Gudrun lay in a bed lavish with high darkwood pillars carved with fairy creatures of every story she had heard and many she could not begin to guess. Draperies of spidersilk softness hung over the canopy, and the mattress cradled her in a delightful suspension. The sheets were of no material she had ever known, but soft and cool to the touch. She snuggled into a large white fur blanket that could only have been made from a boreal bear. Sleep clung to her lightly as recollection swarmed. Kaleo’s face flashed in her mind, and she shot up. Her eyes were heavy with her tears. The air was cool on her skin, but not so cold as the gallery. She slid the blankets back from her and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  She stepped down onto a white stone floor. She flinched as her bare toes touched it. A large fireplace lay dormant across the room. A wardrobe twice her height stood next to the fireplace. She took a deep breath, then jumped down and tiptoed across the stone to the wardrobe. She threw it open revealing a wide array of women’s clothing in fashions otherworldly and strange. She rifled through it, searching for warmth.

  #

  The door to her chamber opened, which was a blessing to her. She stepped into the blue flame-lit corridor and turned left toward the gallery. “How many doors?” She said to herself as she walked slowly, glancing back up the twisting hallway.

  Soon she heard a loud clang echo through the hall. Then another and another. Echoes of the battle haunted her as she stepped, flinching at each sound. It came from the direction of the gallery, and she thought to return to her room, but she made up her mind in the night. She would leave.

  CLANG! The sound boomed louder as she moved, and she jumped, clenching her fists, then forced herself another step. It came from a nearby door which was cracked open and danced at the edges with amber firelight. She stepped toward it. CLANG! This time she stifled her body’s reaction, gritting her teeth against it, and pushed the door open just enough to see inside. A wave of intense heat washed over her sending shivers up her spine, and the glow of molten rock danced across her face. She blinked at the shifting of the light. A small stream of liquid fire streamed from a pool in the ground to her left into a large black metal contraption on her right. Next to it Siegyrd was hunched over an anvil with his back to the door. He raised a hammer made of obsidian glass coated in mystic glow above him and brought it down again. CLANG!

  Gudrun anticipated the sound, but winced as a flashing arc of lightning burst around Siegyrd and the anvil then danced outward in a series of small shocks along the stone floor. Along the wall nearest Siegyrd were weapons in various states of craft and size and make – none complete.

  Gudrun started to step back, but then steeled herself and spoke in a clear, steady voice, “You spoke of protection, but when do you plan to release me?”

  CLANG! Another stroke was followed by another arc of crackling energy.

  She had clothed herself in a cloth-of-silver tunic draped with a dark black fur coat with streaks of silvery gray throughout it. Her breeches were thick woolens dyed the deep blue of winter dusk. She had thought of warmth, but now everything she wore felt stifling.

  Siegyrd did not seem to hear, and raised the hammer again, eyes intent upon his work. The hammer fell again.

  She yelled, “Siegyrd!” Even as she took a step back. On her feet she wore moccasins of jet-black leather worked with fine silver filigree and lined with white wool. Her face was flush with the heat, and her courage faltered. She stepped out of the room completely chased by the sound of the next hammer stroke. The door to the forge shut of its own accord, leaving her in the shifting blue of the corridor. Everything she wore was of finer make than she had ever known, and soft. She shifted uncomfortably as sweat glistened on her brow.

  She made her way to the end of the corridor and stepped through the light into a mad falling sensation, then landed upright in the gallery’s cold air. She shook her head and spoke aloud to herself, “I’ll show him.”

  She strode through the gallery to a broad entryway filled with fog.

  The path seemed a wall of solid mist, but she stepped forward anyway. It yielded to her passing like any natural mist, though she felt refreshed by it. On the other side of the wall the sun was brilliant white, though muted cold. She clutched her coat and walked straight outward through a light dusting of snow leaving behind perfect footprints. The scale of the mountain dawned on her as she moved, and she took each step more slowly than the last. She walked across a broad, flat, immaculate courtyard walled first with sheer cliffs that opened to the sapphire sky above and then with empty sky all around. At last, after a long landing, she stopped short as she found herself looking out over a cliff leagues in height. She stepped forward toward the edge and peeked over. The winds whipped around her like menacing sprites. Her body swayed, and her mind went blank as raw canvas. She blinked, felt herself falling, and then leaned backwards and landed with a thud in the snow. Her eyes adjusted to the dizzy distance sights. Her ears heard whistling on the heights. Her cheeks felt the flush of cold and embarrassment, but she inched herself forward on the edge until her feet dangled just off of it.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Gudrun looked long over the valleys below. She could see no way down that would not mean a deathly climb over icy stone. A sense of awe and helplessness gripped her. She shut her eyes against the view, and drew in a long breath and held it. She breathed out slowly and opened her eyes. A prisoner indeed, she thought, and scooted back from the edge, stood and retraced her footprints in the snow back to the cavern’s mouth.

  He greeted her warmly, “Back so sooohn.” The deep rumble of Siegyrd’s dragon voice made the cavern quiver as he spoke. He lay atop his treasure bed. The great curtain was pressed to the sides of the cavern. He had packed his lower lip with a crystal of fog ice and let the mist roll between his teeth and out his nostrils over the treasures throughout the gallery. A vague scent of snow lily permeated the cavern, and he hummed contentedly which made the coins rattle beneath him. “I am glad.”

  Gudrun pulled her dark fur coat around her and spoke as she crossed the long gallery toward him, “When will you release me?”

  “Huhm” he sighed, raising a clinking crescendo of quivering coins, and then he breathed deeply inward, sucking in all the fog as he closed his eyes. Gudrun could felt the air whip by her with the force of his breath.

  “Would you answer me you insufferable brute!” Her voice cracked, and she gulped before she continued, “I want to know when I can leave.”

  “Some sunrise, surely. Some sunrise. Hmm.” The fog from his mouth danced through the treasures and clung around Gudrun’s ankles as she reached the base of the hoard. The scent of snow lilies grew stronger.

  Gudrun huffed and kicked at the fog dispersing some wisps which floated heedlessly upward.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut. She strode off to her right, keeping the dragon partially in view, and made her way to the rows of neatly lined treasures and relics. She examined the porcelain vase shaped like a woman’s hips. She reached to touch it and then shoved it over. She looked back at Siegyrd’s dragon form and awaited the inevitable crash with a wicked grin. No sound came. Her grin faded, and she looked behind her to see the vase taunting her in still repose. She furrowed her brow and pushed it over again, this time with both hands. She turned triumphantly to Siegyrd and flashed a menacing scowl. Still no sound. She turned again, and there the vase remained, timelessly firm. Not a grain of golden sand had spilled.

  Infuriated she ran to the place where the amethyst sword hung in midair and grabbed it by the hilt, ripping it from the sheathe of air and ran to smash the vase. Siegyrd’s dragon eyes widened, but he did not move. Just as the crystal sword was about to contact the porcelain, the sword vanished from her hand. In her eagerness, her weight was too far forward, and she fell into the vase and went down with it. She closed her eyes expecting it to crash beneath her and she shielded her face as she tensed her body. After a pause, she opened one eye and noticed she was standing. The vase was pristine. She was unharmed.

  “Hmmm.” a deep rumble grew, and Gudrun turned to look at Siegyrd.

  “What kind of place is this? Let me go!”

  “The daughter of a chief ought to be more respectful of others' things. Any daughter really.” He shook his great head, and the icicle-like beard from his chin played wild and then settled back to its regal position.

  “Let. Me. Go.” Her voice was firm.

  “Where?”

  Gudrun opened her mouth, said, “um,” and then slowly closed it. She furrowed her brow for a moment and then spoke, “I don’t know.”

  “With whom?”

  “What?”

  “With whom will you go, Gudrun of the mountainside, of the snow and ice?”

  “Alone,” she said and fidgeted with the hem of her cloak. “I will go alone.”

  “Oh, huhm.” He rumbled, almost a laugh, “No no.”

  “And why can I not go alone?”

  “Always the can with you,” he drew out his next word like a sigh, “huuumans.”

  “I can do anything!” Gudrun stood taller, defiant.

  “Then fly yourself free. Become daughter of the winds as well as mountains.” Siegyrd’s deep laugh trickled into his speech.

  “You can’t hold me back! Can’t keep me here!”

  “Let’s not argue, would-be daughter of the wind. It is,” he yawned wide revealing that his giant maw was rimmed with teeth the size of greatswords, “tiresome. I will let you leave when a trusted protector you have, and not before.”

  “I need no protector! I am a daughter of the mountain tribes. I can take care of myself.”

  “Priiide.” He dragged out the word with a kind of malice and the treasures quaked afresh. The word hung in the air and continued to quiver for a time, and then all grew still before he spoke again. “Come now. Everyone has need of others. I cannot release without some protection.”

  “You could protect me!”

  The dragon’s laughter was loud and long and full of good cheer, the cavern filling further with the snow-lily smoke and scent before he spoke, “You would have me for protector who you think your jailer? No no no. It is not for me to be your protector far beyond these walls. It is for another whom you have seen in the shadows of your songdream.”

  Gudrun stiffened, remembering the strong, tall man whose face was shrouded in shadow who stood over her and her children and grandchildren in the vision. “How am I to meet him if I am stuck here?”

  “Hmmm. It’s already in motion. I have seeded a story that a beautiful young woman of high birth and great qualities has been taken by a wicked dragon to his mountain lair.” Here the great silvery dragon winked, or what passed for a wink but twisted strangely in his regal form. “The tale will grow and produce the fruits of valor and failure and many things in between. The valiant will rise. The weak will fall. Cowards dare nothing. And he too will come.” There was a deep laughter again, and Siegyrd’s dragon eyes brightened with mirth.

  Gudrun smiled despite herself, and then she laughed too, “Was that a wink? What kind of evil dragon winks? Why would you do this?”

  “What kind indeed, Gudrun, daughter of mountains, ice, and snow – perhaps even wind?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Hmmm,” he mused, “no, I did not. But he will come.”

  Gudrun cocked her head slightly, but was struck with another question closer to her heart’s fear, “What if I don’t love him?”

  Siegyrd replied, “What if you do?”