(Third-person perspective)
The crackling of the campfire filled the cold North night, casting dancing shadows that played on the faces of the Stark brothers and their friend Aermir. The warm glow of the fire contrasted sharply with the cold starry sky, providing a comforting backdrop for their hushed conversation. Aermir's eyes were fixed on Jon as he spoke of the lingering frustration in his heart.
"I'm still angry with you, Jon."
Jon frowned, puzzled. "Why?"
Jon always took his decisions very seriously, and Aermir's statement left him momentarily bewildered. Aermir leaned closer to the flickering flame and let out a frustrated sigh. "You know very well why I'm angry with you, Jon."
Jon's eyes flickered with dancing flames, and a complex emotion crossed his face. He spoke softly, his words tinged with nostalgia.
"I've dreamed of joining the Night's Watch since I was a child. It's like House Stark tradition. Generations of House Stark have been destined to become men in black. Tomorrow, I have to go back with Benjen. I've already sworn an oath."
Seemingly driven by an unfulfilled desire, Aermir impulsively grabbed a stick and used it to poke a small patch of burning light from the fire. He accurately threw the hissing lump of coal at Jon, Jon dodged it just in time, avoiding the intense heat.
After Jon finished explaining, the tense silence was broken by the crackling of the fire. Aermir's expression remained stern, his narrowed eyes and clenched jaw revealing his frustration.
"You're such an idiot," Aermir exclaimed, his voice laced with resentment. "I've invited you to join me so many times. I need someone I can trust by my side. Now you don't even have a home! And you're still a virgin, Jon, you'll be a virgin even when you die!"
Jon's cheeks flushed with annoyance, and he couldn't help but retort, "What does it matter?"
Aermir got the reaction he wanted, and a mischievous smile crept onto his lips. His eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Nothing for, Jon. I just wanted to tease you."
Caught off guard, Jon froze on the spot. Then, fueled by a mixture of anger and goodwill, he lunged at Aermir.
"You little rascal!"
"Small? Who are you calling small, you dwarf? I'm 20 centimeters taller than you!"
Robb tries to be a peacemaker by separating his two friends, but ends up getting punched in the process. Enraged, he decides to join the brawl himself.
In the midst of the joyous chaos, Rickon and Bran, who had been fast asleep, were awakened by the commotion. Aermir found himself grappling with Jon and Robb, caught off guard, while the Stark brothers enthusiastically joined the fray.
Rickon, with his unruly, wild hair and mischievous glint in his eyes, landed on Aermir's stomach with a victorious smile. Bran followed closely behind, adding to the playful commotion.
What began as a heated argument between the boys quickly turned into a joyful wrestling match, echoing the happiness of their brotherhood. Under the vast the North starry sky, they rolled around in the mud, laughing and frolicking, and Aermir couldn't help but reminisce about the fleeting moments of connection during this arduous journey. These precious memories strengthened his resolve to protect the North from any challenge.
Each time Aermir returned to Winterfell as Druid, he would enter the library under the watchful eye of Maester Luwin. During his time in Winterfell, Aermir had relentlessly pursued knowledge. He perused every ancient book, scroll, and document, learning about the mysterious Others and their ominous leader, the Night's King. His purpose was clear: to gather every piece of information to help him prepare for the impending threat. The weight of responsibility overwhelmed him, for he understood he needed every ounce of wisdom available.
His thoughts remained focused on the intricate details of the plan. He needed to transport the Wildlings from beyond the Wall to safety in the south, but he himself could not leave the Wall's protective perimeter. The mysterious curse binding him prevented him from taking any chances. He couldn't gamble with the unknown, especially since the survival of the North was already hanging by a thread.
Aermir could sense the curse was a forced invitation. He feared that if left unchecked, the Night's King would come to the Wall. Aermir had been too careless in his use of earth magic; when he traveled through the astral plane, he had used the root-binding earth magic, which had instantly connected the Night's King to the earth. If the Night's King didn't hold him back, he could simply walk across the Wall. He wasn't confident he could stop him on the north side of the Wall.
The Wall was both his refuge and his prison, an impregnable barrier separating him from the icy and deadly world outside. He could not risk leaving its sanctuary until he understood how the curse would react. Even a powerful level six Druid like Aermir, one of the strongest protectors of the North, dared not take that risk.
Aermir frowned as he pondered the Night's King's power. His research indicated that the Night's King was a formidable opponent, likely a level 7 or even 8 spellcaster. The gap between level 6 and 7 was immense, something Aermir knew all too well. When he advanced from level 3 to level 4, his abilities underwent a profound transformation. It was an exhilarating leap, filling him with primal power and boundless potential.
He remembered that at level 3, he could fight 50 people. But when he reached level 4, that number skyrocketed to 600, and with ease. Now, at level 6, he was capable of taking on 800 to 1000 opponents—a formidable force by any measure. However, despite his incredible strength, the Night's King's Ghost remained a disturbing and uncertain factor.
As Aermir delved deeper into his research, he discovered countless legends and fables about the Others and their mysterious leader. Some whispered that the Night's King was once a man, a fallen hero who later became a villain. Others said he was immortal and had ruled for thousands of years. Some of these stories were true and believable, while others were merely fabrications that only deepened the mystery surrounding his enemy. The problem was that Aermir didn't know which were true and which were false.
In the library of Winterfell, Aermir discovered some ancient texts that described the Night's King's abilities: he could raise the dead, summon blizzards, and freeze an entire army with a single glance. These chilling accounts terrified him, for they hinted at the superpowers he himself possessed.
But he also encountered stories from old women, filled with superstition and half-truths. Some believed iron and salt were the bane of the Others Walkers, while others said Dragonglass, and fire were their weaknesses. Distinguishing fact from fiction was a daunting task, but Aermir knew he had no choice but to sift through these ancient tales to find the key to defeating the Night's King and his fearsome tribe. It was a matter of life and death for the North.