The next morning, Siannodell awoke with the rising sun, as had been her habit for the last twenty-five years or so. She laid in her bed for a moment, reflecting on the dream that had come to her in the night, and fought hard against the tears and emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Sia sat up in her bed and stared out the window in thought, her visage saddened and full of forgotten pain. The dream had taken her back to her youthful twenties, before she had joined the cause of Mielikki. Back in those days, her skin had been a smooth cream, and her long tresses had shone like freshly spun honey, her golden brown eyes full of innocence. That innocence had been given to the wrong person, and though she had loved Nethariel with all of her heart, the fact that he was elven was enough to damn them both. Afraid of what his kin might do to him...exile or even death...she had kept her pregnancy a secret from him as long as she had been able. But her love had been quick to notice the subtle differences and changes in her that expecting had wrought. Within only a month, Nethariel had drawn the truth from her, and she had wept for a long time, held closely in his strong, supportive embrace.

He had helped her birth the child in secret, in a place deep in the forests where they had often met. Siannodell’s daughter had come into the world as her mother reclined on a bed of soft green leaves, beneath the swaying branches of trees in full summer bloom and a sky of deepest blue. They had wanted to name her Lilly, and indeed the half-elven child was as fair as the flower that would have been her namesake. But only minutes after she was born, as the handsome, brown haired and green eyed elf had rocked his beautiful daughter, tragedy struck. The band of four orcs had obviously been wandering lost for a few days, and at the sight of their sworn enemies (an elf and human) they had probably been incited to attack from nothing more than chaotic boredom. Nethariel had fought well, killing them all with the magical sword that was always at his waist, but he had paid for protecting his lover and infant child, sustaining grievous injuries in the battle. He had crawled over to Sia, his blood staining the ground and mingling with the blood of childbirth, swearing his undying love to her. Sia had held her precious daughter in one arm and her soul-mate with the other, unable to see through the tears that blinded her. She cradled Nethariel’s head in her lap and whispered his name over and over as the life in his eyes faded and finally went out...and then his corporeal body faded as well, leaving Siannodell alone with her daughter and the bodies of the dead orcs.

Finding the strength to go on only for her otherwise helpless child, Sia had returned to the small, rural village where she had grown up. Her parents had been long dead, taken by the plague, and she knew few folk that remained in the hamlet. But the abbey still stood, and it was here that Siannodell had left her only child. She had come to the decision in the hours after Nethariel’s death that she could not care for her daughter in her emotionally distraught state. So she had left her in a woven reed basket full of soft grasses and the only cloak she owned as a coverlet, on the steps outside the abbey in the dark of night. She had written a note and attached it to the basket with a leather thong. The note only had one line: This is Lillineth. Please take good care of her and raise her right.

A gentle knock at her chamber door startled Siannodell from her memories and she called out in a shaky voice, "Yes?" She immediately recognized the voice that answered as Melanie’s, the head acolyte below Sia. "It’s dawn, Mother. You said to wake you." Siannodell sighed and called out a soft thanks, listening for Melanie’s footsteps to recede. When she was sure that there was no one to hear, Mielikki’s High Priestess of Elmshade put her head in her hands and quietly wept.