Hail to the Stag Kings

Chapter 4: Escape!

Red Keep — 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 Watch 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.