Tales from The Old Forest
Dragon Departs
"I do not remember much of my hatching, or how I came to be cast upon those shores, half-drowned in brine and choking on sand that burned my throat. What I remember though is waking to the gentle hands — elven hands, which I had been taught (by whom? I cannot say) should be my enemies. But the Túrëa Yalawë and his rangers did not slay me. They carried me to shelter, brought me water from the cold streams, and fed me when I was too weak to hunt.
For several moons I dwelt among them, learning to fly properly (the fairy Yúthiëndil tried to give me advice, which was amusing since her wings are completely different), and learning to control the frost that came unbidden from my jaws. I am ashamed to say I once startled the Healer, Lady Quildiën, and covered her in ice before I understood what I was doing. She forgave me, though Ranger Valandur made it very clear where and when I was permitted to practice my breath, and where I most certainly was not (the Library, for example). He was stern and came running after me with a fairly big stick, but he also was fair. I learned much from him about discipline.
The Elves of The Old Forest treated me not as a monster to be feared or a prize to be kept (one wanted me as such, but she was from a far-away land, and the Elves stood up together against her), but as a youngling who needed guidance. I listened to their stories of ages I had never known, of battles and losses, of hope maintained against darkness. When the 'Call' came, that deep, wordless pull toward Aman and the halls of the World Builders of old, I was obliged to depart, icy tears making my flight difficult.
To those who say dragons and elves shall be enemies: you have not met these people. To those who think The Old Forest is merely a pretty place to visit: you understand nothing. This is a place where the lost can be found, where the broken can be mended, and where even a dragon — an ice dragon! — can learn what it means to belong, if only for a little while.
I shall return someday, when my wings are stronger and my frost burns true. The Elves of The Old Forest saved my life. I will not forget."
"Not all those who wander are lost…"
— J.R.R. Tolkien