Chapter 1: The dragon in the ice
Two men, most likely government, given their outfits, were walking across a barren, frozen arctic landscape. On their thick, warm parkas, was a symbol with an eagle with the word, SHIELD, written underneath it on their right arms of the parkas. Next to them was a surveyor, possibly from the same organisation. The trio walked across a frozen landscape; the wind, snow and ice whipping and howling around them.
Then they came over the next ledge. What they saw shocked them; a massive 1940s german engineered futuristic plane, half-buried in the ice. But the thing that shocked them the most was the half-buried, animal-like thing under one of the super-plane's wings, seemingly sheltered from the harsh, arctic wind.
One of the men who was at the base, a plain looking man by the name of Phil Colson. He half walked, half skidded down the icy slope. Grabbing a long, thermometer like thing, courtesy of SHIELD's genius duo, Fitz-Simmons. He aimed it at the creature encased in the block of ice.
A slow, pinging sound was echoing through his headphones. Whatever it was, it was alive. Then he got a second heart-beat on the thermometer, slow, and steady like the creature's own heartbeat. That was beyond weird, even for a seasoned SHIELD agent like himself.
"Call Fury, tell him we got something," one of the men barked at Phil.
"It's three am, Trip," Phil answered in his normal deadpan response.
"I don't care what time it is, but we have something," Trip responded, trying to not roll his eyes.
"We have to call him, cause this one waited long enough," Phil answered begrundly, once he saw the shield; the red, white and blue paint brilliantly preserved thanks to the ice.
Everyone in SHIELD knew about his Captain America obsession. He was teased mercilessly for it, mostly from Romanoff. He even terrified Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye once he found his locker, but they had to wake Fury. It's like poking a sleeping dragon in the eye.
No one in SHIELD doesn't want to wake Fury at three am. Fury without his morning coffee is a horror that no one wants to witness. Barton learned that mistake the hard way, one could swear that they heard 'Taps' being played through the hallways, honouring the doomed agent.
Admitting defeat, Phil pulled out his satellite phone, and dialed a number that no one outside of SHIELD should have. Unless your name is Tony Stark. That man was a menace, especially when he's bored and on a caffeine high. Is it even possible to get a caffeine high?
"AGENT COLSON! DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS!?" the man's voice thundered over the phone, clearly angered by being woken up at three am.
"Yes, sir, I do," Phil responded, keeping his voice cool.
"GOOD! NOW TELL ME WHY DID YOU THINK IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO WAKE ME UP AT THREE AM!?" Fury screeched into the phone.
"Sir, we found him and the dragon," was Phil's answer.
" WHAT!? ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOU FOUND CAPTAIN AMERICA AND THE GOLDEN DRAGON?!" Fury roared into the other end of the phone, half shocked that after seventy years, America's best known soldier was alive.
Frozen in the arctic with his faithful companion encased in the ice with him. Both Fury and Phil realised that they had found a lost soldier to return home. But how were they going to pry a dragon, most likely the size of a two-story house out of the ice?
Who this man really was and how his most faithful companion earned their spot in America's history? All one has to do was to look back nearly seventy years ago during the peak of WWll. Their story was one that changed history, as the world knows it.
Eventhough most of it was made up by conspiracy theories, parts made up to grandeur the tale of Captain America and the Golden Dragon. How did a scrawny, sickly punk from Brooklyn become a hero to the world, a symbol to the nation? This was his story, and hers as well.
SEVENTY YEARS AGO…
Steve Rogers was not someone no one would look twice at. He was small, skinny and underweight for his age, he was twenty two. He weighed about a hundred pounds soaking wet. His suit hung awkwardly on his thin shoulders. He had a surprisingly deep voice for his size and height.
He sported kind, deep blue eyes, and blond hair, the color of golden wheat. He had a pale complexion, and bright blue veins that one could trace all over his skinny body. His nose was broken over and over again, due to the alarmly high amount fist-fights he got himself in. It was permetaly crooked thanks to that flawed personality trait.
This time he was in the back alley behind the movie theater getting punched. Yeah, he was a stupid punk from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight. It was a sentence that would continue to defy him for the rest of his life. Everyone in his neighborhood knew him as a kind hearted person. If there's one thing he guarded closely to his heart, was the fact he had a dragon.
Dragons were rare in the world today, and Dragon riders were thought to be like the myths like King Arthur. All dragons had a tough hide, impervious to any weapons known to mankind. The scales were compared to vibraimum, in the toughness and general resistance to projectiles, like bullets.
Dragons were slaughtered by the thousands, for their scales, to make bullet proof armor during the Great War. It had sickened him, and his mother, who hailed from a long lineage of Dragon riders. It's why he had taken great lengths to hide Liberty from the world, only one person knew about her and that was Bucky Barnes.
He took the subway downtown, and drove on his motorcycle to a small farm in New Jersey. The farm was purchased by his parents during the Roaring Twenties. He worked odd jobs and rented out the land to the migrant workers, who helped with repairs. The farmhouse was adjacent to a large stable. In the large stable, slept a massive, golden scaled dragon.
Liberty was snoring softly, her sides moving as she breathed in. She gave a yawn, showing off jaws lined with long, sword-like teeth. The talons and the teeth of dragons were strong enough to puncture the armor of tanks. She snapped her jaws shut and opened up her eyes, showing their deep, brilliant blue color.
Her scales were vibrant shades and hues of gold, the lighter belly scales being a tawny color. While the scales on her neck are a deep, golden wheat color. She had three golden-brown scales underneath her eyes, almost like freckles. Her ivory colored talons scraped against the door. She had a light brown stripe down her back, closer to her ivory colored spines. Her horse-like ears pricked and swerved around hearing every single sound.
Getting up, she trotted out of her stable and into the yard. She flapped her wings, stretching the pale, yellow membrane between them. She stretched and worked out the kinks in her muscles. She flicked her tail side to side as she stretched and yawned.
There was no denying the beautiful, yet powerful grace that she held. She had a horse-like head, regal and dignified. For a creature about the size of a two story house, she walked with a queenly grace, lightly lifting up her talons as she walked.
Little one! She cried once she felt the mental link connect.
Hello, Liberty, how's the farm?
Oh, nothing new, where is flight-brother?
He can't come, he's being sent overseas tomorrow.
Oh, that's a shame.
Want to practice flight maneuvers?
Oh yes,
Liberty galloped down to the side of the stables, with Steve holding a saddle that was way too heavy for him. It was light and designed to fit the larger-than-normal gap between her shoulder spines and her wing joints. The saddle slid comfortably across that gap. She felt the buckles and straps being clicked together and tied firmly against her scales.
She crouched down, low enough for him to clamber awkwardly over her massive knee joint and grip the edges of the saddle. Liberty never had to worry about Steve being too heavy to plop down on her. She felt Steve slide his feet into the stirrups and buckle the straps that went around them to prevent his feet from sliding out when doing high attitudes.
Ready, Libs? He asked, calling her by his beloved pet name that he had for her.
Liberty didn't need a signal from Steve to go. That question was the signal. She spurred her legs across the open fields, her claws digging into the earth. Her massive, wide wings flapped open as she sprinted, gaining momentum and air.
Steve let out a loup whoop of joy as he felt the wind rush through his hair. This was freedom. Everyone would think he'd get an asthma attack from the attitude, but the free air was the best thing for his weak lungs. There were a few times where he nearly fainted, and plummeted to his death from going into shock from joy. He and Liberty heard a car rumble to his driveway.
From Liberty's vantage point, she saw the figure of Bucky Barnes walk down the driveway in his crisp, new uniform. He was unaware of her flying high above him. So, she naturally placed herself in a nose dive, Steve's high pitched screams becoming far away sounds on her sensitive ears.
Bucky was looking for Steve. He tried his apartment in Brooklyn, he wasn't home. So, he drove here and he must be on Liberty. But where was that golden scaled dragon? A roar had answered his question, turning around, he saw Liberty diving to him, Steve screaming for dear life.
His light, gray blue eyes flew up and he ran, nearly jumping over his car. Liberty spread her wings up, slowing her body down. Her massive tail created a deep gouge in the earth. Steve was laughing, nearly falling off of Liberty. He laughed as well.
"You're a punk, you know that right?" he yelled once he felt his heart ease into a normal rhythm.
"Yeah, and you're a jerk, right?" Steve yelled once he calmed down.
Liberty let out a large bellowing roar, laughing as well. Then a military personal car rolled up. The letters, SSR, were painted on the side of it. Bucky immediately jumped into a stand at attention pose, his arms plastered to his side. Two men and a woman walked out. The one man was small and wore a pair of glasses, his eyes shining with kindness and empathy. The other one, was war-torn and had a worn, tanned face and had a permanent scowl on his face. The woman was more curious about Liberty than anything.
"Is one of you Rodgers?" the man barked, his voice gruff and worn out.
"Sir, I'm Steve Rodgers," Steve barked back, patting Liberty on the side.
"Sargent, get back to base," the man ordered again, jerking his head at Bucky.
Neither Liberty nor Steve knew that it was the last time that they saw Bucky before Azzano, a HYDRA concentration camp. Bucky left with a sad, pitiful smile on his face. Liberty let out a low, mournful whine. Steve patted her massive golden flank. The dragon pulled Steve close to her chest with her head, allowing a low cooing sound to be heard throughout the valley.
"Do you want help with that?" the woman asked, her soft british voice soothing his heavy heart.
"No thank you, I got it, but what's your name?" he asked, his earnest blue eyes full of curiosity.
"I'm Peggy Carter, an agent with the SSR," she responded, a faint smile on her lips.
"Steve Rodgers, Ma'am," he politely said, fully grinning.