(Third-person perspective)
The great hall of Winterfell was filled with anticipation, for the moment had arrived for young Rickon to receive his Gift and decorations. The distinguished guests, dressed in their finest attire, mingled with the House Stark members, each presenting their own Gift to the young Stark. This was a tradition of camaraderie and unity among the noble families of the North.
Among those present, Aermir stood to one side with a confident smile, holding a burlap sack filled with all sorts of sweets. His sugarcane project had borne fruit, providing a rare opportunity to introduce novel delicacies to the people of the North. The soft and hard candies, carefully crafted with the sweetness of sugarcane, glittered enticingly inside the sack.
As Aermir approached little Rickon, the boy's eyes widened with curiosity. Although the child maintained a certain distance, the curiosity in his eyes was unmistakable. Aermir still didn't understand why the child was acting this way, but he hoped to bridge the gap with a warm smile and friendly gesture.
" Rickon," Aermir knelt to meet the young Stark's gaze, "I have something special for you." He reached into the sack and pulled out a small, glittering piece of candy. "It's candy, a sweet treat. It can make you smile."
Rickon stared at the candy with curiosity and uncertainty, his little hand hesitating before reaching out to take it. As he examined the candy, admiring its vibrant color and sweet aroma, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Lord Stark, observing the interaction with a loving smile, approached. " Aermir, it seems your candy has piqued Rickon's interest."
Aermir stood up and nodded. "I hope he can discover the charm of these candies. Our sugarcane business has proven successful, and I want to share the sweetness with him."
Faced with this tempting Gift, Rickon instantly forgot his shyness and looked up at Aermir. He whispered, "Thank you." But Aermir could still see the distrust in his gesture.
As the gift-giving continued, Aermir's sweets were welcomed to varying degrees. Some aristocratic guests were clearly interested in these novel candies, while others preferred traditional honey pastries.
Among the guests, Sansa approached Aermir with a friendly smile.
"These candies are a great idea, Aermir," she praised. "You've successfully brought a fresh perspective to our table."
Aermir smiled.
"I'm glad they were appreciated. This is my small contribution to the celebration."
As the celebrations continued, Aermir found himself surrounded by lively conversation, answering questions about candy and its making process. Almost everyone knew how to melt sugar, but Aermir didn't tell them how to pull it out or how to let it cool. In the midst of the revelry, the little bags of candy found new owners.
The gift-giving ceremony filled the entire Great Hall of Winterfell with a festive atmosphere, as nobles mingled and toasted amidst a symphony of dance, laughter, and friendship. As Nightfall fell, the hall resonated with cheerful melodies, and Aermir found himself in the midst of it all, thoroughly enjoying himself with his old friends Robb and Jon.
Aermir, holding a jug of ale, chatted casually with Robb and Jon. They reminisced about their childhood escapes and mischief, bursting into laughter and sharing their memories. In the cheerful atmosphere, Aermir's gaze occasionally swept across the crowd, noticing the complex emotions among the attendees.
Theon Greyjoy sat beside them, but Theon's loneliness grew with each passing day, for he knew nothing of the shared history and deep bond between Aermir, Robb, and Jon.
Aermir grinned, seizing every opportunity to bring up their childhood anecdotes, stories that effectively pushed Theon to the edge of the conversation. He knew all too well the resentment in Theon's heart, a resentment that often manifested in his presence as boastfulness and misplaced arrogance.
Before long, Theon's long-simmering frustration finally boiled over. He raised his chin, mustered his courage, and swaggered up to Aermir.
"Nouveau riche, kid," he sneered, his tone filled with undisguised contempt. "Playing the role of lord and protector in our precious Winterfell. What a joke."
Aermir's gaze shifted from the jug to Theon's bold eyes. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of delight and something more. " Theon Greyjoy," he replied, his tone a blend of casualness and incisive honesty, "It seems the harsh winter your family has endured hasn't washed away your inflated ego."
A surge of resentment rose in Theon's chest. "You're nothing but a Wildlings who stumbled into the halls of North noble family," he retorted, his voice laced with mockery. "And I am the noble heir, the adopted son of House Stark."
Aermir's lips curled into a knowing smile, and he glared fiercely at the Little Squid. Robb and Jon looked at Theon with pity. The House Stark boys' eyes said it all— Theon had messed up.
The joyous atmosphere seemed to shatter like glass; the celebratory symphony abruptly ceased, and tension hung in the air between Theon and Aermir. In the silence, you could hear a pin drop. The eyes of the gathered crowd shifted from the dancing and laughter to this sudden confrontation.
Aermir's voice rang out, firm and unyielding. " Theon Greyjoy, it seems your misplaced arrogance has blinded you. The House Stark may have welcomed you, may have nurtured you, but you remain a hostage, a pawn in the game of your father who broke his vows."
Theon's bravado crumbled, and his posture faltered. He was enraged by Aermir's words, the truth of which was sharper than any blade. The look in his foster brother Robb and Jon's eyes was a mixture of disappointment and pity—emotions that stung him more than he was willing to admit. His heart ached especially when he saw Jon's pitying gaze; the bastard was pitying him, pitying the heir of Greyjoy.
Aermir's voice carried a resolute tone. " Lord Stark treated you as part of the family, a son, but you were always the backup of the backup. The son of a traitor was left as a hostage because your father's betrayal left him with no other choice. Your father would rather give the position to your sister than to you. You are no heir, never will be. You will always be the leftover son."
"I am the lord of Moat Cailin, the supreme commander of the Knights Templar and the Order of Paladins. Who are you? What power do you possess besides your incessant chatter?"
Theon's face was contorted with rage and humiliation. He had believed himself to be a key figure in the House Stark, but that idea had shattered under the watchful eyes of Winterfell. Aermir's words stripped away the veneer of his false identity, revealing the cruel truth that lingered beneath.
Theon's lips parted slightly, the words of rebuttal stuck in his throat, for Aermir's voice was cold, carrying a dangerous sharpness that pierced the tense atmosphere. Theon hesitated, his pride clashing with the realization that he was standing on the edge of a precipice with unimaginable consequences. Stark Hall seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with heavy anticipation.
Aermir's gaze remained fixed firmly on Theon, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I assure you, Theon Greyjoy, if your squeaking squeaking ever echoes in my ears again, your very existence will turn to blood."
Theon's face paled; his bluff and contempt vanished before Aermir's obvious threat. Eyes from every corner of the hall pressed down on him. He sensed the gravity of his situation— Aermir's words were not to be taken lightly; it was a stark reality.
At that moment, Theon realized with a start that he had pushed his luck too far. The glint of ferocity in Aermir's eyes sent a chill down Theon's spine. He understood that his actions had ignited an unstable spark that could lead to his downfall.
Theon quickly glanced sideways at Lord Stark, searching for any sign of intervention or protection. However, even Lord Stark's expression was solemn, highlighting the seriousness of the situation. Theon realized that he could only rely on himself.
Theon turned away dejectedly, his earlier boasts crumbling before Aermir's unwavering determination. With each step toward the exit, he felt the gazes of the hall upon him, the heavy judgment bearing witness to his pride and folly.
Aermir's voice followed him, echoing sharply in the tense air.
"Remember this, Little Squid," he shouted as he chased after Theon's retreating figure.
"If your cowardly whispers reach my ears again, I will tear your cowardly tongue apart."
At this moment, Lord Stark interjected.
" Lord Drasil, you shouldn't have been so rude to our young guest. He seems either drunk or confused. Otherwise, he wouldn't dare tarnish the reputation of the North Lord."
He gestured for the soldiers to escort him out of the hall. A hush fell over the hall as Theon left, a silence that spoke volumes about the consequences of his unwise challenge. Five minutes later, most of the nobles had forgotten about Squid and continued their revelry.