He was drunk again. He called himself poor Florian, and he truly lived up to the name. But now, Sansa could only rely on him.
"We are temporarily safe here. This is the forest; The Spider cannot survive here. The Spider pays for every trivial piece of information. I think Shavepate has been serving him for many years," Thorys said.
"The riot is our chance?"
"Exactly. While the castle's attention is entirely drawn by the rioters, just think, what a lively riot, all of King's Landing is burning! On the river, I've found a boat. Because there are still fishing boats on the river, feeding those poor wretches, The Imp hasn't blocked the waterway," Thorys said.
Sansa shivered with fright. The commoners of King's Landing were not like the commoners of the North; they were arrogant, conceited, and prone to trouble.
"Please keep quiet, my dear," Ser Thorys said, "Outside the Godswood, everything must be extra careful. Pull up your hood."
Sansa nodded and did as told. Sansa followed this drunken clown. Because the half-drunk Ser Thorys's steps were clearly not as quick and strong as a typical Knight's, Sansa had to keep close to him, sometimes needing to support Thorys. Sometimes Sansa worried Thorys would collapse to his knees and start vomiting, but fortunately, this fool didn't fail so miserably.
Angry bugles and war drums sounded, flames shot into the sky, and the city was enveloped under the iron hooves of violence. Sansa lowered her head, walking in the shadows, walking under the blood-red comet, keeping close to Thorys.
During a rest, Sansa quickly discovered that this foolish Knight was dressed flamboyantly himself. Ser Thorys wore an old jacket under his brown hooded cloak: the lower part with horizontal stripes of pink and red, the upper part with three golden crowns on a black background—the sigil of House Hollard.
"Why are you still wearing your family's clothes? Didn't Joffrey forbid you from dressing as a Knight again?" Sansa asked. Thorys's ugly and clumsy drunkenness made Sansa feel that this person was unlikely to have the independent ability to rescue her.
"I want to be a Knight again, just this once. If Maidenpool were still here, I wouldn't have to be a clown. I am a true Knight." Thorys swayed as he stood up, grabbing her hand, "Come with me, don't speak, don't ask too many questions."
Sansa wondered, wasn't the castle that drove the Mad King mad still there?
Thorys and Sansa continued down the stairs and then crossed a sunken courtyard.
Ser Thorys pushed open a thick door, lit a candle, and led her into a deserted corridor.
Along the walls stood empty suits of armor, dark and dusty, with dragon scales from helmet to back.
They hurried through, the candlelight reflecting on the scales, distorting them.
It was as if a thousand Dragonriders had returned from the dead, Sansa thought.
They descended the steps to a heavy door made of oak and iron bars.
"Please be strong, my Jonquil, we are almost there."
Ser Thorys lifted the iron bar and pushed open the great door; a cold wind rushed in, and Sansa passed through the twelve-foot-thick wall, finding herself outside The Red Keep, facing a cliff.
The river was far below, and the sky stretched endlessly above, both dark.
"Climb down, Kikie," Ser Thorys called.
"Someone will take us to the big ship, but we need to get to the bottom."
"I'll fall, like my brother," Sansa said, pale-faced; she was a pampered lady, not a wild girl like Arya.
"No, you won't.
There are ladders here, secret ladders, carved into the rock face.
Here, feel, my lady."
Ser Thorys knelt, letting her lean against the cliff edge, guiding her hand to reach the hollows carved into the rock face, "As reliable as iron rings."
"It's too high."
Sansa did feel the hollows, but she dared not go down.
However, there was no other way, only this path to survival, no other possibility.
"Come, good lady, strong good girl.
Hold tight, don't look down, be strong, we can do it."
Ser Thorys knelt, for if they went back, it would be a dead end.
Thorys spoke of their first meeting—Thorys, drunk, fell from his horse, Joffrey wanted his poor head, and Sansa stepped forward to save the drunkard.
Sansa was his savior.
Ser Thorys began to wail, asking Sansa to repay him; if they didn't go, it was a dead end, and everyone knew Little Joff's temper.
"You go first, Ser."
Sansa watched Thorys descend, watching him grope for the dark hollows.
The fool tried for a long time, finally found them, and dared to go down himself.
He was clumsy, yet he urged Sansa to follow quickly.
I'll risk it, Sansa thought, listening to the drums and horn calls from the city, the fire and bustle of King's Landing.
Sansa counted the horn calls, and on the tenth, she cautiously walked to the edge, extending her toes to explore, looking for a foothold.
The city walls loomed before her; for a moment, she only wanted to run away, back to the warm bedroom in the kitchen castle.
Be brave, she told herself, be brave, like the maidens in stories.
"I want to go home."
Sansa didn't dare look down; it was too high and too dark.
The night wind howled, and she was a fragile Rose in the wind.
Sansa stared fixedly at the rock face, taking one step at a time.
The stone was cold and rough, and she constantly felt her fingers slipping, the hollows not nearly big enough.
The horn calls continued.
Before she was halfway down, she was trembling, feeling like she could fall at any moment.
But staying suspended was even more dangerous; falling would be half-death, staying here would be freezing to death.
Sansa finally reached the bottom; her heart pounded, she felt dizzy, and her legs trembled.
Sansa looked back at the path she had taken, realizing how difficult it had been, then she cheered.
Success, the taste of freedom was the taste of earth, I did it, I can go home.
Ser Thorys led the poor Child, "Don't speak, hurry."
In the shadows at the base of the cliff, a small boat was well hidden ahead.
Sansa looked at the small boat; everything seemed like a dream.
A man was waiting in the boat.
Ser Thorys gasped, staggering to meet him, "Oswell?"
"Don't speak!
Luckily there aren't many fishing boats tonight, it's really cold on the river this late."
Oswell replied, "Get in the boat quickly."
He used a pole as a seat; he was tall and thin, but an old man, with long white hair and a large hooked nose, his eyes obscured by a headscarf.
"Get in, hurry," he murmured, "we're going to be late."
After both were safely in the boat, the hooded Oswell slid the pole into the water, using all his strength to propel the boat towards the river mouth.
A small boat traveled on the great river, Oswell using all his strength, carrying the two shaken individuals.
With the steady, slow, and rhythmic strokes of the pole, they moved further and further away.
"Luckily, The Imp's tower isn't built yet," Oswell said with relief.
The winch tower built at the Blackwater Rush mouth hadn't had its chains installed in time.
Because of the cold weather, there were few boats.
A thin mist Rose from the river, concealing the boat's tracks, and they successfully avoided the bustling city.
Sansa's heart pounded, and she felt as if she had entered a world of ghosts, silent everywhere, everything like a dream, a beautiful, fleeting dream.
Sansa found the riverbank was no longer visible, the fog grew thicker, the horn calls gradually faded, and finally all the lights disappeared, a small boat venturing deep into Blackwater Bay.
The whole world was left with boundless dark water, drifting fog, and two silent companions, "How much further?" Sansa asked.
"Don't speak."
Though the boatman was old, he was strong, and his voice was extremely fierce.
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