The m suhrough his window, painting pale shadows across the chamber floor. Edric moved through his forms, each strike of the wooden sword measured and deliberate. His arms didn't tire as expected, though sweat still dampened his tunic—more from the Dornish heat thaion.

  "One hundred," he whispered, l the practice sword. The crash of waves against Starfall's foundations echoed through his chamber, a steady rhythm to match his breathing.

  A knoterrupted his t. "Young lord?" Wyl's familiar voice carried through the door. He quickly tucked the practice sword beh his bed.

  The old ered bearing his breakfast tray, her eyes taking in his disheveled state with knowing patieeam rose from the pe, honey drizzled across its surfa amber swirls. The st of fresh bread made his stomach growl.

  "Your aunt Ashara asks if you'll join her in the sor," Wyl said, setting dowray. She moved to open the shutters wider, letting in the salt breeze from the Summer Sea. "Though perhaps you've worn yourself out already this m?"

  Edric reached for the bread, tearing it with childish eagerness. "I was just stretg," he lied, though they both knew better. "Like Ser Daemon showed me."

  "Mhmm." Wyl's weathered hands smoothed his bedding, a habit from his sick days. "And I suppose the sword under your bed was just stretg too?"

  He felt his cheeks warm. "Will you tell me a story while I dress?" he asked, reag for a blue tunic. "About the First Men?"

  Wyl's eyes kled at the ers. "Which tale would you hear?"

  "Bran the Builder," he said, pulling the tunic over his head. The fabric was cool against his skin, smelling of the vehe washerwomen used.

  As Wyl's voice filled the chamber with tales of id a kings, gulls wheeled past his window, their cries carrying on the salt wind. Another day at Starfall was beginning, and he had forms to practice, lessons to attend, and appearao maintain.

  As Wyl's tale unfolded, the rhythmig of steel against steel drifted up from the practice yard below. Drawn by the familiar sound, Edric moved to the window, where he watched Ser Daemon putting the household guards through their m drills.The master-at-arms was a hard man, but fair—he'd promised Edric could return to proper training ohe maester gave his blessing.

  "Your pe grows cold," Wyl reminded him. The old nurse had seen too many boys entranced by swordpy to be surprised by his i. "And Lady Ashara waits."

  He turned from the window relutly, spooning honey-sweetened pe into his mouth. The sor was halfway across the castle, up the winding steps of the Palestone Sword. Before his fever, such a climb would have left him winded. Now he would o remember to show some strai his swift recovery raise unwanted questions.

  The corridors of Starfall were already alive with m activity. Servants nodded respectfully as he passed, though he caught the whispers that followed. The young lord's fever had frightened many—for nearly two moons, they'd feared the Daynes might lose another child to the Stranger.

  His aunt—his mother—waited in the sor, breaking her fast alone. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catg in her dark hair. She smiled wheered, though worry still lingered in her violet eyes.

  "You're up early," she said, gesturing to the seat beside her. Fresh fruit and warm bread covered the table between them. "How do you feel this m?"

  "Strong," he answered truthfully, reag for a bloe. "Ser Daemon says I might return to training soon."

  "If the maester agrees." Her tone carried a mother's , though she tried to hide it behind an aunt's propriety. "There's o rush."

  The bloe's sweet tang filled his mouth as he sidered his respooo much eagerness would worry her, too little would seem uhe boy she knew. "I'll be careful," he promised. "Small steps, like Maester Arron said."

  Ashara watched him eat, her fingers absently trag patterns on the pale stoable. A habit he'd noticed more since his fever—as if toug Starfall's a stone somehow anchored her.

  "Maester Arron tells me you've been asking for books about the North," she said carefully. The words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.

  Edric focused on peeling another bloe. "I like the stories," he said. "About the First Men and the old kings." A child's natural curiosity, nothing more.

  Before she could respond, footsteps echoed in the corridor. Allyria entered, still dusty from her m ride. His supposed mother smelled of horse a air as she bent to kiss his brow.

  "Already stealing my son's pany, sister?" she asked Ashara lightly, though something passed between the women's eyes. They'd grown skilled at this dance over the years, each pying their assigned roles.

  "He's good pany," Ashara replied. "Though perhaps too ied in swordpy for his own good."

  "Like his uhur, then." Allyria helped herself to bread and honey. "Wyl says he saw you watg the guards drill this m, Edric. Did you learn anything useful?"

  "Ser Daemon says a warrior's mind must be as sharp as his sword," he answered, mimig the master-at-arms' gruff tone. Both women ughed, and for a moment the tension eased.

  The rest of breakfast passed in fortable versation. Pns for the day, gossip from the household, tales of his uest hunt. Normal things, safe things. Wheer Arron arrived for his m lesson, Edric almretted leaving the warmth of their pany.

  "Actually," Edric said, swallowing the st bite of bloe, "I thought to start learning about all the kingdoms. The North's the rgest, so it seemed a good pce to begin." He g Ashara. "Maester Arron says knowledge of the realm serves any man well."

  The words came naturally, without shame or pretense. In Dorne, after all, bastards were viewed differently than in the rest of the Seven Kingdoms,here in Starfall being a Sand had never held him back .

  "A thoughtful approach," Allyria said. "Though perhaps we should start with Dorne's histiven it's your home."

  "I already know all the stories about Nymeria and the Rhoynar," Edric protested with childish petunce. "And the Young Dragon's quest. I wanted something new."

  Maester Arron's arrival spared him further discussion. The old maester smiled warmly as he entered. "Ready for your lessons, Edric? We have o review this m."

  Edric rose, bidding farewell to both his "mother" and "aunt" before following the maester. As they walked to the library tower, the old man's pace was deliberately slow—another cession to his supposed recovery.

  "oday?" Edric asked, letting a note of disappoi color his voice. In truth, he weled anything that would help build his mind as well as his body.

  "Among other things," the maester said kindly, his links chiming. "Though perhaps we might also discuss what you've learned of the North, since you've shown suterest."

  The library tower smelled of old part aher, familiar and f. Sunlight streamed through narrow windows, dust motes dang in the beams. Here, at least, he pretend to be weaker than he was. Books demanded only attention and uanding, not careful deception.

  The m lessons passed swiftly. Sums and figures came easier now—not from any magical gift, but simply because his mind was sharper, unburdened by the stant fatigue that had pgued him during his illness. His new endurance showed itself in subtle ways: his hand didn't tire from writing, his attention didn't waver even as the sun climbed higher.

  "Very good," Maester Arron said, reviewing his ns of numbers. "Now, tell me what you recall of the North's houses."

  As Edric recited what he'd learned of the Umbers, Karstarks, and Manderlys, he shifted in his seat, testing his muscles. Before the fever, sitting still for so long would have left him restless and sore. Now he felt only the pleasant warmth of the sun through the windows, his body as ready for movement as when he'd first sat down.

  The real test would e ter, during his abbreviated training session with Ser Daemon. The master-at-arms still insisted on shorter practices, believing him not fully recovered. Edric would have to remember to breathe harder, to let his arms tremble at the right moment, to show just enough improvement to seem natural without revealing how truly different he felt.

  "Your mind wanders," Maester Arron noted gently. "Perhaps we should break for the midday meal?"

  "No, I'm fine," Edric said quickly, straightening. "I was just thinking about the distances between the northern holdfasts. It must take moons to travel between them in winter."

  The maester's eyes lit with schorly i, and they spent the hour discussing the challenges of g such vast territories. All the while, Edric marveled at how clear his thoughts remained, how his body hummed with restrained energy even as the lesson stretched on.

  As Maester Arron expihe distances between Winterfell and its bannermen, Edric found his thoughts drifting to his own circumstaHe books and fanfic’s alainted such harsh lives for bastards - sed, shunned, and suspected. Perhaps that was true in other kingdoms, where a bastard name was worn like a . But here in Dorne, where even the Martells took pride in their Sand Snakes, such prejudice rang hollow.His reality was different from those bitter stories. In Starfall's library, he learned of distant kingdoms and plex sums, treated almost as trueborn. This acceptance, despite his status, was a testament to the unique culture of Dorne and the Daynes' view of family.His uncle Allem had even given him the name Edric - a name he remembered would one day be given to his uncle's own trueborn son. Such a gesture spoke volumes of how the Daynes viewed their own blood, bastard or no. Uncle Allem weled him among his own , watched him train with i, and never once showed the disdain those fial ats had promised.

  His cousins pyed freely with him in Starfall's halls, no hint of the social barriers he'd expected from his old world's readings. Even the servants treated him with genuine warmth rather than the cold courtesy he'd beeo expect.

  "The distances bee even more treacherous in winter," Maester Arron was saying. "When the snoile higher than a man's head."

  Edriodded, his new endurating him focus despite the long m of lessons. His body hummed with unused energy—a stant reminder of how much had ged since his fever. But his mind had ged too, shedding the prejudices of fial ats he'd once accepted as truth.

  "Could we look at the maps again?" he asked. "I want to see the scale of it properly."

  The maester smiled, reag for the rolled parts. This was another assumption proven wrong—iories Edric had read, maesters were always either schemers or stern traditionalists. Yet Maester Arron was different, teag him with genuine warmth. Perhaps this was fitting for Starfall, as Edric had heard that Maester Arron had trained with Prince Doran when he went to the Citadel.

  The afternoon su down on the practice yard, turning Starfall's pale stone almost blindingly white. Edric watched the older boys at their archery practice while he waited his turn with Ser Daemon. Here, sword work wasn't the only martial art taught. A proper warrior o master the bow, spear, and horse as well.

  His fingers itched to try the bow, but that would e ter. For now, he tented himself with the wooden sword, though even that was different since his fever. Where before each swing had been a scious effort, now his arms moved with a fluid grace that required careful dampening.

  " "Sand," the master-at-arms said. Show me your spear stance."

  This was hey hadn't practiced with spears before his illness. Edric moved to the ter of the yard, scious of the other boys watg. The spear was a Dornish on, one his supposed uhur had mastered alongside Dawn.

  The practice spear was lohan he was tall, but his new endurance made its weight almost negligible. Still, he carefully mimicked the awkwardness he'd seen in inners, letting the butt drag slightly in the sand.

  "Here," Ser Daemon adjusted his grip. "Lower hand guides, upper hand strikes. Like so." The master-at-arms demonstrated the basic thrust, his movements eical and precise.

  Edric copied him, deliberately making the small mistakes expected of a novice. Too perfect a performance would draw unwatentio even with his calcuted fumbling, he could feel how his body wao move, how his muscles seemed to uand the on's banstinctively.

  "Better than I expected for a first try," Ser Daemon mused. "Perhaps it runs in the blood."

  Edriearly missed his hrust. Did the master-at-arms suspeething? But no—he was likely referring to the Daynes' martial heritage, not the wolf's blood that truly ran in his veins.The lesson tinued, his body humming with barely tained energy even as he feigned increasing fatigue. This would be harder to hide than simple sword practice—spear work used different muscles, demanded different skills. Skills his enhanced body seemed eager to master."Keep that point up," Ser Daemon called. "Remember how Ser Gerold hahe spear."Edric had seen his cousin, the Darkstar, practig in this same yard before riding fh Hermitage. Even at eighteen, Gerold Dayne moved like a serpent, all lethal grad barely tained violehe servants whispered that he was trying to prove himself worthy of Dawn, though the sword had hung untouched sihur's death.Ahrust, another carefully measured mistake. Despite holding the practice spear for so long, his arms remaieady. A six-year-old's muscles weren't meant for sudurance, bastard or no."That's enough for today," Ser Daemon said, though Edric could have tinued for hours. "You'll have plenty of time to match your cousin's skill."Which cousin, Edridered—Arthur's ghost erold's living shadow? The Darkstar's visits to Starfall had grown less frequent of te, but Edric remembered how the older boy had once shown him the proper way to hold a dagger. There had been something hungry in Gerold's violet eyes then, something that reminded him of stories yet to e."Ser?" Edric asked as they put away the practice ons. "Will Ser Gerold visit again soon?""High Hermitage keeps its own sel," the master-at-arms answered carefully. "Though I expect he'll return when he hears of your recovery. He's shown i in your training before."More than i, perhaps. Edric remembered how ily Gerold had watched him in the yard, as if measuring something only he could see. Did the Darkstar suspect his true parentage? Edridered. Or was it simply the way he looked at everyone, searg for advantages and weakhe days flowed like the Torrentine, eae bringing small victories and careful deceptions. In the m sor, Maester Arron's lessons grew more challenging, though Edric's tireless mind made even the most plex texts manageable. Afternoons found him in the practice yard with Ser Daemon, where he banced his growing skills against the need for secrecy. His cousin Gerold visited twice, the Darkstar's violet eyes watg his progress with uling iy.The moon waned day by day, until finally darkness cimed its fatirely. Edric stood at his chamber window, watg the stars wheel above Starfall's pale towers. The night air carried the salt of the Summer Sea and the song of waves against stone. As the st sliver of light faded from the sky, he felt that familiar opening in his mind—like a door unlog to possibilities beyond normal men's reach.

  Iarlit chamber, new choices spread before him:

  To see like an eagle soars, marking the smallest movement from leagues away.To ugh at winter's bite, to walk through snow and storm untroubled.To grip steel with hands strong as castle-fed iron, never yielding bde or shield.To loose arrows straight as falling stars, to throw true as the Warrior himself.To stand unbowed before pain's teeth, to fight on though wounds would fell other men.To make any lock yield its secrets, to pass through doors meant to stay sealed.To hear whispers through stone walls, to catch words meant o be heard.