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CHAPTER 200
294 AC
POV THIRD PERSON
In Lord Stark's dimly lit solar, illuminated by the soft flicker of candlelight. Behind his imposing oak desk, an age-old tapestry bore witness to the room's solemnity—a gray direwolf on a white field, the proud sigil of House Stark, seemed to oversee all with an unblinking gaze.
Lord Stark, buried beneath a mound of parchments and scrolls, bore the weight of his responsibilities with a furrowed brow. The years spent ruling over the vast expanse of the North had etched wisdom into his features and added many lines. The room bore witness to his ceaseless toil.
Now, in his role as a lord responsible for a castle and a temple, Aermir could only begin to fathom the gravity of Lord Stark's past duties. He had been the architect of countless decisions that shaped the lives of his people and wrestled with the demands of a sprawling territory. Although Aermir had recently assumed his own lordship, he still understood what Ned was going through.
Aermir cleared his throat, breaking the silence that enveloped the room. Lord Stark's gaze lifted from the labyrinthine paperwork, meeting Aermir's with a mixture of surprise and recognition—a shared understanding of the burdens borne by their respective titles.
"Lord Stark," Aermir began respectfully, "I've come to discuss a matter of great import."
Lord Stark gestured for him to continue, his interest piqued.
"It concerns Rickon," Aermir explained, carefully choosing his words. "I've realized he possesses a unique and potent magical gift within him."
Intrigued, Lord Stark leaned forward, his expression shifting from surprise to curiosity. "Magical talent, you say? Pray tell, enlighten me."
Aermir recounted the events that had led him to the discovery of Rickon's mystical abilities—the confrontation in the crypt beneath Winterfell and the revelation of Rickon's extraordinary gift, the ability to perceive the ebb and flow of mana itself. As he spoke, the candlelight in Lord Stark's solar seemed to dance with an otherworldly flicker.
Lord Stark listened intently, his brow furrowing with a mixture of fascination and confusion. When Aermir concluded his account, Lord Stark's expression betrayed his bewilderment. "Can't you see mana, too? What is so special about it?" he asked, his curiosity evident.
Aermir paused, considering his response carefully. "Not like him," he explained, his voice carrying a note of reverence for Rickon's unique abilities. "I can feel the presence of mana, as though it's a part of the very fabric of the world. It's more like instinct than a sight, a connection that resonates within me. But Rickon... he can truly see it. Mana reveals itself to him in ways that are beyond my own understanding."
Upon Aermir's completion, Lord Stark nodded thoughtfully. "This is indeed remarkable, Aermir. It appears that Rickon carries not just the Stark name and blood but also an ancient magic."
Aermir broached the true reason for his visit. "Lord Stark, I beseech your permission to foster Rickon within Moat Cailin, where I can nurture his magical gifts and offer guidance."
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Initially hesitant, Lord Stark's gaze returned to the towering stack of documents before him. He pondered the implications of Aermir's request with measured consideration. "Aermir, you are yet young, and fostering a child entails grave responsibilities."
Aermir, appreciating the gravity of the decision, responded earnestly, "I comprehend the weight of this responsibility, Lord Stark. Nonetheless, I believe I am uniquely qualified to mentor Rickon in both his magical abilities and the way of the sword. Not only am I counted among the realm's mightiest knights, but I am also the Druid—a guardian of the ancient magic that courses through these lands."
Lord Stark, his brows furrowed with deep thought, carefully considered Aermir's words. Doubts and reservations lingered within him, but slowly, they gave way to a sense of contemplation. After a prolonged, reflective silence, he looked at Aermir once more, his gaze wavering.
"Even if I were to accept your proposal," he began, his voice measured, "my lady wife would be an insurmountable obstacle. You know her disposition towards you, and I have my doubts about her ever agreeing to let you raise her youngest child."
Aermir responded with determination in his voice, "My lord, I have already spoken with your wife and obtained her blessing. She has accepted my proposal. I understand that she was the biggest obstacle in my path, and I have taken steps to address it. Trust me, my lord, I may be young, but I possess the knowledge and skills to teach and raise children."
...
In the dimly lit room of Winterfell's inner chambers, where the walls bore the weight of centuries of history and candlelight cast flickering shadows, the meeting unfolded. As Lord Stark and Aermir spoke to young Rickon, the air in the room felt heavy with anticipation. The boy's eyes, so full of youthful wonder and imagination, absorbed every word spoken.
Rickon, the youngest of the Starks, possessed the striking features of House Tully, with bright blue eyes that sparkled like winter sapphires and a cascade of auburn hair that flowed like a fiery river. His youthful countenance bore the innocence of childhood, and his smile, which came easily, radiated warmth to all who encountered it.
In terms of personality, Rickon was a lively and spirited child, his laughter filling the air with an infectious joy that could brighten even the darkest of Winterfell's halls. Beneath his playful exterior, however, lay a stubborn and temperamental streak, which often revealed itself when he fiercely attempted to mirror the actions and demeanor of his older brothers. Rickon's determination to follow in their footsteps and prove himself was evident in every spirited endeavor he undertook.
His small frame seemed to tremble with excitement, and the promise of adventure hung palpably in the air. And most importantly, becoming more powerful than his brothers was the biggest selling point of Aermir's offer. They always laughed at his aspirations of being a greater knight than them.
Rickon's imagination danced with visions of becoming not just a squire but a formidable Druid and a legendary knight. It was as though the room itself couldn't contain the boundless dreams that took shape in his mind.
Amidst the quiet intensity of the moment, Rickon's curiosity bubbled forth like a spring, his voice breaking the silence with a question that resonated with the enchantment of childhood fantasies.
"Can I tame a dragon if I become a Druid?"
Aermir couldn't help but be captivated by the innocence and awe in Rickon's question. As he pondered the possibility, the wavering candlelight seemed to brighten, casting an ethereal glow upon their faces. Aermir couldn't suppress a soft chuckle, touched by the innocence and boundless curiosity that radiated from Rickon's question. The child's eyes held a glimmer of wonder as he waited for Aermir's answer, and his genuine belief in the fantastical possibilities of the world around him was infectious.
However, as he allowed himself a moment to contemplate the question, Aermir found himself drawn into its intriguing depths. Dragons, those majestic and mythical creatures, were indeed shrouded in mystery and magic. They were beings of fire and power, embodying the very essence of the supernatural. The idea of taming one was audacious, to say the least.
Yet, Aermir was no stranger to audacity. He had walked a path that had taken him from an ordinary child to a Druid, mastering the intricacies of magic and nature. He had forged a unique bond with creatures like Sith and commanded the primal forces of the world. As he gazed at Rickon, who now stared back at him with anticipation, Aermir couldn't help but embrace the spirit of possibility.
In its essence, dragons were beasts with magic. Taming a dragon, however, wouldn't be a small feat. It would require an extraordinary reservoir of mana, one that seemed almost impossible to gather. The sheer magnitude of magic needed to establish a familiar bond with such a majestic and otherworldly being would be staggeringly high. If he wanted to establish a more shallow bound like the Valyrians had it should be possible, and he wanted to believe it should be theoretically possible to tame one if there was any left. With a gentle smile, Aermir replied,
"First, you'll have to find one, and then we can give it a try."
In that chamber, steeped in history and illuminated by the dreams of a young Stark, the future of both the North and Rickon Stark was being written, one excited heartbeat at a time.