Pov Allem
Allem Dayne guided his horse along the winding desert road, the late afternoon sun painting the Red Mountains in deep russet hues. He had spent the past two moons riding from one minor Dayne holding to another, ensuring harvests were tallied and taxes collected. It was a duty he performed diligently, if not gladly—Starfall's reach extended through rocky passes and fertile oases, and someone had to make certain that grain and coin traveled smoothly back to the family's seat. Still, the monotony of it grated on him. He far preferred the open roads to stagnant courts, yet the constant pretense and half-smiles from local petty lords tested his patience.
He urged his mare forward, recalling the last watchtower he had passed that morning. The guards there spoke of bandits prowling the trade routes near Blackmont land, but Allem had seen no sign of outlaws—only tired merchants and a handful of dusty riders on their way to markets in Windhall or High Hermitage. Dorne might seem peaceful these days, yet Allem knew how easily tension could spark in this land of proud tempers. The realm as a whole was not so different: King Robert Baratheon sat upon the Iron Throne, but rumors whispered of rising debts in King's Landing, of Ironborn raiders testing the western coasts, and of the old scars from Robert's Rebellion never fully healing.
In truth, Allem felt the weight of that rebellion in his own life. His mind drifted often to his brother, Arthur Dayne—once the Sword of the Morning—who had died at the end of that conflict, leaving House Dayne with an unfillable void. For Allem, Arthur's loss was more than the end of a legend beloved by bards; it was the wrenching absence of a brother whose kindness had surpassed his renown. Even so, Allem did not fault Ned Stark for that death. Arthur had chosen his path, and the realm had chosen its. Yet the memory cast a perpetual shadow on him and on Starfall. Some days he could not look at the sunrise glinting off the castle's pale walls without thinking of the dawn Arthur would never see again.
His reins slipped a fraction from his grip when a gust of hot wind blew, bringing with it the scent of sage and desert sand. He tightened his hold, guiding the mare around a craggy bend. If not for family obligations, he might have roamed farther north, seeking greener fields or the famed market towns across the Narrow Sea. But his heart had never quite let him stray far from Starfall. It was more than duty—there was a fierce loyalty in him for his kin. House Dayne had lost Arthur, and Ashara had lost so much more than a brother in those turbulent years.
Allem thought of her, with her haunting violet eyes that still brimmed with grief, determination, or both. After Arthur's death and the upheaval of the Rebellion, Ashara had returned to Starfall, cloaked in rumors and heartbreak. Some said she was changed, though Allem had found only a deeper layer of resolve in her—a private dignity that refused to shatter even when the realm's tongues wagged about her alleged liaisons and lost child. Only he knew the truth, or so he believed. Yet that truth came with burdens of its own, like the presence in Starfall of a certain boy: Edric Sand, as most called him. A child the world believed was Allyria Dayne's, a kindly cover that allowed Ashara to remain above suspicion.
Allem had grown fond of the lad—watching him scramble about the courtyard, ever eager to prove himself with wooden swords. Edric was bright, inquisitive, too curious for his own good. The boy's polite respect never quite masked the restless energy that drove him. Brandon Stark's blood ran fierce in Edric's veins, for all that he carried features reminiscent of House Dayne. It was a secret that could never be spoken aloud, not if they wished to keep him safe from political vultures.
With that thought, Allem pressed on, half lost in memory. The realm's troubles felt distant on these winding roads—bandits or no, the land was calmer than the turmoil of King's Landing or the frosty intrigues of the North. Yet he knew House Dayne's peace was fragile too. Any day a raven could arrive with ill tidings. And so he kept riding, ensuring the lines of supply and revenue stayed strong, ensuring loyal men guarded each pass. Each day of stability made Starfall a little safer for Lady Ashara and, above all, for Edric Sand.
Just as the sun hovered near the peaks, dipping the mountains in shades of crimson, he spotted a messenger galloping across the hard-packed road. The man wore House Dayne's sigil on his jerkin, and Allem's heart tightened. News from Starfall—whether good or bad—was rarely carried by a rider at such speed without cause. Pulling his mare to a stop, he accepted the letter. He saw at once the seal of the falling star in lavender wax, recognized Ashara's sure hand.
He opened it with dread, scanning the lines that spoke of fever, black tar, and a transformation that defied sense. Her words seemed to bleed urgency between the sentences, imploring him to return at once. He reread the letter twice, each pass leaving him with fresh unease. Edric's fever had struck again, apparently far worse than the first time. Nothing… normal about it, Ashara wrote.
His stomach churned. He spurred his horse forward without a second thought, the responsibilities he'd been tending forgotten for the moment. Let the lesser stewards handle the final tallies. If Edric's condition truly baffled even Maester Arron, Allem needed to be there. Outside threats to House Dayne were one matter, but this—whatever it was—struck at the heart of the family itself.
Now, as he rode into the deepening dusk, only a single question repeated in his head. What truly happened to Edric?
He glanced at the letter again, words blurring in the failing light. Starfall's outline loomed ahead, the fortress walls gleaming with distant torchlight. Allem felt a renewed surge of purpose. Whatever the truth, he would protect that boy as he had always done, quietly, relentlessly. If Edric had survived something beyond human reckoning, then Allem would stand beside him, no matter what new secrets might upend their world. In that moment, he remembered Arthur, and how fiercely he had defended those he loved. Allem could do no less. He kicked his mare into a canter, ignoring the burn in his muscles.
He had to reach home before the moon climbed too high. He had to see Edric safe, or at least understand what monstrous or miraculous thing had befallen him.
***
Allem Dayne reined in his horse at the crest of a rocky rise overlooking the final stretch of road to Starfall. The wind caught at his cloak, snapping it about his shoulders like a loose sail, but he paid it no mind. He was too busy squinting into the distance, searching for the pale towers he knew so well. Sure enough, the fortress rose against the sky, poised above the Torrentine's swirling waters. A faint glimmer of the Summer Sea lay beyond, burnished like beaten copper in the late-afternoon light.
Rubbing a hand over his neatly trimmed beard, Allem exhaled. He had not felt such raw unease since the raven that bore word of Arthur Dayne's death. Yet the lines in Ashara's recent missive unsettled him in a different way entirely: Edric, once merely feverish, now somehow changed beyond all reason. Even now, those words hovered in his mind, conjuring impossible images that refused to quiet.
He spurred his steed forward, continuing down the narrow trail that twisted among boulders and thorny scrub. Ordinarily, the sight of home filled him with warmth. His journeys were often tedious, negotiating land disputes, safeguarding trade caravans, and ensuring the lesser Dayne lands produced enough tribute for Starfall. But today apprehension weighed on him like a damp cloak. What had happened to Edric? And what, precisely, had Ashara downplayed in her letter?
The early signs of Starfall's outer defenses soon came into view: a wooden outpost manned by a pair of guards, the crest of House Dayne emblazoned on their shields. They exchanged quick salutes at Allem's approach. Their faces reflected relief—perhaps he should have come sooner. He reined in, giving his mare a breather, and nodded to one of the men, a younger guard named Rolan.
"Any troubles on the road?" Allem asked, keeping his tone neutral.
"None, Ser," Rolan replied—that habitual honorific lingering from respect rather than official knighthood. "Just the usual merchants and travelers. But we heard you'd been sent for. We're glad to see you."
Glad to see me indeed, Allem thought grimly. From his vantage, he noted they wore uneasy expressions, maybe reflecting more than an ordinary relief at the arrival of a Dayne retainer. A hush lay around them, a sense of unasked questions swirling close to the surface.
"Thank you," was all he said. "I'll ride on."
With a nudge of his heels, he guided his mount past the post. The stony path descended, and soon the main gate of Starfall loomed, flanked by tall walls. Within minutes, Allem entered the courtyard: a bustling space of stableboys darting between horses, servants carrying produce from a wagon, and two men rolling a cask of Dornish wine toward the cellars. At his appearance, a few heads turned. In the scattered murmuring, he could practically taste the tension.
Before he could dismount, a voice called his name. A stable lad—Harrick—hurried forward, bobbing a respectful bow. "Welcome back, my lord Allem," he said, taking the reins. "Lady Ashara waits for you in the solar. She said you'd come by sundown."
Allem nodded. "Yes, see to my horse. Have fresh water ready. The poor beast galloped half the way."
Harrick nodded eagerly, leading the mare off. Allem swung down from the saddle, rolling his shoulders to dispel the stiffness of the ride. The yard felt strangely subdued for a busy afternoon—it was as though a shadow lay over everything, a hush underlying the normal hum. He forced his feet to move toward the keep, trying to maintain outward composure while his own heart drummed a faster rhythm.
Guards at the main doors stood aside, offering short salutes that lingered with curiosity. Allem's footsteps echoed across the cool flagstones of the inner hall. Memories pressed in on him—he had grown up within these walls, one branch of the extensive Dayne family. Yet Fate and inheritance had placed Ashara at the heart of Starfall's affairs in more ways than one. The secret they now shared—that Edric was no mere bastard boy, but the child of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne—had bound them together in quiet complicity for years.
As he ascended the winding steps, a passing servant muttered something about "the boy" and "gods be good." Allem's jaw tightened. This was worse than he'd expected. Gossip never took long to flourish, but the undertone of fear made his own unease mount.
He found the solar door ajar, soft lamplight gleaming within. He stepped through, noticing how evening had tinted the chamber's walls a faint gold. Ashara sat at her writing desk, quill in hand, yet she didn't seem to be writing. Rather, she stared intently at the parchment before her, as if lost in thought. At his entrance, she looked up.
"Ashara," Allem said quietly, bowing his head in deference. "I came as fast as I could."
She rose, a graceful motion tinged with fatigue. Her face bore signs of tension—faint lines at the corners of her violet eyes, discoloration beneath them. Even so, she managed a gentler expression upon seeing him. "Allem, thank you." Her voice wavered. "You must be tired."
He shrugged off the travel aches. "The letter. I could scarcely believe it. Tell me everything. Is Edric—?"
Ashara gestured for him to sit, her tone subdued yet urgent. "He's alive, if that's your worry. Alive and... changed." She began to pace, her layered skirts whispering against the polished floor. "The fever took him for three days. We feared losing him, truly. Then he woke, but not as before."
Allem perched on a narrow wooden chair, tension coiled in his shoulders. "How bad is it?"
She paused, swallowing hard. "Worse than we could have imagined. Or better, depending on how you see it. He's grown—physically changed, as if he aged two or three years overnight. His strength is uncanny, his senses sharper than any boy's has a right to be—"
"Seven hells." Allem's breath caught. "That rumor of black tar, that's—?"
"Not rumor," Ashara confirmed, her voice tight. "We found him drenched in it. The smell was foul beyond words. It clung to the sheets but didn't stain his skin. Maester Arron was baffled."
Allem let a heavy silence expand, grappling with the magnitude of it. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Does this have to do with Brandon's blood? Or some curse, or—"
"He calls it a gift from the gods," Ashara broke in. "At least, that's the story we're telling. He says visions came to him—old gods, the Seven, who tested him with trials. It might be half-truth, half-lie, I don't know. But if the realm discovered how extreme his transformation is... We can't risk that. Not now, not ever."
Allem nodded grimly, remembering how even small talk of bastardy could spark intrigues in a world starved for scandal. "So you want me to keep quiet. That's easily done." He exhaled. "But how severe is the change, truly? Enough that I might think him a different child if I didn't know better?"
"You'll see for yourself," she affirmed. "He's in his chamber, resting. I wanted to speak to you before you laid eyes on him. Otherwise, you might have panicked."
Allem stood abruptly, adjusting his cloak. "Take me to him, then. I'd see the truth with my own eyes."
Ashara's lips tightened, but she inclined her head. "As you wish. Let's fetch Allyria as well. She'll want to be present."
They left the solar, descending a corridor lit by the glow of wall sconces. The hush of evening had begun to settle, but the occasional servant darted past, arms laden with linens or trays. Each cast inquisitive glances at Allem's purposeful stride. Ashara led him to a broader flight of steps leading to the living quarters. Partway there, Allyria joined them, her expression tense but relieved at Allem's presence.
"Allyria," he greeted curtly, though warmth underlaid his tone. She had overseen much of Edric's upbringing, at times playing the role of mother more visibly than Ashara could.
"I gather you've heard," she said. "I'm glad you came so soon."
Ashara paused outside a door. "He's inside. Let me speak first." She rapped lightly.
A heartbeat passed. Then a muffled reply: "Yes?"
Ashara opened the door, revealing a chamber lit by a single candle on a table near the bed. Edric stood across the room, wearing a loose-fitting tunic. Even in the flicker of candlelight, the boy's transformation was undeniable. He was taller, with the lean lines of early youth, not the pudgy roundness of a seven-year-old. His arms showed unexpected tone—small muscles coiling with each shift. The shape of his face had changed, too, the jaw more defined, cheekbones higher.
Allem sucked in a breath, fighting not to show shock. Yet his dismay must have flickered across his features, because Edric's posture stiffened. The boy attempted a welcoming nod, but Allem sensed the fear behind those solemn eyes. Still the same grey eyes, though: solemn, quietly intelligent, reminiscent of his father in a way that made Allem's heart twist.
"Uncle," Edric murmured.
Allem took a step forward, uncertain. "Edric... in the gods' name." He let out a tense laugh, though no mirth colored it. "You do look like a lad of ten or more."
The boy's lips curved in something like an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if this is a shock. It was... an ordeal."
Allem let out a sharp breath, stepping closer, scrutinizing every detail. Yes, the shape of the brows, the slope of the shoulders: undeniably Edric. Yet also undeniably changed. "We have much to talk about," he finally said, voice tight. "But first, are you truly well, boy?"
Edric nodded. "I'm better than well, if I'm honest. Ashara—Mother—asked me not to overexert. But physically, I feel stronger than ever."
A flash of confusion passed through Allem. Mother, plainly said. He glanced at Ashara, who offered a faint nod. So that secret was out in the open between them at last. Allem felt relief swirl with fresh apprehension. Those truths, once hidden behind the facade of Aunt and Nephew, no longer needed the same charade.
Allyria closed the door so that the four of them stood in the flickering candlelight. Allem noticed the bed linens had been replaced recently, no sign of tar or black stains, though a faint herbal scent suggested a thorough cleaning. The close warmth of the chamber, along with the tension, made the air feel heavy.
"I had a letter, yes," Allem began, voice carefully measured. "But words can't describe what I see now. Tell me plainly how this happened."
Edric drew in a breath, glancing at Ashara. She gave him a tiny nod to proceed. Thus prompted, Edric explained the story they had all agreed upon—or at least, a version of it. The fever returning, the unearthly dreams, old gods and new testing him, the strange tar left behind when his body changed. As the tale unfolded, Allem found himself swaying between disbelief and reluctant acceptance. He knew too many secrets in this great castle to dismiss outlandish claims outright.
When Edric spoke of last year's fever as a smaller hint of these godly gifts, Allem felt a chill. He recalled how swiftly the boy had healed, how he'd been bounding around the courtyard soon after. At the time, Allem had chalked it up to a young boy's resilience. Now, it seemed part of a larger tapestry of impossibilities.
When Edric finished, a hush fell. Allem eyed him. "So you're telling me the gods granted you this power? And that you learned all this through visions?"
Edric lowered his gaze. "Yes, Uncle. I don't fully understand it myself. But Mother Ashara says we must keep it hidden—that many would seek to use me if they knew."
Allem scratched at his beard, letting out a pondering rumble. "She's not wrong. If half of what you say is true, you might be the very stuff of legends. Or nightmares, for some."
Ashara stepped forward, her composure wavering for the first time. "I'm asking for your loyalty, Allem. As I always have. We can't allow anyone to exploit this for political gain—the boy's heritage alone is enough risk."
Allem's mind whirled with possibilities. He pictured lords from other regions hearing of a bastard child who had physically matured and grown inhumanly strong in a single moon's turn. Dorne was more open-minded about bastards, true, but such rumors would spread like wildfire, accompanied by whisperings of black magic, forging alliances of profit or fear.
He thought of Brandon Stark—his memory a half-forgotten ghost of the rebellion. Would that Wolf have wanted his son paraded or hidden? Brandon was never one to hide, but times had changed. "No. We can't let such news escape Starfall," Allem said at length. "Whatever story we weave must be consistent."
"We've told the castle it was a mysterious fever, a result of the gods testing him," Allyria added. "That it aged him unnaturally. Rumors might persist, but as long as we keep them vague and conflicting, the truth should stay buried."
Allem considered this. He studied Edric again, still grappling with the sheer wrongness—and rightness—of the boy's metamorphosis. "Are you certain you've no lasting harm? No hidden ailment waiting to strike?"
Edric gave a half-smile. "No harm, uncle. If anything, I've never felt more alive. Though it's all new... I'm still learning my body's limits."
"That, you must do away from prying eyes," Allem growled, letting protectiveness color his words. "If the master-at-arms sees you lift a man off his feet, or outrun a horse, he'll talk—even if he's loyal. Secrets have a way of slipping out."
Ashara moved closer to Edric, resting a hand on his shoulder. "He knows, and he's promised caution. We want to ease him back into the yard gradually. No feats of impossible strength in public."
A sardonic chuckle escaped Allem. "Avoid feats of impossible strength, indeed." He softened his tone. "Edric... I'm glad you're alive. Make no mistake of that. I've cared for you as long as you can remember. It's just... a shock. To see you grown so."
The boy exhaled, shoulders relaxing. "I wish it had been more gradual. But we can't change it now."
Allem nodded, accepting. He was no stranger to the unexpected. House Dayne itself embraced myths older than memory—like the legendary blade Dawn, said to be forged from a fallen star. Perhaps it was fitting that another marvel should rise under its roof.
Glancing around, Allem caught Ashara's gaze. Something passed between them, an unspoken recollection of all they'd done to hide Edric's parentage. He recognized the weariness in her eyes, the burden that only looked heavier now. "You should rest, child," he said to Edric. "I've only just arrived, but I see how much this has strained you."
Edric dipped his head. "I will."
But Ashara shook her head gently. "That's enough with formalities; we're all family here." She turned to Allem. "You'll stay a few days at least? There is more to discuss—how we'll manage rumors, how to handle Ser Daemon's curiosity and Maester Arron's questions, and everything else."
"Aye," Allem said, though in truth he had no pressing desire to leave. If chaos was brewing, he preferred to be in the thick of it so he could shield his loved ones. "I'll be here as long as needed."
Allyria stepped away from the door, looking relieved. "Shall we go to the solar and let Edric rest a bit more? We can speak of the specifics without troubling him further. The boy's had enough questions thrown at him."
Edric managed a small, grateful smile, as if glad for respite. Allem approached, hesitated, then laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. The bone structure felt solid, the muscle beneath it real and firm. Not an illusion, then. "Good to see you again, nephew," he murmured, allowing the old title. "Whatever this is, you're still a Dayne—and, gods help you, part Stark. We'll find a way to see you through it."
"Thank you, Uncle," Edric said. His grey eyes reflected something like relief, a sense that Allem's acceptance—guarded though it might be—was the reassurance he most needed.
Outside, the corridor felt slightly cooler, and Allem released a long breath. Allyria closed Edric's door behind them, then glanced at Ashara. "Where to?"
"Back to the solar," Ashara decided. "We can talk freely there, away from curious ears."
They walked, passing a cluster of servants who quickly bowed and hurried on. Allem stifled a sigh. Winding through Starfall's passages, he recalled another memory: decades ago, when he'd been a fresh-faced youth, uncertain about his place in the family. Now, strange though it seemed, he was the steady presence while a child with unimaginable gifts wrestled with his own place in the world.
Reentering the solar, they found it warmed by the last glow of day. A brazier off to one side offered flickering firelight. Allyria shut the door firmly, while Ashara moved to the table where ink, quill, and scattered parchment waited. The window above them afforded a view of the courtyard; purple shadows stretched across the cobblestones, and men prepared torches for the impending dusk.
Allem folded his arms, leaning against the wall. "So. We say it's the gods, old and new alike, bestowing a strange boon on the boy. A fever that triggered it. Most will be inclined to believe the simpler story, I suppose."
Ashara nodded. "In a place like Dorne, with its blend of traditions and tolerance for all manner of peculiarities, it could pass as a rare miracle."
"Still, some might suspect darker sorcery," Allyria added, her tone low. "But we'll do what we can to quell such whispers."
Allem eyed them both, a soft question in mind. "And how are you—truly? This can't be easy on either of you. You've kept his parentage a secret all these years, only for another, wilder secret to join it."
Allyria flicked a glance at Ashara, then looked down, wrapping her arms around herself. "We're frightened," she admitted. "For him. And for what it means if word spreads. The boy's grown. He looks so much like... Brandon."
A pained line etched itself across Ashara's brow. "If some Northerner who once knew Brandon were to see Edric now, they'd guess instantly. And if word reached King's Landing, or the Red Keep, or anywhere else a cunning mind might dwell... We could face a storm."
Allem's memory conjured the Red Keep's endless corridors of espionage, the lethal cunning of court. "Aye," he said. "Best that Edric remain in Dorne. Let the rest of that realm forget or dismiss him. Do you mean to keep him from traveling?"
"For the time being," Ashara replied heavily. "He'll remain at Starfall. At least until the realm's focus is elsewhere or he's steady enough to disguise his abilities."
Silence settled. The glow from the brazier cast dancing shapes across the walls, reflecting each inch of tension in the room.
"We'll need to keep an eye on Maester Arron's inquiries too," Allyria noted. "He's the studious sort; if he starts analyzing Edric's condition, there's no telling what he might uncover."
Allem grunted. "Maesters might be men of learning, but they can be discreet when it suits them. Make him believe the official line: a mysterious fever, the will of the gods. Offer no more details."
Ashara's shoulders slumped, a rare moment of vulnerability. "We're weaving quite a web. One misstep, and everything unravels."
Allyria reached out, touching Ashara's arm. "Edric told us the gods intended him for something—some prophecy, perhaps. He half-believes it might excuse his nature. I only pray it doesn't lead him to openly flaunt his gifts."
Allem winced. "Boys have pride, and Edric's always been determined. But let's trust he'll be careful, given the danger."
A nod passed among them, a silent pact. Eventually, Ashara turned toward the window, watching as the sky bled from gold into lavender. "We should sup soon. Allem, will you join us? In private, of course. Edric might be hungry, and I'd wager you've not eaten a proper meal this day."
Allem's stomach growled in agreement, reminding him he hadn't paused to break bread since dawn. "Yes," he said, softer now. "I'd like that. We can speak further, perhaps reassure the boy I'm on his side."
Ashara mustered a smile. "He'll be glad to hear it from you directly."
Allyria beckoned a servant waiting just outside to request a simple meal be brought to Ashara's private dining nook. As they made arrangements, Allem wandered to the window. The courtyard below was calmer, the bustle winding down. Torches began casting warm halos against the encroaching night. Somewhere out of sight, Edric settled in his chamber—caught in a whirlwind of growth and secrecy.
Allem found himself reflecting on the child's father, the fiery Wolf who had once possessed such reckless charm. Brandon Stark had died too soon, leaving only echoes behind. Now, through a twist of fate, his son carried an even greater burden: powers that defied reason, a body changed in ways no mortal man could entirely believe without seeing firsthand.
"Fate rarely deals simple hands," Allem muttered under his breath. He clenched a fist around the hilt of a small dagger at his belt, a gesture of reflex. "But I'll see him safe."
The vow was quiet, made to no one but himself. Yet as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing Starfall's ancient walls in twilight, he felt a certainty take root. The boy needed guardians, not just from the realm's scorn but perhaps from his own potential. Allem Dayne would stand steadfast, as he always had, protecting secrets that if revealed could shake even the stony halls of Starfall.
Someone touched his shoulder lightly—a servant ushering him to follow Ashara and Allyria to a private room, where a meal awaited. Allem let out a final breath before turning. Whatever trials lay ahead, they would face them as a family, each bound by love and cunning. Perhaps that was all the shelter Edric needed.
As darkness fully claimed the sky, Allem stepped away from the window and joined his kin, ready to share bread and words in the hush of Starfall's discreet corners—a reminder that in this game of shadows, they were allies first, determined to protect their own.