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Da’len you ask me for a tale of the Dread Wolf Fen’Harel. This is a tale to teach you to be careful what you ask of a wise spirit.
Back in Ancient Arlathan, all the elvhen and Gods knew of the clever cunning of Fen’Harel, and he was eager to show it time and again. It was he who whispered to Andruil of Gil’hanain’s foulest monsters that they be destroyed. It was his fang offered to Dir’thamen that split him from Falon’din. But all of these boons were offered unasked.
One day, Elgar’nan looked from his sun-throne to the earth, and saw the bounty of magic the dwarves had wrought with the song of their gods. He coveted the song, and wished to bring it to his people, that they may glorify him with similar magics. He vowed to have it by any means. Unlooked for and unwelcome, the Dread Wolf arrived with dread council: “if you take the Song of Stone by force, the bones of the earth will rise up and tear down your solar throne!”
Elgar’nan laughed in his face, dismissing the Dread Wolf. But the seed of doubt was planted in his mind. What if even his awesome power was not great enough to take what he wished? He knew he needed help to sate his desire.
So one by one, Elgar’nan went to each of the Evanuris, and one by one he promised them all a share in the song to do what they most desired. He told Gil’hanain of the ways the Song of Stone could mold the forms of life. He promised Andruil a singing bow. On through the gods he went, only the Dread Wolf defying him, until at last he came to Mythal. To her alone did he impart the Dread Wolf’s warning, for she among all the rest was the only one to see the fear in his heart. He told her of the good that was being kept from her people, the wondrous works that would lift them all up, and the harm that would befall them without her help. She demanded an equal share in the Song to Elgar’nan, and a throne beside his as the price of her aid, and Elgar’nan reluctantly accepted.
When the covetous gods descended to the earth to take what had been promised them, it was exactly as the Dread Wolf warned. The very bones of the earth rose up to meet them in battle. The Song that had for so long wrought wondrous creations was turned now to their destruction, wrathful and defiant. It shrugged off the arrows of Andruil, cut down the beasts sent by Gil’hanain, and turned away the great mace of Elgar’nan. Mythal, her shield straining from the onslaught, saw that their defeat was at hand, and looked to find the one god absent, whom she knew possessed the cunning to defeat such a monstrous foe.
When she entered Fen’Harel’s dark den, he was happy to see her, for she of all the gods was clever like him, seeking not only her own glory, but thinking outside herself to understand the price and rewards of her actions. He hoped she had seen Elgar’nan’s folly, and had come to join Fen’Harel in his protest. But it was not so.
Mythal asked the Dread Wolf to bend his cunning to ending the god’s war and winning the song for elvhenan. He denied her, saying “The dwarves’s Song is who they are; to take it is to destroy them. Leave them to their singing, and Elgar’nan to his own destruction.”
Rebuffed, Mythal returned to the battle. While she had been away, those whom she shielded were gravely injured by the assault of the Stone Chorus. Moved by her soldier’s sacrifice, she went again to Fen’Harel to seek his council.
“Dread Wolf, you have thwarted my kin time and again, tricking them off their paths, playing them against each other, tying knots in their designs. Surely you can find some way to end this fight. My soldiers have made great sacrifices and yet the Song grows only harder and sharper. Surely your cunning can stop the fight.”
But once again he refused her:
“To stop this fight you need but to stop fighting. Elgar’nan seeks glory, and you seek a better future for our people, but the Song fights merely to be sung by its Chorus. It will not yield to force. Stop now before it is too late and you, too are swallowed up by the earth’s bones”
Furious at a second denial, Mythal cursed the Dread Wolf. Knowing already the price of her absence, she returned to the fight, which was now dire indeed. Elgar’nan had struck a mighty blow, but now the Song was lashing out at every one of the People it encountered. Mythal set herself to defending villages and camps that had no part in the fight from this wild attack. Like the winds ahead of a stormcloud she flew just ahead of the fiercest attacks, her gleaming shield battered by the pounding chords of the Song. The closer Elgar’nan came to his prize, the fiercer the attacks on the People became, until one day Mythal’s shield shattered. She desperately called out to Elgar’nan’s honor guard, “Defend the People,” but the Song had grown too intense to quell, even as the Gods’ advance was halted. Raging at her own failure, she stormed once more to the wolf’s den.
“Fen’Harel, your refusal has now cost the lives of the People! The Song lashes out even at the smallest children in our villages! Nowhere is safe! Even though we stop our quest, the Song rages on. It has shattered even my own shield. I have nothing left with which to protect our people. I command you: give me a weapon to end this fight!”
The wolf whined and paced, growled and snapped, but he was cornered. His only friend was desperate, and the flock he stalked in danger of destruction. He slunk to the back of his den and tore a claw from his paw. Oh how he wailed in pain! Singing his own sad song, he forged his claw into a knife that echoed his dirge. He gave it to Mythal, tail between his legs, begging one last time:
“This will end your fight against the Stone Chorus and forever sever them from their Song. But I beg you reconsider. I have asked you twice before, and will ask a final time: take our people far away and leave this fight behind.”
But Mythal had seen too much sadness to look upon his face, heard the cries of too many others to listen to his. She took the dread knife, turned from the Dread Wolf, and left his dread warning behind.
She returned to a scene of horror. Her armies and her people fractured. The other Gods had continued to fight, but without her support they faltered. Mythal’s heart turned to vengeance, and she struck the Song with the Dread Wolf’s knife. The choir fell silent and scattered. But the Song turned discordant, and fled into the bowels of the earth, poisoning all it touched. The gods had defeated their enemy, but had nothing but their losses to show for it.
Elgar’nan, fearing Mythal’s new weapon, kept his promise of an equal throne. But the golden seat provided her cold comfort. Late at night, you may still hear the wail of Fen’Harel, trying to drown out the poisoned screech of the loosed Song of Stone.
So, little Da’len, think twice before seeking out the cave of the Dread Wolf. You may find that what you seek is not what you wished.