51 AC
Island near Skane
The longship Wolfsbane sliced through the icy waters, its prow aimed at the jagged, glacial silhouette looming on the horizon. Aboard, Theon Stark stood beside his wife, Diana, her auburn hair tied back against the biting wind. Their daughter, Morgan, and sons, Artor and Harrion, huddled close, their faces a mixture of trepidation and awe. Theon's twin brother, Jonnos Sköll, gripped the railing, his expression a mirror of Theon's, while his wife, Lena, offered a steadying presence to their sons, Torrhen and Alaric. Their sister, Lyra Karstark, stood tall with her husband, Rickard, their sons, Eddard and William, beside them. A select few of the Winterfell wolfpack, seasoned warriors all, stood ready.
The air grew colder as they approached, a dry, intense chill that promised a land sculpted by ice and ancient magic. The island, a frozen monument, rose from the sea, its peaks capped with shimmering blue glaciers.
"This is it," Theon murmured, his voice barely audible above the groaning of the ice floes.
Diana met his gaze, her concern evident. "Are you sure, Theon? This place feels… unearthly."
"I am sure," Theon replied, his eyes fixed on the shore.
Jonnos nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "The mark… it pulses stronger now."
With practiced skill, the Wolfsbane navigated a treacherous channel, finally reaching a sheltered cove. As the keel grated on the icy shore, a profound silence descended, broken only by the crunch of ice and the distant, mournful cry of a seabird. The Northmen prepared to disembark, their breaths misting in the frigid air.
As the Wolfsbane settled against the icy shore, the Northmen moved with practiced efficiency. A small group of wolfpack warriors, sturdy and silent, began unloading supplies, their breaths pluming in the frigid air. Others remained near the longship, their eyes scanning the desolate landscape, ever vigilant.
Theon, Diana, Jonnos, Lena, Lyra, and Rickard led the way, their children close behind. A few more wolfpack members, burdened with packs and provisions, followed, their footsteps crunching on the frozen ground. They moved towards the center of the island, their figures small against the vast, white expanse.
The small procession of Northmen trekked across the icy terrain, the crunch of their boots the only sound in the vast stillness. After a while, Theon halted, surveying the landscape.
"This seems a suitable spot," he announced, his voice carrying clearly in the crisp air. He turned to the wolfpack members carrying the supplies. "Set up camp here. We'll need shelter before nightfall."
The warriors nodded, immediately setting to work. Theon then turned to his family, his expression softening slightly. "Come," he said, gesturing towards a rise in the distance. "The place we went... it's not far from here."
Without question, Diana, Jonnos, Lena, Lyra, Rickard, and the children followed Theon, their eyes fixed on the distant rise.
Theon led his family over the rise, the wind whipping around them, carrying the scent of ice and something else... something ancient and powerful. As they crested the hill, Theon stopped, his gaze fixed on the valley below. Jonnos, beside him, shared the same knowing look.
"We are here," Theon announced, his voice hushed with awe.
Before them lay a vast, bowl-shaped valley. In the center, nestled amongst towering formations of ice that resembled frozen waterfalls, was a frozen lake. And upon the surface of this lake... were the ice dragons.
A collective gasp escaped the Northmen. The sight was breathtaking, terrifying, and utterly unlike anything they had ever imagined. The dragons shimmered with an ethereal blue light, their scales catching the pale sunlight like a thousand frozen sapphires.
Diana's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with disbelief. "By the Old Gods…"
Lyra gripped Rickard's arm, her usual stoicism momentarily abandoned. "They are… real."
The children stared in stunned silence. Morgan, usually so composed, could only manage a whisper. "They're… magnificent."
Artor, clutching his wcloak, felt a surge of adrenaline, a warrior's thrill at the sight of such raw power. Even Harrion, the youngest, forgot his fear in the face of such wonder.
Theon turned to his family, his expression a mixture of pride and reverence. "These are the ice dragons," he said, his voice low. "The creatures of legend. And they are… bound to us."
"Bound to us?" Rickard asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean, bound to us?"
Jonnos stepped forward, his spiraling mark glowing faintly. "The blood of Stark," he explained, his voice resonating with an ancient power. "It calls to them. And they answer."
Lena, ever practical, spoke softly. "How did you… how did you find them? How did you know?"
Theon met her gaze. "I had… visions. Dreams that showed me where they were, and how to reach them. And this mark," he gestured to Jonnos's glowing hand, "it guides us, a physical manifestation of the bond."
"And you can… communicate with them?" Diana asked, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and apprehension.
"In a way," Theon replied. "Not with words, as we speak, but with thoughts, feelings… a sharing of minds."
"And they are… not hostile?" Lyra asked, her hand still gripping Rickard's arm tightly.
"Not to us," Jonnos assured her. "They are ancient, wise. They have seen things we cannot even imagine. They are… a part of us, in a way."
Theon stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the largest of the dragons. "They have been waiting for us," he said. "Waiting for the Starks to return to them."
Theon stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the largest of the dragons. A sense of deep connection resonated within him, a bond forged in dreams and solidified by the ancient mark on his brother's hand. He extended his thoughts, a clear, resonant call.
"Saphira," he projected, his mental voice filled with both command and affection.
At the sound of her name, the largest ice dragon, Saphira, lifted her massive head. Her eyes, the color of the deepest glacial ice, snapped towards the direction of Theon and his family. A low, resonant hum emanated from her, a sound that vibrated not in their ears, but in their very bones. Then, with a fluid grace that belied her immense size, Saphira began to move across the frozen lake, her powerful strides carrying her swiftly towards them.
Saphira moved across the frozen lake, her powerful strides carrying her swiftly towards them. As she drew closer, her ancient eyes fixed on Theon, a voice echoed in his mind, resonant and filled with a profound sense of recognition.
You have returned.
"Yes," Theon replied, his thoughts clear and strong. A sense of homecoming, of ancient duty fulfilled, resonated within him.
Beside him, Jonnos felt the familiar pull, the echo of a name in his mind. He focused his intent, reaching out to the ice dragon that had answered his call before. "Sylvi," he projected, his mental voice filled with a quiet strength.
Almost mirroring Saphira's actions, another ice dragon, slightly smaller but no less majestic, turned its attention towards Jonnos and the group. Sylvi, her scales shimmering with an almost ethereal light, began to move across the ice, drawn to her bonded Stark.
Saphira moved with a regal grace towards Theon, her massive form casting a long shadow across the ice. Sylvi followed, her movements slightly more delicate, yet still carrying an immense sense of power. As the two dragons approached, Theon turned to his family, his face alight with a mixture of awe and pride.
"This is Saphira," he announced, his voice filled with a deep reverence. "She is bonded to me, as Sylvi is to Jonnos."
He gestured towards his brother. Jonnos stepped forward, his hand resting on Sylvi's snout. The ice dragon inclined her head towards Lena and their sons, a soft hum emanating from her.
"They are... magnificent," Diana breathed, her initial apprehension replaced by a sense of wonder.
"More than magnificent," Theon corrected gently. "They are ancient, a force of nature. And they are a part of our heritage, of the North itself."
"Can... can we touch them?" Morgan asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"With respect," Jonnos cautioned, his gaze steady. "They are not tame beasts. But they are willing to accept us, to forge a connection."
Theon extended a hand towards Saphira, his palm upturned. The dragon lowered her head, her icy scales cool and smooth beneath his touch. A sense of calm, of ancient wisdom, flowed between them.
"She is... peaceful," Theon murmured, his thoughts echoing the dragon's own. "She knows our intentions. She knows we come in peace."
He encouraged his family to approach, one by one. Diana reached out to Saphira, her touch hesitant at first, then growing bolder as she felt the dragon's gentle presence. Lena did the same with Sylvi, a sense of quiet understanding passing between them.
The children were both awed and cautious. Morgan, ever the scholar, studied the intricate patterns on Saphira's scales. Artor gazed at Sylvi with a warrior's respect. Even young Harrion, with a little encouragement from his father, reached out a trembling hand to touch Saphira's snout.
Theon watched as his family tentatively interacted with Saphira and Sylvi, a sense of hope blossoming within him. He then turned to his sister, Lyra, and her husband, Rickard.
"Lyra, Rickard," he said, his voice clear and encouraging, "you should try to connect with the others. You carry Stark blood as well. The bond may extend to you."
Lyra exchanged a hesitant glance with Rickard. "Us? We've never… we've never even been near a dragon before, let alone an ice dragon."
"The blood of the First Men flows through your veins," Jonnos added, his gaze steady. "It is worth trying. The potential benefits for our house, for the North, are immense."
Theon nodded in agreement. "There are other dragons here, younger ones, perhaps more… receptive. We can guide you, help you to open yourselves to them."
Rickard, ever cautious, frowned slightly. "It's… a great deal to ask, Theon. We are warriors, not dragon riders."
"And you are Starks," Theon countered gently. "This is a part of our heritage, a power that has been dormant for too long. We must embrace it."
"We might need this power in the future," Theon added, his voice taking on a somber tone. "Who knows what threats may lie ahead? The dragons could be our greatest strength, a shield against the darkness."
He then turned to face Lyra and Rickard directly, his expression earnest. "It is not about taming them," he explained. "It is about connection. You must open your mind, your heart, to them. Feel their ancientness, their power, their… loneliness."
Theon gestured towards Saphira, his hand resting on her cool scales. "Reach out with your thoughts, not with words. Sense their emotions, their memories. And offer them your own – your loyalty, your courage, your Stark blood."
Lyra, her heart pounding in her chest, stepped forward. Her gaze fell upon a white dragon, its scales shimmering like freshly fallen snow, its eyes a piercing yellow. This dragon radiated a raw, untamed energy, a sense of wildness that made her both wary and drawn.
As Lyra approached, the white dragon shifted, its massive head lowering, a low growl rumbling in its throat. It was a clear attempt to intimidate, a warning to stay away. Rickard tensed at the back, his hand instinctively moving towards his sword hilt.
But Lyra held her ground. She met the dragon's yellow gaze directly, her own eyes filled with a mixture of determination and respect. She would not be cowed. She was a Stark, and the blood of the First Men flowed strong within her veins.
The dragon seemed to sense her resolve. It paused, its growl softening slightly. It studied Lyra, its ancient eyes assessing her. After a long, tense moment, the dragon lowered its head further, its posture shifting from aggression to curiosity.
Lyra took a deep breath, her hand outstretched. She focused her thoughts, projecting a sense of peace, of kinship, of the shared heritage that bound them. She offered her loyalty, her courage, her Stark heart.
The white dragon moved closer, its snout nudging her hand. A wave of icy energy washed over Lyra, a torrent of images and emotions flooding her mind. She felt its loneliness, its longing for connection. After talking with the dragon for a while, she named it Snowfyre.
A bond began to form, a fragile thread of understanding that grew stronger with each passing moment. Lyra felt a sense of connection, a shared spirit.
With a newfound confidence, Lyra climbed onto Snowfyre's back. The dragon tensed for a moment, then, with a powerful thrust of its wings, launched into the sky. Lyra, holding on tight, soared above the icy landscape, the wind whipping through her hair, a triumphant cry escaping her lips.
Inspired by Lyra's successful bonding with Snowfyre, Rickard stepped forward, his expression a mixture of determination and trepidation. He approached another ice dragon, this one a magnificent creature with scales the color of a stormy sky. This dragon possessed an aura of quiet strength, a sense of ancient wisdom and power.
He remembered Theon's words about opening his mind and heart, about feeling the dragon's essence. Taking a deep breath, Rickard extended his hand, focusing his thoughts on the shared blood of Stark that flowed through his veins, the courage and loyalty of his house, Karstark, and the ancient connection to the North.
The grey dragon observed him with its piercing, intelligent eyes. It lowered its massive head, its snout close to Rickard's outstretched hand. A wave of icy energy washed over him, not as wild as the energy he felt from Snowfyre, but deep and resonant, like the rumble of distant thunder.
Rickard felt a name form in his mind, a name that suited the dragon's somber, powerful presence: Greysmoke. He offered the name to the dragon, a silent acknowledgment of their burgeoning connection.
A bond began to form, a sense of mutual respect and understanding. Rickard, his initial apprehension fading, felt a surge of exhilaration. He had connected with a dragon, a creature of myth and legend.
With a newfound confidence, Rickard climbed onto Greysmoke's broad back. The dragon tensed for a moment, then, with a powerful beat of its wings, launched into the air. Rickard, holding on tight, soared through the sky, the wind rushing past him, a cry of awe and exhilaration escaping his lips. He and Lyra now rode the ancient ice dragons.