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Summary
Dunk enters the Maekar's study. "You've called for me, your grace?"
"Come in, be at ease." Maekar puts down the parchment he was reading. "I've a task of utmost discretion that I only can entrust to you." He pinches his eyebrows tiredly, as if annoyed at what he's about to say. "It involves my son."
"Aegon, sire?"
"Nay."
"...Daeron?"
"You're getting warmer, ser."
Duncan could only sigh in resignation.
This is the fourth time this has happened to Aerion. Waking up in a clearing, naked, with blood all over his mouth and chest. Carcasses of sheep and cattle strewn about, with human-sized bite marks all over, but made with sharp teeth.
"I've gone mad. I'm losing my mind."