CHAPTER 173

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CHAPTER 173

291 AC

POV THIRD PERSON

AROUND TWO YEARS AGO

Standing amidst the serene atmosphere of Winterfell's Godswood, Aermir found himself surrounded by the six Stark children: Robb, Jon, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Here, in this sacred grove, he intended to share his knowledge and wisdom with them.

"To be a warg," Aermir began, his gaze shifting tenderly from one young face to another, "means forging a profound bond with an animal, merging your consciousness with theirs. You must learn to listen to their thoughts, feel their instincts, and truly understand their desires."

With a gentle and patient demeanor, he demonstrated how to clear one's mind, opening it to the subtle whispers of the wind, the soft rustling of leaves, and the harmonious calls of nature. Each of the Stark children had a unique connection with an animal, and Aermir's role was to guide them in discovering if they could extend this bond to additional creatures beyond their direwolves. Two years of effort had only yielded success for Bran, who had formed a connection with a second animal—a raven he affectionately named Winter.

Over the course of two years, Aermir dedicated countless hours to the Stark children. He maintained a monthly routine of visiting Winterfell for a week, during which he diligently instructed them on the art of shifting their consciousness into the bodies of their bonded animals. As their skills developed, Aermir expanded their horizons beyond the castle walls, venturing into the vast wilderness of the North.

Among the Stark children, Sansa found herself less inclined to embrace the outdoor life. Despite the luxurious tent that could rival a house and befitting amenities, she still harbored reservations about sleeping in such conditions. Nonetheless, she followed Aermir's guidance with the grace of a compliant cat, taking a particular liking to archery practices and the thrill of hunting expeditions.

Arya, in stark contrast, devoted the majority of her free moments to her sword instructor, her passion for combat evident in her unwavering dedication. Meanwhile, Bran and Rickon found amusement in bothering their shadowcat companion, Sith, a favored pastime during their adventures. Once in a while, they would annoy her too much, and she would trash them a bit without permanently damaging them, but they wouldn't learn their lesson.

They moved through the wilderness alongside their direwolf companions, running with the wolves and navigating the thickets of the forest like elusive shadows. However, Rickon was an exception. The young boy was far from graceful, and his presence was as conspicuous as a mammoth in the woods.

The Stark children wholeheartedly embraced their newfound powers, filling their hearts with awe and reverence for the abilities bestowed upon them. They understood that it was their unwavering trust in Aermir that had enabled them to unlock their potential, but it was time for Aermir to take a back step and Druid to take his place.

Periodically, Aermir would visit them in his guise as Druid Emrys, attempting to impart knowledge of spells. Yet, despite their best efforts, none of them could successfully cast even the weakest of his spells. Aermir soon realized that wargs lacked mana hearts, a crucial element needed for spellcasting. Their mana flowed through their veins, making them more akin to his familiars than traditional spellcasters. Before teaching them magic, Aermir had to find a way to create mana hearts for his young protégés.

TODAY 293 AC

Just a month prior, Lord Stark had bestowed upon Aermir the title of Lord of Moat Cailin, along with a generous grant of 10,000 gold dragons to aid in the restoration of the castle. This gesture served as a token of gratitude for Aermir's unwavering service to the North.

Over the course of two years, Aermir had assumed the roles of Templar Order Commander and leader of the Paladins. Through these positions, he successfully quelled the menace of banditry that once plagued the land. His accomplishments had not gone unnoticed, and in the eyes of the North, he had not only sharpened his skills as a commander but also risen as a highly respected figure.

Now, after the passage of two eventful years, Aermir continued to shoulder the responsibility of instructing the Stark children in the intricate art of warging and nurturing their bond with the natural world as The Druid, but their lessons had become less frequent since Aermir discovered he couldn't teach them magic. He was still teaching them in the hopes their magical talent might evolve.

A mere month had elapsed since Aermir assumed the mantle of Lord of Moat Cailin, and during that time, he had dedicated every available moment to oversee and orchestrate the extensive restoration efforts required for the castle. The undertaking was akin to a colossal furnace consuming his financial resources at an alarming rate. Consequently, Aermir found himself yearning for a respite from the ceaseless demands of his new responsibilities.

In search of a brief respite, Aermir returned to Winterfell, where he could enjoy some leisurely moments in the company of his dear friends, Jon Snow and Robb Stark.

The trio raced through the vast, snow-covered grounds of Winterfell, their joyous laughter reverberating through the serene, wintry wilderness of the North. The crisp, cool wind tousled their hair and reddened their cheeks as they spurred their steeds onward, each vying for victory in their friendly competition.

However, Robb, ever the cunning bastard he was, had devised a clever plan to outpace Aermir. He had ordered his loyal direwolf, Grey Wind, to give chase to Aermir's horse, hoping to unsettle the animal and gain an advantage. Despite Robb's tactics, Aermir dominated his horse, and from that moment on, his horse was unbreakable. He skillfully prevented her from panicking, ultimately maintaining his lead.

"Still as swift as the wind, Aermir," Robb teased, his voice filled with good-natured banter as they raced side by side.

Aermir found solace in riding a horse on occasion, relishing the simple pleasure of feeling the wind on his face. Unlike Sith, who abhorred slowing down and had a penchant for lightning-fast sprints, riding a horse offered a more leisurely pace. When Sith unleashed her incredible speed, it became a perilous endeavor not to employ protective spells. Aermir chuckled, imagining the prospect of eating a June bug to the face at that speed wouldn't be pretty. Racing alongside his friends, he felt the thrill of the moment envelop him.

Jon, always a man of few words, chimed in, his tone reflecting the bond of camaraderie they all shared. 

"Let's have a bout of sparring," Jon suggested a glint of excitement in his eyes. Sparring was one of Jon's favorite activities, but he only truly unleashed his skills when he was confident that Lady Stark was not nearby. Otherwise, he often allowed Robb to claim victory, avoiding any unnecessary attention. With the sun gradually dipping towards the horizon, they migrated to the training grounds, preparing for some friendly combat. Aermir, proficient with the sword, showcased his prowess while Jon and Robb attempted to match his every maneuver. Aermir deftly handled both opponents simultaneously, the clashing of their swords sending sparks flying. During the spirited exchange, Aermir couldn't help but notice Jon's remarkable improvement in swordsmanship. Robb displayed competence as well, though he might never attain the reputation of a great swordsman; it was Jon who possessed the potential for such acclaim. Multiple times, Aermir tried to recruit Jon, but he refused it politely every time, saying, "I have other dreams."

Following a gratifying practice, they opted for a visit to the tavern in Winter Town, craving a well-earned drink. Nostalgia enveloped them as they fondly recalled their childhood adventures and the mischievous escapades they had once embarked upon, laughter punctuating their reminiscences.

As the night progressed, Aermir delved into the tale of his ascension to the position of Lord of Moat Cailin and his role as the Commander of the Templar Order of The Old Gods. He recounted the numerous trials he had faced, including confronting bandits, warding off wildling raiding parties, and the profound bonds he had cultivated with the people of the North.

...

Sansa Stark graced the archery range of Winterfell, her auburn tresses swaying gracefully in the gentle breeze. The descending sun bathed the courtyard in a warm, golden hue. The archery range had long been her sanctuary, a refuge from the burdens of her aristocratic upbringing, offering her a semblance of command over her life. She cherished her ladylike education, but there were moments when she yearned for solitude and self-discovery.

Archery provided her with that much-needed release, a realm where she could shed her cares and find solace. As she carefully notched an arrow and drew the string, her concentration wavered, disrupted by a gentle voice from behind.

"Your aim is impressive, Sansa, but there's room to refine your form," Aermir complimented, offering constructive criticism about her technique. With a warm smile, he approached her, causing her cheeks to flush, and she lowered her bow.

"Thank you, Lord Aermir. Your guidance has truly aided my progress."

"Sansa, please, don't call me Lord Aermir. I've told you this countless times."

"But now you're the lord of a castle; it's only proper that I address you as such. Nevertheless, I'll make an effort."

She lowered her head, her cheeks tinged with a rosy hue. Aermir gestured toward the target adorned with numerous bullseyes.

"You possess a natural talent. I have no doubt you'll become an exceptional archer."

Sansa's heart skipped a beat at his words, though she quelled her emotions, determined not to jeopardize their friendship.

"I hope so," she replied softly.

As they whiled away the hours at the archery range, Aermir couldn't help but notice a subtle shift in Sansa's demeanor. She appeared more reserved, her eyes holding a mysterious glint he couldn't quite decipher. Yet, to him, she remained the same childhood friend, the young girl he had grown up alongside with Robb.

Aermir's gestures were not overtly romantic, but they carried a kindness and care that extended to all his friends, just as it had for Robb and Jon. Sansa held their friendship close to her heart, but an unspoken hope lingered within her, an aspiration that always seemed just out of reach.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, they eventually set aside their bows. Aermir turned to Sansa and said, "I had a really good time, Sansa. We should do this again sometime."

Her heart fluttered at his words, yet she forced a smile, concealing her deeper feelings. "I had a really good time, too. Yes, we should."

As they strolled back together towards the great keep, Sansa couldn't help but ponder what the future held for both of them. At this moment, she would treasure their friendship and continue to be the support he had always been for her.

In the dwindling light, Aermir's gaze softened, and he gently placed his hand on her shoulder. "You're always welcome in Moat Cailin, Sansa. Never forget that."

Her heart swelled with gratitude, and she nodded. "Thank you, Aermir. I'll always remember."

Just as they were bidding each other farewell, Aermir sensed someone charging toward him. He had already detected Arya's scent but pretended not to notice her as she lurked in the shadows. Suddenly, she leaped onto his back and shouted, "I got you!"

Sansa's eyes widened in shock, and she admonished her sister, "Arya, you little beast, you wildling! Get down from his back this instant!"

Arya responded by sticking her tongue out at her sister and defiantly stating, "No, he lost."

Aermir chuckled, trying to defuse the situation. "Sansa, it's not a problem; she's still a child."

Arya, not one to back down, retorted, "I am not a child."

Aermir teased her further, asking, "Then should I call you a lady?"

Arya jumped down from Aermir's back, her expression turning serious. "No!"

"Then what are you?" Aermir inquired with a playful smile.

Sansa chimed in, "She is a beast!"

Arya once again stuck her tongue out at her sister and reiterated her aspirations with determination in her eyes; Arya declared, "I'm not a wildling, a beast, or a lady. I'm going to be a warrior of the North, and then I'm going to become the Commander of the Templar Order."

Aermir laughed at her ambition and remarked, "So, you want to take my job from me? Good luck."

Arya, though, didn't take his teasing lightly. She clenched her fists, her fiery spirit undeterred. "You will see; I will become a greater warrior than you!"