Obligatory Disclaimer: The Shannara Universe belongs to Terry Brooks. This story is not for profit and is not intended to infringe on copyright. It is being posted here purely for the sake of sharing ideas.

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to post another chapter of this story. Between starting to work on "A Merciless Affection" again and a week's vacation, I got rather distracted and forgot. Kudos to Shanna for reviewing and reminding me! Thanks to cecelle for reviewing, too!

Allanon

Allanon stared into the low flames. Some variation of this conversation had been waiting for him ever since the day he had left Adrianne and her daughter in Shady Vale twelve years ago. And ever since Adrianne had died, he had debated whether it would be better never to have it. He had grown accustomed to thinking of himself as the last of his kind--it was better so, perhaps. If Andrea had remained in Shady Vale... But now she was here, and the already half-made decision that he had been putting off had become unavoidable.

What was she doing here? Few explanations seemed possible; none seemed likely. There was no reason she should be in the Northland. The fact that she had arrived at this point whole and unharmed was too improbable to consider, not without incredible luck, or--he wondered--some outside agency. If she were to have found him, recognized him at all, it ought to have been in Shady Vale. The possibility that she might do so had been of particular concern when, two months ago, he had at last sought out Shea Ohmsford to reveal to him his heritage. Yet the girl had not even been there. He had considered that a fortuitous coincidence, however it had come to pass. But now--for whatever the reason--she was here.

At least she had not found him until it was all over. Well, almost over, Allanon sighed inwardly, considering the sleeping Shea Ohmsford. He had also underestimated this young man. Shea would have questions, most with difficult answers; but he owed the Valeman that much at least. And then...

That was another matter. And another decision concerning the girl that had come suddenly much too soon. No, he whispered to himself. Adrianne had wanted this for their daughter, intended it. He could not shake the thought that she had somehow planned it, impossible as that must be. Yet, if she had reached beyond death, bound herself to the girl with a geas...

...As his own father had bound himself to Allanon until the Warlock Lord was destroyed. Breman would see it done. Allanon knew his Lady had no less determination in this matter. Nine years had dulled his grief, but not as much as he had believed, and not in the face of this; the thought was an unpleasant one--bound! And what was to be the unbinding? Had this expected meeting already brought it to pass?

He looked up at Andrea then, reminded inexorably of the time Adrianne had cut her hair and rode out in men's clothing into the very midst of the enemy, the surprise because it had been so unlike her to do such a thing. But she had saved Ker's life from a bitter betrayal that day. Allanon had to force the memory out of the middle of his vision to see the girl clearly.

Andrea was not quite dressed in boy's clothes, though the full, pleated riding pants and hair cut to the shoulder pushed--he guessed from his observations--the limit of Hill Communities' sensibilities for feminine attire. She was clearly Adrianne's daughter; Andrea's face was a shadowed copy of her mother's. But for all the similarity to those delicate features, there were marked differences. Adrianne had been clear and fair, while Andrea's complexion was darker, closer to olive; instead of red-brown curls, the girl's hair was a deep dun-color, almost, but not quite straight; and the eyes that stared at him anxiously, though shadowed now in the firelight, were not, when he had met them earlier, crystaline emerald, but a muddy green, almost hazel. Her shoulders were wide and square, and she planted her feet squarely as well; she held herself determinedly, in an attitude not very much like an ordinary girl, but more like a boy...a tomboy--ironically like Jean Ellristan, the once-hoyden Elven princess who was Andrea Jean's namesake--standing with her hands clasped together before her awkwardly. Hands whose shape Allanon could not help but recognize, since he looked at his own every day.

His eyes went back to hers then, seeking beyond the outward surface. Determination was there, yes; impatience, a strong sense of right and wrong, but also uncertainty and just a touch of fear. It was a quick perusal, but enough to assess her nature, enough to know that in spite of any flaws she had inherited from him, she was a girl he would not be ashamed to call his daughter. But the uncertainty in her eyes now was for that question: would he?

He might deny it; perhaps he should. An old reflex, to protect her at all costs, reared its head. But it was a price he was tired of paying. And the time for paying it was past: the Warlock Lord was dead. The link between this young woman and the baby she had been when he last saw her was tenuous. It reminded him of what he had missed, what he had lost. Irretrievably lost, he had imagined. But the fact that the girl was standing here offered the possibility of salvaging something. For a moment all the old plans and dreams surfaced from the murk into which they had disappeared nine years ago, as if Adrianne were still waiting somewhere, as if life could go on for the three of them; as if she had never died.

But, no--Adrianne was dead, he reminded himself harshly. And Andrea had not grown up to the kind of life that she would have if that were not so. She had grown up a Valegirl, not a Druid; his was a life that she could not possibly understand, but that her eyes were asking for, without her knowing just what it was she asked.

Could he even allow her to make such a choice? Allanon knew too well what prices would have to be paid by walking that road, and by telling her the truth, he would be setting her foot upon it. He could sense the connection she was building already, a touch of mind to mind that had once been familiar in a time when there were enough of them left to call themselves a race and set themselves apart as a people--and he had been a fool to think that gift would not breed true. No, nothing he did now could be fair to her, either to deny her, or to give her that choice--to give her a life he himself found almost unbearable at times, a life she had not grown up prepared to face.

There was, of course, a third alternative: he could tell her the truth, then send her back to the world and life she knew. He could force the shape of the path that way. Undoubtedly she would not like the idea; but if he were to tell her anything, that should be the limit of it. If he were to tell her anything...

She already knew. The girl was not standing in the middle of a Northland night asking Allanon if he was her father for no reason. She was only waiting for him to confirm what she had sensed already, sensed without knowing why, a sense that was part of who she was: a Druid's Sense, not a Valegirl's. To deny her now would be to betray not only her, but everything Adrianne had hoped and dreamed as well, and that thought cut bitterly deep. There was nothing he could say that would not hurt the girl, whether a lie or the truth, and a tiny voice in his conscience--so long in service to the truth, even when it could not all be told--said the lie would hurt her more. And knowing that, he could not find enough other reasons not to tell her. Was she his daughter?

"Yes," Allanon said.

For a moment, neither said anything. Then Andrea found her voice again.

"W-why? Why...everything?" It seemed all she could manage.

Allanon sighed inaudibly. "That makes a rather long story. Sit down." Andrea seated herself across from him, the bowl cradled, forgotten, in her hands; in her eyes, an incredible mixture of hurt and curiosity.

"You were born," he began, "thirteen years ago, in a small village outside Arborlon in the Westland. We had wanted a child for a long time. Just how long..."

Allanon paused. "I am far older than I look; so was your mother. We were born and grown, even before the Second War of the Races."

"But...that was almost five hundred years ago." Andrea voice took on a note of uncertainty.

"We are of the race of the Druids, Andrea. Our ancestors learned to extend their lives beyond those of other men soon after the First War of the Races. But we pay a price for it in our children." Allanon looked away from her into the flames. "In all that time, you were our only child that survived to birth." He did not say anything else for a moment, steeping in the stillness of memories too bitter to share. Then he shook his head inwardly--enough of that.

"What do you know of the Second War of the Races?" he asked.

Andrea shifted her weight at the abrupt change of subject, and tipped her head slightly to one side, as if considering. "An army of Trolls came down from the Northland and attacked the Elves." She paused, but when he said nothing, she continued, "The army was supposed to have been led by the Warlock Lord. The Druid Breman forged the Sword of Shannara," the girl looked briefly in Shea's direction, "for the Elven King, Jerle Shannara. The Sword was supposed to be magical and enable the Elven King to defeat the Warlock Lord. I guess maybe he didn't, though, even though the Elves won." He watched her send another incredulous glance at Shea. "There was a legend about an heir of Shannara taking up the Sword when the Warlock Lord returned."

Allanon nodded, satisfied to hear her spouting this much of "legend" as true history. "Roughly correct. The Warlock Lord was not destroyed in the Second War of the Races, although he was banished. There were always those, however, who served him, not from fear or domination, but because of the power they hoped to gain. These men knew that when the Warlock Lord had replenished his power, he would be able to return to the physical plane. They did not want anything to stand in their way when that time came. They set out to do two things: to destroy the Druids and to destroy the heirs of Shannara." Her eyes had grown wide, and Allanon paused. "Eat your soup, it's getting cold," he admonished.

Andrea began eating distractedly; and Allanon continued. "As the Warlock Lord gained power, even before he returned to the physical plane, he was able to aid in this destruction. About two years before you were born, Shea's father was killed. I took Shea and his mother back to Shady Vale to live with her relatives there. The Westland was being scoured by the Warlock Lord's emissaries in an effort to destroy every remaining heir to Shannara. You were also in danger, and when you were a little less than a year old, I took you and your mother to the Vale as well. We thought an insignificant village in the Southland would be a safe place for all of you.

"For you and Shea it was safe enough, but not for your mother. There is a magically-induced fever, one for which there is no cure." Another aspect of the death that had stalked them through the years, waiting its chance to strike. The faces of those it had taken paraded through his thoughts, his Lady's the last, but not the least sharp among them. Allanon hesitated, "I don't know how much you remember. You were only four."

"I remember," Andrea murmured, and he saw the glint of memory in her eyes--though she had been so young--and wanted to see what she saw there for himself. He was too tired, though, to make the attempt, even if she would allow it. There was a long pause. "She wrote letters for me...when she knew she was going to die, I guess." A look, confused and angry, came back onto the girl's face.

"Why did you leave me there after she died? She wanted you to come and get me."

You knew I couldn't, Adrianne, he thought; but another voice inside answered quietly, How many times has necessity come before everything else? He spoke aloud to drown it out. "It was too dangerous, Andrea. My life was no life for a child. When I found out that your mother had arranged for Curzad Ohmsford to care for you, I decided it would be better if I left you where you were."

"But you never even came to visit," Andrea protested. "You never even sent a letter."

"I was known and often followed. If our enemies had any reason to suspect that I had business in Shady Vale, neither you nor Shea Ohmsford would have been safe there for very long. And I had no safer place for either of you.

"Was Shady Vale so terrible a place to grow up?" he asked abruptly. Limited in scope perhaps, he had known, but he perceived the people there as good and steady folk, even if they had little use for the larger problems of the world.

"I...don't know," there was an odd sound in Andrea's voice suddenly, as if she were mastering tears. "I guess not..."

Allanon asked in a softer tone, "Tell me of your life there." She had spent these years in ways he could only guess at, and he needed to know the truth of it. Perhaps enough memories would come to the surface of her mind to give him an impression of her years there without having to probe.

"Curzad Ohmsford took me in," she said hesitantly, other thoughts warring in her eyes for precedence. "He had room, of course, and Granny didn't when I was little. I could have gone there later...I've been spending most of my time with her lately anyway, especially since there's no school now--our teacher was old and he died. She's starting to teach me healing and midwifery."

"A very reasonable trade," he remarked.

"I do know how to work for a living," she said, and for a moment the inflection in her voice sounded just like the innkeeper who had raised her. "I've washed and sewed and mended since I was five years old. A foundling taken in on charity can hardly expect to be waited on."

The touch of indignance was faintly amusing. So, she was letting herself think for a moment that the Druid Allanon's daughter might be too good to waste her labor at a country inn? No, it did not bother him at all--she had learned lessons in childhood that would be harder if she'd had to learn them later on. He doubted very much that she had been a drudge--Ohmsford was too free with his own children for that. And that did not seem to be what was really bothering her.

"I'm practically grownup now. I can take care of myself." That lump was in her throat again. It was her turn to change the subject abruptly back.

"You still could have taken me with you when I got older. You could have sent for me or..."

Allanon found his patience being stretched thin at this unexpectedly pointed questioning of his decisions. "All my energies were concentrated on the defeat of the Warlock Lord. If you had been a boy, perhaps..." He trailed off as Andrea straightened with a jolt as sudden as if she had just sat down on a nettle.

"You mean, it was because I'm a girl!"

Her eyes were full of sparks; Allanon realized at that moment how very much she was his daughter. She had his temper, certainly. He had let himself say more than he had intended. Now explanations were required that would not be easy.

"I had always wanted a son," Allanon spoke slowly. "The responsibility for seeing that the Warlock Lord was destroyed was mine. The possibility for failure was great. I wanted a son who could carry on after me if it were needed. For a long time, I wanted that..."

Allanon looked away from her then. The harsh clarity of hindsight accused him. "It would not have mattered. I did not know how soon the Warlock Lord would be ready to attack. Even if you had been a boy, if I had become careless, if I had died, you would still have been too young to do anything."

When he turned back to her, the sense of regret had faded into contemplation. "Perhaps your being a girl had some purpose behind it. I might not have been as careful if I had had a son. I might have failed, and the Warlock Lord would have won."

There was silence for a time.

"I'm just as good as a boy," she said stubbornly, poking at the last of her soup.

"You were safer where you were," Allanon said. "You would be safer if you were there now. Why are you here?"

The girl's expression grew uncertain again. "I was looking for you, I guess. I didn't know who you were; and I didn't know there was a war going on. I just suddenly knew where to look... Somehow I've always..." She trailed off. "It sounds strange, just knowing about things. But I always have."

Allanon nodded slightly.

Andrea continued, "I had followed Shea and Flick to Leah." The Druid's heart skipped a beat. "And when I started to go home...I felt like I should come north. I can tell where people are sometimes; but it never felt that strong before. And it wasn't Shea or Flick or Menion. I thought maybe it was you."

Had Adrianne done this, after all?

"Then today when you found me..." Andrea stopped. Her expression grew suddenly very earnest. "I knew you were my father. I know that doesn't make sense, but..."

Allanon nodded again. A rudimentary ability to read the thoughts and feelings of others was born in her blood; but there were aspects of her gift that were different than anything he had seen outside the use of the magic. And how she had come to use it with as much as clarity as she seemed to when she had never had any training was a puzzle. She could block her thoughts, he had discovered, during that brief perusal earlier. Nothing too difficult, but tricky to get through without her noticing it was happening.

"Why did you want to find me?" the Druid asked.

Andrea looked as baffled as if she had been asked why the sky was blue. "You're my father." She was incredulous. "I thought families were supposed to be together." Her voice broke a little and she let her eyes drop. "Is that wrong?"

She certainly had a trick of making her arrows hit the mark.

"No. Most of the time, that's the way it's meant to be. But life is not always like that. Andrea, you don't even know me..." He paused.

"Have you truly been that unhappy?"

He thought perhaps something more of her thoughts would surface then, a wavering of her natural mental barriers that would let him see more of what drove the girl. Unexpectedly, for an instant her shields went up with greater force than he would have thought possible, then suddenly they simply dropped away, completely gone, completely open. It was possible she did not understand the degree of trust she was showing, but it staggered him.

"I don't know. I just..." her voice choked off. But what he read then in her mind and heart told him all he needed to know. "...wasn't like everyone else." The memories behind those words brought up the barriers again before he had very much, but it was enough.

"Maybe I don't know you very well," Andrea continued, more strongly now. "But I do know you somehow. You're more here," she held up her hands before her, "than anybody. That sounds crazy, I guess."

"No, it's not." A little unexpected though. He had been guarding his thoughts from her a little more carefully than he would anyone else all along, but at her last comment he shielded everything. Yet that underlying connection remained. He found that he did not want to break it. She had only been four years old when Adrianne died; how much could she have learned with no one to teach her?

The fire crackled. Small noises trickled in from the darkness, and there was a smell of spring come at last to the Northland. Overhead, the night sky was cloudless and brilliant with stars. For a time nothing was said. Andrea finished the last few bites from the bowl on her lap.

Finally she spoke, a sound that was barely hopeful, "Will you take me with you now?"

Allanon felt very far away, lost in a private hell of thoughts and decisions all demanding his attention. He still had to speak to Shea as well. So many things to tell the young Valeman. And his earlier decision to send Andrea home after all this was threatening to disintegrate.

"Andrea, that requires a great deal of consideration," Allanon began. "If..." He broke off suddenly at a sound behind them. Shea was beginning to wake up. Both rose to their feet.

"You should stay out of sight." Andrea seemed puzzled, and Allanon said tersely, "Shea has been through a great deal. Seeing you here when he thinks you are safe in Shady Vale would be a shock to him, and he doesn't need any more on him right now."

Andrea hesitated a moment longer, her eyes stubbornly fixed on him, but Shea was already blinking sleepily. Nodding at last, she set the bowl down by the fire; then, with another anxious glance at the Valeman, she slipped back into the shadows.

A/N: I'll try to get the next chapter posted a lot sooner. Reviews help to remind me. Really!