Chapter 7: ~ Starks of Winterfell, Training, Flight and First Blood ~ Part Two ~
~ Winterfell, Training Yards ~
~ Argella Stark - POV ~
The cold air bit at my cheeks, but it only sharpened my senses. From the balcony, I leaned forward, eager to watch my nephew's first training session. Draegon was a mystery wrapped in Valyrian silver, but beneath his sharp mind and dragonlord's poise, I saw a boy—one who still craved approval, even if he'd never admit it.
I flexed my hands, scarred from years of spear training. He'll need more than bloodlines and genius out there. Combat was honest. The training yard stripped away pretense and left only grit and determination.
"Don't fidget," Father murmured beside me, though his tone was softer than usual. "You'll worry the boy." I huffed but obeyed, clasping my hands behind my back. My eyes followed Draegon as he stepped into the yard, his black cloak trimmed with red—the colors of fire and blood. Beside him, my brother Barthogan loomed tall, his shadow as imposing as his reputation.
He's ready for this, I told myself, ignoring the small knot of anxiety in my chest. He has to be.
~ Winterfell, Training Yard ~
~ Draegon Targaryen Stark - POV ~
The cold morning air was sharp, but I welcomed it as a challenge. My muscles hummed with controlled power as my father, Barthogan, tested my limits with various weapons. The wooden practice sword, heavy and unforgiving, had been my first test. Then came the spear, which I had quickly learned to wield with precision. Now, my father handed me a bow and quiver of arrows.
"Accuracy is the mark of a true hunter," he said, nodding toward the straw targets lined up at varying distances. "Not all fights are won with brute strength. Sometimes, patience wins the day."
I adjusted the bowstring, feeling its tension, and nocked an arrow. Drawing the string back, I steadied my breathing. Inhale, focus, exhale—and release. The arrow soared through the air, striking the nearest target dead center. "Not bad," my father said, his tone guarded, though I caught the flicker of pride in his eyes.
I repeated the process for the next two targets, adjusting for distance and wind. Each arrow found its mark, though I allowed myself slight imperfections to appear more human. My final shot was the most difficult—a target almost at the edge of the yard, obscured by a tree. I aimed carefully, letting the arrow arc over the obstacle before burying itself in the bullseye. The gathered crowd murmured in awe. My father clapped me on the shoulder. "You're a quick learner, boy. But let's see how you do with something closer to the bone."
He led me to the practice dummies, handing me a pair of short blades. The weight was different from the longsword or spear—faster, more agile. I tested the grip, spinning the blades experimentally.
"You'll need these if you ever find yourself in close quarters," Father explained. "Speed and precision are key." I attacked the dummy, moving in swift, calculated strikes. The wooden figure's limbs splintered under the flurry of my blows. I adjusted my movements with every strike, aiming for the neck, heart, and other vital areas. By the time I stepped back, the dummy was reduced to little more than firewood.
"Enough," my father said, though his voice carried a note of admiration. "You've done well for your first day." As I wiped the faux sweat from my brow, I noticed my grandfather descending from the balcony. Eldric Stark, the King of the North, with his broad shoulders and silver-streaked hair, carried a small wooden box in his hands.
"You've earned this, Draegon," he said, his voice steady and proud. He opened the box to reveal two daggers, their blades curved like fangs and forged from dark Valyrian steel. The handles were wrapped in black leather, and the pommels bore the sigil of House Stark—a direwolf.
"These belonged to your great-great-grandfather," Eldric explained. "They are called Fang and Claw. I'll tell you the story some other time, now they belong to you. A gift, for proving yourself worthy." I took the daggers, their weight perfectly balanced in my hands. "Thank you, Grandsire. I will wield them with honor as I wield the name Stark."
~ Later, an hour before sunset ~
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Haedes and I soared above the Wolfswood. The thrill of the wind in my face and the powerful rhythm of his wings filled me with a sense of freedom unmatched by anything on the ground.
The wind roared around Draegon as Haedes soared high above the frozen lands of the North, his massive wings cutting through the icy air like blades. The chill nipped at his cheeks, but the heat radiating from Haedes' scaled body was enough to keep him warm. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the leather straps of the saddle as the dragon banked sharply, diving through a bank of clouds that parted like mist before them. The world below blurred, the snow-draped forests and rivers reduced to a fleeting tapestry.
Draegon laughed, a sound carried away on the wind, as the exhilaration of flight filled his chest. Haedes let out a triumphant roar, a deep, resonating sound that seemed to challenge the very heavens. Together, they climbed higher, chasing the faint glimmer of stars beginning to appear in the twilight. For a moment, Draegon felt invincible—one with the sky, the dragon, and the ancient power that coursed through their bond. Beneath him, Haedes rumbled in contentment, a sound of pure joy that mirrored his own. This was freedom, a dance of dragon and rider, a harmony that no earthly chain could ever break.
"Haedes," I said, patting his neck. He growled softly in acknowledgment. "Gaomagon ao pendagon īlon'll va moriot sagon bisa kostōba hēnkirī? Nykeā… gaomagon ao jaelagon naejot sagon?"( Do you think we'll always be this strong together? Or… do you want to be stronger?) He rumbled, a deep, thoughtful sound, his purple eyes glinting in the moonlight. I reached out to Raphael in my mind. 'Raphael, what would happen if I shared my bloodline with Haedes? Could he—or any other familiars I bond with in the future—gain the benefits of vampirism?'
Raphael's voice was steady and clear. '~Your bloodline is adaptable, my lord. Sharing it with Haedes would enhance his strength, intelligence, and longevity. However, such a transformation would further bind him to you as a familiar. He would not lose his essence as a dragon but would become something… more. ~'
I smiled, the thought of an even stronger bond between us appealing. "We'll consider it later," I murmured to Haedes. "For now, let's focus on what's ahead." Haedes rumbled again, and I felt his agreement as we descended toward the flicker of firelight below.
The scene we came upon was chaos. Bandits swarmed the caravan, their torches casting jagged shadows on the snow. The sigil of House Manderly was emblazoned on the wagons, and the guards were outnumbered.
"Let's show them why dragons should be feared," I whispered. Haedes roared, his wings beating the air as we descended. The bandits froze, their eyes wide with terror. As we landed, I leapt from his back, drawing Fang and Claw. The daggers felt like extensions of my own hands, moving in precise arcs as I engaged the attackers.
Haedes swept his tail through the snow, scattering the bandits like leaves. His sheer presence was enough to send most of them fleeing into the woods. The few who remained were dealt with swiftly—one by one, they fell to my blades or the caravan guards who rallied behind me. When the last bandit fled, I turned to the caravan leader. He bowed deeply, his face pale but grateful. "Dragonlord... m-my prince," he said, his voice shaking, "we owe you our lives."
"Make haste to White Harbor," I instructed, sheathing my daggers. "And tell your lord that House Stark protects its allies." Climbing back onto Haedes, I glanced at the darkened woods. The night was silent again, but I knew this was just the beginning. As we soared back into the sky, I couldn't help but feel a sense of purpose. This was my world now—and I intended to leave my mark on it.
~
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
BlackViodEmperor
BlackViodEmperor ~
Let me know how my combat writing is so far, and where I should improve. Until then, Void out.
~
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