"And you won't make the same mistake that landed you here the first time, I'm sure," he says half-jokingly. Commentary aside, Daemon knows it's the best plan he's going to get under the circumstances. He appreciates the transactional approach instead of something messier. It's neat and simple, and he likes knowing where the edges are. He likes to think his death would be an inconvenience.

"Are you always so grim on the eve of battle?" More of a figure of speech than an estimate of how long he thinks they'll have to wait. "Normally, I'd have a drink, but this king is a poor host."

Now that they have a plan, they only have to execute it when the time comes, and Daemon stands because he can't bear to sit still any longer; he is incompatible with captivity. His pacing has a secondary purpose, at least, not unlike when he would walk the field for hours before a tournament, counting distances and feeling the footing to take advantage of the terrain. He listens for anything that might give a clue to the world above, continuing to distract himself enough to keep all of this within a tolerable state.

"Fuck the odds. Focus on your job: don't die before they do. It seems I need you in one piece, so you may rest assured that I'll bring an end to things as quickly as possible."