In Planetos As Light Human

The air above Winterfell was crisp and clear, the vast expanse of the North stretching endlessly below. Edric Stark floated silently in the sky. The towering walls of the ancient castle stood proud, surrounded by snow that covered the land in a magnificent blanket.

The soft light of the setting sun bathed the scene, causing the snow to shimmer like diamonds. The familiar sight sent a pang of nostalgia through him—a mixture of warmth and melancholy.

As he drifted closer to the Great Keep, Edric noticed a familiar figure perched atop the wall, gazing down into the courtyard below. It was Arya—her dark hair whipping in the cold wind, her sharp eyes following the movements of the men below, as they practiced with swords and axes.

She stood with an almost eerie stillness, her posture one of intense concentration, as if she were studying each movement with the precision of a hawk watching its prey.

Edric slowly crept up behind Arya, He stopped just a few paces behind her, his voice soft but teasing. "What are you doing?"

Arya spun around, startled and terrified. She opened her mouth to shout, but before she could, Edric's hand shot out, covering her mouth. "Shh… I'm not your enemy."

Arya's eyes widened in fury as she tried to pull away, but his grip was firm. "That's what a kidnapper says," she snapped, her voice muffled. "You've picked the wrong person. My father will have your head once he catches you."

Edric raised an eyebrow and gave a mischievous grin. "Oh my! Are you a noble child? I'm screwed now," he said, mockingly.

"Hmph," Arya scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "You better be. My father is Ned Stark."

Just as they were exchanging words, two furballs—Direwolves—one white with gray eyes and the other black with red eyes, appeared on the battlements. They climbed the Great Keep with ease and began charging toward them. Arya's expression shifted to one of pride as she looked at the wolves. "You're screwed," she said with a smirk.

But what happened next shocked her to the core. Both direwolves, larger than fully grown mountain lion, launched themselves at Edric. Instead of attacking, they began licking him with such ferocity that Arya could hardly believe her eyes.

She blinked, her voice filled with disbelief. "How…? They don't let anyone near them except father. I've tried feeding them, but they never ate from my hand."

Edric smiled, a bit embarrassed but still amused. "What can I say? I'm a charmer," he replied, trying to calm the wolves as they nuzzled him affectionately, their tails wagging wildly.

Arya's eyes widened as realization dawned on her. "Wait… that hair… those cold gray eyes… you must be my runaway brother, Edric Stark."

"Bingo!" Edric grinned. "Took you long enough." Arya blinked, still trying to process the situation, as Edric ruffled her hair affectionately. For a moment, there was only the sound of the wolves' excited growls and Arya's stunned silence.

A shout echoed from below. "Arya? Is that you?" It was Robb Stark, his voice carrying easily across the courtyard.

Arya leaned over the edge of the battlements, her hair whipping in the wind. "Yes, it's me! And another annoying—"

Before she could finish, Edric cut her off with a grin. "Why don't we say hi together?"

Without warning, he hoisted Arya effortlessly over his shoulder, grabbed the direwolves by their scruffs, and leapt off the battlements.

"Ahhh!" Arya's scream pierced the cold air as they plummeted downward.

They landed with a loud crack. Web-like fractures spread across the stone ground beneath Edric's feet. The soldiers training nearby froze, their weapons halfway raised, mouths agape.

Edric set Arya down gently, the direwolves slipping free and padding around them with tails wagging.

"Hey, shorties," Edric said casually, looking straight at Robb and Jon, who stood side by side.

Robb crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow. "We're normal. You're the freak."

Edric smirked and tilted his head. "Whoa, you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

As Edric strode forward, Robb stepped up to meet him, the two brothers squaring off face to face. Robb was tall, but Edric still towered over him by nearly a foot.

"Our mother," Arya chimed in with mock seriousness.

Both Robb and Jon burst into laughter. Robb reached forward and punched Edric lightly in the gut before pulling him into a tight embrace.

Edric feigned injury, clutching his stomach dramatically. "Ooh... the heir has grown strong."

Robb grinned as he pulled back. "Stop it, Eddie. How have you been? What were you thinking running away like that? And not even a single raven in seven years?"

Edric raised his hands in surrender. "Easy there, Robb. One question at a time. You sound just like our mother."

The three siblings laughed together, the tension melting away." Resume practice!" shouted Winterfell's master-at-arms, Rodrik Cassel, striding toward the children.

"Lord Edric, I wish you in fine health and fair spirits, by chance did you come across my son in your travels?"

"Oh yes, Jory. I met him at Highgarden. He's on the safest ship across the western shore, headed towards Winterfell. Don't worry."

"Thank you, my lord. Sorry to ask—it's just that he drops in messages every now and then. The last was two days ago at Goldengrove. He must have reached Highgarden today. How were you able to come to Winterfell in such short time?" Rodrik asked. "Magic," Edric said simply.

"Septa Mordane said that magic died with the dragons," Arya countered.

"I'm astonished whether you believe that or if you even listen in her class. Hasn't Old Nan ever mentioned the story of traveling through weirwood trees, opening their faces to travel vast distances?"

They were interrupted by the arrival of Eddard Stark, emerging from the Great Hall. "What's the commotion here?" he asked, his eyes scanning the courtyard until they landed on Edric.

"Son... is that you?" Ned Stark strode toward him.

"Yes, Father. How are you?" Edric asked as he embraced his father.

"Ah... I missed you, boy. Next time, don't run off without permission."

"Yes, Father" replied Edric.

So, did you achieve what you wanted to?" asked his father

"Yes, I was able to two years ago, but I had to delay because of... other matters I got myself into. How are Sansa and Mother?"

"They are fine. Come, let's eat—it's almost noon. Arya, go fetch your mother and sister. We'll talk over a meal."

Arya clenched her fist and thumped it over her heart before sprinting off.

When they reached the dining room, Sansa and Lady Stark were already waiting near the door. Upon seeing her son, Catelyn darted forward and enveloped him in a tight embrace, though an observant eye might catch the awkwardness between them.

"Mother, how have you been?" Edric asked softly.

"I'm well, son. Come, let's eat."

The Stark family sat down, Edric positioned between Sansa and Jon. The room fell into an eerie silence until Arya finally broke it.

"So... Frosty, how did you get to me from the godswood without anyone noticing?"

"I didn't use the weirwood tree. Only those blessed by the Old Gods have the power to do so. I used a simple method to travel—flying."

"All the way from Highgarden?" Robb asked.

"Yes," Edric replied casually.

"How long did it take?" Jon questioned.

"Half a day, with two stops in between. But most of the time was spent recovering my strength. By the time I'm an adult, I might be able to travel from one end of Westeros to the other within the time of a sandglass."

"I don't believe that," Sansa retorted.

Edric ruffled her hair. "Good. I hope you have the same attitude when judging princes and nobles in the future, and not get smitten by their looks."

Sansa pouted, her cheeks reddening. "And why is he here?" she said, referring to Jon.

Jon was about to rise, but Edric placed a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him down with an unyielding force.

Edric smirked, but there was a sadness in his grin. Lady Stark noticed it immediately. "What is it, son?" she asked.

"I expected this. But a little part of me thought you might change because of my absence. That you might become a better person. But you always prove me wrong."

"When are you going to stop thinking you are a Tully and start acting like a Stark? The Tullys haven't held up their word. Petyr Baelish—your friend—talks about you in kingslanding like you're his puppet, tarnishing the honor of Winterfell. And you built a sept right next to the Great Hall, making my father a laughingstock among Northerners. And let's not even mention how you ruined this one," he said, gesturing at Sansa, "with all that Andal nonsense."

"Edric Stark!" Ned's voice cut through the tension. "Go to my solar. Now!"

"Is that a request or an order, my lord?" Edric asked coldly.

"I command you." replied Lord stark

Edric stood, his chair scraping against the stone floor, and stormed out. Ned's shoulders sagged as he looked at his family.

"You will all finish your meals and return to your lessons."

With that, Lord Stark turned and followed Edric out of the hall.

Lord Stark Solar

The solar smelled of old parchment and ashes, its oak desk worn smooth by his father's hands. A faded direwolf banner hung by the hearth, its strength dimmed with time. Edric traced a groove on the desk, feeling the weight of duty lingering like his father's voice—steady, unyielding, eternal.

After Ned Stark entered his solar and closed the door behind him, he turned to face Edric.

"still the same as I remember." said Edric

"I tend to keep it that way."

"Sit down," Ned commanded.

Edric complied, settling into the chair across from his father's desk. Ned sat in his own chair, leaning back slightly as he studied his son with an unreadable expression. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable.

"What?" Edric finally said, his voice defensive. "I was defending House Stark."

Ned's expression grew even more serious.

"Alright, alright. I'm sorry, sir. I won't lash out again," Edric said hastily.

Ned's piercing gaze remained unchanged.

"At mother," Edric added softly, averting his eyes.

Satisfied, Ned leaned forward slightly. "Now, tell me about this… magic. Is it just parlor tricks, or are you bluffing?"

"Oh no, it's as real as it gets," Edric said with a sly grin. He raised his hand, and at the tip of his index finger, a small burst of golden light flickered into existence, dancing and pulsing like a living ember.

Ned's stern expression cracked into one of astonishment.

"I don't recall any Stark ever possessing such a power," Ned said cautiously. "Are you the champion of R'hllor?"

Edric chuckled. "No, Father. R'hllor governs fire and hearth, attested by the head priest in Volantis. My power comes from light itself, and it's technically not magic—it's something more but sadly not hereditary."

"Are you the Light Emperor?" Ned asked.

Edric hesitated briefly before nodding.

Ned's brows knitted together. "And the rumors I've heard from traders from Essos…?"

"Oh, come on, Dad, You believe that nonsense? I'm your son. I follow every teaching instilled in me at Winterfell." Edric said with a practiced poker face.

Ned's expression remained unconvinced. "Just checking. Now, tell me about the note you left behind and your travels."

Edric leaned back, his gray eyes distant as he began recounting his journey. He spoke of his desire to see the North become self-reliant, to improve the lives of its smallfolk. He described his perilous venture into the ruins of Valyria, where he trained and honed his abilities. He spoke of searching for crops that could thrive in the North's harsh winters, of becoming a keyholder at the Iron Bank of Braavos, and of his vision to establish trade networks and noble-run shops throughout Westeros. Each detail painted a picture of ambition, resilience, and a determination far beyond his years.

"Eddie," Ned said softly when Edric finished, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and worry, "these ambitions… they are grander than most men could achieve in a lifetime. And yet, you pursued them as a boy who left Winterfell at the age of four. It's as though you're preparing for something. Something terrible."

"Winter is upon us, Father," Edric replied cryptically.

Before Ned could press further, a knock came at the door.

"Enter," Ned called.

A guard stepped inside and saluted. "My lord, a caravan has arrived, claiming to be part of Lord Edric's entourage. Lord Cerwyn is outside, saying he's ridden here to answer your call."

"I never sent a message to him," Ned said, his brows furrowing. "Send the caravan in and bring Lord Cerwyn to me. Also, summon the Maester."

The guard saluted and left. Silence filled the solar once more as Ned's gaze shifted back to his son, suspicion clouding his eyes.

"Was that your doing?" Ned asked.

Edric stood abruptly, avoiding his father's question. "Father, the gifts are here. Let's talk later. For now, come to the courtyard."

Before Ned could stop him, Edric turned and bolted from the room.