A/N: This is kind of a cross-over, but the Faerun part is really more in reference than anything else.

An elven woman leaned against a rock face. She sat on a small cliff. Just watching the world go by, completely unconcerned and unworried about went on around her. She let out a long sigh. It had been so long since she had last aided the affairs of the world in the name of the Seldrine. Now…

Now, it didn’t really matter anymore. She had gotten to old to do more than teach others about mental things. She hadn’t taught anyone to fight, in Sehanine knew how long it had been. She had to face it; she was a shadow of who she had been.

Unaware of her actions, she reached up and fingered her golden broach. It was in the form of a Pegasus; one of her few links left to this world. It was something she had to return one day. She was the only elf to ever wear one, and she wasn’t sure why it still stayed with her. It had been nearly a thousand years since that war.

A war she never should have been involved in. It had had nothing to do with her. Yet she just couldn’t have let those people fight an endless war without whatever aid she could have given them. It had been the right choice, but it had changed her. She still longed to return, but her place, she knew had always been on Faerun; where her duty and family were, not the place of her heart and love.

Letting out another sigh, she could only hope her daughter would understand. Saira was very wise for someone her age. She smirked, not really, the girl took after her in appearance, but her father in her soul, and her heart and calling was her own. She thought of the talented Shadowdancer, her only child.

If anyone would understand it would be her. She would have too. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a thick envelope. It would help her daughter in the days to come. She trapped the letter under the weight of her two scimitars. They had been gifts from her Uncle, when he had been injured to badly to wield them again. On top of them she placed the brooch. Hoping it would call Saira here.

That was when she realized it; every thing she needed to take care of was done. Nothing else bound her to the world. Now she truly heard Arvandor calling her gently, but insistently. It was time to answer.

She just faded as the sun set. Her soul was set free and her corporeal remains turning into nothing.

“Mother?” A light voice called. “Mother?” came the call more insistently.

A young looking elven woman slid down the cliff face to the landing. There wasn’t a trace of her mother. Except, she realized, the blades and the brooch.

Upon picking up the brooch, she got the strangest sensation, the broach called out to her. “Take me home.” It whispered in to her mind. Unthinking she pinned on the broach and belted on the scimitars. Then she noticed the envelope, it was a thick thing. Her mother had obviously had a lot to say about something she couldn't tell her in person.

She opened the envelope and pulled out the first piece of paper. It was just a scrape, with unfamiliar handwriting on it. It was a simple phrase, just a few word incantation.

“A i osta as isilmes lote.” When the last syllable left her mouth white light began to gather and Sehanine only seemed to smile. What ever was happening was with her blessing. Which meant it couldn’t be that bad. Could it?

The transition was painful, like needles being driven into her skin. It was so bad she had to crumble beneath it. She felt true fear for what felt like the first time her long life. When the light cleared she stood within a stone throne room. She barely noticed the eyes upon her or the swords pointed at her before her eyes rolled up and she collapsed. Then last thing she felt was hands grabbing her and saving her from hitting the floor.

A/N: Okay, a little weird, but everything will get cleared up. I promise. Oh, the elven words are Quenya, it's the only complete elven language apart from Sindaran.