Lucerys was drenched to the bone when he came back from his flight to Storms End ― with a now badly hurt dragon, no alliance with house Baratheon, and ... just feeling like a complete disappointment to his mothers' name, and the throne.

the voice of his uncle, hunting him through an ongoing storm and on dragon back, still haunted his thoughts, even when he was safely walking through the halls of his home now.

Luke could've so easily died tonight. several slashes up and down his arms were a bitter reminder of that. he would have to clean them later, when his hands would stop shaking.

his squeaking boots dragged him up to his quarters then ― it was mostly silent at Dragonstone, as most were probably sleeping through the storms' aftermath. he was glad to not find his mother already waiting for him.

instead, he finds you, pacing through his room like you were waiting all night for him to return.

"my lady," his voice is the weakest it's ever been, but he tries to muster a smile nonetheless. just for you.