(Third-person perspective)
In Lord Stark's dim sunlight, candlelight flickered softly. Behind his imposing oak desk, an ancient tapestry bore witness to the room's solemnity—a white-and-grey Direwolf, the House Stark's proud emblem, seemed to be watching everything intently.
Lord Stark lay buried beneath piles of parchment and scrolls, his brow furrowed, a heavy burden on his shoulders. The years of ruling the vast North had etched wisdom and added many lines to his features. Everything in the room bore witness to his endless toil.
Now, Aermir, as a lord in charge of Citadel and temples, can only begin to grasp the gravity of Lord Stark's past responsibilities. He was the architect of countless decisions that affected the lives of his people and grappled with the needs of his vast territories. Although Aermir has only recently assumed the position of lord, he can still understand everything that Eddard has gone through.
Aermir cleared his throat, breaking the silence in the room. Lord Stark looked up from the labyrinth of paperwork and met Aermir's gaze, both surprised and agreeing—they shared a common understanding of the heavy responsibilities that came with their respective titles.
" Lord Stark," Aermir began respectfully, "I've come to discuss something very important."
Lord Stark gestured for him to continue, and his interest was piqued.
"This has to do with Rickon," Aermir explained, carefully choosing his words. "I discovered he possesses a unique and powerful magical talent."
Lord Stark leaned closer, his expression shifting from surprise to curiosity. "You say he has magical talent? Please tell me, please enlighten me."
Aermir recounted the events that led him to discover Rickon's mysterious abilities—the standoff in the crypts beneath Winterfell, and the revelation of Rickon's extraordinary gift—the ability to sense fluctuations in magical energy. As he spoke, the candlelight in Lord Stark's temples seemed to dance, shimmering with an otherworldly light.
Lord Stark listened intently, his brow furrowed, both fascinated and perplexed. When Aermir finished his narration, Lord Stark's expression betrayed his confusion. "You can't see magic either? Is there anything special about it?" he asked, his curiosity evident.
Aermir paused, carefully considering his answer. "Unlike him," he explained, his voice filled with reverence for Rickon's unique ability. "I can feel the presence of magic, as if it were part of the structure of the world. It's less a sight and more an instinct, a connection that resonates within me. But Rickon ... he can really see it. The magic manifests to him in ways I can't comprehend."
After Aermir finished speaking, Lord Stark nodded thoughtfully. "That's truly remarkable, Aermir. It seems Rickon not only possesses the Stark surname and blood, but also an ancient form of magic."
Aermir revealed the true purpose of his trip. " Lord Stark, I implore you to allow me to place Rickon in the care of Moat Cailin, where I can nurture his magical talents and provide him with guidance."
Lord Stark hesitated at first, but his gaze returned to the towering pile of documents before him. He carefully considered the implications of Aermir's request. " Aermir, you are still young; raising a child carries a heavy responsibility."
Aermir understood the gravity of the decision and replied earnestly, "I understand the weight of this responsibility, Lord Stark. Nevertheless, I believe I am uniquely qualified to instruct Rickon in magic and swordsmanship. I am not only one of the kingdom's most powerful knights, but also Druid —the guardian of the ancient magic of this land."
Lord Stark frowned, deep in thought, carefully considering Aermir's words. Doubts and reservations lingered in his mind, but slowly, they gave way to contemplation. After a long period of silent reflection, he looked at Aermir again, his gaze flickering.
"Even if I accept your request," he said, his voice measured, "My wife would be an insurmountable obstacle. You know her attitude towards you; I doubt she would agree to let you raise her youngest child."
Aermir replied firmly, "Sir, I have spoken with your wife and received her blessing. She has accepted my proposal. I understand that she is the biggest obstacle in my path, and I have taken steps to resolve this issue. Please believe me, sir, although I am young, I possess the knowledge and skills to teach and nurture."
In the dimly lit room of Winterfell, where the walls bore witness to centuries of history and candlelight cast flickering shadows, the meeting took place. The air was thick with anticipation as Lord Stark and Aermir spoke with young Rickon. The boy's eyes, brimming with curiosity and imagination, listened intently to every word.
Rickon was the youngest child of House Stark, possessing the distinctive features of the House Tully: bright blue eyes that sparkled like Winter sapphires, and jet-black hair that flowed like a river of fire. His youthful face radiated the innocence of childhood, and his smile was so genuine that it warmed the hearts of all who met him.
In terms of personality, Rickon is a lively and energetic boy whose laughter is infectious, capable of illuminating even the darkest halls of Winterfell. However, beneath his playful exterior lies a stubborn streak, which surfaces when he fiercely attempts to emulate his brothers' behavior and mannerisms. Rickon's determination to follow in his brothers' footsteps and prove his own worth is evident in every struggle he undertakes.
His small frame seemed to tremble with excitement, and the air was thick with the hope of adventure. Most importantly, becoming stronger than his brothers was Aermir's biggest selling point. They always mocked him for wanting to be a greater knight than them.
Rickon fantasized about becoming not only a squire, but also a powerful Druid and a legendary knight. It was as if the room itself could not contain the boundless dreams forming in his mind.
In this quiet yet intense moment, Rickon's curiosity welled up like a spring, and his voice broke the silence, posing a question brimming with childhood fantasy.
"If I become Druid, can I tame a dragon?"
Aermir was captivated by the innocence and awe in Rickon's question. As he pondered the possibility, the flickering candlelight seemed to brighten, casting an ethereal glow on their faces. Aermir couldn't help but chuckle softly, moved by the innocence and boundless curiosity emanating from Rickon's question. As they awaited Aermir's answer, the child's eyes sparkled with curiosity, and his sincere belief in the fantastical possibilities of the world around him touched Aermir deeply.
However, after a moment of contemplation, Aermir found himself deeply engrossed in the question. Dragons, these majestic and mysterious creatures, were indeed shrouded in mystery and magic. They were embodiments of fire and power, embodying a supernatural essence. The idea of taming a dragon was, to say the least, audacious.
However, Aermir was no stranger to audacity. He had grown from an ordinary child into Druid, mastering complex magic and nature. He had forged unique connections with beings like the Sith, commanding the primal forces of the world. Aermir gazed at Rickon, who was looking back at him expectantly, and Aermir couldn't help but embrace the spirit of possibility.
Dragons are, in essence, magical beasts. However, taming a dragon is no easy feat. It requires an extraordinary reserve of magical power, which seems virtually impossible to acquire. The amount of magic required to establish a familiar connection with such majestic, otherworldly creatures is staggering. If he wished to forge a shallower connection with the Valyrians, it should be possible, and he believed that, theoretically, he should be able to tame it, if he still possessed the power. Aermir replied with a gentle smile.
"First, you need to find one, then we can try."
In that secret chamber, steeped in history and illuminated by the dreams of a young Stark, the future of the North and Rickon Stark is being written with each thrilling heartbeat.