Hail to the Stag Kings

Chapter 5: Assuming the Mantle of Leadership

—At the Driftmark—

It was a dark, stormy night during the voyage to House Velaryon's ancestral seat of Driftmark. Located in Blackwater Bay west of Dragonstone, Daemon had not set foot on the eponymous island since he was four years old. Samson, now actively out of retirement as Master of War and General leading the rebels' armies, shifted as the Velayron vessel Second Wind cruised past the crashing waves, steadying himself with merely his cane. Jacaerys remained steady and unmoved as Second Wind pressed on; already knowing full well he would be branded a traitor for aiding in his nephew's escape from prison, the Master of Ships dedicated House Velaryon's full support to Daemon's cause as Lord Admiral of the rebels' navy. The rogue Master of Whisperers Jaqoros, however, would maintain connections with his agents for him to operate as the rebels' spymaster.

Sailors hollered and shifted around the ship as Driftmark came closer into view.

Daemon felt his headaches coming more frequently. "Damn dreams..." he muttered. Every night it is the same dream. Why do they keep happening? But... what does this mean for me specifically? Since the escape, the Prince had not had a proper night's sleep. The several seemingly prophetic-like dreams began during his captivity where it always had a vision of a raven with three eyes calling out to him over and over — warning him of impending danger.

"All hands on deck! We're in sight of Driftmark," shouted Jacaerys.

Through the dense stormy mists, Driftmark became more visible. Named after driftwood brought by the tides, the island was low-lying and fertile with shipyards the Master of Ships himself mentioned earlier and settlements including the towns of Hull and Spicetown. True to his word, there were already 200 ships—longships and war galleys—docked; the castle of Driftmark itself was a grim-looking structure, often damp and flooded with dark, salt-stained walls; the second castle, High Tide, was built from pale stone with slender towers crowned with roofs of beaten silver that shined in the sun. When the waters of Blackwater Bay are at high tide, High Tide and the Driftmark become connected only by a causeway.

Once the Second Wind arrived at the port, Daemon was among one of the three to disembark with his trusted canine companion in tow. Accompanied by Samson, Jacaerys, and Jaqoros, the group was greeted by a squadron of Velaryon bannermen.

"Welcome back, my lord," one of them said.

Jacaerys nodded. "It's good to be home on solid ground again, lads. Has the main garrison sent word to my sister?"

"Yes, my lord. Lady Saenyra has been informed of the situation."

"Good. Take us to her at once. We've got a lot to talk about."

"Yes, my lord."

Aunt Saenyra? Gods, I have not seen her in quite a while. I wonder how she's been doing lately.

The Driftmark escorted the team from the docks towards the major road leading to the castle itself. The terrain was moist and slightly muggy with the occasional thunderbolts shooting across the darkened skies; Daemon felt exhausted from having to endure so much in a brief period and still had to be tended to by a maester for the bruises on his body, yet the flashbacks would occur off and on bearing the same warning.

« ...You're not safe here. You must keep moving... »

Daemon shook his head roughly.

"Are you alright, lad?" Jacaerys inquired.

"Iksan sȳz (I'm fine), uncle," he deflected. "I just... I haven't had a good night's sleep."