In Planetos As Light Human

Morning after the feast

The light of midday filtered through the narrow windows of Edric Stark's office in the holdfast. A sharp knock on the heavy wooden door roused him from a restless sleep.

"Come in," Edric muttered, rubbing his temples.

The door creaked open, and Pytho entered with his usual composed demeanor. "Good morning, master. From what I heard from the servants, it seems your plan was a success."

Edric groaned slightly as he sat up. "Only time will tell, Pytho. Why have you woken me so early?"

"Master, it's nearing midday. I've arranged for a hearty bean soup and some lime juice," Pytho replied as a servant entered, carefully placing the dishes on the table.

After splashing cold water on his face, Edric sat down and began rubbing his temples. "Did I do anything... crazy last night?"

Pytho smirked slightly. "No, master. Other than blasting a hole in the Great Hall's ceiling while performing parlor tricks for the lords, I'd say nothing much. In fact, you showed remarkable restraint compared to the last time you indulged in drink. A vast improvement, I dare say."

Edric chugged down a spoonful of the soup and sighed in relief. "Ah... so good. What's the status on the crop?"

"Many lords have already departed. I ensured each lord received sacks of potatoes along with detailed instructions on planting, tending, and harvesting them, as per your orders. If all goes well, we could reduce food imports by nearly fifty percent in the first year alone."

Edric nodded. "Let's hope so. Send men at regular intervals to inspect the plantations. If any complications arise, I want you to ride out personally to handle them. Work closely with the master of ravens. He's trustworthy, but remain vigilant."

Pytho bowed his head. "Yes, master. For now, I'll coordinate with the builders. Our headquarters will be ready within the month."

As Pytho left, he gestured to someone waiting outside. "Lord Jon, please go in."

Jon entered with a cheeky grin. "Morning, shooting star."

Edric arched an eyebrow. "What?"

Jon chuckled. "Robb told me the lords started chanting that after you tried showing them some tricks. Heard you blew a hole in the Great Hall's ceiling."

Edric sighed. "Yeah... I still can't hold my liquor well. Tell me about your studies."

Jon's expression turned serious. "I haven't been able to cast anything yet. It gets more complicated the further I go. Each page feels heavier than the last. But I'm doing my best."

"Good," Edric said firmly. "The magic in this era is faint. Even a simple spell requires great sacrifice."

Jon tilted his head. "Is that why the followers of R'hllor perform sacrificial rituals?"

Edric nodded. "Exactly. But don't focus too much on whether you can cast them yet. Memorize them. Burn them into your mind. That's the first step."

Jon nodded in understanding.

Edric rose from his chair, stretching his stiff muscles. "Well, time to clean up my mess. Also, I'm planning a tourney in six moons' time. Train well, Jon. I want to see you win the archery contest. Father won't let you participate in the other competitions, but archery—well, that's within reach."

Jon grinned. "Yes, brother. I won't disappoint."

With that, Jon departed, leaving Edric alone with his thoughts as the midday sun cast warm light across the Stark banner hanging proudly behind him.

1 Month Later

Near the foothills of the Wolfswood, the sound of repeated impacts echoed through the quiet forest. A man stood before the rocky base of a mountain, his fists hammering against the stone. Each strike sent small chips of rock scattering, the force of his blows cracking the surface. His hands bled from the exertion, crimson staining the jagged edges of the rock, but the wounds closed almost as quickly as they formed, his body's regenerative power visible to the naked eye.

Edric Stark paused, breathing heavily. He flexed his bloodied fists, watching the last of the cuts seal themselves as if they had never existed. Sweat dripped down his face, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. His gaze lifted to the sky, where the sun hung high, bathing him in its warm, golden light.

He sank down onto a nearby boulder, letting his muscles relax for the first time in hours. As he stared into the vast expanse above, his thoughts turned inward.

'I've mastered every technique Kizaru had—every movement, every attack. My physical strength has leapt forward since I reincarnated into this world. Yet for months now, I've hit a wall. No matter how much I push myself, I can't increase my power output, Atleast I'm able to use 50% of his strength. This bottleneck... it's infuriating.'

His jaw clenched as the frustration bubbled within him. Then, a faint smirk crossed his lips as he recalled the battles with the beasts of Valyria.

'Thankfully, those creatures gave me a good boost. It seems my growth only truly spikes in life-and-death situations. Maybe I need more of that... though where to find such opportunities without derailing my plans?'

A sharp whistle pierced the quiet. Moments later, two wolves emerged from the tree line, their powerful forms cutting through the snow. The white one, Stella, bounded up first, carrying a freshly caught rabbit in her mouth. The larger, darker wolf followed closely behind, his amber eyes scanning the surroundings. Stella dropped the rabbit at Edric's feet, her tail wagging with pride.

Edric crouched down, running a hand over her head. "Good girl, Stella," he murmured, a rare warmth in his voice. He ruffled her fur before standing. "Alright, fun times are over. Let's head back."

As he began walking, the wolves flanking him, his mind wandered once more.

'I've been trying to recreate Haki for two years now. Not even a sliver of progress. It's as if this world outright rejects the concept. Still, there's a silver lining. The blood of the First Men must've granted me some resistance to seawater. I lose my powers, sure, but I don't drown helplessly. Small mercies. Only valyrian steel has stopped my elementalisation power.'

The faint crunch of snow beneath his boots was the only sound as he moved through the woods, his wolves keeping pace. Edric's thoughts grew darker as his mind turned to the looming threat of the Night King.

'I could go toe-to-toe with him now and cause serious damage. But completely annihilate him? I'm not so sure. And I can't risk revealing my power to him not yet. He'd find a way to exploit it. No, I need to bide my time.'

The thought of venturing to Sothoryos flitted through his mind. The tales of ancient, monstrous beasts and untamed lands called to him. He could grow stronger there, perhaps find the life-or-death challenges he needed to break through his limitations.

'But it would delay everything. My plans here, my allies' growth... it's not the right time. Not yet. Training, preparing my people that's the path for now.'

The walls of Winterfell came into view as the trees thinned. Edric's expression hardened, his resolve clear. He reached down, patting the larger wolf on the shoulder as they approached the edge.

'The Night King, the storms to the south, and whatever else lies ahead... I'll be ready. And so will they.'

Edric Stark's steps slowed as he approached the gates of Winterfell. His sharp gaze fell on the banners of House Tyrell, their golden roses fluttering in the northern wind. Men bustled about, erecting tents and camps outside the main gate, their work coming to an abrupt halt as he passed. Many of the workers froze, their eyes darting nervously between the imposing man and the direwolves flanking him. The wolves—Stella and her darker companion Anubis—prowled at Edric's side, their presence eliciting a mix of fear and awe from the onlookers.

Edric ignored the stares, his focus unwavering as he strode through the camp and into the castle. Once inside, a guard approached him, bowing respectfully. "Lord Edric, Lord Stark requests your presence in the Great Hall. House Tyrell is having the midday meal."

Edric nodded curtly. "Call for Steward Poole," he instructed.

The guard hurried away to fetch the steward, and Edric made his way toward the Great Hall, pausing just outside. He waited only a few minutes before Steward Poole arrived, his expression as efficient as ever.

"Lord Edric, how can I assist you today?" Poole asked.

Edric's tone was sharp, direct. "Have the Tyrells brought the compensation?"

Poole nodded, a hint of incredulity in his voice. "Yes, m'lord. I don't know how you managed it, but I couldn't believe it myself until I saw it. The gold is being transported into the vaults as we speak."

Edric gave a satisfied grunt. "Good. As for the food, leave a few wagons for us and some to sell. The rest, I want distributed to the major, knightly, and minor houses across the North. Also, ensure a large portion is sent to the Wall."

"M'lord, the Tyrells may expect—" Poole began, but Edric cut him off with a raised hand.

"Leave the logistics of winterfell to the maester. Prioritize this first."

"Yes, m'lord. I'll begin immediately after informing Maester Luwin," Poole said, bowing before departing.

With the steward gone, Edric entered the Great Hall. The lively conversation within fell silent as the younger Stark strode in, his presence commanding the room. He approached the table, the direwolves trailing behind him, their eyes surveying the southerners with a predatory gleam.

Margaery Tyrell rose gracefully and offered a polite bow. Edric gave her a small nod, gesturing for her to sit. She obeyed, her movements as fluid as a river.

Edric's eyes shifted to Lord Mace Tyrell. His voice, cold and measured, broke the silence. "Lord Tyrell, it's good that your sincerity was not complete, but it is at least acceptable. I trust the journey wasn't too difficult."

Lord Stark's brow furrowed slightly at his son's blunt tone, but he held his tongue.

Mace Tyrell forced a hearty laugh. "Nothing to mention, Lord Edric. Just a few minor bumps along the way. Allow me to introduce my youngest son, Ser Loras, and my daughters, Margaery and Lyra." He gestured to each in turn, his pride evident. "I must apologize that Willas and Garlan could not join us."

'Two? I thought Margaery was their only daughter, if my memory serves me right. It's rather unsettling seeing how both Loras and Lyra flash their flirtatious eyes towards me.'

Edric's reply was curt but polite. "I hope Lord Willas and Garlan are doing well. And Lady Alerie?"

Mace opened his mouth, but Lady Olenna Tyrell spoke first, her sharp tongue cutting through his attempt. "Thank you for your concern, boy, but they have more important work to do, running a realm." She speared a piece of food with her fork, her gaze unflinching.

The lunch proceeded slowly, the conversation marked by subtle barbs and moments of awkwardness. Ser Loras and Lyra both made attempts to engage Edric, their smiles charming and words sweet, but he responded with polite indifference, his mind elsewhere. Olenna, meanwhile, took every opportunity to make a cutting remark, her wit as sharp as a blade.

When the meal concluded, Lord Stark stood, addressing the Tyrells. "Thank you for coming, Lord Tyrell. I hope there will be no lingering bad blood over the misunderstandings between our houses. Mistakes were made on both sides."

Edric's jaw tightened, his anger barely contained at what he perceived as unnecessary deference. Robb's firm hand on his shoulder and Arya's light nudge kept him seated, though his expression remained stony.

"To foster goodwill," Lord Stark continued, "I've arranged a hunt in the Wolfswood tomorrow. It will be a fine opportunity for camaraderie. In the meantime, my wife and Sansa will show you around Winterfell."

"That sounds delightful," Mace replied, his tone warm. "We look forward to the hunt."

Olenna smirked, her voice laced with sarcasm. "I'm sure exploring a castle as old as this will be fascinating."

Edric rose, his expression unreadable as he excused himself. The wolves followed close behind as he left the hall, their silence reflecting his own brooding thoughts. The games of diplomacy had begun, but in his heart, he resolved to ensure that Winterfell would stand unyielding, no matter what alliances were forged or broken.