Westeros, The North
298 AC
The air within the crypt of Winterfell holds a chill that gnaws at the bone. It is a chill the most would not notice, but to Aerion it is as obvious as a full moon on a cloudless sky. It is the magic within the tomb, old, powerful, and still thriving despite the dormant nature of it near everywhere else. Its purpose? Aerion can guess at some of the aspects, warding off those with ill-intent, protection against dark magic of the necromantic kind, and almost certainly warding off those not human; however, to truly know would require him to delve into the deepest parts of the crypts. That is an action that Aerion is not willing to undertake lest he active some dormant enchantment.
"Everytime we come here I am reminded that the magic of this world is not as dead as the maesters wish us to think." Ambrosius comments from within his mind, his tone conversational. Yet Aerion is in no mood to entertain him this night.
"Aye." agrees Aerion as he comes to a stop before his destination. It is why he does not come here as often as he wishes to. The reminder that the world is larger, darker, and more mystical than he knows is unnerving. Magic, a sword with no hilt as Maester Luwin says, is the singular threat for which he does not have the knowledge to prepare against beyond the very basics. And Ambrosius, his companion and mentor since the tender age of four, does not possess the knowledge to help either. He was a warrior, a general, and though he has his own magic, it is instinctual in nature. A product of what he is as opposed to something that can be thought or passed down.
Shaking those thoughts from his mind, Aerion focuses on the task at hand.
"Mother" says Aerion, the word leaving his throat in the coarse and harsh sound of the old tongue.
Looking upon the stoic visage of the statue of Lyanna Stark, a sense of shame falls upon him. "I have not been coming as often as I should." he says as he kneels at the foot of her statue, wiping the dust from the pedestal before placing a winter rose there.
"I castrated a man this week. One of my Rangers, Owen." he tells the statue, and for a moment he swears he sees the statue look upon him with eternal sadness. "He raped a village girl who lives moons away from Winterfell." Aerion continues, thinking the sight nothing but a trick of torchlight facilitated by his own fantasy.
"Then he had the gall to beg for mercy. Why did he commit the act if he could not shoulder the consequences?" Aerion wonders, the question spoken more for his sake as opposed to speaking to Lyanna.
"Did he think that I would not know? Did he not think that her family would not seek justice? Did he think that I would not believe them? Or did he think that there was no proof? Or perhaps he thought that simply because he is one of my more skilled Rangers I would choose him over justice? Did he think that founded the Rangers simply to feed my vanity?" Aerion rants through gritted teeth and with closed eyes.
"Aerion." Ambrosius calls, his voice soft yet reprimanding.
"What?" snarls Aerion as he opens his eyes.
His breath misting over in the air, he cannot help but whisper at the sight before him. "Oh"
"I forget myself." he tells the statue as he takes a deep breath and reins in his emotions. "I thought myself unaffected by Owen's actions. It seems that I was wrong." he says while wiping the frost that had begun to form on the statue.
Once the frost has been completely removed he lays down his cloak and takes a seat at her feet, his back resting upon her legs. "Robb did not condemn me when he was told I had Owen's corpse dragged behind the horses. Lord Stark was horrified."
"No doubt he is ashamed of what I have become." Aerion tells his mother. "The honorable Eddard Stark's son consorting with prostitutes, thieves, and men of ill-repute. Were my Ranger's reputation anything short of stellar he would think them nothing but thugs and promptly disbanded us. It certainly does not help that I have struck an unlikely friendship with Roose Bolton's son of all people. The knowledge must be keeping Catelynn Tully up at night for she has become quite stressed lately. Though that may simply be due to the King's impending arrival."
Aerion stays there for hours pouring his heart out to his mother's statue until he has nothing left to say. Yet still he remains in the silence, for though it is nothing but a statue, it is all he has of her. That and his name, Aerion. It is not a name that any mother would wish upon their child for it is an infamous name. The name of a Targaryen prince who burned himself to death in his madness. A fitting name.
"I know not why you named me such." Aerion tells her as he stands and turns to face her. "Yet it is a fitting name for they shall call me mad." he says.
"Change is upon us, mother. I can feel it in my blood, the gradual return of magic. Soon the world shall be saturated in it just as it was during the Age of Heroes, I am sure of it. There shall be wonders beyond the imagination and no doubt more terror to match. Terror that I cannot begin to know. Still, I shall protect those close to me with all that I have and all that I am; and those who seek to do them harm shall call me mad for it."
With a final sigh Aerion bows his head, like a contrite sinner. "Oh mother, forgive me." he whispers as his heart hardens and his face turns cold.
As he leaves he does not see the frost on the statue's face melting and rolling down its eyes as if it were tears.
…
…
…
The music reaches him first, the voice ethereal yet deep and booming, as if the entire godswood has come alive. It is entirely unlike his brother's voice, for his is a soft voice that reminds one of chiming bells; a voice better suited for a bard, Robb has always thought, and hearing the serving maids murmur and giggle on what it might sound like whispering sweet nothings to them in the bedchamber has only vindicated his thoughts on the matter.
As he finally lays eyes on his brother, Robb is reminded of the stories Jon tells of the mythical beings found in nature that one should never trifle with. The Aos Sidhe, he calls them. Ethereal, beautiful beings full of magic; enchanting yet more dangerous than any can imagine.
As Robb approaches, Jon stops his singing and godswood goes back to sleep.
"Do not stop on my account." Robb tells Jon with a grin. "After all, it only proves my thoughts to be true. You should have become a bard. With a voice like that you could sing the small clothes from any maid."
Rolling his eyes at Robb, Jon takes a handful of snow and throws it at his brother, eliciting a laugh from him as he dodges. As he prepares his own snow ball to retaliate, Robb sees his brother disappear as the Lord Commander of the Rangers asserts himself, killing the smile on his face.
"How unfair, you catch me unaware with a snow ball fight yet when I prepare to retaliate you end the game." Robb says as he lets the snowball in his hand drop.
"The King is coming to Winterfell." Jon tells him, and whatever joy Robb may have felt previously is quickly smothered.
"I see." is all Robb can say to that.
For a moment they remain there in the silence before Robb feels compelled to ask once more. "Is there truly nothing that can be done?"
"War will come regardless of what we do, we can only do our best to be in a favorable position once it begins." Jon answers, matching him in the Old Tongue.
"And you truly cannot see what the future holds?" Robbs asks.
"The future is not linear, it is not written in, and fate is not absolute. What I see are possible futures." Jon answers with a sigh. "And in most of those futures Lord Stark dies should he accept the king's offer."
"Then we convince him to refuse." Robb insists, causing Jon to scoff.
"We may be able to convince him to keep Arya and Sansa in Winterfell until a later time, however I do not see how we can convince him to stay. His honor would not allow him to ignore such a plea." Jon says.
"Jon." Robb calls out to his brother, his voice soft and lacking the weight with which he spoke with previously. "Brother. I understand that you've mourned him already, but I haven't. I cannot mourn father when there is the slightest chance that he can be saved. So please, brother, for my sake do anything that is required to save father."
For a moment there naught but the sound of leaves rustling in the wind as Robb pleadingly looks at Jon, his eyes misting over and his hands clenched tightly at his sides.
With a sigh Jon turns away from Robb and looks upon the heart tree at the center of the Godswood. "Do you remember the first night I woke screaming?" Jon asks him.
"Aye." Robb answers with a frown, he does not understand what the relevance is. "You had a nightmare that I was slaughtered at a wedding despite having partaken in guest rites. Maester Luwin deemed it a result of your abduction."
"Aye. 'The nightmares are a result of young Jon coming to the realisation that the world is not safe.' were his exact words." Jon says. "And he was correct despite lacking much context, for in truth the dream did not end there. After your death, in the dream, I wreaked vengeance upon those responsible. I slaughtered them, their women, their children, and even their pets. None escaped my wrath." he tells Robb for the first time.
"When I awoke that night I was horrified. Not by what I had done in that dream, but rather at the fact that I could not bring myself to care that I committed such acts and even thought that I did not make them suffer enough." Jon says as he turns to stare Robb in the eyes. "That night I came to the realization that there is a darkness in me that cannot be left unchecked."
"The Rangers." Robb says with eyes wide with understanding.
"Indeed, creating the Rangers was my way of protecting our family while ensuring that I do not overstep. After all, should Eddard Stark's bastard commit heinous acts it is to be expected, a bastard is a bastard after all. Regardless of who fathers them, bastards are creatures of sin and darkness. However, the Lord Commander of the Heir of Winterfell's Rangers has standards that he must adhere to." Jon says smirk.
"I do not appreciate being used as a leash." Robb says with frown
"You are honorable, yet not bound by it like father. Who else if not you?" Jon asks with a shrug that earns him a laugh from Robb.
"Oh brother, is it truly honor if one chooses when to act with honor?" Robb responds.
"I know not, that is a question best suited for father. Though I wager that he would answer no." Jon tells him "Still, what I mean to say is that ordering me to do anything to save father is akin to loosening the leash of a vicious direwolf. Do you understand?"
"I am a Stark of Winterfell. Why should I care if the leash on my direwolf is loose? In fact, it would be best if the leash is removed entirely. Let the enemies of House Stark lie awake in fear whenever they hear a howl or a bark." Robb declares with a boisterous laugh as he turns around and walks out of the godswood, leaving behind a stupefied Jon.
Leash his direwolf? What a jape. He is a Stark of Winterfell, the heir to what once was the Winter Throne, his ancestors did not fear their companions so why should he. The mere thought of it makes Robb scoff.
He remembers sitting on the roots of the heart tree, late at night or early in the morn, while most of Winterfell slept and listening to Jon regale him with the histories of their kingly ancestors. Histories that none others know for they are unwritten and only through the weirwood network did Jon learn of them, histories of brutal wars and cunning political maneuvers, histories which he learned many a valuable lesson from. Lessons such as what makes an ideal sHand and to trust said Hand.
Jon is his Hand. The Brandon to his Torrhen, the Cregan to his Bran the Builder, the Rickard to his Theon the Hungry Wolf. Though considering Jon's parentage it would be more fitting to call him the Bloodraven to his Daeron "the Good".
Let the enemies of House Stark quake in fear at what he has unleashed this day, he however shall sleep soundly in his bed. As for the concept of honor, Robb could not care less. He is not his father, he is Robb Stark and honor has only truly served him once and were he ever in such a situation again he would rather honor not be there at all for its price is too high.
AN: Here's the latest chapter guys. This time we get to see into Robb and the MC's minds and how different they are from their canon counterparts. I alluded to some of what is different, but don't worry those topics will be further explored.
As usual tell me what you guys think.