CHAPTER 188
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CHAPTER 188
293 AC
POV THIRD PERSON
The morning sun painted the sky in hues of pink and gold as it set, and Aermir lay sprawled on the shore of Sweetsister Island. His clothing was damp from the seawater, and his hair was matted and tangled. A low groan escaped his lips as he stirred, feigning the disorientation of a man who had washed up on unfamiliar shores.
Curious villagers had gathered around him, their voices hushed as they speculated about the stranger before them. Whispers of curiosity rippled through the crowd, and soon, a group of Sistermen approached. They offered him a hand and helped him to his feet, their expressions mixed with curiosity.
Aermir played his part well; there were many bruises around his body. He blinked blearily at his surroundings; his voice slurred as he spoke.
"Where... where am I?"
One of the villagers, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, offered him a reassuring smile.
"You're on Sweetsister, dear. You're safe now. We found you washed up on the shore last evening."
Aermir rubbed his temples as if battling a headache, his acting skillfully blending with his disguise.
"Last night? I don't... I don't remember much."
Concern etched across their faces; the villagers exchanged glances before the woman nodded.
"Well, you must be hungry. Come, let's get you something to eat and some warm broth."
Supported by the villagers, Aermir made his way to the nearby tavern, his steps unsteady and his gaze unfocused. Inside the cozy establishment, the aroma of fresh bread and hearty stew filled the air. The warmth and camaraderie of the tavern provided the perfect backdrop for his act.
Seated at a table, Aermir accepted the bowl of broth with a grateful smile, his fingers trembling as he brought it to his lips. He sipped it slowly, allowing the warmth to spread through his body. The villagers watched him with a mix of concern and goodwill, offering him nods of encouragement and the occasional kind word.
As he ate and engaged in small talk with his hosts, Aermir carefully listened to their conversations, subtly prying for information about the island's current state and its people. He learned about the struggles they faced, the rivalries that simmered beneath the surface, and the tensions that had taken root among the Sistermen.
Once the meal was finished, Aermir leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh, playing the role of a grateful and exhausted traveler. The villagers exchanged knowing glances; their compassion evident in their eyes. The same woman who had first spoken to him leaned in and patted his hand gently.
"Rest now, dear. You've been through quite the ordeal. You're safe here."
Aermir offered her a tired smile, his acting unwavering.
"Thank you... thank you so much for your kindness. Blessing of the Seven be with you."
The owner of the tavern was a married couple, and they provided him with bare necessities. And Aermir could see in their eyes they were so curious about what happened to him.
"Have you heard of a druid, they call him Emrys, who's been spreading strange ideas and lies about the Seven and their powers,"
Aermir began, his tone feigning genuine worry. "I came from the North. He is trying to undermine our old ways, make us abandon the traditions that our people have held dear for generations."
A group of Sistermen knights sitting nearby exchanged wary glances, their interest piqued. One of them, a burly man with a grizzled beard, grunted.
"I've heard some rumblings about this Emrys. Claims to be in touch with the Old Gods, HIIG PUUH!"
The knight spat on the ground with a look of deep disgust.
"The false gods of those tree-huggers!"
Aermir nodded, his expression solemn. "Exactly. And what's more, there are whispers that he's using his magic to sway minds, to make people question the way of life we've always known. Furthermore, I even heard he is forcing people to leave the light of the Seven."
The smallfolk and knights leaned in, drawn into the narrative that Aermir spun. Conversations grew heated as they discussed the potential threat of Druid Emrys, their unease palpable. Aermir continued to plant seeds of sedition, each word calculated to fuel their anxieties.
"Think about it," Aermir continued his voice a blend of sympathy and trepidation.
"Our ancestors revered the Seven for centuries. To suddenly cast aside their teachings and embrace these Old Gods... It could bring chaos to our lands and doom our souls."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the group. Another knight chimed in, his voice heavy with concern.
"And what if this Druid seeks to weaken our unity? We Sistermen are a proud people, strong in our traditions. But if he's sowing division among the believers in the North, Faith's strength could waver."
Aermir leaned back, his eyes thoughtful as if pondering the weight of their words.
"It's a troubling thought, indeed. The way I see it, we should be protecting our Northern brothers and sisters against those strange beliefs. Our way of life and the faith of the Seven are worth preserving, and we can't afford to be swayed by every passing wind of those tree-hugging heathens."
The tavern patrons nodded solemnly, their hearts heavy with a sense of duty to their traditions. Aermir had successfully planted the seeds of doubt and fear, stoking the flames of their resistance against Druid Emrys and his supposed threats to their way of life.
As he moved on to other taverns and town encounters on the island, Aermir repeated the process, subtly steering conversations toward the perceived dangers of the Druid's influence with different disguises. With each interaction, he deepened the web of misinformation, manipulating their fears to align with his own agenda.
Disguised as a wandering minstrel, Aermir found himself in the presence of Lord Borrell, surrounded by a group of knights in a feast held in the heart of Breakwater Castle. With a lute slung over his shoulder, he had skillfully maneuvered his way into their company, ready to spin a web of deceit to further his goals.
As Aermir strummed a few light chords on his lute, he caught the attention of the knights and their lord, Lord Borrell. With a friendly smile, he launched into a tale of Northern lands and ancient magics and how the Druid is converting the believer of the Seven forcefully, artfully interweaving lies with half-truths. Every lord and knight's attention was directed at him.
"Good sirs, allow me to regale you with a tale from the North, where a druid by the name of Emrys has arisen,"
Aermir began to sing his ballad with a melodic voice and captivate them.
"In the land where the North winds blow,
A tale of old and magic's glow,
Of Druids bold with power untamed,
And secrets whispered, hearts aflame.
Oh, hear the minstrel's song tonight,
A tale of darkness and of light,
Of ancient gods and powers grand,
In Northern lands, where legends stand.
Lord Borrell and the knights exchanged curious glances, their interest piqued by the mysterious minstrel's words. Aermir continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
Emrys, Druid with eyes so keen,
In the Northern realm, a mystic's dream,
He claims to wield the Old Gods' might,
To challenge faith, to spark the fight.
The knights leaned in, their attention rapt as Aermir wove his tale of intrigue and danger.
But hark, my friends, beware the lies,
For the truth hides behind a disguise,
Emrys weaves a tale of fear,
A plot to conquer, draw them near.
He preaches change by force or guile,
Converting hearts, mile by mile,
The Faith of Seven, now under threat,
As ancient magics rise, beset.
A murmur of unease rippled through the assembled group. Lord Borrell's brows furrowed in concern, his grip on his goblet tightening.
But question well this tangled lore,
For half-truths often lie in store,
The Druid's words may not be clear,
In Northern lands, uncertainties near.
So, gather close, my listeners true,
Decipher lies from what is true,
In Northern lands, a battle wove,
For faith and magic, hearts to prove.
Remember well this ballad's sound,
In Northern lands, where truth is found,
Embrace the faith, challenge the mage,
In ancient realms, it's not too late."
One of the knights, a stern-faced man with a scar across his cheek, spoke up.
"But surely this Druid's claims are baseless. The Faith of the Seven has guided us for generations."
Aermir nodded, his expression solemn.
"Aye, that is what many believe. But rumors persist that Druid Emrys has power beyond our understanding, that he can perform feats that challenge the very laws of nature. Many Vale Lords must have seen his power at the Greyjoy Rebellion."
Lord Borrell's gaze darkened as he contemplated the implications of Aermir's words.
"If what you say is true, minstrel, then we must remain vigilant against this threat. The Faith of the Seven is the cornerstone of our way of life."
Aermir humbly said,
"My lord, I am but just a wandering minstrel. I do not understand the burdens of ruling and the weight of protecting the faith. All I can do is inform people of what is happening."
Aermir inclined his head, his minstrel guise hiding the satisfaction that swelled within him. One of the knights said,
"Indeed, my lord. It is a time of uncertainty and change, and we must be prepared to defend our beliefs."
As Lord Borrell and the knights engaged in further discussions, Aermir subtly stoked the fires of suspicion and concern, sowing doubt about Druid Emrys and his supposed threat against the Faith of the Seven. With each carefully chosen word, he furthered his own agenda, manipulating their fears to serve his ultimate purpose.
And so, Aermir's intricate web of deception continued to unravel, leaving behind a trail of uncertainty and apprehension that would ultimately fuel the flames of opposition against Druid Emrys and the Old Gods he represented.