Hello everyone!

I know most of you must be eager to read about the rescue, but first of all, I would like to thank you once more! We are almost at 400 reviews for this story, it is amazing, I never thought it would get to that many. So, thank you very much!

Without further ado, enjoy!


Chapter XXXII: The longest day

"What do I tell them about the position in the Small Council?" It was clear that, on the eve of the royal wedding, Prince Oberyn was nervous. He was pacing the room Daeron shared with Ser Richard up and down.

"I don't know." Daeron sighed, he was not particularly panicked but Oberyn's unrest could get him there. "You can tell them you want no part in the failures of the Crown to bring justice… Or you can say that one of your daughters is sick." He tried to think about something else. "I'm sure, you'll find a satisfactory answer. Just, don't make them suspect you, leave at the same time as the guests. We will wait a moon in Driftmark, after that, go directly to Dorne." The Kingsguard nodded. They had already talked about the plan a thousand times over, but they all needed reassurance.

The lords and ladies of Dorne would go to the wedding with their prince, they would eat with the noble guests in the Royal gardens while members of their households would be in the yards and smaller gardens with all the lesser guests. Nobody could detect three missing Dornish soldiers. Ser Daemon Sand had volunteered to be the third man, the one needed to help in the tunnels if Sansa or Robb had trouble walking and crawling. Daeron had had his reserve but Oberyn had agreed and Daemon had given an argument he could not refuse.

"Your Grace, I've loved Princess Arianne most of my life, and she loves you… It's clear to me. I always knew I could never have her, but I loved her all the same. If you were do die, she would be hurt…" The knight did not even flinch telling that to his king. Daeron tried to ignore his jealousy. "Why would I want the woman I love to be hurt?" The man knew the price of betrayal and, according to his Kingsguards, he was not stupid, Daeron accepted his help. Though there was still no love lost between the two men.

In the morning, after emerging from his chambers, Daeron could not resist but laugh. He was faced with Oberyn and Ellaria. The prince was a genius, bringing his bastard paramour to the wedding. It turned out, it was the lady's idea. As was the outfit she wore. Perfectly scandalous, the Lannisters would hate it. She had a headpiece that looked slightly like ring mail but it was the dress which would cause unrest. Made of orange silk with sleeves that made like a cape behind her, it had metal pieces elevating the shoulders and the front was so opened it allowed to see what was underneath. And what exactly was underneath? Certainly not the proper undergarments of a lady. It was two triangles of fabric covering her breasts and only her breasts. Oberyn himself wore an elegant 'normal' Dornish attire. An orange shirt, opened in the front, a robe of white samite embroidered with strings of gold and a silk belt displaying the sun of House Martell.

Before they all left, Ellaria asked to talk with Daeron privately. He did not deny her that pleasure. Once they were alone, she looked at him with intensity.

"I think I'm beginning to know you, your Grace. You are likely to worry for your Kingsguard." He could not tell she was wrong. She was rarely wrong anyway, if ever. "I ask you not to concern yourself with us. I'll be there to help him. We'll be annoying the Lannisters just enough and I'll find a way to get us out of here. Focus on yourself and your cousins, but at the first danger, run for your life." Daeron appreciated what she had just told him. He needed it, even if he had not known it before.

...

Daeron, Daemon and Richard, none of them were well-known out of Dorne yet, but they all had the potential to have many songs written about them. Their valour was one that could easily be passed down in history for generations to wonder in awe if such brave and gallant knights had ever existed. There would be no songs about them if they failed on this day though. If they failed, they would die.

Daeron looked one last time at the Blackwater Rush. Its dark waters were colliding with the pale rocks below them. Small droplets hit Daeron's face, they smelled of salt and the sea, even if they were still at the river. In the morning air, the water created a mist which bathed the scene in grey wisps. It had to be beautiful… Daeron could not tell, he only felt his heart pounding in his chest. Soon, the bells echoed his beating heart. The wedding of the century was about to begin, they had a little over an hour to get to the Tower of the Hand.

Daeron gave one last nod at Ser Richard. The knight was dressed as a fisherman in their boat. His sword and bow were dissimulated under the fabric of the sail. His mission was to maintain the boat there and, if he could, catch some fish for them to eat on the way to Driftmark. Daemon went first into the narrow tunnel. He was pushing the torches they would use later before him. His king followed him. Daeron had all they needed in a bag that he carried, or rather dragged behind him. In it was the dye for Sansa's hair, the razor for Robb's and the clothes. Daeron himself was wearing black, he did not want to be easily seen in the dungeons.

They crawled for long painful minutes. Daeron felt the small rocks mixed in the dirt of the path. They scratched his knees and, sometimes, even his back when the tunnel became really low. Those scratches would only add to the ones he already made when he was scouting those passages.

They were silent, the effort was too great for them to talk. Even the sound of the bells had faded away. All Daeron could hear were the laboured breath of both he and his companions, the fabric rubbing against the dirt and his own blood pumping in his ears. If he had had time to think, he would probably have had cold feet. The plan was madness, certainly it would reveal him to his enemies. Thankfully, he did not have the energy to think. His plot was on the move, and he would succeed or die trying. Or they will die for you, it had been a long time since he last had voices in his head. This time, they took the tone of Ellaria Sand. The clever woman could be an asset to him, she had proved it once more. He would have to keep that in mind for later. That is, if she and Oberyn survived the capital. He had given it less thought but King's Landing in itself was full of dangers, especially for a member of a House that had the Lannisters as enemies. Focus Daeron! Ellaria's voice again, he realized he had been lost in his thoughts after all and Daemon was now several feet ahead of him. He could tell by the noise he made as there was no more light.

He ordered his muscles to move faster, ignoring the pain in his arms and calves. He started to hear different sounds. He guessed Daemon had reached the crossway. The young knight managed to make a spark and light a torch just as Daeron was getting out of the tunnel.

"Are you alright, your Grace?" The man whispered.

"I am." Daeron confirmed. "Are you?" The knight nodded. "Do you remember what we have to do?" He did not wait for an answer, a recap would do them good. "We will go to wait for Sansa together and bring her here. Here, you will stay with her while she changes and dye her hair, you remember how?"

Daemon nodded but murmured anyway. "Are you sure this is wise? I don't know if letting you go to the dungeons alone is a good idea." He had raised that concern before.

"I know how to fight, and it will be more discreet." Daeron waved the concern off. "Remember Sansa was raised as my little sister, she is very important to me. If you feel any danger, you have to get her to the boat without me." Daemon nodded. "Good, now let's go."

...

They had spent many minutes in the tunnel, so Daeron hoped they would not be too late. They were almost running now, Daemon was holding the torch in the tunnel so that they would not trip over a misplaced pave and fall. Once they were approximately to what Daeron believed was the middle of the passage, he grabbed his companion's arm. They needed to slow down, their steps made too much noise and the secret passages were known to be one of the best places to learn secrets. If one could hear inside the castle from these tunnels, then they could certainly be heard running in them. They walked the rest of the way.

They came into the light in the small chamber in the Tower of the Hand. There was very little noise outside. Mostly birds singing. No laughter and loud voices. Daeron guessed the ceremony was not over, or at least, the guests had not had time to arrive back at the castle. They were still early. Once the feast started, the grounds around the Tower would be used for the lesser attendees to eat.

Chatter started to arise after what felt like an eternity. Daeron was definitely not good at waiting, he had to have turned Daemon mad with his pacing. He was nervous, it was clear, but the knight, for once, kept his cocky remarks to himself. Now, the guests were arriving, and panic threatened to overwhelm the young king. What if his cousin had not made it?

He let out the breath he had been holding when the door started to crack open. Ser Daemon had his hand on the hilt of his sword. Sansa appeared, Daeron and Daemon relaxed visibly. She closed the door careful not to make any noise. She was wearing a beautiful gown, purple, fastened in the front by three firefly broches with an elegant necklace. Her hair was done in an elaborate way that reminded him of Queen Cersei's when she visited Winterfell. It would be a pain to undo, but they had no choice.

The young girl turned to him and ran in his arms. "Nobody saw you?" He murmured. "Now come, quickly."

They walked as fast as they could back to the crossway. Sansa was holding on to Daeron's hand, she squeezed it so tight she was starting to hurt him, but he did not mind. She was free, now, he only had to get Robb out and they could run to safety. He was feeling way more confident than before. This plan would work.

In the crossway, he turned to face the girl who he had thought was his little sister for a long time. "Sansa, I'm going to get Robb." She nodded. "This man is Ser Daemon Sand. He will stay with you." She gave Daemon a small curtsy which made the eyes of the man widen. In other circumstances, Daeron would probably have found this funny, but he had more pressing matters to deal with. "We have other clothes for you and dye, for your hair." She seemed to understand.

"Your Grace," the young girl frowned not understanding, "what do we do about her current clothes?" Daemon intervened.

"Burn them." Sansa hissed. Daeron nodded carefully but Sansa seemed to realize something. "But I have to keep the necklace, it was the last token of House Hollard." Daeron had no idea who they were supposed to be.

"Fine, keep it, but you have to hide it." He kissed her cheek. "I'll be back soon." He turned to Daemon. "You know what to do?"

"Yes, your Grace." The man bowed slightly.

Lighting another torch, Daeron disappeared in the tunnel. This one was made of dirt and bricks in a few places. Daeron reached the end of the passage. He adjusted a black scarf around his face, the Dornish way. He would be less likely to be seen with this.

He opened the hidden door and stepped into the last floor of the dungeon. It was unoccupied, had been for years, torture was not for the capital. It was practiced on the battlefields, away from the eyes of refined ladies and perfumed lords. Still, the place bore the stigmas of years of torments. Some bricks looked burnt. Wooden and metal devices could be seen everywhere, Daeron could not even start to imagine what they were for. All those pikes, sharp edges, straps and crack handles. One of the walls even had marks of a whip, or at least, he thought it was a whip.

Daeron found the stairs. He left his torch at the foot of the steps and unshed his sword. One last breath to stabilize himself and he started the ascension. His left hand stayed on the inner column of the stairs. The steps were uneven, he almost fell once or twice, but he kept focusing on the climb. Soon he started to hear voices. He guessed he had only one more turn and he would be on the third floor.

"We will transfer the prisoner in two hours. I will come back a little before, no one can see the traitor before that, not even the King and Queen, do you understand?" A man with a deep voice was talking. He was apparently giving instructions.

"Yes, Chief Gaoler." Two, there were two guards. At least he hoped there were. It did not matter in the end, whether they were two or ten, he would have to kill them.

He waited until the sound of this Chief Gaoler's boots could not be heard anymore on the stone steps. He held his breath and threw himself forward walking the last few meters fast, like a shadow.

Thankfully, the two men had started talking together. The first one did not see him coming and he did not have time to make a noise before Daeron had slit his throat. The young king kept holding the body, he did not want the fall to alert the whole tower. The second guard had his mouth open to shout. Too late, Daeron used the point of his sword to silence him. It penetrated his neck as if it was butter. He had perfectly blocked the airway. The man did not die instantly, but at least he was not shouting. The sword held him up while Daeron put his dead comrade delicately on the floor. No noise from this one. He focused on the other. Using his now free hand, he held him under the arm as he slid his sword out. Blood spurted into his face, blinding him for a second. When he opened back his eyes, the guard was dead. He slid the corpse down carefully.

He put his head through the door looking from one side to the other. There had been only two guards. Robb was probably the only prisoner in the Black Cells currently. On one of the dead guards, he found the keys. He took great precaution not to make them ring against one another. He had never understood why the keys were kept on the guards, it seemed to him that it made any escape attempt way easier. Then again, it also allowed the guards to act quickly if there was an issue in the cell. Daeron now had to find in which of the dozen cells Robb was captive. He made a wild guess based on the laziness he had observed at Joffrey's court. Robb would be in the closest cell.

He tried the keys, one after the other with a sense of urgency which made his hands tremble. Finally, the thick wooden door opened. It was at least four inches thick and reinforced with iron. Once it was closed, he supposed the dark must be absolute inside.

His guess had been right, there was someone in this first cell and it was indeed Robb. Rather, what was left of Robb. He was thin to the bone, his cheeks hollow, his beard and hair unkept and matted together. He was dressed in rags. He seemed pained by the dull light of the torch as he tried to see who was coming for him.

The cell itself was in no better state. There was no bed nor a bucket for waste. The straw on the floor smelled of urine and feces. And the cell was cold, so bitterly cold.

"Robb." Daeron whispered. Robb stopped struggling against the light and widened his eyes. He had to have recognized him. "Come on, we have to go, can you stand?" His cousin gave him a weak nod. Daeron put his sword away and went to support the former king in the North. He was weak, but not so weak that he could not walk. They climbed down the stairs as fast as they could with Robb leaning on him.

When they arrived down, he retrieved the torch and they quickly disappeared behind the false door. Daeron allowed himself a smile and a small sigh, but not for too long. He knew he had a little over an hour before people would come for Robb and sound the alarm. They had to be out of the bay by then. Inside the tunnel, Robb did not need his support anymore, he had found some energy again, which allowed them to go faster.

"You're not a ghost?" Robb croaked weakly.

"I hope I'm not." Daeron jested. "I could not leave you there." He justified himself for he knew Robb had many questions.

"Thank you, but you shouldn't have." His cousin whispered, Daeron ignored him.

...

They arrived back at the crossway in one piece. Sansa had changed. She still had chunks in her hair, but the dye was almost done as well. She turned to see who was coming.

"Robb?" She asked. Both Daeron and Robb nodded. "By the gods, what happened to you? You stink!" Sometimes, his cousin could be so naïve it amazed Daeron. Robb had turned into a mute it seemed.

"He has been a prisoner for several moonturns, Milady." Ser Daemon explained before turning to his king. "Your Grace, we're almost done."

"Good, just enough time to shave and dress Robb. We need to keep going." While the knight kept taking care of Sansa's hair, Daeron retrieved the razor. "I will shave the hair and the beard. Less chances to be recognized." Robb nodded his approval.

The hair was coarse and rigged with louses. Daeron did not even try to be delicate, they were in a rush. The hollowness in his face was even more visible without the beard. Daeron heard Sansa gasp. Daeron hoped Robb could dress himself, he had no wish to do it for him. Fortunately, he could and by the time he was in fresh clothes, his old ones had joined his hair, Sansa's gown and Daeron's bloodied scarf in a small fire that they would leave there.

They were ready for the way back to the river. "Alright, Ser Daemon will go first, and I'll go last. Sansa and Robb, you hold on to the ankle of the person before you." Everyone nodded.

The way back to the light seemed quicker than it had been an hour ago. Even Sansa's complaints and small whimpering did not manage to dampen Daeron's mood. He was almost there. He had succeeded at least until now. They all emerged from the secret passage.

Daeron smiled when he saw that Ser Jaime was there, Robb was not so happy. He had a movement of backing away and bumped into Daeron who immediately tried to reassure your cousin.

"He's with us." He said. "Or at least his with us until he proves unworthy."

Ser Jaime heard the exchange apparently. "Have no worry, Lord Stark, I am not a resentful man." He had a cocky smile about him. He climbed down the small rock he was on in his 'normal' clothe, if anyone could consider a silk doublet normal.

"Ser Jaime?" A voice they did not know and which sounded very surprised rose in the air. Goldcloaks. Daeron's heart froze in place. All had been according to plan until then.

"Good sers." Ser Jaime did not let himself be impressed by the three members of the City Watch who had arrived. "Do not stop for me, I was just coming to say goodbye to some friends."

The soldiers obviously did not buy his excuse, but Ser Jaime's jest gave them just enough time for Daeron to shove his cousins behind him and unshed his sword, and for Ser Richard to throw the bow and arrows at Ser Daemon who immediately started shooting. He caught one in the chest before they had the time to react. Arrows were exchanged. Daeron parried them with his sword. Another soldier of the capital fell from an arrow in the eye. The last one was slain by Ser Jaime using his sword in his left hand.

Daeron turned and was about to run to the boat. They needed to get away and quickly. The place was isolated but the noise might attract other Goldcloaks. He stopped when he realised Ser Daemon was on the ground. He was holding an arrow in his hand, the tip was buried deep in his neck and blood bubbled out of his mouth. Ser Jaime understood what he had to do. He took the two Starks with him and went for the boat. Daeron knelt at the level of Daemon's head. The poor young man was still alive but not for long.

"I will tell Arianne, you died for her." Daeron whispered with a hand on the knight's forehead. He could swear he saw the man nod before he took out the arrow and all the light in his eye left.

There was no time for tears. He took Ser Daemon's body under the arms and attempted to drag it toward the boat. "He's dead, your Grace." Ser Jaime stated.

"I know, but if they discover him here, they'll look to Dorne!" Daeron hissed from the effort. "We need to get him away from here!" The Lannister understood then and came to his aid.

In less than a minute, they were all cramped on the small fishing boat and the two knights pushed them away from the shore. They rowed without rest until the end of the bay, only hearing the beginning of the commotion caused by their escape. Shouts of Goldcloaks far away from them. they had no trouble getting out of the harbour and once they did, they lifted the sail which took them even further.

...

Daeron was exhausted. He wanted to sleep so badly it must have shown. "Sleep your Grace." Ser Richard told him. "We'll talk when you wake." It did not take more for him to capitulate. He laid as best he could on the hard wooden floor of the boat and slept instantly.

He was on the deck of a boat, above him five dragons of various colours. The biggest one was black as the night and enormous. The boat himself was unlike anything he had ever seen. The wood that composed it was so dark it was almost black with only a tint of red and it was veined with gold. The boat itself was narrow and tall with the head of a dragon at its prow and the sides were fashioned like wings. The huge two sails displayed the sigil of House Targaryen.

The sails were not the only mean of navigation there was. On the deck bellow Daeron, at least fifty men were rowing. They were dressed little and had collars around their necks. Slaves, Daeron thought, but did House Targaryen really use slaves? And if they did, when?

"Daeron!" He turned to find Daenys the Dreamer waving at him.

"Daenys? What is happening?" Daeron was slightly confused.

"Come!" She ordered gesturing for him to join her on the deck right below the dragon head.

She was not alone there. There was one younger boy, several other women and an older man. They were all very obviously from Valyrian descent with hints of gold and silver in their hair and all the shades from lilac to deep purple in their eyes.

"Come." Daenys said again. "I want you to meet Father." She led him to the older man. These people were not of Valyrian descent, he realized. They were Valyrians. "Father, this is Daeron Targaryen. One of our descendants." Daenys told her father, Aenar Targaryen, the legend had brought his name to the ears of Daeron's contemporaries.

"You don't look Valyrian." Lord Aenar commented.

"Thank the Gods, I would be dead if I was." Daeron replied.

"Contrary to my daughter, I don't want to know what happens to our House in the future." The old lord explained. "This day marks a new beginning for us, I hope it will bring us luck."

A new beginning indeed, Daeron thought, he had succeeded in his first real move against the Lannisters. He too hoped it would bring him luck, he guessed he would probably need all the luck he could get in the future.


So, tadaaa! I hope you enjoyed the rescue. I felt something needed to go wrong which is why Daemon had to die, I would like to know what you thought about that. Also, the dream is very short because I did not want it to eclipse the rescue.
Can you guess where the title comes from?

Next chapter: the aftermath of the rescue in Driftsmark.

Guest reviews:

- That is not my opinion. With the hand, he would not have been rejected by Cersei for being imperfect and he would still have hesitated to join Daeron. Besides, he would have had no need to train along the shore and would not have spotted Daeron.

- Thank you very much! I hope you liked the rescue.

- I can understand why you would say that before the twentieth chapter, but I don't think it's fair now. Though, it's your opinion and I respect it.
I am glad you like the author notes and the dream with Jaime and Targaryen children.
I can try and explain a little bit more why I think losing his hand was necessary in this story. When Jaime escapes the northern camp, his sole goal is to get back to Cersei. He is almost addicted to her and though he already knows about Daeron he is conflicted and his 'addiction' forces him to go back to his sister. Though, after he loses his hand, he is not perfect anymore and Cersei rejects him for it. It 'snaps him out of his fantasy that he and Cersei are made for each other and only then the need to join Rhaegar's son is stronger. But if he did not lose his hand, he would still have been perfect and Cersei would not have rejected him.
I agree with you analysis of Jaime but I still think his 'addiction' to Cersei is a problem and somewhat stronger than his honour.
Brienne will remain in the capital for a while, she has a role to play there.
We will learn of Cat's fate in about ten to fifteen chapters... I know my decision about Ghost was not popular but I stick with it. Again, we are all entitled to our own opinions.
Tywin's reaction again will come in a long time, but I will try to portray him as best as I can.
Thank you for your review.

- I think you're overdramatizing a little... Arya, like Bran and Rickon are assumed dead. Daeron would never have rescued Sansa if he did not have to rescue Robb. Robb was an a**. And Catelyn indeed earned his respect over the course of months, she also never really did anything wrong to him, she did not like him that's all. Ned left before they could sort things out. The Iron Islands are not a priority in my opinion.

- I know, I don't plan it to be that easy. But I don't think Daeron realizes that yet. I have not decided who would be Warden yet though...