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Summary
“I don’t know what I’m even looking for,” Criston sighs, clenching a fist and breathing slow through his nose. “It’ll be hours to get a tow from roadside assist, and God knows how far that’ll set us back,” he adds, still mostly talking to himself.
Aegon hums, back on his phone. “I think my uncle lives out this way, maybe he could come look at it?”
Criston’s stomach dropped and he straightened up, looking at Aegon incredulously, “you couldn’t possibly mean Daemon,” both because Daemon had been hanging around the King’s Landing office since Visery’s death like a foul odour, and because he’s a selfish cunt.
Aegon laughs, “fuck no, I mean Gwayne, my mum’s brother.”
or.
Criston, sent to retrieve the heir to Targaryen co.'s business empire, encounters car trouble.