First Fire
When the mortal races first awoke from the fruits of the trees, they had the fire of life, but not a burning fire with which to keep the dark and cold at bay. Nights were cruel then, so this was a bitter lack.
The gods took pity on them, and sent Darmon to all the mortal races but the dwarves, who were hidden away at the edge of the world, inside the head of Korak. To each of the four races he found, he gave fire, but each race lost it as soon as it was given. While they received the fire, they did not know how to make it for themselves, or how to contain it. Sometimes it raged wildly, lighting their forests and huts, and they had to flee. Otherwise, it simply blew out. In all cases, they could not bring back the flame.
The gods commanded Darmon to bring fire to them once more. Again, it was lost nearly as soon as it was given. And a third time, he walked among the mortal races to give them fire, and for a third time it was lost. The gods were perplexed; these poor peoples were likely to die without fire, and would never thrive and make wonders in the dark.
Goodlady Anwyn offered to bear fire to the mortal races.
The gods argued against this, for Anwyn, called the Heavenly Maiden, was the youngest of them. She was perfectly innocent, and had never walked apart from the other gods. But after much debate they acquiesced, and Anwyn went to mortals and taught them how to make and keep fire. In her journeys, she came across her sleeping brother Korak, and awoke him, but he would not rise, and asked her to leave the fire beside him. So it was that while Korak gave fire to the dwarves, it was borne to them by Anwyn.
The Smiling Lady made her way to the other races. She showed them how to make their homes comfortable, and how to properly prepare food so it wouldn’t poison their weak bodies. She taught them of the many perfect cuts of meat that do not rupture an animal’s inner organs, and ruin the fruits of its flesh. She showed them how to harvest food that grew untended from the earth, such as berries and fruits and nuts, and how to prepare these things in many wonderful ways. Eventually, she found her way back to her brother and joined him in instructing the dwarves, so that they too learned these lessons. It was for these many teachings that the mortal races call her the Giver of Gifts, Anwyn the Blessed, and many other names of honor. And in temples erected to her glory, they place hearths at the center, watched over by the manciples of her faith, where they burn the finest cuts of meat in sacrifice to her splendor. At the harvest, all people, whether dedicated to one god or all, bear gifts to her temples, presenting them at the hearth in memory of those gifts she gave. Truly, Goodlady Anwyn was the savior of all peoples.
But she was also savior of the gods—or at least of their comfort. Before her descent to give the mortals fire, the Lady of the Feast was least among the gods, much by her own design. For the Giver of Gifts does not desire power or greatness, as do others, and her heart swells to its fullest when she is of service. So Anwyn the Homely was both a god and chief among the gods’ servants, seeing to their houses, their great hearth, and their comfort, and she did so gladly.
But when she departed from the heavens for so brief a time, the other gods did not know how to tend their hearth, for all, deep in their hearts, were afraid of fire, the province of their great enemy, Kador. They appointed Shalimyr, lord of the waters, to keep the hearth, for who better to tame fire than the god of water?
It took little time for Shalimyr to douse the fire in a mishap, and soon after, the halls of the heavens grew chill and bleak. The gods were quite cross with Grandfather Ocean, yet none of them could rekindle the flames. Before long, they were desperate for fire and called out to Anwyn, but the Smiling Lady was not to be found, so intent was she on her lessons and service to the mortals. In desperation, they fetched the sun from the skies and brought it to their halls to keep themselves warm and happy, enshrouding the earth in an unearthly darkness, which mortals remember to this day. It was not an eclipse, as happens when the sun and moon wrestle. Indeed, the sun was simply gone from the sky, and all on earth trembled.
Taking this as a sign that not all was well in the heavens, Anwyn the Plentiful returned, rekindled the hearth with the sun’s fire, and sent the sun back to the heavens. The mortal races rejoiced, for she had given them fire and returned to the Sun. They called her the Bright Lady, and burned many offerings in her honor, as she had instructed them. And in the heavens, the gods too rejoiced, for Anwyn, least among them, was the only one unafraid of fire.
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