"Listen, darlin', tis nothing personal, ye see? You and me, we're jus' not happenin'."

She can't believe what she is hearing. Her mind is blank, whirling his words through her head over and over. There's a numbing pain settling over her heart, an ache that begins deep inside and rises to leak in silent tears from innocent grey eyes.

"Wh-what d'ye mean?" she hears herself say, staring up at him in agonised disbelief. How can he stand there, looking so handsome, so wonderful, and be telling her this?

"You and me ... it's over, Niamh-girl."

Slowly the message sinks in, and the gut-wrenching pain flares into wild, untamed fury. How dare he?! How dare he do this to her? She's given him everything, anything he ever asked for and more, and now he just cuts her loose, like she's not worth the time they've shared.

She throws herself at him, scratching at that impossibly perfect face, pulling at the red hair that falls in disarming coils over his forehead, punching as hard as she can at the broad chest, pouring all her hurt, all her anger into those blows.

And he laughs. He grips her arms and pushes her away, so easily, as though she is nothing more than a pest to be waved aside. All the while laughing that wild, carefree laugh that had once drawn her to him, and now only fuels her anger. Does he truly care so little that her pain is a joke to him? Did he ever care at all?

"Go home, little girl," he taunts her. "Tis time fer ye t'grow up some more."

He's gone, leaving her standing alone, breathless with fury, fighting to hold in the tears at his betrayal. She's sixteen years old. And her heart is breaking.

Never again, Niamh swore once more, glaring darkly at the herbs she was crushing under the watchful eye of her master, the man who had employed her within days of her arrival in RhyDin. Tom McConagh had taken her sixteen year old heart and ripped it to shreds, and she had sworn she would never let it happen again. And in the fours years since, she had gone out of her way to convince him what a fool he had been to do it.

Her hands paused in their pounding of stone on stone, squeezing the last of the juice from the unfamiliar herbs. Now why had she thought of that? Usually she went out of her way not to think of that first love affair, that awful rending of her heart. Then it came to her. Brishen.

Brishen Garridan, the roguish gypsy who had breezed into her life only a couple of nights before. He was a challenge, she'd give him that, never giving away much of an advantage unless he could somehow recoup it in other ways. Oh, she liked him, that much was obvious ... and that was the problem.

She liked him. Not in the way she liked Miss Lilli, his fiery redheaded sister, whom she could see becoming a dear friend. Oh, no, this liking was a little too much like the feeling she had once had for Tom McConagh. Her expression darkened once more. Never again.

Try though he might, even if he did win this little battle between them, Brishen Garridan would never hold her heart in his hand. Or if he did, he would never know it. No man would ever rip her heart into shreds. Ever again.

The little herbalist's shop was muggy with heat and the mixed smells of the various syrups and poultices being concocted within its walls. Wrapped in a protective tunic several sizes too large for her, thrown over her everyday clothes, and with her dark hair tied back into what was possibly the world's messiest bun, Niamh O'Donovan looked a lifetime apart from the life she had been living a little over a week before. She was also a little nervy. This was the first time her employer had left the shop in her care, together with the preparations that needed to be mixed up by the end of the day, and she had a nasty feeling that if any of it went wrong, she would be out of a job and a home before night fell.

Scowling fiercely in concentration, she carefully removed three saucepans of perfectly reduced syrup from the fire, each carefully made up to deal with different illnesses and aches, and set them aside to cool, turning her attention to the by now only warm syrup she had personally created, under supervision, that morning. There was a little less than a pint of the mixture in the pan, made up of equal parts elecampane, wild cherry bark, licorice, comfrey root, coltsfoot and lobelia, and now was only lacking the honey to bind it as a syrup.

She didn't hear the door to the shop open, too focused on the task in hand, carefully straining the mixture and adding two large tablespoons of honey to bind it, stirring in the sweet treat until the syrup was complete. It was only when this was done, and she had tested the warmth of the pans set aside - still too hot - that her visitor coughed politely, making herself known to the slightly frazzled apprentice.

Niamh looked up into the smiling countenance of one Miss Lilliana McClae, the fiery-haired gypsy she was very proud to be able to call a friend. The buxom witch grinned at her, leaning comfortably on the worktop where Niamh had been working.

"G'mornin' to ya', pretty rose," the familiarly rich, lilting voice greeted her. "Workin' hard, I see."

Niamh couldn't help but laugh at this. "Not so much working hard as working on too many things at once," she admitted in her own softly lilting Irish, heaving a soft sigh. "Still, I've only three more tae go, and then I can turn tae cleanin' up after meself."

"Wha's tha' you've got there?" Lilli asked, peering curiously at the dark syrup as Niamh scraped it carefully into a jar and sealed it with wax.

"Just a cough mixture," Niamh shrugged, pausing for a moment to scribble instructions for its use on the little label pasted to the side of the jar. "There's a little lad down the way been plagued by this awful cough, and his ma came by last eve tae ask fer somethin' for it."

"Potions galore in a place like this," her friend said cheerfully, looking around the various herbs and preparations, each in different stages of readiness for use. "Ya' mus' be good, to be left on yer lonesome."

"Fast learner," Niamh shrugged again, grinning as she set the newly-made syrup aside. "What can I do for ye, Miss Lilli?"

"Oh, nothin'," the fiery-haired woman assured her innocently, a faintly sly smile quirking at her lips. "I found myself in this part o'town, on business of me own, and I though' I would drop in t'see ya'. Not interruptin', am I?"

"Gods, no, I could do with the company!" Laughing at how desperately those words came out, Niamh moved around the little table to stand with her friend. "Business?" she queried, though she was not really expecting an answer. The business of gypsies, especially the Garridan clan to which Lilli belonged, was not for the ears of just anyone.

"Yes, business," Lilli nodded affirmatively, leaning down to sniff at the odd assortment of herbs by her hand on the table. "Plannin' a big to-do down in the Glen durin' the middle of June. S'why Brishen's in town. He's to help me sort it all out."

"The middle of June?" A curious and almost hopeful light flickered in Niamh's grey eyes for a moment. There was only one event in June that she knew of that would warrant a gypsy taking such an interest. "Wouldn't be the Solstice, would it?"

"Ah, yer a smart cookie, Niamh," was the approving response as Lilli wandered through the little shop, and she felt her heart leap in excitement. "It would indeed, the twenty-first of June. S'an excuse to draw in the clan and some of it's friends for a big bash ... wha's this? Smells like peppermint and horseapples. I can' think of anyone who'd take tha' in any form."

Swallowing a laugh, Niamh gently took the pot away from her friend, covering it once more. "That would be because it's not for consumption, Miss Lilli," she said carefully. "It's the beginning of a bolus."

The frown on the redhead's face was enough to tell her that she needed to be more specific. She tried very hard not to laugh as she did explained how a bolus was administered. Lilli's only reaction was to blink, her flame-kissed brows rising almost into her hairline.

"Right up their arse?" she repeated, and when Niamh nodded, she snorted in amusement. "Damn silly way t'cure the piles."

She couldn't hold it in any longer, and peal upon peal of bright laughter filled the muggy space as Niamh moved back over to the pans set aside, judging them to be cool enough to work with now.

"Would ... would it be presumptious of me tae ask how I might get meself an invite to the Midsummer with you and yours?" she heard herself asking shyly as she began to strain the separate mixtures under Lilli's studying eyes.

"Ha! Tis simple as pie, pretty rose," Lilli chuckled, once more leaning on the worktop to watch her as she worked. "I jus' haven' gone 'round puttin' up the fliers yet. You have a wish to join us, then?"

"I would love to come, if I'm welcome," Niamh said hopefully. "My folks taught me all about the ways of the land, and the gods. I didnae think I would meet anyone here who followed the old ways."

"Ah, the old ways is best," Lilli nodded sagely, reaching out to hold onto a particularly unhelpful pot as Niamh attempted to scrape the first of the remaining three mixtures out of its pan. "Tis an excuse to celebrate and have a good bit of drink, leap the fire, and welcome the witching hour for our small Sidhe friends. Will ya' be joinin' us for the Beltane fires?"

"You're celebratin' Beltane?" Niamh looked up sharply, startled. If so, then she really couldn't believe her luck. Her family had practiced the old ways for centuries, and she had not been looking forward to celebrating the Night of Fire on her own.

"Whole city is, Niamh, did ya' not notice?" Lilli looked surprised. "Take a gander 'round the marketplace when next you're there."

"Oh, I will," she heard herself promise, taking up the cloth, wax and string to seal the first jar securely.

"I doubt a pretty lass like yerself will be lackin' for a partner," Lilli added, "for either night. Silver-tongued or not, his eye's on ya'."

There was that accursed blush again, and this time it was impossible to hide from Lilli's knowing amber-hued eyes and the sly smile playing at her lips. They both knew exactly who she was talking about. Niamh avoided the other woman's eyes, concentrating fiercely on the movements of her hands as she took up the second pan.

"Ah, he's a good lad, lass, for all he's a pain in the arse," the fiery-haired witchling went on, seemingly oblivious to her companion's discomfort. "I swear to ya' that he treats his lovers dearly as he would his own heart. Rogue Brishen may be, but he likes ya'. He'll be wantin' ya' on his arm at both dances."

"Then he'll just have tae ask, won't he?" Niamh nodded firmly, her eyes still on her work for fear the sudden surge of hope and relief inside her would show all too clearly to the sister of the man they were discussing. In all truth, parts of her were still waging war over what she should do about Brishen Garridan, and this canny reassurance from the woman who knew him best of all the people Niamh had met had done much to calm that battle inside.

"He won' ask, he'll make ya' ask," Lilli warned her with a grin. "But don' be fooled. He'll be wantin' it as much as you." There was a pause, and her hand suddenly slapped the table between them, making Niamh jump. "Must be off, got more business to see to 'fore the day's over. Blessed day to ya', pretty rose."

"Goodbye ... thank you!" Niamh called after her winsome friend as Lilliana McClae sashayed out of the little shop, leaving her alone with the herbs and her thoughts.

Still, there was work left to be done, she reminded herself, and done it would be, with a lighter heart and a freer spirit than before, as the remembered advice of a father now far away mixed with the canny assurance of a friend close by to convince a reluctant heart to stop hiding, and listen for that call to come.

Laughing to herself as she left Charley on the edge of the wood, Niamh wandered back towards the city, her precious packages about her person, in her bag, in her arms. Following a slightly panicked discussion of the upcoming Beltane celebrations, the girls had decided to go shopping together in preparation, and thankfully had both managed to find the dresses that fired their imagination. Personally, Niamh couldn't quite believe she was even contemplating wearing what she had bought, but there was something about this place that made her want to try.

After a few minutes spent carefully stowing her new belongings in her little room above the shop where she worked, she made her way through the darkening streets towards the Red Dragon Inn, yawning a little wearily as she did. She was so looking forward to the Night of Fire; at home, it was as big a celebration as it seemed to be here. The only downside she could see was that her family would not be here to enjoy it with her, and though a minor thing to some, it brought a painful ache to her heart. She had never been without her father or her sisters on such a special night.

As her eyes scanned the bar, she found herself grinning widely at the sight presented to them. Lilli and her brother seemed to have taken over the couches near the hearth; the fiery-haired witch to talk with a man whom Niamh had seen and heard playing his guitar once before, the incorrigible gypsy man fast asleep. She could hear him snoring from here. As she watched, Lilli kicked her brother lightly, an amused smirk on those lush lips, only for Brishen to readjust himself, mutter something, and go promptly straight back to sleep. The witch met Niamh's eyes as the dark-haired girl wandered over to the bar, and they shared a fondly exasperated smile at the lack of response from the sleeping man.

Still, if there was one thing Niamh knew how to do, it was to wake someone who wasn't all that keen on doing so. Busying herself for a couple of minutes behind the bar found her with two cups of coffee, one made the way Brishen preferred it, and wending her way over to the couches. Part of her was still protesting that she really didn't have to do this ... but the by now bigger part was eager for the auburn curled gypsy's company, and it was this part that ruled, at this evening.

Flashing another smile of greeting to Lilli and her companion, not wishing to interrupt, she knelt beside the snoring Brishen and held the coffee under his nose, relying on the scent of the beverage to convince him to come back to consciousness. "Wakey, wakey, gypsy boy ..."

His nose wrinkled, the arm flung over his eyes lifted just a touch, and a strange collection of sounds that could have been an attempt at her name left his lips sleepily. Laughing, Niamh gently lifted his arm completely from his face, watching as he groggily sat up. "Drink the coffee, Brishen, it'll help ye wake up," she smiled, pressing the cup into his hand.

"Y'know, if it wasn't so obviously not my room, I'd think you were here t'give me my birthday present early," he said with a tired grin and a sleepy little wink to her.

"Oh, aye?" she laughed, watching him blink hazily awake. "And what would that be, I wonder? A flash o'my undies as I ran away from yer grasping hands?"

"Y'mean runnin' intae them, surely," he shot back quickly, shuffling over to make room in unspoken invitation for her to join him on the couch.

"Only if ye managed tae get in front of me," she told him blithely, obligingly rising from her knees to slide onto the cushions beside him.

"Bah," he laughed lightly, flicking her a roguish wink as he sipped his coffee. "Ye'd willingly run intae them, ye've done so b'fore."

"I have ne'er run intae anyone's arms, mister," she heard herself say pointedly, stretching slightly as she watched him drink slowly. Wait, that wasn't strictly true. "Well ... maybe once, but it was a long time ago. Ye run, ye fall. I go my own way now." There was a long pause, and the courage she had been working on storing up for days now suddenly leapt into action. Her voice lowered as she leaned comfortably against him, the tone soft but serious. This was not something she had ever said to anyone not her blood kin. "I cannae be hurt again, Brishen," she murmured. "Tis a pain I willnae endure with fortitude a second time."

She shouldn't have been surprised when he made no witty remark in answer, regarding her with those cool grey/blue eyes in thoughtful silence. To the rest of the room, it would look as though they were simple exchanging pleasantries, their heads bowed close together as they lounged on one of the couches. "Ye're nae the only one," he reminded her softly, and she felt herself nodding slowly, her eyes closing for a long moment.

There was a reluctance, a pain that she knew all too well lurking beneath the rich tone of his voice, and yet another crack appeared in the defences around her heart in answer to it. Her face turned to his, looking into his eyes with a clear, fond gaze untempered by fear or concern.

"I willnae make promises not tae hurt ye, love," she whispered softly, smiling a little as their noses bumped.

She felt her heart warm as an equally soft smile was returned to her, that handsome face seemingly somehow even more beautiful to her than she'd ever seen it before.

"Nae askin' fer promises tha' c'n nae be kept, time's forever a fickle thing," he murmured back to her, just as soft, just as undemanding. Who would have thought that the roguish, charming Brishen Garridan could be so gentle and unassuming? Well ... she had, or this conversation would never have begun. "I c'n nae promise ye either, only hope 'n' assure tha' m'intentions be nae t'cause such things."

"Then ... then we should take each day as it comes, love," she nodded slowly, swallowing her faint fear as her hand reached up to trace her fingertips against his cheek. "Thank ye for nae lying tae me."

"If there's one thing I c'n' promise ye, I'm nae known as a liar," he murmured back to her, and she felt her trust of him rise once more, leaning forward to seal their promises not made with a soft kiss to his lips.

Soft was the kiss he offered to her in return, lips meeting to add his signature to the seal. She felt him shift just a little, and almost purred happily as his fingertips stroked across her cheek, his palm turning to tenderly cup her face in his hand. Very gently, she broke the gentle touch of mouths, smiling into his eyes with a suddenly mischievous flicker in her gaze.

"This doesnae mean ye've won the war, ye realise," she pointed out impishly, bumping her nose to his deliberately before pulling away from him.

"Oh, I have, y'just don' know it yet," was the silver-tongued charmer's reply, and he flashed her another of those heart-melting grins as he polished off his coffee. As he leaned down to set his empty mug beside hers, those tricksy fingers of his touched her side, and poked exactly where he knew her to be incredibly ticklish.

Her whole body jerking from almost relaxed to suddenly tensed, Niamh grabbed his hand, glaring good-naturedly at him. "I thought ye were going tae stop doin' that, Silver-Tongue," she warned him in a pleasantly dangerous tone of voice, slowly releasing his hand as he sat back.

However, the hand she released slinked under her back, ensnaring her in the circle of his arm as he grinned down at her. "I nae said I'd stop fer good," he reminded her wickedly. Honestly, the things that man could do with a simple grin were almost sinful!

"I ne'er asked ye to, I'm just warnin' ye," she smirked back at him. "Someday soon ye may find more'n an elbow in your ribs for your wish tae expose my weaknesses to all and sundry."

"We'll see," he chuckled back at her, evidently not at all phased by the sweetly phrased warning.

Niamh's eyes narrowed for a moment. This is turning intae too much of a couple's talk, she thought suddenly. She smirked suddenly, her fingers curling into the lapels of his coat. "P'raps we will, at that," she agreed softly, leaning in as if to kiss him, only to flash him a wink and smile, and attempt to manuever herself out of his grasp.

The bloody man was ready for her, though, both arms now curling around her waist to hold her still. "Ah, who's the roguish scoundrel now?" he laughed heartily, ignoring her half-hearted attempts to escape from the encompassing - and surprisingly comfortable, though she'd never admit it aloud - circle of his arms.

Laughing with him, she let him hold her still, hands resting on his arms as she looked into his eyes. "Why, I do believe I'm lookin' right at him," she teased sweetly.

"At least I don' tease, an' try 'n' run off," he retorted, winking mischievously at her as she wriggled.

"I'm a woman, it's expected," she grinned impishly.

"That so?" He feigned a curious interest for a moment, before his true colours were flying once more. "If I were t'let ye go now, ye'd only run away for so long, then ye'd come back 'n' settle yerself nice 'n' comfortable in m'arms once again," he assured her with a sultry wink, good natured mirth filling his eyes.

Niamh laughed softly, actually thinking this one over before she answered him. If, her suddenly racing thoughts pointed out to her. He said if he were to let me go ... It was an encouraging thought, one that prompted her to be completely honest in her answering. "I'll nae argue that," she shrugged, assuring him in her own way that, despite her fears and worries, she had no real intention of leaving him to return to playing the game they both had too much experience at.

He blinked, a faint grin lighting up his face for a moment, and released her, tucking his feet behind her on the couch as he laid back comfortably. Chuckling at the vision of goodly comfort he made, Niamh smiled down at him. "Ye look tae be mighty comfortable there, Silver-Tongue," she said quietly, reaching over to ruffle his gold-flecked curls wickedly.

He ignored her teasing hand, choosing to stretch his arms up above his head as his grin widened. "Aye, 'n' I am, care t'join me?" He nodded lazily, the grin softening to an inviting smile.

Not entirely sure why she was even considering it, Niamh let her eyes travel the length of him sprawled out on the couch. "Y'sure there be room for me?" she laughed softly.

"Only one way t'find out," he shrugged, winking up at her.

"Angling fer another wish tae be granted, are ye?" she teased him impishly, leaning over to grin down at him. "How exactly d'ye propose we go about this, hmm?"

Had she been paying attention, she would have noticed that as she leaned down, his arm inched subtly around her, not yet touching but ready to ensnare and hold her firmly to him should she try to tease and run again. "I think it's a figure out as ye go along sorta thing, but I'm sure ye start by lyin' down," he grinned up at her, laughing a little as she rolled her eyes at the statement of the obvious.

"Ah, but do I lie facing ye, or the room?" she asked, tilting her head in almost curious innocence as she smiled at him.

"I c'n handle either way jus' fine," he shrugged, and Niamh had to bite her lip to prevent herself from pointing out that no matter which way she laid, what he would be handling would in fact be her.

"I'm sure ye could,' she laughed, more at her own thoughts than anything. "Question is, how much of an advantage am I willin' tae give ye o'er me?" But as she spoke, she was lifting her feet up onto the couch, rolling to face him as his arms wrapped around her. Suffice it to say, it was a tight fit.

He chuckled softly, lifting a wink to a passing stranger as he adjusted his grip on her gently. "Why, what if ye did?" he asked, as if he could think of nothing in this situation he could possibly use to his advantage. Seriously, the man was a master at the actors' trade. "I'm a good, honest, 'n' respectable man, what ever would I do with such a thin'?"

"I dinnae think ye're the kind o'man who does anythin' without some advantage tae himself, love," she pointed out quietly, chuckling with him as she wriggled comfortably in his arms. She gazed into his eyes, feeling that ridiculously pink and fluffy feeling taking over again. It was this, she was sure, that prompted her next unprovoked comment. "D'ye know, I'd be happy tae stay here as long as ye stay to keep me from falling on me arse."

"Ye best be good then, n'n I'll nae consider dropping ye," was his instant reply, all impish smiles and winks but cheerful with it.

"And what would ye define as 'good', eh?" she shot back with an impish grin of her own, not giving him a chance to answer as her lips found his in a gentle kiss.

He waited to answer until their lips parted, smiling into her eyes as she smirked faintly. "Ye're gettin' it," he murmured teasingly.

"Still only gettin' it?" she teased back just as lightly, shifting her head back a little to look him more comfortably in the eye. "Seems I might ne'er 'get it' just right for ye, mister." She grinned again, light-hearted and smiling as she cast a wink to him.

"Practise makes perfect," Brishen returned her wink with one of his own, his grin widening as she felt his arms tightening around her.

"So they tell me ..." Her hand curled into his hair once more, pulling his lips to hers. There was nothing tentative or soft about this kiss; though still gentle, there was a hunger there she seemed finally to have allowed to shine through.

More fervent than before, now that that tentative wall had finally been breached, he was no less urgent in returning that kiss. Unlike the last, he didn't end it for some witty remark; rather, he lingered for as long as it was offered. A soft sound muffled against his lips, and she felt herself relaxing against him, warm and safe and eager to keep this closeness for as long as she could. Her fingers curled and stroked through his hair as her lips opened and moved softly beneath his. And he seemed in no way willing to let it end for any reason ... save for lack of breath. Thus, that closeness was kept a constant thing, held onto almost desperately, very unwilling to part and break the kiss, even as their mutual need for breath forced them to do so. At the break of that kiss, her breath came ragged and warm against his lips, for she didn't move further than an inch from him. Slowly her eyes opened, looking into his with something akin to wonder shining within the fond smile twinkling in the grey depths.

The smile that he returned to her made her heart thump happily, her fingertips still teasing in his hair as that familiarly impish glint touched her eyes. "How's the business of wish grantin' going, d'ye think?"

"Hmm...think we done met 'n' paced the days quota," he chuckled, squeezing her to him for a moment as they laughed together, interrupting that laughter to press another unrestrained and fervent kiss to her lips. With another soft sound against his mouth, she smiled into the kiss, responding with as much fervour as she shifted a little, pressing closer to him.

What was she doing? She didn't know. Her sense seemed to go out of the window whenever he was around, whenever he smiled at her. She was setting herself up to fall again, she knew it and yet ... she couldn't stop. With a soft sigh, she dipped her head, pressing her face against his shoulder as her arms snaked around him. The negligible flick of surprise that touched her as he tightened his arms around her once more, his forehead turning to rest against the crook of her neck, told her how little chance she had to get out without hurting either of them. And if she were completely honest, she didn't want to get out.

It wasn't a game anymore.

She didn't get far before the ache overwhelmed her, sending her crashing to her knees in the undergrowth, unseen by the revellers so close by. Aching, hurting, she longed to cry, but the tears would not come, dry sobs wracking body as she wished for home, for those she loved, for the tiny woman who had borne her and lived for so short a time.

"Why?" She whispered to the uncaring forest, her voice all but lost beneath the merry-making beyond the line of the trees. "Why does it hurt so much?"

"Because ye have no let go of the past, a stoirin."

In my daughter's eyes I am a hero
I am strong and wise and I know no fear
But the truth is plain to see
She was sent to rescue me
I see who I wanna be
In my daughter's eyes

A shudder went through Niamh's kneeling frame as that voice touched her ears. She hadn't heard that voice in so long ... it was impossible that she could hear it now, surely? Frightened to look up, but terrified not to, her face lifted from the ground beneath her, a sudden sob leaving her lips as her eyes found the one who had spoken.

"It's nae possible," she gasped, breathless with the need to cry the tears she had denied herself for years. "Ye cannae be here, ye're ..."

Her mother smiled gently. "Dead, a stoirin?" she said softly, that beloved lilt in her voice striking into her bewildered daughter's heart like a knife. "Aye, in the lands ye know, I am no more. But on nights like this, when my kind are invited to dance with yours ... then I am reborn, if only for one eve."

"Y-your kind?"

Niamh couldn't tear her eyes from the vision before her. She was unaware that the sounds of the Beltane celebrations had faded, that she had somehow crossed that unspoken line between dreams and waking for the third time that night.

Carwen O'Donovan stood not far from her daughter, barely changed from the enduring memories each of her children, her husband, held so dear in their hearts. Dark hair that curled about her face and shoulders, the curls she used to tease their noses with when they would act up to her; the small hands that could be firm or gentle when the need arose, but were never any less than loving; and those eyes, the grey eyes she had bequeathed to just one of her children, the sobbing, confused girl kneeling in the coolness of the woods around them.

"Aye, a stoirin, my kind," she told her daughter gently, moving to kneel beside her daughter, one hand lifting her chin to look into Niamh's face. "I cannae tell ye more, for ye must find the answers for yourself."

"I've missed ye so much," Niamh began, but Carwen's fingertip touched her lips, the signal for silence she had used so rarely as her daughters had been growing up.

"There is nae time," she murmured, and her eyes turned stern as she looked on her daughter. "Tis time for ye tae let go of the past, a stoirin ... tae let go of what ye were and embrace what y'are."

"I ... I dinnae understand -" But again, Carwen's fingertip touched gently to Niamh's lips, quieting her confusion.

"Look intae my eyes, Niamh," she ordered softly, and Niamh could not disobey, gazing into stormy greyness that seem to roil and flash silver with some unknown power. "Remember me as I was, a stoirin, and see what ye were ne'er to have seen 'fore ye came to this place ..."

In my daughter's eyes everyone is equal
Darkness turns to light and the
world is at peace
This miracle God gave to me gives me
strength when I am weak
I find reason to believe
In my daughter's eyes

The power of her mother's voice seemed to permeate every part of Niamh's body, overpowering her own soul, as images turned before her eyes, memories of her life before she grew hard, of the loving child she had once been, and further back, to the night of her birth, on a cold midwinter, twenty years before.

Carwen lay on her side in the darkness, listening to the quiet cadence of her husband's snores, and watching the rise and fall of her newborn daughter's breath. Behind her, her firstborn was cuddled into the blankets, both she and her father oblivious to the silent vigil being kept by the new mother over her second daughter.

This little one had been born on midwinter, beneath the sign of Elder. More so than her sister, she would be close to the realm from which her mother came, the secrets Carwen was forced to keep from her husband and children. No one could know that the diminuitive housewife was anything more than she seemed. No one, that is, except her own kind.

They would come, she knew. They had not stood by idly when her first had been born, and she could not see them ignoring the birth of this little one, on the night of renewal, when the old became the new. This new life that would combine the best and worst of her mother's heritage with the best and worst of her father's ... her path would not be easy, not while she was forced to walk it within the confines of this mundane world to which she had been born.

There it was, a flicker on the edge of vision, a sound on the edge of hearing, and those old familiar faces stood around them. They had come to bless the child. Carwen smiled as her old friends and family gathered around her, leaning down to touch the face of the little one who had come to them in the dark fells of winter. Yes, this one would be theirs, as promised ... when her heart had grown enough to accept herself for the miracle she was.

The images faded, leaving Niamh bewildered once more. She looked into her mother's glowing eyes, a small frown on her face. "Who were they?" she asked softly. "The ones who came ... they seemed so unreal ..."

Her mother smiled that soft, gentle smile once more, laying her hand against her cheek.

"They are what has been, and what will always be," she said, and her voice seemed to be overlaid with the voices of others, many hundreds of others, the whisper of the wind speaking through the tiny woman as she guided her daughter. "There is more tae see, a stoirin. Look again."

Shaking away her confusion, Niamh lifted her eyes to the stars at her mother's gesture, and felt the past lay itself upon her once more, to show her what she had never seen.

It was another vigil, like the one kept on the night of her birth. But this time, Niamh was not the babe lying still in the crib beside the bed, but her younger sister, the last born of Carwen and her husband's love. Again, the little woman waited, awake while others slept, for those of her own time to come to her, to bless this final blessing of her marriage. And this time, the vigil was not kept alone.

Laying upon the bed, between herself and her husband, were the two little girls they had already given to the world. Niamh recognised herself in the chubby younger toddler who lay silent beside her mother, grey eyes open and gazing up at the dancing lights upon the ceiling. She didn't remember this night, she was too young to have it as a memory of her own, and yet ...

They came once more, gathering close around the crib, and her mother spoke to them as they spoke to her. The child Niamh had been was unafraid, merely curious, eyes wide as she gazed around at the odd collection of folk who seemed to have come from the shadows, out of dreams, to look at her new sister. They knew she was watching them, and yet not a word was spoken to her or of her, their attention taken by the slumbering babe in the crib.

And then, in soft cadence, they began to sing, crooning a gentle lullaby to bless the new child, and Niamh watched in amazement as her mother sang with them, in a tongue she had never heard before. Carwen's arm reached out to the toddler at her side, drawing the young Niamh close beside her as she sang, and beneath the melody, the child seemed to hear those manyfold voices speaking to her, reaching out to the part of her that was not of this world she had been born to. As she was one of them, she was one with this world, and until she let go, she could not fully be either. But that time was long yet in coming, and this sweet memory of fae voices and gentle blessings on a newborn child would soon fade, leaving her mind untouched, but her heart marked as theirs.

"The Fae ..." Niamh whispered as her mind came back to herself once more. Her gaze shifted to her mother in curious amazement. "We were visited by the Fae?"

Carwen nodded slowly, and this time she did not speak, but simple touched her fingertips over her daughter's heart. Niamh felt a jolt within her at that gentle touch, a sudden warmth that she had spent years ignoring, and only lately had begun to allow herself to feel once again. Her hand reached out to grasp that of her mother, small fingers entwining in trust and love as she slowly began to understand a little of what she was being told.

And when she wraps her hand
around my finger
Oh it puts a smile in my heart
Everything becomes a little clearer
I realize what life is all about

"Now, a stoirin, it is time ye knew the truth of me," her mother murmured tenderly, a sadness in her eyes as she looked on her daughter. "Tis a hurt ye shouldnae have tae bear, but I know ye can hold the truth now. Ye need tae know, tae let go of what haunts ye."

"Know wh -" But once again the vision came before her, and she felt her heart lurch uncomfortably as she recognised the scene in her mind.

It had been a long time since she had remembered this night. She was sixteen, and newly broken-hearted. Broken and weeping, she had defied all advice, all comfort, to seek her own company, lost in her misery. Her slender frame was stretched out upon her bed, sleeping fitfully, her pale face streaked with tears even as she slumbered.

Carwen was there, watching her from the doorway. The little woman's face was pained as she watched her daughter's restless sleep. She could feel the pain of a heart not yet brave enough to face the heartbreak given to her by a fool and a liar. Taken in by a pretty face and a silver tongue, the teenaged Niamh's pain was now her mother's pain. And yet the child was still holding onto that pain, wrapping it around herself, moulding it into armour against the next charmer who would cross her path.

She could not be allowed to seal herself off from the love she was born to feel, to give, and to receive, for it was only that love that could protect her mind from the twists and turns of the life yet to come. They would not allow it, and yet Carwen knew that their methods would be harsh on her midwinter child. Her hands, clasped against her heart, began to shine with a faint silvery glow, and she knew, then, what she had to do.

The little woman, who knew of the Fae and was known by them, moved silently over to her heartbroken daughter's bedside, kneeling down to stroke the familiar dark strands of hair from that tear-stained face. "Forgive me, a stoirin," she murmured, and gently laid her hands over her daughter's heart. The light shining from them surged into bright life, and seemed to sink into the sleeping girl's body. All at once the restlessness and pain faded from the child's face, and her breathing became easier.

The pain was gone, taken into herself by a loving mother, and the light from her soul swept through her daughter, cleansing and healing that newly broken heart. And, too, it set in place the barriers Niamh so wished for, with one simple adjustment ... that one man who knew her heart could break through them, and win the love of this Fae child, when the time was right.

Incredibly weakened, Carwen pulled herself to her feet, staggering a little as she left the sorrowful room. Within a month, her mother would be dead, and a new world of sorrow heaped upon the young girl's shoulders. But that grief would be fierce and fast to fade, for there was much love in the memories Carwen left to her, and hope for the years to come.

Tears streamed down Niamh's cheeks as she came back to herself for the last time. She was there in the glen once more, kneeling beside her mother, wrapped in the arms she had missed for so very long as her heart cried all the tears she had refused to allow herself in the years since Carwen had been gone. Soothed and protected by her mother's gentle presence, she grieved for what had been, and what would never be again, all because of her childish self's inability to cope with a blow dealt to her by a fool.

It's hangin' on when your heart has had enough
It's giving more when you feel like giving up
I've seen the light
It's in my daughter's eyes

Slowly, Niamh calmed, feeling the gentle touch of her mother's hand against her hair as the tears abated, the sorrow run dry within her. She leaned back, loath to let go for fear she might have to say goodbye once more. "Why did ye do it?" she asked brokenly. "Give it all up tae me?"

Carwen's smile was like the sun rising over the Green Isle they both loved so well.

"Twas not a givin' up, a stoirin," she told her daughter affectionately. "Twas a movin' on. My time was drawing to a close in any case, and I couldnae bear tae see my girl so hurt. What I had, I gave ye, that ye might find your way without me."

"But ..."

"Nae buts. Your heart I healed with the light inside me, and I would do it again, if I could," Carwen interrupted firmly, holding her daughter's face between her hands, her gaze all-seeing as she gazed into Niamh's eyes. "Ye must let go of that pain for good now, a stoirin, for it serve nae purpose. The time has come tae move on with your life, tae trust your heart tae a man who isnae entirely one of them himself."

"That was the promise made," Niamh murmured, remembering again the expectation of the Fae as they had gathered around her crib, that first night of her life. Then she looked up, that faint frown returned to her brow. "Ma ... ye're one of them, aren't ye? Ye're one of the Fair Folk."

"I cannae say, a stoirin," Carwen shook her head slowly. "I was sent to ye tae clear your heart and head, and I see now you were already close to it. The fires are lit, Niamh ... tis up tae ye to keep them burning."

In my daughter's eyes I can see the future
A reflection of who I am and what will be
Though she'll grow and someday leave
Maybe raise a family
When I'm gone
I hope you see how happy she made me

Before Niamh could speak again, the Sidhe vision faded, and she was once again alone in the glen, the sounds of the revellers beyond the trees filling her ears. The Night of Fires, a time for renewal and blessings, for leaping the fire and stepping forth into the life you were made to live. Her hand touched over her heart, and she smiled slowly. Her mother had been right. The pain was gone, the worries and fears set aside, and a face she knew now almost as well as her own swam into her mind, casting that familiar winking grin her way. A soft laugh left her as she rose to her feet, for though the visit of the Fae had left her with many questions, it had answered the one worry that had been plaguing her for a long while. It was time to move on, and she knew now whose path she wished to walk alongside.

And in the shadows beneath the trees, amber-hued eyes watched the dark-haired girl walk back towards the city, thoughtful and smiling. Aye, 'twas time. Lilli looked around the little meeting place with a canny look in her eyes, stepping out from the shadows she had secreted herself within. She could feel the touch of the Sidhe on the place, and now on the smiling presence of the retreating pretty rose who had caught her brother's attention. "Blessings on the fires," she murmured sweetly, dropping a curtsey to the wee folk she knew were around, and whirled to return to the festivities, mind set at rest once more.

For I'll be there
In my daughter's eyes ...


((Song lyrics are from In My Daughter's Eyes, by Martina McBride))