Generations before the first men climbed down the Windwall mountains, dragons reigned over the country. They were able to fly freely through the skies over Fiara, their power and wildness still unbroken and their freedom untarnished. It was then, in the days of the dragons, when a single white dragon was born; he ascended from an abandoned aerie above the Godmark, high into the sky, and with a single flap of his wings, the whole country was enveloped with ice. His carapace was the purest, brilliant white anyone has ever seen. His eyes glowered cold and clear like the winter sun and his breath was eternal frost. No other dragon could compare with his power and greatness, as he was the Breath of Winter. His brothers and sisters fled from him and everywhere
he came to rest, the land froze and a cold, hard layer of ice covered Fiara, no matter where he went. He was called Aryn, the Frostweaver. Nonetheless, the power he possessed as a dragon was equivalent to the pain and loneliness he felt in his heart, since no living creature could survive around him; only cold and death were his constant attendants. In search of companions he roamed through the land, but everything he met fled from him and the more he searched, the more agony he carried into the world. And should he continue wandering through the skies, Fiara would be bound in an icy, never-ending winter. But he did not give up his search.
Years passed and bit for bit, Fiara died under the flaps of his white wings. His search also led him to the edge of the great forest in the South of Fiara, which the elves call Finon Mir. Back when glazed frost, the messenger of his appearing, began to cover the crowns of the trees, the young folk of the elves came together to discuss what they could possibly do to defend themselves against the power of the Frostweaver. But the children of the forest had no answer. They didn’t understand Aryn’s behavior and none of them had enough power to face up to him. So they called upon their ancient gods and hoped for advice, but the gods remained silent. As snow had already started settling on the branches of the old giant trees, Cenwen, one of the five rulers of the forest, took off on her own to face the dragon. While the other members of her folk fled in panic towards the South, she fearlessly stepped out of the safety of her forest and roamed through the frozen plains to find the Winter Dragon.
The biting cold penetrated her bones and ice and death wrapped themselves around her. The closer she came to the dragon, the more brutal the cold became and before long, Cenwen felt her consciousness fading. To prevent herself frce and began to sing. She sang of confidence, security and warmth, just as they had always done around the campfires in Finon Mir.
Aryn heard her voice in the distance and glided down from the sky to see where the singing was coming from. Suddenly, he saw the elf kneeling in the snow, powerless and close to death; but she was determined to continue as she braved the power of the frost with her pure voice. The Winter Dragon rested beside her and lowered his head, as he had never before experienced anything so beautiful. At that moment, the elf queen turned silent and quit singing, as she called upon the dragon: “Please hear my call, oh powerful and mightiest of all dragons! Hear my call, oh messenger of winter and death! Your presence is bringing frost over the land and death to all life. The ancient forests will freeze to ice under your wings and my folk will die with them if you do not change your path. What do you demand? What could possibly calm the Frostweaver and save my folk?” At that, Aryn raised his head and the cold shine of his eyes struck through Cenwen’s heart like the cold silver blade of a dagger.
”Understand, child of the forest, since the day I was born, I have been seeking those, equal to me. But I see how everything dies and I see that I bring nothing but agony to the world. I will now return to the fields of my homeland and there, in those lonely mountains, I will wait for the end of time. However, shall your folk be spared, you must fulfill one requirement! You shall accompany me. You have been the only one courageous enough to look into my eyes, and your singing has touched my heart. Accompany me back to the mountain and your folk shall be spared.” Cenwen looked up and stared at the Frostweaver for a long moment.
”I am yours, Frostweaver! Take me with you to the North and with the power of my hope I will melt our hearts for the rest of my life. But please, spare my folk the agony!” With that, the dragon grabbed her and with her, he swung up high into the sky. ”A good decision! If your folk carries the same courage in their hearts as you do, then you are truly worthy of life. Should your folk ever be in distress, at any time, they shall call me and my power will be with them. This will be part of our deal. I offer you something of equal value as what I have taken. The frost shall never be able to deprave them and the power of the ice shall be theirs as long as you are in their hearts.” And after the Winter Dragon finished speaking, he raised his wings and swayed away towards the North, back to the inhospitable mountains far beyond the Grimwarg Notches. That is where he settled, and while the elf queen sang for the both of them, he created a protective cover made of ice, to retain them from the rest of the world for all time, and preclude the rest of the world from him.
Today, only the mighty glacier they call Frostweaver announces the trade that once took place between the elves and the most powerful dragon of all times. The humans and the dwarfs say the sound of Cenwen’s pure voice can still sometimes be heard, up there, in the icy loneliness of the mountains.
But only do Cenwen’s children and the ordains of Aryn know that the Winter Dragon is still alive and that he has given them his power, while he listens to the singing of the elf, hidden deep underneath the ice.
Eleyna Songweaver "The beginning of time”"