The infant exercised the use of her tiny lungs the moment she was released from her mothers body. The elven midwife smiled happily as she cleaned, wrapped and handed the newborn to it's father. The father was tall with a slim build with blonde hair to his shoulders in plaited braids in the fashion of his people, the elves. The mother lay only a few feet away, gazing tiredly but happily at the scene before her. She was human. Though their child was Half-Elven, she would grow slowly as the elves do and grow into the grace and beauty of all her father's kind. He smiled warmly, holding the infant close.
"Tithrandil..."the weakened voice of his wife, Waelith, called.
"Let me see her."
He walked gracefully over to where she lay and placed the baby, who was now silent and gazing wide eyed at the world around her, in her outstretched arms. Waelith kissed the infant girl's forehead and began to whisper an ancient litany that was passed down by the women of her family since the second age. Tithrandil's face changed from joy to worry.
"Waelith?" he called softly.
The mother finished her chant, and ended, saying: "I pass all this to you, as my mother has passed it to me."
She sealed it with a kiss on the her daughter's forehead. The midwife broke in momentarily.
"She will need a name."
Waelith closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she spoke their daughter's name.
"Anariel"
Tithrandil smiled at the name and said "But Waelith, she will have black hair like yours. Why not call her Ithiliel?"
Waelith smiled.
"It matters not the color of her hair. What matters is that she will bring sun's warmth and light into your life"
His worried look returned at her words.
"You will live long enough to see her mature and marry." he said softly, tucking a wayward strand of raven hair behind her rounded ear.
"Tithrandil, my love, the day has come. The day that was when I was born when my mother was born, and so on back to the second age. I am dying." she answered softly, her eyes beginning to close, her breath becoming more silent and shallow.
"Do not hate our daughter for this day. This fault is not hers. She is the savior of our line. Her elven blood with destroy the curse of the women of my family. Love her. She will need you."
Tithrandil held his infant daughter with one arm and reached for his mortal wife's hand with the other. Tears of pain welled up in his bright blue eyes and spilled down his alabaster face in silent rivers. Waelith's eyes also issued the sorrowful rivers. She held his hand tightly and said at length: "I love you both. I will be watching you from the stars."
Her grip loosened and she let out a soft long sigh, and breathed no more.
Anariel began to wail.