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// The One Who Did Not Weep 
// Story: The High and Far Off Times 
// by Dragon Dreaming 
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	This is a story of the High and Far Off Times, oh Best Beloved, before the world was Wild and before the world was Tamed. It is not the First Story, or even the Second, but it is the first that I remember. It is the story of those who came before us, what happened to them.

Before the Hoofed Ones spoke, there were the Eld. The Eld spread across the world, and built their towns and cities, like the Hoofed Ones do, and the gryphons do. They built on the land and under it, on the sea and under it, in the sky and over it; everywhere they laid their feet, they tamed and made their own.

For the Eld were masters of all that they saw, or felt, or smelled, or heard, or tasted. They knew the Deeper Magic, and it knew them, and it was theirs to do with as they pleased. In those days, only the Eld could speak as we do now; even the dragons spoke a different tongue, their ancient tongue, and did not have Words. Language was the Eld’s alone, and they made Art and Music and all the wondrous things that we enjoy, for they enjoyed it too.

In those days, the Hoofed Ones bowed to the Eld, and served them, as all things did. We were their constant companions, as were all creatures of the fur, and we bore their burdens and worked their fields. They gave us hearth and home, and cared for us when we could not, and life was good.

But in their mastery of all, the Eld grew arrogant, and sought to master the only creature that had yet to bow. They sought to master themselves. And when they could not master themselves, they sought to master each other. And so it was that the Eld created War, and turned it on their brothers.

War was a hungry beast, and the Eld scrambled to feed its hunger. They stripped the land, and the sea, and the sky, of metal and wood and stone and cloud, and of beasts. War demanded everything, oh Best Beloved, and we, the Hoofed Ones, were given to its hunger, as were all creatures of the fur, and of the feather, and of the scale. And we fought, for we had not language, and trusted the Eld.

In the wake of War, the world knew Death as it had never before. Eld lay dead by their thousands, and we lay dead by our tens of thousands, and the land and sea and sky themselves lay dying. And still the beast that was War raged on, and devoured the world, and the Eld did nothing to bring it to heel.

In desperation, then, an Eld reached for the Deeper Magic, and gave it over to War, and in doing so, their doom was sealed. For when the Deeper Magic was turned against the Eld, they changed its knowing of them; they were no longer its masters, but its prey. And with no master, what was Tamed turned Wild, and what was Chained became Free.

This was how the world became Wild and Free, Best Beloved. In its Freedom, the Magic raged, and struck at the Eld, and struck at we who served them, and struck at the land, and the sea, and the sky. It took the sun and the moon from the sky, and changed their nature, and sent them spiralling and twirling about. It took the land and ripped it asunder, it took the sea and forced it to fly, and it took the sky and made it rage. It took the creatures, we of the fur, and the feather, and the scale, and it twisted our forms at its whim. This is how the griffin was made, Best Beloved, and the manticore, and the minotaur, and many of the wondrous creatures that live among and with us.

To the Eld, it was not so kind. It twisted their form, as well, to such a great extent that even today, none can say how the Eld should have looked. All we know, Best Beloved, is they walked tall, like the dragons and the minotaur. And this was bad enough, but it was not satisfied. It took their soul, Beloved, and it twisted that as well, and left them in torment and pain.

The Eld that lived gathered, then, and looked upon themselves, and wept. “This is our doing,” they said, speaking as one. “We can blame none but ourselves.”

“We should join our brothers in death!” one said, great tears of crimson flooding down his face, and a chorus of voices called out in support.

“Death will take us now, or later,” another said, whose tears did not flow. “Let us not hasten its embrace.”

“These are the wages of our actions,” said a third, whose tears of violet streaked her fur. “We should endure this, for we have earned it.”

“If we endure, is it with purpose, or just to bear our punishment?” said the second, whose tears still did not flow. “Let us have a will in what we do.”

“What, then?” the others cried, their tears now staining the ground on which they stood. “What do we do, if not die, or endure?”

“We stand here,” said the One Who Did Not Weep, “in sorrow, and pain, and we say this is our fault. We wish to die, we wish to suffer - we will do both, but guilt will not be lessened.” With twisted, feathered limb, the Tearless reached down, and touched us, Best Beloved, for even then, the Hoofed Ones, and the other creatures of the fur and feather and scale had flocked to the Eld, for we knew them still and trusted them.

“These with us have no guilt,” said the One Who Did Not Weep, “for they were never given choice. We will die. They will live. And they will inherit this world that we have broken.”

Those Who Wept looked upon us, and heard the words of the Tearless, and they wept all the more. “Ai!” cried the Eld of Crimson Tears, who wept hardest, and longest. “Our shame is all the greater!”

“Ai!” cried the Eld of Violet Tears, “Can we ever pay for this?”

“Our time is short,” said the One Who Did Not Weep. “We must neither die nor endure, but struggle. We must fight for those we failed, to give them back the world we ruined. I know not how it might be done, but we may find it ‘ere we die.” The Eld agreed, then, and formed a pact, and we who watched knew nothing but that the Eld no longer Warred, and we were happy.

They took us who had watched, and went below the earth, to the deep cities, where the Magic had not yet reached, and there they made a home. They cared for us, as best they could, and taught us, as best they could, but so twisted were their forms and souls that in the end, it was we who cared for them, and in the doing learned. And she of the Violet Tears watched in wonder, and to her came a thought.

She went to he of the Crimson Tears, and shared with him her thought, and he was struck with wonder, and went with her to the others. And one by one, they each were struck, and thought that this was wondrous, and so the Eld gathered once again, before the One Who Did Not Weep.

You should know, Best Beloved, that the Tearless was the one most twisted of the Eld that lived, so much that even to walk, or talk, or smile, or frown, was pain beyond imagining. The Tearless did not move, down in the deep cities, but sat and watched and listened, and above all loved us. So when the One Who Did Not Weep heard the thought of she of the Violet Tears, and stood, and smiled, all the Eld knew that it was, indeed, a wondrous thought.

“The old ways,” the thought had said. “The Magic was commanded, and obeyed because it knew us, and knew we were its masters. But in the oldest times, before we were its masters, we did not command, but asked. And if we asked,” the thought had said, “perhaps the Magic, or a Lesser Magic, would hear us, if we ask not for ourselves.”

The Eld gathered us, then, and took us all back to the top of the land, and we saw what the Magic had wrought in our absence. The land had been broken, but now it was shattered and twisted, and everything was wrong. The sky still raged, in fits and spurts, and the sea hung over everything, glistening in the violently shifting light of sun and moon and stars. But the Eld were not afraid, and so neither were we, Best Beloved.

They sat, with us among them, and they waited, with eyes closed. And then the One Who Did Not Weep began to sing. There were no words, Beloved, for this song was older even than words. It was the first song, and it is the last song, and it is the song of all that comes between; and that day, it was given voice. We listened, Best Beloved, though some among us heard more than others, and rose from where we sat and went to the One Who Sang. And some among us heard more than others, and rose, and went to each of the Eld, and gathered by their sides.

And these were the Hoofed Ones, who listened, and rose, and the gryphons, who listened, and rose, and the dragons, who listened, and rose. Some others who listened moved closer, oh Beloved, but did not sit beside the Eld, and others never moved, but stayed where they were sitting, and so the choices were made.

The Eld, then, joined One Who Sang, and in their unity of voice the Magic heard their call, and came upon them, still Wild and still Free, and in its fury sought to sunder them, for once and all. But still they sang, and it could not. So then it sought to silence them, with thunder and with wind, but still they sang, and it could not. So then it turned to us, and sought to tear us down, and those who had not moved fled in the face of its fury, and those who had moved closer, but did not rest beside the Eld, cowered and hid. But those who sat beside the Eld could not be touched, Beloved, and were calm, for the Eld still sang.

The Magic calmed, then for it saw that it could not stop them, and asked them why they sang. “We sing our sorrow,” said he of the Crimson Tears.

“We sing our shame,” said she of the Violet Tears.

“We sing our love,” said the One Who Did Not Weep.

“We sing our plea,” said all the Eld.

The Magic listened.

They died there, Best Beloved, when the Magic listened. It heard them, and answered, and granted their wish, and in the granting took their freely offered selves. The last of them to die was the One Who Did Not Weep, who clung to life to see that we who were so loved were granted what was wished, and clung to life to teach us all that I have told you. And once that was done, the Tearless died as well, and smiled in the death.

What was their wish? They wished us all that they had lost, Best Beloved, and all that they had never had. It is because of this wish that the Hoofed first spoke, and that we have Words. It is because of this wish that those who fly can move the clouds and tame the sky, that those of Earth can heal and tame the land, that those with horns can master and heal magic, and move the stars and sun and moon.

The One Who Did Not Weep gave to us one final wish, oh Best Beloved, and that was that we tell this story, and remember it, and remember the Eld.

Remember the Eld. Remember how they met their end. Remember always.

Now sleep, Best Beloved. I will wake you in the morning, and perhaps I will share another story.