For many generations before the first humans descended from the Windwall Mountains, dragons ruled the land. They soared freely through the sky above Fiara, their power and wildness unmatched and their freedom unbroken. It was during this time that a white dragon was born; a dragon more powerful than all that had come before him. From an eyrie high over Godmark he took to the skies, and beneath his wings, the land froze. His scales were of the purest white, his eyes as cold and clear as the winter skies and his breath carried the chill of eternal frost. No other dragon could match his size or power, for he was the essence of winter. His brothers and sisters fled from him, and his mere presence covered the land near him in a thick layer of ice. Soon, he became known throughout Fiara as Aryn, the Frostweaver.
But as powerful as his magic was, so great was the loneliness that tore at his soul. No living creature could survive in his presence, cold and death were his only companions. Longing for company, he searched the lands, yet all fled from him, and the more he searched, the more suffering he brought. Were he to continue his quest, Fiara would be soon covered in ice, frozen in an endless winter, but unwilling he was to end his search.
With each passing year and each beat of his white wings, more and more of Fiara was lost. Eventually, his search brought him to the edge of a gigantic forest in the south of Fiara, known by its Elven name of Finon Mir. As frost, the sign of his coming, began to cover the treetops, the Elves, then a very young race, began to search for a way to stop the Frostweaver from destroying their home. Unaware of Aryn’s quest and certain that none amongst them could hope to match his power, they called to their gods and prayed for advice. The gods, however, remained silent, leaving the Elves no choice but to prepare to flee. Soon after the first snowflakes began to fall through the branches, the Elves began to flee to the South. Only Cenwen, one of the five Elven leaders, started out fearlessly across the barren, icy plains to face to the dragon alone.
The cold chilled her to the bone, ice and death surrounded her as far as the eye could see. The closer she came to the dragon, the more the cold bit into her flesh, and soon, Cenwen felt her consciousness slipping away. To keep from falling into deadly sleep, she raised her voice and began to sing. She sang of hope, of warmth and kindness, as many generations before her had sung at the campfires in Finon Mir.
Aryn heard her voice from afar and glided down from the sky to find the origin of the song. There, kneeling in the snow, he saw the Elf queen, and though she was helpless and close to death, her song remained strong and clear, her pure and beautiful voice her only defense against the cold. The dragon touched the ground and lowered his mighty head – never before had he beheld such beauty. As soon as she saw him, the Elf queen called to the dragon. “Hear me, O mightiest of dragons! Here me, O envoy of frost and bringer of death! Your presence ends all life and brings perpetual winter to the land. Soon the ancient forest that is our home will turn to ice beneath your wings, and my people will perish. What do you ask? What can change the Frostweaver’s path and save my people?” Aryn lifted his head, his icy stare piercing Cenwen’s heart like a dagger. “Know, child of the forest, that I have been searching, searching since the beginning of my time, for an equal, for a companion. I have seen the pain and suffering my journey brings to this world, but your courage has opened my eyes – the destruction of others will not end my plight. I will return to my homeland and wait there, wait in the lonely mountains, wait for the end of time. Your people shall live, but there is one thing I ask. You are the first, the only to have come this close to me, and your song has touched my heart. Accompany me and sing your beautiful song for us – and your brethren will be spared!”
Cenwen stood tall, and after a brief pause, spoke to the Frostweaver.
“I am yours, Frostweaver! Take me with you to the North and I will warm our hearts with hope for as long as I am. But spare my people!”
No sooner had she spoken than the dragon swept her up and took to the air.
“So be it then! If all your people are as a brave as you, then they are indeed worthy of life. Should your folk ever be in trouble, they can call on me and my power will be at their disposal. This will be part of our pact, I give as I take. The frost will never harm them and the power of the ice shall be theirs as long as they live in remembrance of you.”
Thus spoke the Winterdragon and turned to the North, back to the barren mountains beyond the Grimwarg Peaks. There they settled, and while Cenwen sang, he wove a shield of ice over them, to protect them from the world and the world from him for all eternity.
Only the glacier they call Frostweaver reminds us of this pact between the Elves and the most powerful of all dragons. To this day, Humans and Dwarves tell tales that the songs of Cenwen can still be heard there sometimes, in the icy wilderness of the Northeast.
Only the the children of Cenwen and Aryn know, however, that the Winterdragon still lives and gives them his power, while listening to the Elven song deep beneath the ice.
Eleyna Songweaver „The Beginning of Time“