't leave the protective confines of the Wall himself. The mysterious curse that bound him was not something he dared to test. He couldn't afford to gamble with the unknown, not when the survival of the North hung in the balance.
Aermir could sense the curse was a forced invitation. He feared it would invite the Night King to this side of the Wall if he didn't contain it. Aermir was too careless when he used the magic of the land; when he astral traveled, he used the root connections of the magic of the land, and this momentarily connected Night King to the land. Night King could just walk past the Wall if he didn't hold him back. He didn't have confidence that he could hold him back at the north side of the wall.
The Wall was both his sanctuary and his prison, an impenetrable barrier that separated him from the world of ice and death beyond. He couldn't risk leaving its shelter without understanding how the curse might react. It was a risk too great to contemplate, even for one as powerful as Aermir, a level 6 druid, who had become one of the North's most formidable protectors.
Aermir's brow furrowed as he contemplated the Night King's power. His research indicated that the Night King was a formidable adversary, likely a level 7 or perhaps even a level 8 caster. The gulf between level 6 and level 7 was monumental, a chasm that Aermir knew well. When he'd ascended from level 3 to 4, the transformation in his abilities had been profound. It was an exhilarating leap, one that filled him with raw power and untold potential.
He remembered how, at level 3, he could hold his own against 50 men. But when he reached level 4, that number had soared to 600 without breaking a sweat. Now, at level 6, he had the might to face off against 800 to 1,000 opponents, a formidable force by any measure. Yet, despite his incredible strength, the looming specter of the Night King remained an unsettling uncertainty.
As Aermir delved deeper into his research, he uncovered a myriad of tales and fables about the White Walkers and their enigmatic leader. Some whispered that the Night King had once been a man, a fallen hero turned villain. Others claimed he was an immortal being who had reigned for millennials. These stories, some based in truth and others mere flights of fancy, only deepened the mystery surrounding his foe, but the problem was that Aermir didn't know which one was true and which one was false.
In the Winterfell library, Aermir had found ancient texts that spoke of the Night King's ability to raise the dead, summon blizzards, and freeze entire armies with a mere glance. These chilling accounts sent shivers down his spine, for they hinted at powers beyond his own.
But he also came across old wives' tales, filled with superstitions and half-truths. Some believed that iron and salt were the bane of the White Walkers, while other stories spoke of dragon glass and fire as their weaknesses. Sorting fact from fiction was an arduous task, but Aermir knew he had no choice but to sift through the lore of ages to uncover the key to defeating the Night King and his chilling horde. The fate of the North depended on it.