—In the Black Cells—
Nightfall.
Daemon—battered, bruised, and only barely conscious—was chained by the wrists with his arms hanging over his head within the darkest cell beneath the Red Keep. Devoid of light, they left the Prince with only his thoughts to keep him company. He had viciously attacked his brother's men and two Kingsguard to save Sharra from further humiliation—but Argilac had quickly overwhelmed him and had his guardsmen brutally beaten regularly. He had sealed his fate: when the sun comes up on the morrow, the execution will begin.
Professor… Prime Minister Mallister… Lady Blackwood… "Shar… Sharra…" he coughed in a faint yet hoarse voice.
The City Watchmen standing outside his cell were busy trading banter or getting intoxicated after consuming Dornish red while on duty, often getting into drunken brawls which were later broken up by their senior officer upon hearing the loud commotion. As Daemon faded in and out, he would slip into a dream becoming more frequent the more his eyes closed. He finds himself in the royal gardens of the Red Keep chatting with his friends and other delegates gathering from across Westeros before spotting a raven landing on a nearby branch staring at him, continuously cawing at him. As Daemon leans closer to a better look, he realizes the bird has three eyes.
« …Awaken… »
Wha…? Who are…?
« …You must escape… »
Wait! Who or what are you?
« …Hurry. You have little time… »
Strange as the dreams were, a sudden yet loud brawl occurring outside his cell caused Daemon to jerk his head up when he hears it; there were fists thrown, blows landed followed by the echo of grunts and groans before the bodies fell with an audible thud. Those belonged to the gold cloaks assigned to watch him.
"I got the keys," someone whispered.
"Good. Now open the doors, free the Prince, and let us get the hell out of this place," another silently replied.
Daemon heard the mechanical gears in the locks turn until it gave a slight sharp click before the cell door was pushed inward, creaking. His eyes flickered at the sight of three individuals coming to his rescue; the room glowed with the illumination of lit torches. The light hurt his eyes, but he could recognize two of his saviors—donning the guise of jailers. The third's face was covered with a hooded cloak and dressed differently than the others.
"Your Highness!" an old man exclaimed, visibly horrified.
"Ja… Jarger?" the Prince's voice rasped.
"He's in rough shape. Argilac's men did a number on him," the other observed. He needs to see a maester soon. "Come. Help me get him down."
"Professor? How did…?"
"Not that difficult, my Prince. Poor sods lacked both the creativity and judgment to keep down an old man and a cripple," Samson replied. "Now, try to hold still and not to move too much." He and Jarger inserted each key into the wrist shackles' slot, fiddling with left and right turn until the first one clicked. As soon as one arm fell, the other followed suit. When Daemon felt free of his restraints, he stumbled forward before they caught him. "Easy, easy, lad. It will be all right. You're safe now."
"I never realized how far Argilac would go, how far he'd fallen into madness…" Jarger bemoaned.
"Sharra… Where's Sharra?" Daemon looked around.
"I'm here," she stepped from behind Samson and Jarger and removed her hood. Sharra was the third rescuer. She looked a little forlorn considering what Argilac and his troops did to her in the throne room, but Sharra would not bring it upon herself to abandon the one friend to come to her aid. She hugged Daemon, to which he held her close.
"Sharra… I—"
He feels guilty. "I know. Say nothing. I know," Sharra dismissed.
"*Woof! Woof!*"
"Hey boy," Daemon noticed his dog jumping up at him, wagging its tail.
"*Whining!*"
"Not to break up this brief reunion," Samson interrupted, "but we can't stay here. We are leaving King's Landing. Now."
"But how?" asked Jarger. "We have no weapons, no armor, we're heavily outnumbered, no support, the city's been locked down tight—"
"Word has already gotten out about what transpired. From Dorne to the Wall, every noble and commoner alike knows what happened. Even as we speak, riots are breaking out. Argilac's men will be too distracted to even notice what is going on at present. The Kingdom of Westeros needs nothing less than a revolution. It needs a new leader, but we can't do that if our heads are not on our shoulders."
"So… there really will be a civil war."
"It would seem so," Sharra concluded.
"But… where will we go?" Daemon asked.
Samson waved his hand, signaling for the group to follow him. "There are miles of hidden passageways running behind the walls and the floors beneath the Red Keep. The ancient Kings of Houses Targaryen and Baratheon knew the ins and outs of every tunnel. But an old acquaintance of mine had installed another on this floor in secrecy during your grandfather's reign. Thought no one would use it until now."
They kept sneaking through each hallway, with only the burning torch lighting their way.
"This… 'acquaintance' of yours, is he friendly?" asked Jarger.
"Depends on your mannerisms. How much the risk is worth taking," he answered. "But our benefactor's situation is more… mutual, yet complicated considering recent events."
Daemon still felt wobbly, even as he leaned on Sharra for support. "I… I should have done more. Back in the throne room. Before any of this happened. I should have done more to stop my brother," he lamented. "I… I am sorry, Sharra. Professor."
"Daemon—"
"I don't think there was nothing any of us could have done, lad. You would've only gotten yourself killed," Maybe I should have taken you away much sooner… as per your mother's request. Samson countered. "The way things are now, Argilac is too powerful to confront head-on. Which is why we must build more alliances for the cause if we are to even have a chance at defeating him. Sharra and I have been discussing it for quite some time now."
Jarger, meanwhile, continued feeling a sense of discomfort. There is always a sinister thing about the black cells. Terrible place for any man to be thrown into.
"What's… What'll we do?" asked Daemon.
"As the professor said, we will need to gather as many allies as we can," Sharra stated. "I'll go back to the Vale and tell my mother everything."
"If they help us, we can use the Eyrie as a base of operations while we prepare our next move," Samson agreed. "Besides, the Vale's mountains themselves are impassable and hostile Hill tribes are surrounding the area so the only way in is through the Bloody Gate."
"It's built into a natural choke point where the roadway narrows significantly into a tight ravine. It has been the Eyrie's primary defensive strongpoint for thousands of years. Ser Jarrad Royce has commanded the Bloody Gate garrison for over 20 years. He won't let anyone pass without my mother's approval," Sharra explained. "Many armies tried to take it during the Age of Heroes, but none succeeded."
"But it won't make any difference if we all die down here."
"What about… what about the others?" Daemon inquired.
When they sprawled through the corridor past another wooden door of another cell in their attempt to escape, the group suddenly heard the faintest sound.
"Zalro?! Wilas?! What are—Captain! Someone opened the doors!" someone called out.
"ALL HANDS! PRISONER ESCAPE!" shouted another.
*DING! DING!*
Shit! They raised the alarm! "Quick! Double time! NOW!" exclaimed Samson in a commanding tone.
The group sped up the pace, fearing more guards would search every level of the Black Cells to snuff them out, almost stumbling over the loose icy stones again in their haste. The dungeons felt like a maze once the group had gone a dozen yards before arriving at an iron gate that closed the passage.
"I got the keys," Jarger came up from behind with the ring of keys in his hands. As the fifth key rattled in the lock, they heard another audible click. He unlocked the gate, pushed it open, and motioned for the others to go through. Samson went through, followed by the dog, then Sharra… and Daemon. He listened to the receding footsteps until he was lost in thought. The old man felt terrible at seeing the Prince's condition being this bad before striding along with them—closing and locking the door behind him.
They soon stopped at a dead end.
"There's nothing here," Sharra mentioned.
"Not quite," Samson dismissed. He moved closer to the wall and removed two slanted stone bricks aside and shoved one hand into the gap.
"What are you doing?" asked Daemon.
"This is the spot that leads to the secret passageway out of the Black Cells from here. Only two people in King's Landing know about this, I included. And now, so do the rest of you," Samson explained whilst fiddling with the small mechanical gear hidden in the wall. Thank the Gods at least Argilac was never informed about this place. You listening, Daemon? Your house has produced some of the country's greatest heroes during their time. Your ancestor, King Daveth the Great, was the first to emerge. But your great-great-grandfather… King Durran the Bold, was the last. But you have an even greater ahead of you. You must be prepared. Trained. For you will need them to gather followers and gain the support of the people once you take the first step. The fate of Westeros rests entirely on your shoulders now. They need someone to believe in again. The kingdom needs nothing less than a revolution. "Our benefactors will wait for us on the other side to aid in our escape. Now if I could just — There! I got it!"
Samson quickly withdrew his hand and stepped back.
—Outside the Red Keep—
Nearly the entire group watched on as the walls trembled and shook before loudly opening a secret passageway leading to the outside world. Ascending a flight of twisting turnpike stairs, there laid before them the door. Before anyone could reach it, someone on the other end had already pried it open. Lurking on the other side in the dark in moth-eaten brown robes with hoods and torchlights in their left hands surprised the Baratheon and Arryn youths.
"We've been waiting for you, old friend," one said with a thick accent when he saw Samson.
"Apologies for the delay, but the situation has deteriorated faster than I would have liked." The professor turned to the others. "Daemon, Sharra. You remember the Master of Whisperers, Jaqoros Hestohr, and the Master of Ships, Ser Jacaerys Velaryon?" he asked.
Born in the Free City of Braavos, Jaqoros Hestohr was a well-informed information broker in service to the city's magisters and keyholders before advising the Sealord of Braavos in matters of intelligence gathering and espionage. Arguably considered one of the best spymasters in the known world, he soon retired from his job and sailed across the Narrow Sea upon receiving an invitation to the royal Westerosi court of King Ormund III Baratheon, where he was later named Master of Whisperers on the Small Council.
The other benefactor was more familiar to Daemon.
A man now entering his mid-40s with pale skin, greying silver-blond hair, purple eyes, and bearing the sigil of a silver seahorse on a sea-green field on his vest, Ser Jacaerys Velaryon was the youngest brother of Daemon's father Lord Jaerys, the former ruler of the island stronghold of Driftmark before marrying his mother then-Princess Shiera Baratheon. Upon his wife's ascent to the throne as Queen Shiera III, Jaerys passed on House Velaryon's leadership to his sister Lady Saerenys before moving to King's Landing. A natural-born mariner, it has been a long-standing tradition for the sons of House Velaryon to be given a taste of a seafarer's life at a young age. When Shiera and Jaerys both invited Jacaerys to the capital and granted him a seat on the Small Council as Master of Ships, he often took his nephew sailing with him aboard his personal flagship Vhagar.
"Valar morghūlis (All men must die)," spoke Jacaerys in High Valyrian.
Daemon looked at the Master of Ships; he knows him. "Valar… dohaeris (All men… must serve)," he replied in the same tongue. As a child growing up, his father taught him from an early age how to read, write, and speak High Valyrian from old scrolls. "Unc… Uncle Jac!" he limped towards his uncle and embraced him.
"I came as soon as I heard, nephew," Jacaerys comforted him. His face switched from kind to angry. He was furious. So much evil… See what harm your repugnant firstborn has done, brother? "Argilac… that little brat was always a troublesome boy, but this?!"
"Tensions have been high for years. We knew that conflict was inevitable at some point. I tried to stop him, but…"
"My little birds whispered everything that happened in the throne room into my ear. That is all we needed to know," Jaqoros chimed in. "How disappointing it must be to learn that loyalty these days mean nothing to a madman once given a taste of supreme ultimate power, my Prince. I served your grandfather and mother loyally, as we did your brother… for a time. How else would word have traveled so fast to parliament before its disbandment?"
Sharra narrowed her eyes. "Then… you were our inside source? That is how the rest of us learned of Argilac's tyranny in the first place? From you?" she accused, a bit too curtly. "If what you are telling us is true, then… then why haven't you warned us about Lord Gerion? Why didn't you tell us of the General's plans?" Her eyes glanced down to the grass from confused anger to a sadden shame. "Why didn't you stop him in the throne room… before his brutes…?"
"Sharra," Daemon reached out to her. He felt torn up. I'm very sorry, Sharra. I tried my best.
"This is not the time to be pointing fingers or accusing anyone of who did what or what might have been. There's no longer a parliament and the Prime Minister is dead," the Master of Whisperers refuted. "What is important is the fact that we're here now. Only a few of your colleagues did somehow take advantage of the confusion caused by the riots and escape their confinements. Lady Blackwood and the Greyjoy lass… With those whisperings, I must buy lives anew each day."
"Your intelligence source is accurate?" asked Jarger.
"Information is key to ensure the survival of all. It can either build or destroy an empire. Information is my greatest weapon. It's good. My little birds make certain of that."
"We already have one ship bound for Gulltown," Jacaerys pointed at one ship chained at a nearby port. "If you move fast enough, you can use the cover of night to slip past the remaining patrols. What's left of your escort should be waiting for you onboard already."
Sharra shook her head. Good. We'll be able to make it back to the Eyrie from there. Argilac will have his due for what he's done to all those innocent people… for what he tried to do to me. "You have my thanks, my lord. The Vale will never forget this," she said before turning to Daemon.
"So… I guess this is… What? Goodbye?" he frowned.
"For now, at least," Sharra sadly confirmed. "I need to get home before it's too late."
"But…" 'Don't leave me,' 'I love you,' is what he wanted to tell her. But he could not get the words out, whether it was from the pain he was in or something else.
Sharra must have felt his emotions from the way the Prince was looking at her. Please, Daemon. Don't beg me. Don't make it any harder on me than it already is. "None of us can make any genuine progressive change if we're stuck here in the capital now that parliament is no more. Not while Argilac threatens my family, the Vale, and to all life in Westeros. Rest assured, Daemon, House Arryn will aid you in removing him from the throne." She then glanced down at the dog.
"*Whining!*" the canine pawed at her.
"You take good care of him for me, okay?" she knelt.
"*Woof!*"
"That's a good boy."
"Lady Sharra," Jacaerys mentioned, "it's time."
The heiress to the Vale nodded in acknowledgment and stood up; taking one last glance at Daemon, Jarger, and Samson, Sharra gave a final polite curtsey before turning around and heading to the ship Jacaerys pointed out to her. Daemon felt his heart aching already at the sight of his childhood friend's departure; with the civil war now showing signs of emerging, he was not sure if he would see her again. Mentally he prayed to the deities of the Faith of the Seven for her well-being, but he just could not bear it. Shifting his body weight, Daemon gave a small painful grunt and moved to muster the courage to tell her something no matter how sore he was.
"I love you, Sharra!" he called out.
Sharra stopped mid-track when she heard Daemon mention her name but did not respond or turn around to look at him. Now she felt her own heartbreaking. Her lip started trembling. She shut her eyes when she felt them starting to well up and clutched the Arryn necklace. Why? Damn it, Daemon. Why now? For a few seconds, she appeared a sense of relief at Daemon stepping up more, but Sharra felt now was an inopportune time to make such a confession like that. "I know," was all she could silently muster before arriving at the ship.
Daemon watched as the vessel departed from the dock and sail away into the moonlight. His head slunk with the realization that Sharra Arryn was no longer within sight. Samson and Jarger appeared sympathetic. His uncle soon placed a hand on his nephew's shoulder.
"Nyke shifang skorkydoso ao ziry iksos qopsa, yn aōha riña raqiros iksis paktot. Issa syt īlva naejot umbagon isse Daro Vililio mirre. (I understand it's hard to watch her go, but your lady friend is right. It's not safe for any of us to remain in King's Landing.)"
The Prince slowly nodded sadly. "Skoriot gaomagon jī hen kesīr? (Where do we go from here?)" he asked.
"Ao iēdrosa emagon lentor isse se Pāletilla, ñuha valītsos. Lentor Velaryon kessa mīsagon ao. Māzigon lēda nyke. (You still have family in the Driftmark, my boy. House Velaryon will protect you. Come with me.)"
"Nyke… shifang. Kirimvose, ñābranna. (I... understand. Thank you, uncle.)" Daemon wiped his eyes before turning to Jarger and Samson. His face was serious. There was bound to be a reckoning. "Jarger, professor… It's time."
"But where are we going?" the old servant inquired.
"To Driftmark. If it's a fight my brother wants, then he'll get one. Professor, while my uncle leads our navy, I need a general to assemble an army. Can you help me?"
Samson nodded. Shiera, do you see your youngest? You'd be so proud of him. He's finally taken the first step. "Then let us set sail at once… Your Grace."
"Then let's get this show on the road… my Master of War."
—Within the Red Keep—
Argilac observed the riots taking place in the streets from the tallest tower of his castle. Crossing his arms, the tyrant stag King smirked with smugness as his enforcers began pointing their muskets at the protestors before squeezing the trigger.
*BANG!*
*BANG!*
In perfect unison, his men fired upon the mob, scattering them to all corners, looking for any safety they could find as piles of dead bodies fell to the ground. Once they reloaded, they aimed and fired once more. Even nearby sympathetic City Watchmen were caught in the middle; they were sworn to enforce and uphold the law, but they could not just sit back and watch this slaughter continue. The gold cloaks took up their spears and flintlock pistols and returned fire.
*BANG!*
*BANG!*
The musket balls dented King's enforcers' armor – causing all-out mayhem to ensue. When both sides came closer, each drew their swords and clashed. However, Argilac's men were provided with better steel plate armor, the finest weaponry, and the training than the gold cloaks. And with the troops provided by Lord Gerion Lannister, the protestors supporting the rebels and those caught in the middle were quicklyrouted without so much of a resistance. It was a massacre.
Look at them all. Foolish gnats. They're all weak, Argilac thought. Such a display has the benefit of novelty, but it is too little, too late. This is MY Westeros. MY kingdom. Every realm will obey me, or I shall destroy them. Its people will do as I say… or they will die screaming. And once I gain the power I seek, the power that is mine by right, all the world shall bend to my will… or be crushed under my heel. Nothing will stand in my way. This is MY Westeros. MY kingdom. And I will never give it up. Not to anyone.
His thoughts were then interrupted by the small gathering of his generals and advisors led by Gerion himself.
"Report," Argilac ordered.
One of his men stepped forward. "The rabble are being rounded up for questioning, Your Grace. Supposedly, they…"
"They what?"
"Well… I, umm…"
"WELL?!" he barked louder.
"My men have received word that the North, Iron Islands, and the Vale are said to be gathering their forces… as are your allies in the Stormlands, Westerlands and the Reach. It appears that it will be a civil war, after all," Gerion informed the King. "Dorne is mostly staying neutral, but the Riverlands may soon become a problem until a more permanent solution is presented."
"The nobility shall be brought into line and if not, shall be crushed. When an unruly child acts out, the parent disciplines them until they learn to obey," Argilac said rather confidently.
"There is something more."
"Oh?"
"It appears that during the riots, some of the traitorous nobles of the now-defunct parliament have taken the opportunity to escape from their cells. Some of your men were killed, either bludgeoned with anything they could get their hands on or strangled with their chains."
"The wretches… escaped?"
"The jailors meant to be guarding them until their scheduled execution was too busy getting drunk."
Fools! Such incompetence! Argilac was slowly becoming angrier and more incensed at the news. "Have those imbeciles executed for their gross mishandling of the situation! And see to it that whoever had those men assigned to guard duty be strung up!" he yelled.
"A-at once, Your Grace," one of the men panicked and scurried off.
"What else?" Argilac demanded.
"We found three men in the Black Cells lying unconscious near the one containing Prince Daemon and the Prince missing."
Argilac clenched his fists tighter. "My little brother… got away?" he seethed.
"Not by himself. He had help… from within," Gerion calmly shook his head. "We have no official confirmation yet, but our latest intelligence reports have suggested that the Master of Whisperers Jaqoros Hestohr and the Master of Ships Ser Jacaerys Velaryon may have had a hand in the escape of Prince Daemon, Sharra Arryn, professor Samson, and the old servant Jarger. My agents are unable to track them at present due to the riots."
"RAAAAAAAAAAARRGH!" Argilac roared. Picking up his war hammer, the King swung with all his might in a blinding fury, smashing pillars and tables and any nearby furniture he could get his hands on. His advisors were frightened by their ruler's temper as they feared they too would be next. When the room was mostly demolished, Argilac threw his hammer down. "Anything else…?" he panted.
"Nearly 200 ships from the Royal Fleet and a third of the Royal Army have defected and are now supporting the rebels."
"Traitors! All of them!" Argilac shook but angrily, yet quickly calmed down. "General Gerion Lannister, have your best hunters find them and kill them. Burn the villages, burn the farms. Let them know what happens when they choose the wrong side. Put a bounty on their heads if you have to."
Gerion nodded. "I already sent my best men after each of them, respectively. My son Loreon will be redirecting the loyalists north to bring the traitors to justice."
"Good, good. Then the time to act is now. General Gerion, I hereby grant you command of the entire Royal Army of Westeros and name you Hand of the King. Serve me well and your house will be rewarded handsomely."
"Thank you, Your Grace." Gerion nodded and left to mobilize his armies in the Westerlands.
Argilac, meanwhile, was left alone to stew in his thoughts. "So, Daemon, you wish to play at war, hmm? Fine then. Since you insist on getting in my way… I'll give you my full attention and take away all you hold dear. Enjoy while you can, little brother… because this will be the last time you get in the way of my ambition." And acquiring the power of the greenseer.
Chapter End
Author's Note: A prison escape and both sides are now ready for an all-out civil war. Defectors are revealed as Sharra moves to rally the Vale. Daemon and Argilac appear rather determined to end the other, but what of the Prince's dreams he has been receiving lately and what of the King's strange obsession with it? What purpose does it serve? Find out in the next chapter.
Guest #1: If the Stormlands, the Reach and the Westerlands not mention the Crownlands have sided with Argilac, doesn't that mean he has the advantage of numbers?
C.E.W: The civil war is near. It will be war between the northern and southern Westeros. For the Riverlands are neutral but they know that sooner or later they will have to choose a side. Because when the fighting happens, and it will happen, the Riverlands will be the center of fighting, at least at the start. Gerion Lannister is leader of the royal forces, and he's a war veteran and a skilled commander I am sure.
So Argilac seeks the power of the Greenseer, the main Greenseer is the One Eyed Raven who was Brandon Stark, hundreds of years ago at the time of King Daveth the Great.
Argilac wasn't using Stormbringer, so chances are it might be missing, and will perhaps be rediscovered and wielded by Daemon.