At the southern edge of Eryri’s majestic mountains, where the dawn’s first light kisses the rugged peaks, stands the mighty throne of a giant king-Cadair Idris, the Chair of Idris. This mountain, crowned by a silent lake called Llyn Cau, holds within its wild heart the spirit of a ruler both fierce and wise.

Idris was no ordinary king. Tall as the tallest pine and strong as the ancient stones beneath his feet, he was a giant not only in size but in thought. Legend tells us he was a philosopher, a stargazer, a poet whose soul reached far beyond the rugged hills of Snowdonia. Many a night, he would perch upon his mountain seat, eyes fixed on the glittering tapestry of stars above, pondering the mysteries of the heavens and the fate of his people.

Around the lake, scattered like treasures from the sky, lie enormous boulders-so immense they could only be gifts from a giant’s hand. It is said that Idris, troubled by the grit in his shoe, would pluck out these giant stones and flick them down the mountain’s slopes. To him, they were mere irritations; to the earth below, they became timeless monuments of his presence.

Though rooted in history, the legend of Idris grew with the years. The word 'gawr' meaning 'giant' may have mingled with 'awr', meaning 'coarse', blurring fact with myth. Whether truly a giant or a man of grand stature, Idris’s story remains etched into the very rocks and winds of this wild land.

Some say his end came in battle by the River Severn, his mighty life fading with the clash of swords. Others whisper he became a hermit, retreating deep into the mountains to dwell in solitude, his mind wandering the vast realms of thought until madness and genius became one. The mountain itself became his resting place, and some claim his grave lies hidden beneath the rocky throne where he once sat.

But beware the mountain at night, for they say the Grim Reaper, Afagddu-shadowy harbinger of death-roams the peaks. Cloaked in darkness and silence, Afagddu waits for those who dare to sleep alone upon Cadair Idris. The mountain’s magic is a double-edged sword: those who rest there awaken gifted with poetic fire-or driven mad by the wild spirits that Afagddu commands.

And so the mountain holds a strange magic. Travelers who sleep alone upon Cadair Idris are said to awaken transformed-gifted either with the soul of a poet or the wild madness of the mountain winds. It is a place where the veil between the earthly and the ethereal thins, where the echoes of Idris’s starry musings still linger in the whispering breeze.