Pov Edrick-
The next morning dawned slowly, as though the sun itself hesitated to crest the jagged Dornish mountains. Pale light gradually filled Starfall's courtyards, illuminating the pale stone of its high walls with a gentle glow. From his bed, Edric felt the fortress stirring: the groan of gates, the clop of horses led out for dawn chores, the distant ring of the blacksmith's hammer. Even half-asleep, his sharpened senses registered each subtle shift below.
He opened his eyes. Any lingering hope that the night's events were a fevered dream vanished at the sight of his own arms—lean, corded with muscle no child of seven should have. He flexed his fingers, feeling a hum of new strength beneath the skin.
Caution pricked at him then. Ashara—his mother—had insisted he remain calm until they could weave a plausible tale for his uncle. The older part of him wanted to sprint through the corridors, blade in hand, testing how far his changed body could go. But the memory of fear in Ashara's eyes—and in Allyria's trembling voice—reminded him he must wait.
He slipped from bed, pressing a hand to the wall to steady himself, though his balance felt effortless. The loose tunic and breeches Allyria had found yesterday were still a touch large, but no longer comically so. In a single night, he had outgrown nearly everything he owned.
Stepping into the corridor, he sensed the early flurry of castle life: servants bustling with trays, stableboys leading mares, hushed conversations half-lost in the echo of stone. Though the pace felt normal, Edric's new sensitivity magnified each footstep, every hushed voice. A passing servant eyed him with uncertainty—rumors of black tar and miraculous recovery clearly preceded him. Edric offered a polite smile and moved on.
He first considered seeking out Maester Arron, who was usually awake before dawn to tend ravens. A flutter of nerves made him rethink it—the maester was far too observant. So he settled on searching for Ashara and Allyria, as instructed.
He scaled a spiral staircase, mindful not to bound two steps at a time. The day before, remnants of his abilities' merger had left him weary, but a night's sleep had replenished him fully, fueling his body with an almost unnerving energy. By the time he reached the top, traces of pungent oil from someone polishing armor drifted in the air, prodding his keen sense of smell.
He found the solar door slightly ajar. Inside, he could hear murmured voices—female, low, and tinged with relief. A soft rap on the wooden frame announced his arrival, and Ashara bade him enter. Sunlight flooded the modest chamber, which looked out over Starfall's main courtyard and the glittering Summer Sea beyond. Ashara sat at a broad table, while Allyria stood at her shoulder, fiddling with a quill.
"You're up—and dressed?" Ashara observed with a delicate note of exasperation.
Edric inclined his head. "I didn't want to stay abed."
Both women looked more rested than the previous day, though tension still showed around their eyes. "How do you feel?" Ashara asked. "Any fever, aches?"
"None," Edric replied. "I'm… more awake than ever. My senses are sharper, like nothing tires me."
"Is that the gods' gift?" Allyria asked, voice hushed.
He shrugged. "It must be. I'm unsure of my limits, so I'm trying not to overreach."
Ashara's gaze flicked from Allyria back to Edric. "Maester Arron came asking about you earlier," she said quietly. "I told him we'd send for him if needed. Your uncle Allem also sent word—he's returning to Starfall by sundown or tomorrow. My letter found him quickly."
Edric's stomach tightened. "And you told him…?"
"Only that you fell ill again, more severely this time, and that something changed within you—your body purged some strange substance. Enough facts to keep it credible, tied to the gods' will." She paused. "It's the least complicated explanation."
They all shared a brief silence. No one wanted rumors of sorcery to swirl, even in tolerant Dorne. "Thank you," Edric offered. "For handling it."
Ashara gently squeezed his hand. "We do what mothers must."
A flicker of warmth drove away Edric's tension for a moment. Then Ashara cleared her throat and indicated the letters on the table. "Ser Daemon has also asked after you. He wants to know if you can resume lessons."
Edric nodded, pressing his lips tight. "I can't hide in my room forever. People will notice my growth, but maybe I can claim a growth spurt and leftover fatigue. Pretend I'm still recovering until the change isn't so alarming."
Allyria offered him a sympathetic smile. "Indeed, you're already nearing the height of some squires."
"I'll move carefully," Edric assured them. "Let them see gradual changes without jumping to talk of magic."
Ashara agreed. "Yes. Appear somewhat frail, and we'll neither confirm nor deny the rumors. We'll blame a rare Dornish malady if pressed."
They all understood how fragile the peace would be. Edric felt his heart hammering, haunted by how seamlessly he now had to lie, aided by powers he barely understood. For a moment, no one spoke; then Allyria broke the silence. "Edric, would you like some air on the ramparts? It might help clear your head."
He seized on the idea. "I'd like that, yes."
Ashara's approving nod put him at ease. "Go. If Ser Daemon comes, I'll speak to him first."
Edric left the solar with a short, polite bow. Allyria trailed him for a time, guiding him along winding corridors. At a juncture, she lightly touched his shoulder. "Be safe," she whispered. "No matter what's changed, you're still our Edric."
A pang of emotion tightened his chest. "Thank you, Mother."
She vanished into a side corridor, leaving him to ascend the final staircase alone. He counted each step, forcing himself to move slowly, not to burst upward two steps at a time. At the top, sunshine met him with a warm embrace, and the Summer Sea sparkled on the horizon. A light wind carried the tang of salt.
Guards patrolled the ramparts, giving him polite nods. One—Ser Rycherd—frowned as he measured Edric's new physique but said nothing. Edric returned a courteous dip of his head and then gazed outward at dunes of deep red and gold. For a moment, the burdens of secrecy felt less crushing.
He let his mind sift through what had happened since he woke from that three-day slumber: the black tar exuding from his body, Ashara's tears, Allyria's relief, the hush of half-truths. He wondered if the gods truly had shaped these events. If so, then spinning illusions about it might not be a lie but some reflection of a hidden truth.
Uncle Allem lingered in his thoughts. Kind yet shrewd, he'd known the truth of Edric's birth from the start. But would he believe a stunning physical transformation as mere illness and divine grace? Edric breathed in, reminding himself that Ashara trusted Allem's loyalty.
Footsteps on the stair made him turn. Ser Daemon, the master-at-arms, emerged, scanning Edric from head to toe. "Edric," he greeted, voice a touch gruff.
"Ser Daemon," Edric replied, bowing his head respectfully.
"I heard you took ill again, worse than before," Daemon said. "Glad to see you standing."
Carefully, Edric answered, "Maester Arron says it was a strange fever. It's passed now."
Daemon eyed Edric's growth spurt. "A strange fever gave you those arms, boy?" he asked wryly.
A knot formed in Edric's throat. "It left me… changed. I'm still getting used to it."
Daemon studied him, then jerked his chin toward the battlements. "Walk with me. My legs are stiff from drilling the young ones."
They made a slow circuit, viewing the sunlit courtyard below. "You trained harder than any boy here," Daemon remarked. "Always demanding more lessons. Now you have the strength to match."
Edric swallowed. "Yes… though not quite in the way I expected."
"Likely Lady Ashara doesn't want you near blades until you've recovered?"
Edric nodded. "She forbade it for now."
Daemon shrugged. "I'll honor her wishes. But when you're ready, we'll see how your body's adapted—cautiously."
Edric tried not to show his surge of relief. "Thank you." At least Daemon's curiosity stemmed more from concern than suspicion.
They walked in companionable silence before Daemon gave a short bow and left Edric overlooking the courtyard once more. As the knight disappeared, Edric let out a breath. He'd survived one questioning without giving too much away.
Making his way back inside, Edric followed the corridor toward the kitchens, recalling Ashara's insistence that he eat. The castle's bustle had intensified—servants moving with trays, exchanging hushed gossip. One maid openly stared at him, face reddening when he met her eyes. The air fairly hummed with curiosity about his transformation.
In the kitchens, a plump cook, Master Palo, broke into a paternal grin. "Young Edric—well, not so young now. Hungry?"
Edric managed a polite nod. "Just fruit, please."
Palo handed him grapes and a wedge of melon, urging him to return if he needed more. Edric took the offering to a quiet alcove. The first bite of fruit exploded on his tongue—his senses only magnified. He paused, reflecting on how each piece of the world now seemed sharper, more alive.
He remembered the prior evening's revelations: Ashara's confession of wanting to keep him close, and all the hidden truths about his heritage. Once, he might have dreamed of traveling north to chase snow and wolves. Now he realized how tangled his life had become in Starfall and Dorne—politics, rumors, alliances.
Finishing his snack, Edric debated retreating to some unused storeroom to discreetly test his abilities. But Ashara had cautioned him, and he wasn't eager to risk another near-fatal surge of power. Instead, he headed toward his chamber, hoping to escape further scrutiny. A group of older boys nearly collided with him in the hall, each gawking at his taller frame.
"Edric?" one said. "You look… bigger."
"I've been sick," Edric responded, feigning a shaky sigh. "Still recovering."
They stared, half-appalled, half-fascinated. He coughed weakly, and they edged back with awkward kindness. He stepped around them and hurried on. Once in his chamber, he leaned against the door, releasing a tense breath. The weight of prying eyes had followed him everywhere.
The sky outside burned bright with late morning heat. Edric moved to the window, watching sunlight glint on the walls. Uncle Allem would arrive soon—another set of questions, another test of the lies they'd prepared. He clenched his jaw, feeling a flicker of anger at the injustice: was it so wrong to want a simpler life?
He sighed, opening a book from a stack on his table—Maester Arron's lessons on Dornish history. Studying might ground him, tethering him to something unchanged by his sudden growth. Each line of text became a deliberate shield against the swirl of gossip in the corridors.
Time drifted. He would pause after each chapter to listen for footsteps, practicing the subtle art of dimming his super-hearing, learning not to drown in an onrush of every sound in the castle. It helped to focus his busy mind.
Eventually, a knock sounded on the door. "Come in," he called.
Allyria edged inside, bearing a cup of watered wine. She smiled at the sight of him reading. "I thought you might sneak away to spar," she teased.
Edric feigned a sigh. "Believe me, I've thought about it, but there are too many watchful eyes."
Allyria set the cup beside him. "A rider came from the outskirts—your uncle is close. He may arrive before sundown."
Edric closed the book. "I should've known. Thank you for telling me."
She clasped her hands. "Ashara wants you here until she speaks with him first. He's known you forever, Edric—and he cares for you. Don't forget that."
Memories of Allem teaching him to fish, or leading his pony by the reins, flickered in Edric's mind. "I just hope he recognizes me as the boy he cared for," Edric said softly.
"He will," Allyria insisted, though her face betrayed a flicker of worry. She patted his shoulder and departed, leaving him alone once more.
He moved to the window again, glimpsing the gates below. The realm felt so vast beyond these walls: rumors of troubles in King's Landing, of Ironborn raids, of a king's debts piling high. And here he was, contending with personal changes that might ripple out in their own way.
Still, Ashara and Allyria had proven they would fight to protect him, and Allem—if he remained as loyal as they believed—would stand with them. Edric closed his eyes, repeating a silent mantra: one step at a time. He had no choice but to wait.
Time trickled by, marked by the sun's slow arc. Edric found some small relief in the pages of musty histories, in the half-empty cup of watered wine. Beyond his window, Starfall's denizens carried on, unconcerned by the swirling secrets behind closed doors. Each passing minute brought Uncle Allem closer, adding fresh tension to the quiet watch.
At last, Edric set aside his book. He forced calm into his lungs, remembering how, in the darkest moment of transformation, he'd realized he was not alone. Ashara, Allyria, and Allem all wanted him safe. Whatever came next, they would face it together, weaving half-truths if needed, building illusions to shelter a boy caught between worlds.
With that reassurance firm in his mind, he waited for the inevitable knock—each second passing like a restrained heartbeat before his uncle arrived.