CHAPTER 187

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CHAPTER 187

293 AC

POV THIRD PERSON

The rumor spread like wildfire, sweeping through the North like a gust of wind that could not be contained. Every corner of the realm, from the bustling towns to the quietest villages, echoed with the whispers of Bolton's supposed humiliation. In taverns and castles alike, the rumor was a topic of conversation, a source of amusement.

"The Undeserving," they called him, a moniker that painted Roose Bolton as a figure unworthy of even the most humble acknowledgment from the powerful Druid Emrys. People chuckled and exchanged knowing glances as they shared the tale, delighting in the perceived downfall of a man who had wielded power over them.

Roose Bolton's anger burned like a smoldering fire, his frustration palpable in the air around him. He sought the source of this damaging tale, the one that stripped him of his dignity and bestowed upon him the title of "The Undeserved." Yet, no matter how hard he searched or how many inquiries he made, the origin of the rumor remained shrouded in mystery.

As the rumor spread, it had unintended consequences. The North was no stranger to internal strife and rivalries, and the whispers about Bolton's supposed humiliation fueled the existing envy and resentment among the lords. The divide between those who believed the tale and those who dismissed it grew wider, further fragmenting the already fragile unity of the realm.

In the midst of this chaos, Aermir had set his sights on a grander scheme. He understood that in the game of power, chaos could serve as a ladder to climb toward his goals. War, though destructive, had the potential to reshape the world's landscape and pave the way for his ascent.

...

294 AC

Deep beneath the hallowed halls of the temple, a hidden world lay concealed from prying eyes. It was a place of both wonder and frustration, where the boundaries between magic and science blurred and where Aermir's unyielding curiosity pushed the limits of his abilities. This secret laboratory was his realm where he dared to challenge the very fabric of life itself.

Amidst the shadows, rows of delicate vials and intricately crafted beakers held remnants of experiments that had fallen short of their creator's ambitions. Aermir didn't know how glass was made, so buying those custom-made vials and beakers from Essos cost him a fortune, but it was well worth it.

The air was tinged with the faint scent of alchemical mixtures, a testament to countless hours spent refining potions and concoctions in the pursuit of mastery over life's forces. Each lifeless experiment bore witness to Aermir's determination but also to the complexities of manipulating the intricate balance of nature.

He was trying to mutate human beings into a more powerful form. He was trying to create super soldiers. Organisms frozen in various states of transformation were displayed like eerie specimens in glass containers. The glass looked a bit muddy since he didn't need high-quality ones.

Some were grotesquely twisted, evidence of the unpredictable consequences of meddling with the very essence of existence. Others appeared almost serene, frozen mid-metamorphosis as if suspended between two forms of life. Failed attempts, each one marked by Aermir's unwavering determination to understand and harness the powers of the natural world.

Yet, within this labyrinth of frustration and discovery, glimmers of hope persisted. Small pots contained seeds that had undergone Aermir's touch, their structure subtly yet significantly altered. These seeds held the promise of enhanced crops, crops that could withstand the unforgiving Northern climate and yield bountiful harvests. It was a gift to the people, a symbol of Druid's commitment to their well-being, and a powerful propaganda tool to strengthen the bonds between himself and the masses.

Beyond the experiments and the pots of enhanced seeds, Aermir's unyielding pursuit of understanding led him further into the realm of magic and biology. The breakthrough came in the form of a spell, one that allowed him to manipulate his own appearance. With careful control over his facial muscles, he could alter his visage in subtle yet transformative ways. The lines of his face could be softened or sharpened. He could change the shapes of the muscles on his face. Though he could not alter his bone structure, hair color, or eyes, the spell provided a means of disguise that was both ingenious and bafflingly effective, even though it was so simple.

...

In the quiet moments between battles and political intrigues, Aermir's thoughts often turned to matters of healing and salvation. The memories of a mother he had never known, preserved within the vessel of his being, fueled his determination to alleviate suffering and bring solace to those afflicted by the cruel whims of illness.

In his hidden laboratory, Aermir worked tirelessly to unlock the secrets of a cure for Red Fever, the sickness that took his mother—rows of meticulously labeled vials contained extracts and compounds harvested from the flora and fauna of the North. Aermir's fingers moved with precision and purpose, extracting the essence of each plant with a profound understanding of their properties. It was a dance between science and mysticism, a harmony of knowledge that transcended the boundaries between the natural world and the arcane.

His skill Authenticate was the greatest help in those endeavors. All of his modern education, everything he read, and even the snivels of information he heard in the news or from other people were in his brain, waiting to be pulled when needed. 

As the ingredients were mixed and refined, the alchemical brew began to take shape. The liquid glowed with ethereal light, casting an almost holy radiance upon Aermir's features as he observed the transformative process with a keen eye. It was a labor of love, a dedication to the memory of his mother and the countless lives that had been touched by Red Fever's deadly grasp.

The cure was not a mere concoction; it was a combination of healing energies woven together by Aermir's unique understanding of herbs. He channeled the essence of the land, the currents of life that flowed through all living things, and the latent power that dwelled within him as a druid. Each step of the process was a delicate balance, a careful orchestration of forces that held the promise of salvation. Even the smallest mishap would have turned all of it into nothing but an herbal soup.

So, progress was not without its challenges. Failed attempts littered the path to success, each one a reminder of the intricacies of both illness and the art of healing. Aermir's determination never wavered, even in the face of setbacks, for he knew that his purpose was greater than himself. Of course, it was not entirely altruistic; he knew it would serve his purpose, but he couldn't get his mother out of his mind.

She had been dead before he reincarnated, so he never saw her, but the memories of his body were there. The warm and loving hug, a touch full of gentleness, a soothing warmth... He might not have met her, but the memories... the memories brought longing and pain for losing her. The memory of his mother fueled his relentless pursuit of the cure.

As the final stages of the concoction neared completion, Aermir's heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. He had wielded magic in battle, and he had navigated the tumultuous waters of politics, but this was a different kind of power. The power to mend, to mend the broken and alleviate suffering, was a testament to the full breadth of his abilities as a druid. He could mend the flesh with his healing but was not strong enough to cure sickness.

After more than a year of work, when the final product was achieved, Aermir beheld the vial cradled in his hands with reverence. The cure for Red Fever, a beacon of hope for the afflicted, and a testament to his capacity to wield magic and nature in harmony. He knew that this was just one step in his journey, one facet of his multifaceted purpose, but it was a step that held the potential to transform lives and rewrite destinies. Many people would earn a second lease on life thanks to this little vial.

Now, he had to turn this liquid into a pill because glass was expensive; if he needed glass vials, the medicine would be so expensive smallfolk could never use it. The beauty of this medicine is that any human could make it as long as they stayed true to the recipe. Of course, the main ingredient was a magical substance, but he could make that in batches and leave the rest of the to his people.

The Druid, the warrior, the healer – Aermir was all these things, a beacon of light in a world touched by darkness, offering the promise of a better life to those who had suffered for far too long. He felt a new sense of accomplishment with this medicine, and now he was giving life rather than taking it.