The last rays of the setting sun were carried into the open chancel by a gentle breeze. Caladhin did not pay them any heed, but continued to stroke the head of the still figure that lay on the low couch beside her. It was thus that Galadhad found his mother and daughter as he mounted the last step to the western tower of the manor. Stepping quietly up to the silver-haired elf, he spoke to her in the Old Speech, as was her wont.
"She still does not wake?"
Gentle fingers traced the line of dark hair across the girl's forehead, "My Son, how is she to find her way back to the Light when she has had none in her life to show her its brightness?" She moved a lock of dark hair behind the delicately shaped ear. "She would not even understand the words we speak..."
Caladhin looked directly at her son, "The Iaurmenel has told me of the Nauca that stood as father to this child...at least she has known that much love. But even the best of them know only of the darkness of the earth."
Galadhad gazed into the deepening twilight, his hands hovering for a moment in a gesture of helplessness. "Then how might we show it to her? Or release her to the Halls of Mandos that she might escape this...trap...that is neither life nor death."
Caladhin glanced at her son, rebuke flaming in her eyes.
"You presume much, Galadhad. That she yet lives at all is not because of any effort of yours. And it is not meet to say that her fate lies within Mandos' walls. She is your offspring, it is true, but the blood of Ilúvatar's younger children also flows in her veins. The sons of Eärendil received special grace because of the lady Melian and their father's courage; this child has no such heritage. It is the children of Mithrellas who bear as much favour as can be expected from such a pairing...as does this girl."
Galadhad reddened with shame, then asked,
"Is there nothing, then, that we can do?"
The gentle hand came to rest on Fairlain's forehead.
"There is one thing, if it is allowed...." Caladhin gazed at her grand-daughter. After a long moment, she spoke again.
"She is a strange being, this child; of the Eldar...but not... of the children of Men...but not... of the Casári...but not. Perhaps she is meant as one who would stand against the dark for all three. Why else would the dark so lust after devouring her?"
"Follow after me, my son...you will understand." and the silver-haired elf began to sing in a low voice that resonated both tenderness and power.
Galadhad listened a moment to what his mother sang, then lifting up his own voice, followed the words and melody first in canon, then in counterpoint. As the music grew and became deeper and richer it was as the walls around them shimmered and began to melt away, and the three found themselves upon a hilltop, above them towering the two trees of Valinor. The song gentled and became quiet, for this was the hour of waning, when Telperion gave over its light into the keeping of Laurelin, who then waxed bright with its leaves of laced gold. And in that mixed light upon the slopes of Ezellohar, the song of Caladhin became one of supplication and memory combined, reaching beyond the radiant leaves, beyond the stars, beyond the Ainur themselves until it seemed the music had sung itself out and Caladhin's voice faltered into a wordless sigh. But Galadhad took up the song once more with a father's voice, and as he sang there came a breeze blowing amongst the topmost leaves of the two trees, weaving its way first through silver, then through gold, bringing with it the light it carried in its passage. Down it came towards the three, even as Laurelin the golden grew in brightness and warmth, until at last the light filled wind wrapped itself around them and covered them with leaves of silver and gold...
And Fairlain opened her eyes.
____________
She had been dreaming, and at first the dream had been filled with darkness and pain, then the most unimaginable light, and now, waking, she looked upon the topmost chamber of the quiet house in Arrowhaven, gazing at the two figures beside her; the woman smiling, and the man as well, though his face was wet with tears. They were elvish folk, but Fairlain felt no fear of them as she once might have, nor would she feel such fear again, for there was nothing more to hide. She was who she was made to be, and the light of that truth would never fade.
She smiled back.
