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Summary
Lucerys stood over him, offering a hand. Sweat glistened on his flushed skin, curls tangled, clothes just as filthy. One cheek was swollen from a recent blow—thin, harmless. Just a boy struggling to fight, surrounded by those who hated him.
“I’m sorry, uncle,” he murmured, gaze heavy with unspoken words.
Aemond’s voice cracked. “Why apologize for this, but never for my eye?” The grief was raw, fresh as a reopened wound. Lucerys brought him nothing but pain.
A story about revenge, regret, trust and mistrust.