Long before Rhiannon had become Nan she had dreamed of having a little girl of her own. She had spent hours imagining what her child might look like and whether she would be more like her mother or her father, whoever had struck her fancy filling the paternal role quite nicely.

She had never imagined, of course, that she would be barren. Such a thing was almost unheard of among the Fair Folk and for a long time Nan had felt nothing but shame at her inability to carry out the sacred duty that belonged entirely to women. Her husband had never once blamed her for her blight and had remained a strong and shining star she could lean on. She had hoped, of course, that she might one day make a miraculous recovery and the child she'd always wished for would cease being a forsaken dream.

As the years went by Rhiannon found herself losing hope despite her husband's efforts to keep her spirits up. She caught herself looking longingly at mothers holding their children close to them or smiling good-naturedly as the little ones romped around like savages. Her heart burned with need, but the fires would not and could not be quenched.

She had almost surrendered to despair when she suddenly had the chance to be what she'd always wanted to be. It was no secret that the forests beyond the magical barrier were a dangerous place and to wonder into it was never wise. It didn't stop her people from trying especially when they were out to prove themselves as worthy Shadow Warriors. Many of those who ventured into the forest's dark depths never returned.

Such was the case of the orphaned little girl Rhiannon took under her wing. The child was already family for the Fair Folk that had disappeared within the forests had been her sister and the brother she'd gained upon their union. The pain of losing ones she loved was tempered only by her joy at gaining a child. For a long time the child was all sullen silences and fearful tears, but Rhiannon was patient and nursed the little duckling back into sunny smiles and ringing laughter. Vala, as her mother had named her, grew into a beautiful woman of incredible strength and kindness. Nan puffed with pride much like a hen does with indignation at having her eggs stolen from beneath her feet.

Vala was a coveted woman, to be sure. She drew the eye of men and women alike, but only one man had caught her heart. He was a Shadow Warrior, as handsome as he was kind and he loved Vala with everything he had. His lilac eyes were an anomaly among the Fair Folk and she often mused that he was her purple eyed god. He had joked with her that he would fly to the stars and bring her back the moon, but Nan felt sure that the young man would have really done it if such a thing were in his power.

They had married in a fit of passion, but unlike many rash unions they had never been happier. His name had been Dafydd and Vala had spoken it like a prayer, giddy with youth and love. All to often, however, youth is quickly replaced with an age only grief can cause. On a dark, wind swept day Vala, six months pregnant, learned that her beloved Dafydd would walk the path of Shadow no longer. He had died valiantly while saving the life of a young child who had fallen into the rain swift waters of the river Gethin.

Vala had been devastated and threw herself into her job as a healer in an attempt to numb the pain of her loss. When Awen had been born she'd had the eyes of her father and Vala had gained a renewed sense of life, taking the child's lilac gaze as a sign from her long lost love.

Awen had been as beautiful as her mother and had flourished in a similar fashion. She was a bright sun among her people and her sharp tongue brought gales of laughter from all who spoke to her. She was surrounded by love and warmth, as every child should be.

Vala's death came as a shock to both of them. The woman had become ill so suddenly there had been little that could have been done. Despite their best efforts, Vala joined her husband in the afterlife, leaving a stunned Awen behind. Nan, no stranger to grief, pushed her feelings aside in order to help the child she was suddenly responsible for.

Nan's own husband had acted as a father to the child and though he had since passed Awen still called him Papa. They had fallen into a routine of sorts when Awen discovered who and what she was. Suddenly, their lives were not their own and the young woman had been terrified by the expectations her people had of her.

Nan had began to wonder if her granddaughter would ever rise to meet her destiny, but then the warlock had come barreling into their lives. Awen had felt an instant connection with the deathly ill young man and Nan felt sure that if anyone was to give Awen the push she needed it would be him. The young woman had risen to the occasion quite beautifully, despite her initial trepidation.

Nan had never been more proud of her grandchild, but she was also saddened for she knew that Awen teetered on the edge of a different path than the one Nan was currently on. The woman was no longer a child and Nan had known that Awen was leaving long before Awen knew herself. After all, every child leaves eventually. That is what a parent works for in the end.

When Awen had finally made her way back home, after days at the warlock's side, Nan steeled herself for the moment her granddaughter informed her of what she already knew. It had not taken long.

"Nan," the girl said softly. "Have you ever thought about leaving Eryr Cadw?"

"I cannot say that it hasn't crossed my mind once or twice," the old woman replied. "But, I have never felt the urge strongly enough to really consider it…but then I never had a reason to leave, did I? You, my dear, have a very good reason."

"Nan," Awen gasped, amazed. "How did you—"

"Please," Nan snorted. "Child, you may not realize it, but I know a good deal about what goes on in that head of yours. Call it a parent's intuition if you must, but we wouldn't last one minute if we did not have the ability to understand the inner workings of our children's minds."

"A devil," Awen laughed. "That's what you are. How many times have you pretended not to notice me being less than truthful, Nan?"

"A great deal," Nan chuckled. "I just let you think otherwise, my dear. A woman should be allowed some secrets, after all."

The young woman laughed, but when her giggles petered off they were left in uncertain silence.

"This is big," Awen whispered after a moment. "Almost too big, I think."

"What does your heart tell you?"

"Nan, you know I find that mushy heart stuff incredibly silly."

"Silly or not, I'm asking," Nan sniffed. "If you find it too degrading for a woman of such sophistication to handle then go bother someone else."

"I would miss you terribly," the woman said in reply. "I would miss Eyry Cadw terribly to."

"There is no question about that," Nan said quietly. "It is in our nature to love the things that we know and understand, child. Just as it is in our nature to fear that which we do not. The question is not whether you will miss it, but will you miss it enough to keep you from what you really want?"

"I don't know," Awen whispered. "I don't know what I want, Nan."

"Nonsense," Nan snapped. "Use the brains the gods saw fit to give you and stop offending them by acting silly. What do you want, child? It is not a hard question."

"I want Merlin," Awen said automatically. "I'm just afraid of what that means, I think."

"Ah," Nan said knowingly. "There is part of the problem we are truly dealing with. None of that other rubbish from now on, you hear? If you are going to discuss this with me then we will do so without fooling ourselves into believing that it's something its not. We'll never get anywhere that way, which, you know, is the reason mortals are so awful at conflict resolution."

"What are you talking about, Nan?"

"Mortals spend the majority of their time hiding behind the issues nobody gives a good golly damn about, but refuse to deal with the great pile of horse manure piling up in front of them. Sooner or later the pile becomes too large to ignore and it's suddenly a battle of wills on whose duty it is to clean the figurative pile of dung off their sparkling, squeaky shoes . Before you know it they are at each other's throats fighting a damn war over the manure when it could have been cleaned up quick as you please from the very beginning. Ridiculous, I think."

"Nan," Awen grinned. "I think the only ridiculous one here is you. You've never been to the mortal world. How do you know how they handle things?"

"Stories are an echo of the past, my dear. They may be catalogued as works of fiction, but somewhere within those pages is a truth about humanity that is relentless in its honesty." Suddenly, the old woman threw her hands up in disgust. "Ach, child! This is what I'm talking about, don't you see? We are discussing things that don't really matter instead of biting into the meat of the issue. Rubbish, I say."

"Then tell me what to do," Awen implored, disheartened at her grandmother's shake of her head.

"This is not my path," the old woman said. "This is a choice you must make on your own, my dear. My only purpose is to guide you through your thoughts. The end decision is up to you."

"I love him, Nan. There is no doubt about that, but I'm afraid it won't last."

"Why wouldn't it?"

"Well, it happened so quickly, didn't it?"

"Did it?"

"Nan, you can stop being a pain anytime now."

"Of course it was quick, but what does that matter? Does it change the way you feel at all?"

"No, but…how do I know its real?"

"Can you see yourself without him, Awen? Can you picture yourself being happy with anyone else?"

"No."

"Then it is real enough, child. As wonderful as that is, however, you are still ignoring the real problem. That figurative pile of horse manure is growing as we speak."

"What am I ignoring Nan? I don't understand."

"Child," the old woman said gently. "There is no question that you would miss me terribly and though I appreciate the sentiment it is not what is holding you back. No more than your ridiculous insinuation that your feelings are nothing more than a flight of fancy. You love him, Awen. That is a question that no longer needs answering. The question I have is why you are hesitating when you have a world of adventure and love being offered to you on a silver platter?"

"What if I'm not good enough for him," Awen asked quietly. "What if he stops loving me and I've given him everything I had? What am I supposed to do then, Nan?"

"There it is," Nan whispered.

"What?"

"There's that fear again, Awen. A fear of rejection is no easy mountain to climb, my love, but climb it you must. The young warlock is a good man and you should know this better than any one. He shares a connection with you the likes of which I have heard of only once before."

"You've heard of this before, Nan? When? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did, didn't I? Now hush and listen. You remember the story of the moon and the sun, don't you?"

"Yes, but Nan that is just a story—"

"I've already told you, Awen. Stories are echoes of the past and the tale of sun and moon is a perfect example. We use things of great beauty to add meaning to the legends from our past because they are dear to us and hold a great amount of power in their telling. In this case, child, the sun was a man and the moon was the woman he loved."

"I know the story, Nan. The sun and the moon fell madly in love, but were cursed to spend their lives a part from each other when Earth became jealous. The sun would barely catch a glimpse of the woman he loved before he was gone from the sky. It isn't a very happy story, grandmother."

"You forget how the story ends, child. The sun and the moon never stopped loving each other and the connection they shared overcame all odds. The earth, touched by their devotion to each other, allowed them to meet in the sky in a strange moment of light and darkness."

"I still fail to see the relevance of this," the young woman sighed impatiently.

"They were a real couple, Awen. They were cursed to be apart forever, but through the connection they shared their love never wavered. Do not let your love waver, child. You will regret it if you do."

"You make it sound so easy," Awen grumbled.

"Easy," Nan laughed. "Love is never easy, Awen. If it was we'd go around batting our eyelashes at every man we see. We'd never get anywhere. Listen, when I first met your grandfather I thought he was arrogant and rude. He kept at it though and I finally gave into his requests before the man did himself in with puppy love. What I found was that he was a simple man beneath all his pompous posturing."

"You were always so happy," Awen said. "What if we aren't like that?"

"We were happy, true enough. But, damn if there weren't moments I wanted to hit the man upside his stubborn head. It all comes back to what I told you before, love. What is happiness without—"

"Having first known conflict," Awen sighed. "I know, I know. I just don't want this to be taken away from me."

"Unless you make a leap of faith there will never be anything to take away, little duck."

"You haven't called me that in years, Nan."

"Oh, I did. Just never out loud where you could hear me. I learned my lesson after the first time you berated me for treating you like a child."

"Nan," Awen whispered. "I don't mind if you call me little duck. Out loud, I mean."

"I wouldn't want you to feel like a child," Nan responded, eyes twinkling with hidden wisdom.

"I had it easy then, didn't I? You tried to tell me, but—"

"All children are in a hurry to grow up and you were no different. You lost innocence and gained responsibility, true enough, but you should never look back on those things with anything but hindsight. You cannot go back to that state of being and if you spend your life looking over your shoulder to see what has passed you will miss what is present and what is future."

"The future scares me, Nan."

"As it should," the old woman grunted. "Fear is a good thing, remember? Fear is what keeps us from stumbling around like drunken idiots and keeps us on the right path. Do you want to be a drunken idiot, my dear?"

"Not too keen on the idea, no."

"Then fear is healthy! It is only when you let your fear hinder your life that it becomes a force of darkness, child. Never forget that."

"Nan, I'm going to miss these little talks of ours."

"Going to? Does that mean you've decided?"

"I think I already had. I just needed you to help me figure out why."

Nan smiled, wiping away the tears that spilled across her cheeks.

"Bah," she growled defiantly. "None of this teary eyed rubbish, Awen. We still have time together and it isn't like you are going away forever, you know. Stop that crying."

"I'm not crying, Nan."

"Sure you are, little duck. Don't argue with your grandmother."

"Sorry," Awen laughed. "Floodgates have officially closed."

"Thank heavens," the woman exclaimed. "The last thing I need is a weepy child on my hands. I got enough of that from your grandfather."

"Oh Nan," Awen cried suddenly, hugging the old woman tightly. "I am going to miss you so much."

"I know," the woman replied, rubbing Awen's back like she had when she was little more than a babe in arms. "I'd miss me to, but you'll manage I think."

"Nan," Awen grumbled, pulling away from the safety of her arms as all children must. "Can't you be serious about anything?"

"Of course," the old woman sniffed. "I'm serious about a great many things, I'll have you know."

"Name one," Awen challenged.

"Carrots."

"What?"

"Open your ears for goodness sakes. I said carrots."

"You are serious about carrots?"

"Oh, absolutely. Carrots are a serious matter, child."

"Do tell, Nan. I long to hear your wisdom regarding the importance of carrots."

"No one likes a smart ass, dear."

"Must be why no one visits you for supper then."

The old woman cackled and slapped a palm against her thigh.

"That's the woman I love, little duck. You have been schooled well, I think."

"Only by the best, Nan. Now, stop flattering yourself, and tell me about the carrots."

"What about carrots?"

"Yes, supposedly carrots are a serious matter."

"Awen, don't be silly, child. Carrots are just carrots. Everybody knows that."

"And you say Papa was the difficult one."

"Oh, he had his hands full that was for sure. But he loved me for every second of it."

"You two were very lucky to find each other, Nan."

"Yes," Nan said quietly. "We were." She paused and took her granddaughter by the hands. "You will make him happy, Awen. And I believe he will do the same for you. That doesn't happen as often as you think. Many of us settle down because the idea of passing through this life alone is a daunting one. But, you have found love, child. Grab it and never let it go, you hear?"

"I do love him, Nan. I really, really do."