—– he’s often thought of what he would say should he see her again. apologies, excuses, hollow words for regrets that stick like thorns beneath his skin. here, with arya stood close enough to pierce his heart with that needle-thin sword of hers, he finds the words curling and dying on his tongue. forgiveness is a hard thing to ask for — especially when undeserved.
her final words to him still burn more sharply than a venom-filled bite, a shout that had echoed throughout the chambers of hollow hill. traitor, a liar; no lies had been fed to her during her short time with the brotherhood, though that did not make the truth any more palatable.
beric remains solemn as he bows his head. there’s submission in such a greeting, shielding his throat from the bared teeth of a wolf.