There was a stillness in the air as Lindovor walked up the lane and started to climb the small hill leading to the carpenter's cottage. Since his return to Arrowhaven his nerves had been on edge... a battle-readiness he had not felt for many years...it wearied his old bones even as it sharpened his senses. Coming to the crest of the hill, he saw a slender figure seated on the ground in front of a small campfire that had been kindled well away from the chicken coop. It was the lass Fairlain, still garbed as one who lay in sickbed, but who now sat with bundles of sticks and feathers at her side, shaping the slender rods of wood with a small knife. Smiling, Lindovor approached her.
"You are feeling better, I see." Lindovor smiled at the girl.
Fairlain lifted her head, the robe's hood falling from her head down to her shoulders revealing her dark brown hair and delicately shaped ears that were not...quite...human. For a brief moment the sweet smile that Lindovor remembered flashed up at him, and the small knife in her hands paused in its work.
"I am, thanks to you, and Turgur, and....others." the knife began whittling once again.
Lindovor paused, then sat in a spot at the opposite side of the fire to the industrious huntress.
"You've gained strength," he said after a moment," I am glad...you weighed no more than a wounded sparrow when we found you."
Fairlain glanced up at him as she worked. "I do not remember ...I am sorry."
Lindovor picked up a nearby twig and stirred the fire a little.
"I do not wonder at that, Fairlain...you were far from us when we found you. It was almost beyond belief that there was even life in you. That fall would have killed even a strong man..." Lindovor paused, and fell silent.
The small knife quickened slightly in its work.
"But I am not a man...", Fairlain studied the arrowshaft in her hand, her mouth tightening briefly with emotion "...I am not even a woman, I am..." she fell silent, lowering her eyes and studying the work she held in her hands.
"You are Fairlain, and that is enough." Lindovor said gently.
"I met the one who is my sire, did you know?" said the girl after a moment, glancing up at the man who sat across from her.
"I have heard this. The Lady told me."
"And the one who is his mother...my grandmother, I suppose, though she looks many years younger than my mother ever did. They were the ones to bring me back from the darkness. I saw...I cannot say what I saw...but it took away the fear I felt." she picked up a small cloth that lay next to her knee and smoothed the arrow's shaft. Laying the finished shaft by her right knee, she picked up a raw branch from a pile next to her left knee and began whittling once again.
"They did not want me, you know. I think they loved me in their way, but my grandmother was very certain that I am not a being like them. My sire....I think he hoped to find my mother once again but...I am not her. "
"No."
"He gave my name at my birth...Fairlain...or, how did he say it now..Faer lhain....but he also gave me a name at our parting..." Periniâr". He looked so sad. He said they were journeying into the West."
Lindovor waited, listening.
"Do you know what it means...the name?", she asked.
"It is a Sindarin word...the language of the Grey Elves...it means "half-blood"..."
"I see..." the small knife quickened in its work for a moment, then Fairlain paused to wipe away a sniffle with the sleeve of her robe. She bent her head over her work intently.
Lindovor stirred the little fire once again.
"Language is a strange thing, Fairlain...what may sound cold and harsh in one tongue, may have a very different sense in another. Given all that has happened, I think I would rather translate it as "doubly-blessed"..."
A sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh burst from the girl, and she lifted her shining eyes to the older man with a smile of thanks.
"Then...I will keep the name.." and she turned to the work in her hands once again.
