A/N This is my first real attempt at a novel length story. I would like to know what you think, so please comment and crit as you read.

When this done I will move it to the crossover section. The story is finished and currently in beta.

Hope you enjoy.

I do not own the works of Robert Jordan nor JK Rowling.

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the First Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the highlands of Scotland. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

Born among the mountains the icy wind roared southwards across the troubled country bringing with it a cold that was not natural for the summer months of Britain. Trees buffeted against the wind and homes were shaken with the force of the gale. The temperature plummeted as snow drifted down from cloudless skies. With the sunlit snowflakes falling, people huddled inside their homes in fearful wonder. Slowly the snow began to grow deeper as the blizzard grew in ferocity signalling an end to travel. Cars stood still, planes were grounded and boats were frozen to their docks.

Wizards alone could travel to and from homes and offices, though they were not comfortable. Another fear, much greater than the cold, had gripped their hearts for years. Grouped together even more, their cries were alike across the land. The wording might have differed, but they all shouted for a saviour to free them from the torment that was ravaging their lives.

Within the confines of a modest home in a forgotten village, a man and woman, both young, lived. The storm frosted the panes of glass that shielded this married couple from its bite. Tonight they did not care about the wind or darkness. Something life-changing was occurring.

Loud cries echoed around the inside of the tiny house and then they died away, replaced by the heavy panting of the woman and high the pitched cries of a baby. Gathering the baby, the nurse placed the child in the arms of his father. Silent in the father's arms, except for his little breaths, was a small black haired boy with piercing emerald green eyes. Harry, the father who shared the boy's hair whispered to his son, his young voice filled with awe. Handing his son over to his wife who shared her son's emerald eyes, he placed him gently into her arms. The pain was receding rapidly from her eyes, filled to the brink now only with love. A new tiny but bright light had been born among them.

Time passed and darkness continued to grow, reaching a crescendo on a cold winter's night. Defying the Dark, the black haired man and his wife fell. Each giving their life to save the little child who was asleep. The Dark turned to the boy and in a flash of green the child screamed and the darkness vanished. He was alone.

In an age still to come or one long past a similar yet weaker cry was screamed into the icy afternoon air. Although there was no echo, the cold snow covered slopes of the mountain ensured the cry did not go far. Shouts and screams were common further down the icy slopes, away from the pale shaking body of the woman. The clash of swords and loud calls of trumpets dominated the skies, a war had come to an end. Forgotten, she lay alone, no man or woman was there to attend her, no one to hold her hand. Her eyes stretched wide in agony before the pain subsided, replaced only by the angry cries of a new born child. Too weak to move she lay still, the cries went unheeded, until the world faded to her tear stained face, becoming dark to her. Her child lay alone.

Snow began to fall around her, covering her. The wind howled incessantly, its bite never wavering. Time moved on and the distant yellow sun continued to descend refusing to lend its heat to the land.

A tall man with broad shoulders heard the anguished cries of a child. Drawing nearer he saw the unmoving body of a woman, her clothes frosted by snow. Dropping to his knees by her side he lifted the child out of the snow and wrapped the baby boy underneath the warmth of his cloak. The cries lessened as the warmth his cloak offered soothed the child. The man s fingers, cold as ice, stretched out towards the woman, her pale skin frozen, her chest still, her eyes distant and hollow. With a silent prayer the tall man closed her lifeless eyes and waited.

Removing the child to ensure that he was still well, the man noticed the striking red hair and piercing gray eyes for the first time. The minutes turned to hours and still no man came to claim the boy, no woman mourned the death of a sister. The sun was setting and soon a dangerous winter s night would be the death of him and in turn the child resting against his chest.

Getting to his feet he had only one option left. Staring into the boy's eyes, he whispered the name he had always wanted for a son, Rand... Rand Al Thor, you are my son now. Wrapping him even tighter, shielding his fragile body from the elements he made his way down to the camp. He had to find his wife. The war might have ended but his son was still fighting. A new light had been born and been given to him, he would not let it be extinguished.

Born to never know his family the Dragon was reborn throughout eternity. Living a thousand times over. Each time his face different, the colour of his eyes though varying was always as piercing. Born to bring order to the pattern and a balance of power. He was the Champion of the Light, born to bring an end to the Dark. His destiny always lay before him, his enemies chosen long before he breathed a breath. His road steep and rocky, he lived to serve, he lived to love. The Dark One his foe though the men that do its bidding change. The outcome is never certain, but the stakes are always the same, The Wheel of Time.