“You headin’ to or from home?” the captain uttered in a gruff voice. With barely a fresh breath, he lit his pipe and turned to look at me, snowflakes sprinkling onto his beard.

I looked back at him. “Heading home, sir.” I looked at the helm of the ship, where his first mate had taken over. Snow drifting around him too, landing on the already damp floorboards.

“You must be a hardy lad then, living in Gundberg.”

I nodded; the cold all year round helped me cope with the cold, but made summers unbearable.

“Then hopefully the temperature of the trip won’t bother you so much.” He puffed on his pipe. “Provided nothing snatches us up.”

Sailing from Port Llast to Gundarlun was always a dangerous trip. Between storms, fears of whatever lied below, and the dragons that roamed above, there was plenty to fear while crossing the Trackless Sea. I tucked my staff in close to me and looked at the other travellers. Looking at each of them, I could almost see their stories, the dusty clothes of a minor, the worn hands of a blacksmith, the scarred skin and dented armour of a warrior.

I leaned back. It was going to be a long ferry-ride back home. I’d been studying magic in Faerûn for the past year, and by now, I was eager to see my mother. Throughout the semester, I’d written to her weekly, but it could take weeks or months to get a letter to her. And now I had a special gift, a sending stone to communicate with her as regularly as I could.

The wind was frigid that evening, as the continent of Faerûn became a dark line on the sea behind us. I tucked my cloak around me. It trapped in as much heat as it could, as had been Mother’s intention when she’d made it. It’d kept me cosy on many a winter’s night in Silverymoon. I glanced between the surrounding faces, all dressed for the Trackless Sea and Gundarlun’s weather. But then I saw one, a man old enough to be my father, look up, his senses sharp. I looked in the direction of his gaze and he bolted to his feet. First came the blood-chilling roar, then the heavy flapping of wings and sudden strong wind.

Before I could utter a spell to help, strong talons grabbed me, and the boat no longer supported my weight. I must’ve dropped my staff, as the only thing I felt was the fast wind in my palm as people screamed and bellowed. My mind was a dumb mess, and I attempted to beat my hands on the claws wrapped around me, each digit as thick as my torso. I could barely breathe with the speed of the beast, the fear of being off the ground, and by its firm hold on my body. I think I passed out, because all I remember when I came to was the beast descending onto another icy, mountainous island than the one I was headed for. I held the hood of my cloak over my head and watched as best as I could as the lights of a castle came into view—or a very broad tower. The falling snow and my numb head made it hard to see and recognise clearly.

I tried to peer up at my captor, but to no avail. Their white body blended in with the sky and snow around. They landed and hobbled into their building, holding me firmly in their talon. I tried to squirm and loosen their grip, my body sore from being squeezed.

A hiss came from the beast. “Enough! I won’t hurt you.”

In the dark stone lair, I could see the beast. She was an ancient white dragon, hard plates lined her head and back, the pouch of her neck protected with blade-like spikes—she looked invincible.

I squirmed more, her grip tightening. “You are h-hurting me!” I croaked, feeling my head getting light.

“Oh!” she yelped and placed me on a plush bed. “My bad.”

I drew in deep and painful breaths. My vision brightened after a bit, and I had a glance around. The lair itself was huge, filled with gold, gems—a lot of white diamonds, including a wall of them—and lots of art of elven massacres. I gulped and looked closer. I was in a nook of the lair, filled with human-sized objects, like a comfy bed, desk, chair, and washroom.

Then I looked at the dragon. She sat patiently in front of me as I struggled to sit up. Growing up there was always rumours of a white dragon ridden by a lich, but this couldn’t be her… could it?

I held my stomach. “Wh-Who are you? Why am I here?” I groaned and tried to support my, presumed bruised, torso.

I felt her cool breath fall on me as I looked up at her. She cleared her throat. “I am Arveiturace, Dragon of Meltharond and Wrath of the Sword Coast.” She puffed her chest out smugly.

Meltharond. That was a name I knew well. A wizard who enslaved a young white dragon and flew on her back everywhere, pillaging and stealing magical artefacts. One of the most known wizards, but little was known about him.

I shivered. “You… You were his mount?”

She growled. “I am his mount!” She flared open her wings and her face got within an inch of mine.

I fell back. “Y-Yes. Of course!” I corrected myself. Though I had no idea he was still alive. Why would she bring back a, far less powerful, wizard?

Arveiturace seemed satisfied by my fear and sat back. “He’s over there. Well… his body is.” She gestured her claw toward a chair, sat at the top of her diamond wall. I peered up at it and froze. A skeleton, donned in an old wizard’s outfit, sat in the chair, intact and almost fake looking.

I gulped. “Um, hey Mister Meltharond.” I gave a little wave.

She laughed; her entire body shook as it echoed around it. It made me jump. “Oh, silly little wizard! He’s long dead.” She lay down and rested her head on her paws.

I laughed nervously. “O-of course he is!” I sat back up again and looked at her. Was this the lich everyone saw riding her? But… how could it be? He looked like no lich.

Arveiturace smiled at me, a big toothy grin. “I bet you’ll be good fun. Anything is better than the invisible servants and the dumb golems.” I glanced around, spotting a flesh golem guarding the entrance and a broom sweeping up dust in a corner—but it had no wielder.

I glanced at her. “Not very talkative, huh?”

She nodded. “You’d think he’d had left me something to converse with. I used to have Arauthator for company but now all I have is his territory and the egg he gave me.” She huffed. “Hopefully this one won’t kill me,” she mumbled and picked up a clouded crystal ball.

I nodded. “It’d be a real bummer if that happened. Who’d keep the legend alive of the dragon and lich?”

Arveiturace laughed, not as loud as before. “I know! Meltharond gave me such useful gifts to torment people, but couldn’t give me a partner.” She sighed, dejected. “Oh well, maybe you’ll be good company. Little wizard.”

I nodded slowly. “I’m nowhere near strong enough to, um, help you with Meltharond, I’m afraid.” My skin chilled as she looked at me, a face of no particular emotion, but maybe a mix. I gulped; I’d fucked up.

She laughed again. “I know that already.” She held the crystal ball towards me. “I’ve been watching you. And besides. I don’t think there is a way to bring him back, no matter how much I want to.”

My gaze drifted to my feet. “Why so hung up on him, though? You have so much power. Why not keep one of the sailors or wizards, you uh, pick up from boats and make them your new rider?”

Her brow furrowed and tail lashed, tossing gold pieces everywhere. “He is irreplaceable!” she growled.

I flinched. “Yes, I know! I know grief is tough… but why not find someone to be your next companion? Not a master again, but a friend.” My heart swelled a little, but I forced it to relax.

Arveiturace considered me for a moment, which surprised me—being alive right now in her lair surprised me. “And… how would I choose such a friend? He chose me, after all.”

I thought. “Well, you’ve captured so many. Surely one or two will eventually stick out. Or have in the past? Plus, you’ve watched me. Why not find a new partner the same way?”

She hummed, seeming to pick apart and examine the idea. “That’s not so bad, I suppose. They’d have to be very trustworthy, though, and let me keep my power. I like the independence Meltharond gave me.”

I nodded, not really understanding but figuring I should keep the peace. “He must have left some fine magical objects here, like your crystal ball.”

Arveiturace nodded. “He did. Such useful enchantments like being able to parry spells, or to use any magical item I can see. That’s how I kept up our image of pillaging.” She nodded assertively, impressed by her own actions.

I nodded slowly, terrified that she alone had been the one doing all those things, that the skeleton was just a prop that made people believe she had a lich on her back. “You’re, um, quite independent. And he was, eh, very thoughtful?”

She nodded again. “Oh yes! The most thoughtful wizard ever. I was his equal, you know? He taught me history, and about Faerûn and her races. And he gifted me such lovely diamonds.” She sighed sadly. “It’s all gone though, unfortunately.”

I tilted my head. “I might have some new things to tell you. If you like. It’s been quite a while since he, um, passed. So maybe I can tell you new things? Or show you through the crystal ball?”

Arveiturace perked up immediately. “No one has ever made that offer before!” She shuffled closer and nudged her ball to me with her snout. “Tell me. Show me what you know!”

*~*~*~*

Out of all that Meltharond had told her, Arveiturace had never heard any fairy tales or folklore, nor any music or poems. So, I told her the fairy tales of Faerûn and the monuments built based on them; told her a few ballads I knew from hearing sailors in the taverns; and played her a tune on my ring flute.

Arveiturace clapped, beaming. “Oh well done! What a dramatic tune! What’s it called?”

I smiled shyly. Her compliments hadn’t ceased over the past three days, nor had the lovely food or care for my delicate body. “Flaming Willows. I believe it’s about Klauth during the Year of the Weeping Moon.”

She nodded. “Ah. I see. That explains why it’s so… battle-like. You play very well, (Y/N).”

“Thank you.” I put my flute down on the desk and nibbled at the scone she’d provided, or rather, her ghostly servant had.

Arveiturace picked up her crystal ball and gazed into it. She’d been doing it a lot lately, trying to find her next capture and see if they’d be a good fit for her companionship. She raised a corner of her lip, unamused. “Ugh! I definitely don’t want a sailor, but they’re the only ones crossing the sea.” She huffed and let the ball roll out of her palm.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone somehow.” I smiled politely.

Arveiturace looked at me. “I like you a lot. Couldn’t you be my friend?” She made the biggest, sweetest eyes I’d ever seen, cuter than any begging puppy or kitten.

“W-Well… you are lovely company. But I have school and my mother is waiting for me back home. She must be worried sick.”

“You could stay though!” She jumped to her feet. “She probably thinks you're dead, and I’m sure Meltharond has dusty old books on magic to read. Look!” She grabbed a large leather-bound book and dropped it on the desk, dust pluming from it. I flinched and spluttered.

“Arveiturace, please. If I could, I would. You could come to Gundarlun while I’m there? Hear all the tales of the sailors. They come from all around! Hearing stories upon stories. You could stay with them while I’m at school. I’m sure my mother would love your company too. And then when I’m done with school, we’ll see from there.” I was truly grasping at straws, but perhaps she’d consider it.

She paused, looking deep in thought—I always wondered how real she was thinking or whether it was an act to seem smarter. Arveiturace hummed. “That’s… not a bad idea I suppose. I could fly you to and from school so you could spend more time at home too!”

Her excitement became my excitement. It’d shave down my travelling from almost a week to a day or two. More time with my mother and the people I knew back home. “That sounds really nice, Arveiturace.”