The frightened gaoler nearly ran off down the corridor, peering into neighboring cells.
Humfrey stepped forward.
His heavy footsteps echoed through the empty chamber.
A mark upon the wall immediately caught his eye.
A narrow streak.
Not a stain.
A trace.
The unmistakable sign of someone trying to climb toward the window.
Humfrey moved closer.
The opening sat near the ceiling, so high that he had to rise onto his toes to examine it properly.
Surely not…
Another smear of dirt marked the stone.
Not an accident.
Evidence.
Someone had fought desperately for freedom.
His gaze shifted to the rusted iron bars.
The damage was slight.
Barely visible.
Yet enough.
Two bars near the center had been bent outward ever so slightly.
Almost imperceptibly.
But apparently enough for one skinny orphan boy.
A tiny fleck of dried blood clung to the rust.
That explained the rest.
Slowly, Humfrey reached upward and pulled himself higher, peering through the opening.
Beyond the bars lay dark cliffs.
Far below, foaming waves crashed against jagged black stone.
Everything became clear.
“Ha…”
The sound escaped him almost as a laugh.
Almost admiration.
He himself would never have dared it.
But the boy had.
And now he was free.
The lad’s done this before, he thought.
Or had he?
Yes, he had escaped the castle.
But what if he had not survived the second fall?
What if…
“He’s nowhere!” Soles shouted.
The gaoler burst from a neighboring cell.
His face had gone beyond concern and entered true panic.
Humfrey glanced at him.
“Then keep looking.”
He could not entirely hide his irritation, but his expression had calmed.
Soles watched him nervously, clearly terrified that responsibility for all of this would eventually fall upon his shoulders.
The man coughed and hurried off once more.
Humfrey remained by the window.
Staring at that mark on the wall.
Thinking.
Yes, he ought to report the escape.
After a brief hesitation, he reached out and carefully rubbed away the smear upon the stone.
Then he erased every remaining trace around the window.
He already owed that “Snow” enough.
*
Arthur fought to reach the surface, but the current was too strong.
The water spun him about, stealing all sense of direction.
He could no longer tell up from down.
His strength was fading.
The cold abyss drew him deeper into its embrace.
Yet somewhere inside him, as before, a spark of hope still smoldered.
Weak but stubborn.
A quiet belief that he could break free.
Every desperate stroke sent pain through his body.
Still he fought.
Then, suddenly, something struck him.
A dull, brutal impact.
A stone tumbling through the murky water smashed into the back of his head.
His vision darkened.
A faint pop sounded, barely audible beneath the relentless roar of the waves.
And…
“Man overboard!”
The shout tore across the sea.
Activity erupted aboard the large and agile warship.
A sailor standing watch had been the first to spot the drifting body.
At his signal, rescue nets were cast over the side.
A tall, sun-browned youth saw that the sinking figure might slip past them.
Without hesitation, he kicked off his boots and dove into the water.
The rescued boy was hauled aboard moments later.
His body was pale, stark against the tangled blue-black hair plastered across his face.
The sailors knew time was short.
They laid him face down upon the deck planks.
“Stand aside!”
A tall, lean man in a worn green cloak hurried forward.
“Move, Mattos.”
He gently pushed aside the drenched sailor, who stood staring at the boy he had pulled from the sea.
“Come on, lad.
Not time to die yet.”
The man’s calloused hands settled upon Arthur’s narrow chest.
Several firm compressions.
Seawater gurgled from the boy’s lungs.
“Khah!
Khah!”
Arthur coughed violently and finally drew a precious breath.
His lungs burned.
His head spun.
But he was alive.
“That’s better,” the man said approvingly, helping him sit up so he could cough out the rest of the water.
“The sea is cruel and stubborn, boy, but it seems you’re even more stubborn.
How’d you end up out here?”
khah…
don’t know…”
Arthur looked around in confusion.
People surrounded him.
Sails towered overhead.
Far in the distance he could just make out the Red Keep and the harbor.
He genuinely could not understand how he had ended up so far from King’s Landing.
Then pain exploded through his skull.
The symbols returned, clawing once more at the edge of his vision.
“Gods, you took a hard blow,” the man whistled, studying Arthur’s head.
“A knock like that could make a man forget his own mother.
Remember your name?”
“Ar…
rkht…”
He instinctively began to say his real name, then caught himself and broke into another fit of coughing.
By some miracle he had escaped the dungeons of the Red Keep.
He had no intention whatsoever of returning.
“What was that?
Arkt?” the man asked with a grin.
“Yes.
Arkt.”
His voice trembled.
He studied his rescuer, trying to determine where exactly he had ended up.
The man’s cloak was old but clearly expensive.
Beneath it he wore a blue tunic, weathered boots, and brown breeches.
Gloves covered his hands.
“Thank you for saving me…
Where am I, m-my lord?”
“Arkt, is it?” the man said with a chuckle, clapping him on the shoulder.
“Thank Mattos instead.
He’s the one who hauled you out.
Consider today your second nameday.”
He pointed toward the sun-darkened sailor in the wet clothes.
There was something unmistakably similar between the two men.
“Thank you!” Arthur said earnestly.
Mattos waved a hand as if it were nothing, though the pleasure showed plainly on his face.
“My name is Davos Seaworth.
Or Captain, if you prefer,” the man continued, adjusting the small pouch hanging around his neck.
“You’re aboard the Black Betha, one of the finest galleys in Stannis Baratheon’s fleet.
And…
I’m not quite sure how to tell you this, lad, but if you’re hoping to return to King’s Landing, you’ll have a long wait ahead of you.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“We’re bound for Highgarden.
“Though perhaps we’ll put you ashore on Dragonstone.”
A/N:
While everyone else is waiting for updates, com / Captain_Lag (remove the spaces)