Your protector hardened her demeanor and pointed to the mist in a commanding gesture, and the mist revealed the contours of an island not too far away.

She must have done this many times before, because you didn’t look afraid at all, you giggled, excited, and clapped your hands at the surprise, and then your eyes lowered their gaze, to the ring you wore around your neck on a silver thread, the symbol of your status and the proof you are who you say, and got clouded with sadness.

I somehow know that sadness in your eyes was for what you left behind, Fiona, and not for what awaited you, because, unlike your older mentor, you seemed keen to begin the adventure for which that new boat brought you here. Your eyes gleamed at the sight of the green island emerging from the mist, whose rocky shores covered in thin ice sparkled in the dull light of winter. The magical land about which you heard so many stories really lived up to its promise.

The ring hanging from the thread around your neck was made of gold, a man’s ring, obviously too big for your fingers.

It had a black stone imbedded in a crest whose composition I could see clearly, the outline of a dragon on top of a two color inlay background, parted per fess, and etched with the image of the sun on the lighter half.

Well, dreams may not be a valid research tool, but I’ll use whatever comes to me. After all, how else am I going to find details about the life of a tenth century Viking princess?

Maybe there is something to the story of the woman bard and the ring with the family crest, after all.