Wenhaver sat in her roon, before a mirror, idly running a comb through her luxurient blonde hair. she was waiting for her true love and husband, Sir Colin Oakesarme, to return. She had such wonderful news for him. Their child, their first child, slept beneath her heart, and already she could feel the small one's spirit hovering about the edges of her consciousness.

The door opened and a large Troll moved through, leading a small, bedraggled Sluagh child. "Beloved," she said when she saw them, "who is the small one?"

Colin's eyes turned momentarily hard as he placed his hand on the boy's head. "I found him in a flooded sewer, he was hanging onto a niche in the wall and was almost at the end of his strength. I pulled him out and, unable to leave him on the streets with no one to look after him, I asked if there was anyone he wanted to see. He wanted to see thee, dear heart, and so I brought him." Wenhaver could see the pain in Colin's face. He hated to see small ones harmed in any way, he would be so happy in the arrival of his own.

She opened her arms and pulled the boy into her lap. She could see the surprise in his face as she drew him close to her heart. "Is there no one who looks after you? Do you have no parents? no Kithain guardians?" The boy shook his head. "What is your name?"

"Raist." he whispered. "I am Raist."

She held him even closer. "Well, what would you say, Raist, if I asked if you wanted to be my son. If I asked to watch over you, to take care of you? You would have to run errands for me, as in time I will be unable to move around very well, and especially after the baby comes..."

She was interrupted by Colin's look of ecstatic suprise. "Baby? Thou art wih child?"

Wenhaver smiled. "Yes, Beloved, I am. Our daughter should be here by Highsummer."

Colin knealt next to the chair, words failing him. Strangely, Raist didn't feel excluded by their love. He reached up and hugged Wenhaver's neck. "I want you for my mother." he whispered and was rewarded when Wenhaver smiled at him and he felt as if his whole world had brightened with the smile of the beautiful, wonderous, golden-eyed noblewoman.

"It is settled then, young Raist, I will be your mother, and you will be my son. That also means that Colin will be your father, and you his son as well, is that acceptable?"

The smile he gave her was the only answer she needed. Just then the door opened and a tall, majestic Sidhe walked in. The mirth faded from Wenhaver's face and Colin stood up beside her chair. Raist slid off her lap and stood on the other side, instinctively knowing that there might be trouble. Wenhaver touched Raist on his shoulder. "Why don't you go run along for now while Colin and I talk with this man?" It was a simple request, she did him the honor of not trying to back it up with Glamour. He scurried off, then snuck back and hid in a corner to watch.

They spoke for a bit, voices cold and unforgiving and then violence struck, and it struck quickly. The strange Sidhe, he couldn't see his face, or even remember it, suddenly drew adagger and drove it into Wenhaver's breast, and then he sliced Colin across the chest with another. It was all Raist could do to keep from running out ther to try to protect them all by himself. The two fell to the ground, Wenhaver against the wall as well and Raist thought his heart fell with them.

Wenhaver, even as she died, reached her hand out to Colin and grasped his. The strange Sidhe laughed at their devotion and a very adult anger awoke in Raist's childling heart. He watched as the Sidhe took a cold iron dagger from his belt and plunge it into Colin's chest. "Sorry for doing this, but you understand. I simply cannot let you two ever reunite, not after you stole her from me." Then he was gone.

Raist crept forward to where Colin lay, still barely alive, tears blurring his young eyes. Colin saw him and reached his free hand out to grasp Raist's shoulder. "My son, for we who are commoners, death usually leads to a new life, a new incarnation, but I'm not coming back from this one. Raist, promise me that you will hold a wake for Wenhaver. Give her soul a chance to come back and finish what she started. You find her and you serve her, and you love her. You must do for her what I would do. Gods, how I wish I could be there for her!" His voice, fading fast, was agonized. With a knowledge beyond his years, Raist took up one of Colin's daggars.

"I swear by the shadows and the moon, that I shall protect this lady, through whatever form she may take. I will not rest until I find her, and help her. As I swear this oath, so shall my blood mingle with yours," he slit his small hand and placed it on Colin's wound, "and so shall your spirit live long with me..."

Colin smiled one last time. "I will live through you, see through your eyes. Together we will beat this death."

Then he died and Raist was left alone with his tears and his oath, his first,and as it turns out, his only, oath, and a bleeding left hand,a wound that would leave a scar that would still be there two decades later when Elisabeth Crane, a Satyr, cries into awinter storm at their enemies, "In the name of Wenhaver of House Fiona, Lady of Westhaven, Nobleborn Sidhe, I demand that you at least allow Rhynn to go home."

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