LOTR Fic: Lady of Gondor Ch 10
Jun. 13th, 2007 12:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
martasficTitle: The Lady of Gondor Ch 10
Summary: The deeds of Mellamir, sister of Boromir and Faramir, before and during the War of the Ring. Novel-length.
Word Count: 3480 + Notes
Rating: Teen (for violence)
Timeline: Mid-Third Age and Late Third Age (bookverse)
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3002: Fangorn Forest
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Gandalf and Mellamir crossed the threshold of trees into Fangorn and rode in a short way before a new line of trees blocked them, growing closely together. Mellamir turned her horse to the right and started to ride around, but when she reached what she thought had been the end of the line she saw that it now extended as far as she could see in either direction.
Suddenly one tree stepped forward and grabbed her, placing her on its limbs. Another took Gandalf and before she knew what was happening the two of them were rushing along at canopy level. Gandalf shouted at her, "Don't panic!" but it was hard not to: they were moving so fast, and she could hardly see Gandalf for all the trees between them. Mellamir couldn't have said how far they travelled; she couldn't see the sun through the thick overhead, and time seemed to stand still.
At last the creatures dropped Mellamir and Gandalf in front of a huge tree. At least Mellamir thought it a tree at first, but on closer inspection he seemed more like a giant man with bark for skin and huge thick arms and legs, which she originally mistook for branches. He had huge feet with seven toes that burrowed down through the rock and soil, his deep brown eyes gleaming with an ancient green light that scanned her. She stared back, afraid to move.
Gandalf stood up and the tree-man changed his shape, extending his branches. The wizard motioned urgently at Mellamir and she clambered to her feet. Gandalf turned and said, "Good morning, Treebeard. I am most sorry to disturb your rest, but there is someone here you should meet."
Treebeard looked down at the girl at his feet. "Hrum-ha-rum-rum, who is this, this...you will have to excuse me. I have not seen one in half an age. What are you called in your tongue?"
"M-Mellamir?" she stuttered.
"She is a child of Gondor," Gandalf added.
"A child, that is something," Treebeard said slowly, as if he was talking to himself. "Never seen a child of Gondor. But I must not be too hasty." He reached down, and Mellamir scrambled backwards--but not quickly enough. Treebeard grabbed her by her collar and held her up to the light, then set her back down.
"And what might you be?" Mellamir finally stammered.
"I am an Ent." He stood in the clearing looking down at the frightened child. She crawled backward along the ground, away from the imposing creature, until she ran into what she assumed was another tree. When she turned around, though, she saw it reaching for her. She scrambled to her feet and looked around. Her eyes rested on the one thing that could not possibly be a tree: a white rock, tall and slender, sticking out of the ground like a sundial. Mellamir made for it and scrambled to the top.
A deep laugh reverberated through the trees, like Gandalf's but much deeper and older. "Do not worry, little child. Rock and soil I will eat, yes, but never another living thing. We Ents do not eat little girls."
Mellamir still looked worried. "But what are you?" she asked.
"I am an Ent, as I have said," Treebeard replied. "The Ent, you might say. Your Gandalf undoubtedly named me Treebeard, for that is what I am called in the world outside, or at least I was called by that name when the world outside still spoke of me. Yet here, in the depths of the forest, I am called Fangorn: for I am the heart of Fangorn, and Fangorn is the heart of me. I and the others like me were created ages ago to protect the trees who, because they cannot move, cannot run."
During this whole speech Mellamir had been sliding slowly off her rocky perch and now stood at Fangorn's roots. She straightened her tunic, wanting to impress this new monster who could just as easily squash her into the ground as look at her, but she was too frightened to even notice the dirt on her britches from scurrying along the ground or her wind-blown hair, a tangled mess from her ride in the tree-tops. She looked up at Gandalf, a question in her eyes.
"You have met the Ent," Gandalf said at last. "I am satisfied. It was worth the journey just for you to meet Treebeard." Then Gandalf addressed Treebeard. "This is Mellamir, child of Denethor, Lord of Gondor, who rules there until the king returns. She was born Mellawen but later took the name Mellamir. Just before her mother died she promised to teach Mellamir how to read Sindarin. Her father wished to honour that promise, but he did not have the time to teach her personally and could not find a qualified tutor willing to teach a girl.
"He did find one scholar, learned and respectable but liberal enough to teach his daughter under the pretext of her being trained as a son if it also meant the honour of tutoring the steward's other children. So the name stuck. She probably will not answer to any other. For two years now Mellamir has been studying with her brother everything Gondor's boys learn, and now Denethor has a problem: he has a son for a daughter."
Treebeard did not respond immediately but instead stooped over the frightened girl. He stared into her eyes and examined her clothing. Only then did he turn to Gandalf. "A problem? All children are precious, Gandalf, whether they are sons or daughters. Too precious to drive them away. I know that full well, and you know that I know, which is, I suspect, why you brought me Mellamir.
"But I can see how, in a country where these things matter, this could be considered a problem. Yet not necessarily so. Is she really a son? Britches do not make the boy. And if she is a son today, was she ever really a daughter? Ha-la-lee-lie, you seem to understand her quite well, Gandalf. Well enough, perhaps, for both of us. But we must not be too hasty. I must learn these things for myself, and that will take time."
"Treebeard," Gandalf replied, "after all our years of friendship, hastiness is the last thing I would expect from you. Of course, take Mellamir and learn what you can about her. And with her safe in Fangorn--"
"Safe?" Treebeard asked. "Safe from what?"
"From many things," Gandalf answered. Her own people, for one. I do not want them to ruin her, force her into a mould and smother her spirit. And from the East, of course. Dark clouds, Treebeard, they are gathering. All Middle-earth shall be like Mirkwood, only much worse, and nowhere will be safe, least of all Gondor." He looked deep into Treebeard's timeless eyes and continued in Quenya, "Nárë hína apaceno. Lá lertarë ista, andavë pella síarë. Nan írë lá vára engwë larta sina túlala ohta, ná maurëa sa Meldamírë. Ar ná maurëa sa lartuvares únaityana."
"I understand," Treebeard answered in the Common Tongue.
"Good," Gandalf said. "With her safe here--as safe as she can be in any land--I shall be free to think on more important matters. Your neighbour to the south is very learned in ring-lore."
"Hmm, Saruman," Treebeard murmured. "Yes, he is a neighbour. That I cannot forget. Yet he is hardly neighbourly. What do you fear?"
"A friend of mine, in a far-away land, has found a ring. A ring that allows him to disappear."
"A magic ring?" Treebeard asked. Gandalf nodded. "But whose?" Treebeard said. "Perhaps it belonged to the dwarf-lords once--"
"No. It is quite plain: a simple gold band."
"But Saruman," Treebeard said, "he is not one I would go to for advice."
"The Steward would not have me leave his daughter with someone he had never met," Gandalf replied, "even less with a race he had never seen, nor even heard of save from me. And a father usually judges best what to do with his own children; I would not interfere without good reason. But in these dangerous days, when so much is at risk, we all do things we would not in safer times. Nothing I regret, of course, but I have not the luxury of all the safeties I might prefer."
"You have grown rash, Gandalf," Treebeard answered. "Rash, but not hasty. I understand." He thought for some time, then added, "It could be the One."
"I fear you are correct," Gandalf said. "But I will not speak that evil thought until I have spoken with Saruman."
Treebeard nodded. "Seek him if you must."
"Good," Gandalf replied. "You watch Mellamir and learn enough to satisfy your purposes, and I will travel to Isengard and learn what I must. I will return as soon as I may, within the fortnight, or at least send word. Now--you have our horses?"
A great wind surged through the trees. The leaves fluttered, the trunks groaned, and any birds and squirrels in the vicinity hurried away as fast as their legs and wings could carry them. The wind circled through the trees and returned to Treebeard. A horse came galloping up.
"Your horse, Gandalf," Treebeard said, "Mellamir's I have sent to Rohan. I am an imposing sight for a beast."
Gandalf mounted his horse, then turned him to face Mellamir. "Treebeard is a noble friend," he said to her. "Yes, he is intimidating, as much to those who walk on two legs as on four, but you are entirely safe here, safer than you would be even with me. Trust him." With that the wizard bent close to his horse's head, whispered into his ear, and galloped out of sight.
As Gandalf rode away Treebeard turned to the girl standing at his roots. "Come with me," he said. Mellamir climbed up his trunk and sat on one of his shoulders, and he strode off into the forest.
From her vantagepoint so high in the trees the forest seemed less imposing somehow. The trees looked like mere saplings, not the ancient giants they were, and the huge birds circling above their limbs were no longer falcons ready to dive down and carry her far away but were as friendly and benign as sparrows on the window-sill.
From this height, she could see that the sun did in fact rise and set as it did throughout Middle-earth. True, the thick upper branches kept her from feeling its warmth or even seeing it clearly, but just the vaguely less shadowy area descending into the west somehow made the ancient forest less timeless and more bearable.
This spectre of the sun crossed the sky two times before Treebeard finally began to slow. "We must not lose our way," he murmured as he scanned the horizon. Only then did Mellamir notice that, for the first time, she could see not just trees but rocks as well.
"There used to be a path," Treebeard said, "a clear path through the trees. Once Fimbrethil and I used to walk this way together, long years ago; but I have not journeyed here for ages. The forest has taken back the road."
"What is this place?" Mellamir asked. "What are those mountains? And who is Fimbrethil?"
"You are a hasty child!" Treebeard laughed. "Three questions in one breath. Those are the Misty Mountains. Beyond them lie Rivendell and the Sea. I have my home there, at the foot of the mountains where the forest meets the rock. Or one of my homes; I have many homes, and in truth the whole forest is my home. Yet here we can talk in safety, and you may sleep."
They were approaching the edge of the forest. A grove of willow trees blocked their way, but as Treebeard approached, the willow branches drew back, revealing a corridor framed by the trees. Beyond stood a garden, very much like the one in the Houses of Healing, with bushes and small trees. Yet this garden had no benches, and Mellamir wondered at that. What was the use of a garden without benches? How could you sit and enjoy it? She didn't ask, though, because she still wanted to hear about this Fimbrethil.
Treebeard did not even pause in the gardens. He strode toward a waterfall flowing over a rock face, a cliff at the base of the Misty Mountains. The water fell so thick that Mellamir could not see what might lie behind it. Looking around, though, she guessed that it hid Treebeard's house. As Treebeard approached, the water thinned and, still sitting upon Treebeard's limb, Mellamir passed through. Earth covered the stone floor, except in the corners where fresh grass was gathered into piles. Along one wall sat a bed on low legs, covered in grasses.
The roof was solid rock, and cascades of flowing water veiled the walls. The water fell into dykes and flowed through underground streams that watered Fangorn, Treebeard explained to Mellamir. Several vials of clear liquid stood on the stone table in the middle of the room.
Mellamir turned around, absorbing this strange place, then looked back out through the vines. "The gardens were Fimbrethil's idea," Treebeard said, his voice distant. "The whole of the forest was my home, and it was garden enough for me. Yet Fimbrethil wanted a special place for the birds and animals of the forest. She only asked that they keep the bedding fresh and the water cool, and they have done their job well. They had no word of my coming, and I have not travelled here for many a long day. But they wish to stay here; they know what happened in Mirkwood."
"Mirkwood?" Mellamir asked. She had heard that name before, but she couldn't quite place it.
"Leaf and twig, you have lived an isolated life. Gondorians used to be well-travelled. Mirkwood is a forest. It is east of the Misty Mountains, north of Laurelindorean, not far from here. What do you know?
"Long ago, Ilúvatar created all that you see, and also the Valar. Most of the Valar served Ilúvatar, but one--Melkor, he was called--desired his own honour and power. There was a great war, and Melkor was imprisoned. Then Sauron, hoom, hm, Sauron came, and he became Melkor's lieutenant. I do not bother myself with the great wars of Elves and Men in far-off lands. That is the business of wizards, not of Ents. I used to be anxious when Sauron dwelt in Mirkwood, but when he moved to Mordor I did not trouble myself with him any longer. After all, Mordor is many leagues from Fangorn.
"But I still remember, I remember the fear that filled the forest when he dwelt so near by. He tormented the animals of Mirkwood and the poor trees. All of Fangorn was afraid that Sauron, or one of the others like him, would come here."
"But he didn't?" Mellamir asked.
"Melkor, he came everywhere. He dashed the great lamps of Aulë and spilled Elbereth's fire, and all Middle-earth slumbered in darkness for countless ages before the forest awoke. Sauron, harum-hum, he never came here. He would have, and he sent his servants--he sent his servants everywhere, his burbrum, bloodthirsty, black-hearted, sincahonda, hoom, those, those misbegotten vermin Orcs. His spies lived in every land, and they may still.
"But I will not whisper any longer. He is coming back. I feel it every day, in the water running under my feet and in the wind rushing through my branches. The animals fear, and so do I. Melkor is imprisoned, yet not destroyed; and this, hrum ha-rum, this Sauron is free and gaining power. It is as Fimbrethil told me long ago--"
"Fimbrethil," Mellamir interrupted. "You've mentioned her several times but I do not know who she is. Should I?"
"The whole world should know of her," Treebeard answered. "What a beauty. But I am not surprised that you have never heard her name, for it has been a thousand years since I last saw her. You and Gandalf were brought to me by huorns. Huorns are like Ents, but they are not Ents. They are trees that we woke, that we taught to move and speak.
"Many years ago you would have been brought to me by young Ents. In the beginning, there were Ents and there were Entwives--and Ent-maidens as well. Fimbrethil was the most fair, the most precious of all the Ent-maidens, beautiful to look at; but her beauty was a reflection of an inner grace. She loved the trees and all that lay within our borders--and beyond them, as well.
"But she was an Ent-maiden, not an Ent. In the beginning, we dwelt together and walked together, but our hearts did not grow in the same ways. We Ents, we love the wild forests, the giant trees, and the slopes of the high hills; but the Ent-wives and the Ent-maidens gave their hearts to other things: cherry blossoms in the spring and wild grasses growing tall in the early autumn, and the creatures of the meadow beyond the edges of Fangorn. But above all, they loved order and peace and plenty, for things to stay where they put them. And we Ents left their gardens and returned to the deep forests to seek new paths."
"You left them?" Mellamir asked. How could you just leave your wives and children?
Treebeard nodded mournfully. "I would not have left them, if I knew then what I know now. But I did not." His ancient green eyes fell, and he hummed to himself for quite some time. Mellamir was about to ask him what he was thinking when suddenly he stopped his song and continued his tale.
"Fimbrethil walked with me at first, and we forged new paths together. I made this garden with her, hoping it would be enough, but her desire was not slaked. She often went to the Ent-wives and their garden. We still walked, but less and less, and finally not at all. Years passed, until at last I desired above all else to see Fimbrethil again. Earth and stone, what a beauty, what a loss. For when I went to find her, she was gone, hoom, they were all gone. We lost them."
"Lost them?" Mellamir looked puzzled, trying to understand this strange talk. What could Treebeard mean, lost them?
"Yes, lost them," Treebeard answered. "They loved straight lines, and straight lines do not grow in a forest. To the west was Fangorn, mile after mile, and then the Misty Mountains. To the north, Mirkwood; they would not go there. And to the south was Isengard. Saruman had not come to Isengard yet, none of the wizards had come to Middle-earth, but Isengard was no safe land then, either. It was the home of wild men, and they did not respect growing things any more than Saruman does, with his mind of wheels and metal.
"No, the Ent-wives could not go south. They went east, across the Anduin, and there they built their beautiful gardens. When at last I went to find them, they were gone. We lost them." He paused. "We looked for them, of course, but wherever we went we could not find any news of them." Treebeard looked out at the garden for a long time.
"That was a long tale," he said at last, "and you must be thirsty." Treebeard went to the shelves in his wall and took out two stone mugs. He poured an earthy-smelling liquid into the mugs and handed the larger one to Mellamir.
"Growing juice for growing things. Ent-draught we call it, and it keeps you growing for a long time." Mellamir shot a sceptical glance at her mug but Treebeard would not take no for an answer. "Drink up! You need your nourishment. All living things must grow as best they can." Mellamir drank her entire cup as quickly as she could, and Treebeard laid her down on the bed while he went to stand outside. She drifted off to sleep to the sound of his deep, sonorous voice singing the old songs:
And Treebeard continued his song for many verses, until dream and waking truth faded into one hazy memory; and to this day Mellamir could not say what she dreamed and what she heard Treebeard sing in truth. That night she slept the best she had since she had left the farm south of the Pelennor years before.
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Notes:
When Gandalf speaks to Treebeard in Quenya he is saying, "She is a child of prophecy. She does not know. She cannot know. But if nothing else survives the coming war, Mellamir must survive. And she must survive intact." Thanks to Nath for the translation.
Summary: The deeds of Mellamir, sister of Boromir and Faramir, before and during the War of the Ring. Novel-length.
Word Count: 3480 + Notes
Rating: Teen (for violence)
Timeline: Mid-Third Age and Late Third Age (bookverse)
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3002: Fangorn Forest
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Gandalf and Mellamir crossed the threshold of trees into Fangorn and rode in a short way before a new line of trees blocked them, growing closely together. Mellamir turned her horse to the right and started to ride around, but when she reached what she thought had been the end of the line she saw that it now extended as far as she could see in either direction.
Suddenly one tree stepped forward and grabbed her, placing her on its limbs. Another took Gandalf and before she knew what was happening the two of them were rushing along at canopy level. Gandalf shouted at her, "Don't panic!" but it was hard not to: they were moving so fast, and she could hardly see Gandalf for all the trees between them. Mellamir couldn't have said how far they travelled; she couldn't see the sun through the thick overhead, and time seemed to stand still.
At last the creatures dropped Mellamir and Gandalf in front of a huge tree. At least Mellamir thought it a tree at first, but on closer inspection he seemed more like a giant man with bark for skin and huge thick arms and legs, which she originally mistook for branches. He had huge feet with seven toes that burrowed down through the rock and soil, his deep brown eyes gleaming with an ancient green light that scanned her. She stared back, afraid to move.
Gandalf stood up and the tree-man changed his shape, extending his branches. The wizard motioned urgently at Mellamir and she clambered to her feet. Gandalf turned and said, "Good morning, Treebeard. I am most sorry to disturb your rest, but there is someone here you should meet."
Treebeard looked down at the girl at his feet. "Hrum-ha-rum-rum, who is this, this...you will have to excuse me. I have not seen one in half an age. What are you called in your tongue?"
"M-Mellamir?" she stuttered.
"She is a child of Gondor," Gandalf added.
"A child, that is something," Treebeard said slowly, as if he was talking to himself. "Never seen a child of Gondor. But I must not be too hasty." He reached down, and Mellamir scrambled backwards--but not quickly enough. Treebeard grabbed her by her collar and held her up to the light, then set her back down.
"And what might you be?" Mellamir finally stammered.
"I am an Ent." He stood in the clearing looking down at the frightened child. She crawled backward along the ground, away from the imposing creature, until she ran into what she assumed was another tree. When she turned around, though, she saw it reaching for her. She scrambled to her feet and looked around. Her eyes rested on the one thing that could not possibly be a tree: a white rock, tall and slender, sticking out of the ground like a sundial. Mellamir made for it and scrambled to the top.
A deep laugh reverberated through the trees, like Gandalf's but much deeper and older. "Do not worry, little child. Rock and soil I will eat, yes, but never another living thing. We Ents do not eat little girls."
Mellamir still looked worried. "But what are you?" she asked.
"I am an Ent, as I have said," Treebeard replied. "The Ent, you might say. Your Gandalf undoubtedly named me Treebeard, for that is what I am called in the world outside, or at least I was called by that name when the world outside still spoke of me. Yet here, in the depths of the forest, I am called Fangorn: for I am the heart of Fangorn, and Fangorn is the heart of me. I and the others like me were created ages ago to protect the trees who, because they cannot move, cannot run."
During this whole speech Mellamir had been sliding slowly off her rocky perch and now stood at Fangorn's roots. She straightened her tunic, wanting to impress this new monster who could just as easily squash her into the ground as look at her, but she was too frightened to even notice the dirt on her britches from scurrying along the ground or her wind-blown hair, a tangled mess from her ride in the tree-tops. She looked up at Gandalf, a question in her eyes.
"You have met the Ent," Gandalf said at last. "I am satisfied. It was worth the journey just for you to meet Treebeard." Then Gandalf addressed Treebeard. "This is Mellamir, child of Denethor, Lord of Gondor, who rules there until the king returns. She was born Mellawen but later took the name Mellamir. Just before her mother died she promised to teach Mellamir how to read Sindarin. Her father wished to honour that promise, but he did not have the time to teach her personally and could not find a qualified tutor willing to teach a girl.
"He did find one scholar, learned and respectable but liberal enough to teach his daughter under the pretext of her being trained as a son if it also meant the honour of tutoring the steward's other children. So the name stuck. She probably will not answer to any other. For two years now Mellamir has been studying with her brother everything Gondor's boys learn, and now Denethor has a problem: he has a son for a daughter."
Treebeard did not respond immediately but instead stooped over the frightened girl. He stared into her eyes and examined her clothing. Only then did he turn to Gandalf. "A problem? All children are precious, Gandalf, whether they are sons or daughters. Too precious to drive them away. I know that full well, and you know that I know, which is, I suspect, why you brought me Mellamir.
"But I can see how, in a country where these things matter, this could be considered a problem. Yet not necessarily so. Is she really a son? Britches do not make the boy. And if she is a son today, was she ever really a daughter? Ha-la-lee-lie, you seem to understand her quite well, Gandalf. Well enough, perhaps, for both of us. But we must not be too hasty. I must learn these things for myself, and that will take time."
"Treebeard," Gandalf replied, "after all our years of friendship, hastiness is the last thing I would expect from you. Of course, take Mellamir and learn what you can about her. And with her safe in Fangorn--"
"Safe?" Treebeard asked. "Safe from what?"
"From many things," Gandalf answered. Her own people, for one. I do not want them to ruin her, force her into a mould and smother her spirit. And from the East, of course. Dark clouds, Treebeard, they are gathering. All Middle-earth shall be like Mirkwood, only much worse, and nowhere will be safe, least of all Gondor." He looked deep into Treebeard's timeless eyes and continued in Quenya, "Nárë hína apaceno. Lá lertarë ista, andavë pella síarë. Nan írë lá vára engwë larta sina túlala ohta, ná maurëa sa Meldamírë. Ar ná maurëa sa lartuvares únaityana."
"I understand," Treebeard answered in the Common Tongue.
"Good," Gandalf said. "With her safe here--as safe as she can be in any land--I shall be free to think on more important matters. Your neighbour to the south is very learned in ring-lore."
"Hmm, Saruman," Treebeard murmured. "Yes, he is a neighbour. That I cannot forget. Yet he is hardly neighbourly. What do you fear?"
"A friend of mine, in a far-away land, has found a ring. A ring that allows him to disappear."
"A magic ring?" Treebeard asked. Gandalf nodded. "But whose?" Treebeard said. "Perhaps it belonged to the dwarf-lords once--"
"No. It is quite plain: a simple gold band."
"But Saruman," Treebeard said, "he is not one I would go to for advice."
"The Steward would not have me leave his daughter with someone he had never met," Gandalf replied, "even less with a race he had never seen, nor even heard of save from me. And a father usually judges best what to do with his own children; I would not interfere without good reason. But in these dangerous days, when so much is at risk, we all do things we would not in safer times. Nothing I regret, of course, but I have not the luxury of all the safeties I might prefer."
"You have grown rash, Gandalf," Treebeard answered. "Rash, but not hasty. I understand." He thought for some time, then added, "It could be the One."
"I fear you are correct," Gandalf said. "But I will not speak that evil thought until I have spoken with Saruman."
Treebeard nodded. "Seek him if you must."
"Good," Gandalf replied. "You watch Mellamir and learn enough to satisfy your purposes, and I will travel to Isengard and learn what I must. I will return as soon as I may, within the fortnight, or at least send word. Now--you have our horses?"
A great wind surged through the trees. The leaves fluttered, the trunks groaned, and any birds and squirrels in the vicinity hurried away as fast as their legs and wings could carry them. The wind circled through the trees and returned to Treebeard. A horse came galloping up.
"Your horse, Gandalf," Treebeard said, "Mellamir's I have sent to Rohan. I am an imposing sight for a beast."
Gandalf mounted his horse, then turned him to face Mellamir. "Treebeard is a noble friend," he said to her. "Yes, he is intimidating, as much to those who walk on two legs as on four, but you are entirely safe here, safer than you would be even with me. Trust him." With that the wizard bent close to his horse's head, whispered into his ear, and galloped out of sight.
As Gandalf rode away Treebeard turned to the girl standing at his roots. "Come with me," he said. Mellamir climbed up his trunk and sat on one of his shoulders, and he strode off into the forest.
From her vantagepoint so high in the trees the forest seemed less imposing somehow. The trees looked like mere saplings, not the ancient giants they were, and the huge birds circling above their limbs were no longer falcons ready to dive down and carry her far away but were as friendly and benign as sparrows on the window-sill.
From this height, she could see that the sun did in fact rise and set as it did throughout Middle-earth. True, the thick upper branches kept her from feeling its warmth or even seeing it clearly, but just the vaguely less shadowy area descending into the west somehow made the ancient forest less timeless and more bearable.
This spectre of the sun crossed the sky two times before Treebeard finally began to slow. "We must not lose our way," he murmured as he scanned the horizon. Only then did Mellamir notice that, for the first time, she could see not just trees but rocks as well.
"There used to be a path," Treebeard said, "a clear path through the trees. Once Fimbrethil and I used to walk this way together, long years ago; but I have not journeyed here for ages. The forest has taken back the road."
"What is this place?" Mellamir asked. "What are those mountains? And who is Fimbrethil?"
"You are a hasty child!" Treebeard laughed. "Three questions in one breath. Those are the Misty Mountains. Beyond them lie Rivendell and the Sea. I have my home there, at the foot of the mountains where the forest meets the rock. Or one of my homes; I have many homes, and in truth the whole forest is my home. Yet here we can talk in safety, and you may sleep."
They were approaching the edge of the forest. A grove of willow trees blocked their way, but as Treebeard approached, the willow branches drew back, revealing a corridor framed by the trees. Beyond stood a garden, very much like the one in the Houses of Healing, with bushes and small trees. Yet this garden had no benches, and Mellamir wondered at that. What was the use of a garden without benches? How could you sit and enjoy it? She didn't ask, though, because she still wanted to hear about this Fimbrethil.
Treebeard did not even pause in the gardens. He strode toward a waterfall flowing over a rock face, a cliff at the base of the Misty Mountains. The water fell so thick that Mellamir could not see what might lie behind it. Looking around, though, she guessed that it hid Treebeard's house. As Treebeard approached, the water thinned and, still sitting upon Treebeard's limb, Mellamir passed through. Earth covered the stone floor, except in the corners where fresh grass was gathered into piles. Along one wall sat a bed on low legs, covered in grasses.
The roof was solid rock, and cascades of flowing water veiled the walls. The water fell into dykes and flowed through underground streams that watered Fangorn, Treebeard explained to Mellamir. Several vials of clear liquid stood on the stone table in the middle of the room.
Mellamir turned around, absorbing this strange place, then looked back out through the vines. "The gardens were Fimbrethil's idea," Treebeard said, his voice distant. "The whole of the forest was my home, and it was garden enough for me. Yet Fimbrethil wanted a special place for the birds and animals of the forest. She only asked that they keep the bedding fresh and the water cool, and they have done their job well. They had no word of my coming, and I have not travelled here for many a long day. But they wish to stay here; they know what happened in Mirkwood."
"Mirkwood?" Mellamir asked. She had heard that name before, but she couldn't quite place it.
"Leaf and twig, you have lived an isolated life. Gondorians used to be well-travelled. Mirkwood is a forest. It is east of the Misty Mountains, north of Laurelindorean, not far from here. What do you know?
"Long ago, Ilúvatar created all that you see, and also the Valar. Most of the Valar served Ilúvatar, but one--Melkor, he was called--desired his own honour and power. There was a great war, and Melkor was imprisoned. Then Sauron, hoom, hm, Sauron came, and he became Melkor's lieutenant. I do not bother myself with the great wars of Elves and Men in far-off lands. That is the business of wizards, not of Ents. I used to be anxious when Sauron dwelt in Mirkwood, but when he moved to Mordor I did not trouble myself with him any longer. After all, Mordor is many leagues from Fangorn.
"But I still remember, I remember the fear that filled the forest when he dwelt so near by. He tormented the animals of Mirkwood and the poor trees. All of Fangorn was afraid that Sauron, or one of the others like him, would come here."
"But he didn't?" Mellamir asked.
"Melkor, he came everywhere. He dashed the great lamps of Aulë and spilled Elbereth's fire, and all Middle-earth slumbered in darkness for countless ages before the forest awoke. Sauron, harum-hum, he never came here. He would have, and he sent his servants--he sent his servants everywhere, his burbrum, bloodthirsty, black-hearted, sincahonda, hoom, those, those misbegotten vermin Orcs. His spies lived in every land, and they may still.
"But I will not whisper any longer. He is coming back. I feel it every day, in the water running under my feet and in the wind rushing through my branches. The animals fear, and so do I. Melkor is imprisoned, yet not destroyed; and this, hrum ha-rum, this Sauron is free and gaining power. It is as Fimbrethil told me long ago--"
"Fimbrethil," Mellamir interrupted. "You've mentioned her several times but I do not know who she is. Should I?"
"The whole world should know of her," Treebeard answered. "What a beauty. But I am not surprised that you have never heard her name, for it has been a thousand years since I last saw her. You and Gandalf were brought to me by huorns. Huorns are like Ents, but they are not Ents. They are trees that we woke, that we taught to move and speak.
"Many years ago you would have been brought to me by young Ents. In the beginning, there were Ents and there were Entwives--and Ent-maidens as well. Fimbrethil was the most fair, the most precious of all the Ent-maidens, beautiful to look at; but her beauty was a reflection of an inner grace. She loved the trees and all that lay within our borders--and beyond them, as well.
"But she was an Ent-maiden, not an Ent. In the beginning, we dwelt together and walked together, but our hearts did not grow in the same ways. We Ents, we love the wild forests, the giant trees, and the slopes of the high hills; but the Ent-wives and the Ent-maidens gave their hearts to other things: cherry blossoms in the spring and wild grasses growing tall in the early autumn, and the creatures of the meadow beyond the edges of Fangorn. But above all, they loved order and peace and plenty, for things to stay where they put them. And we Ents left their gardens and returned to the deep forests to seek new paths."
"You left them?" Mellamir asked. How could you just leave your wives and children?
Treebeard nodded mournfully. "I would not have left them, if I knew then what I know now. But I did not." His ancient green eyes fell, and he hummed to himself for quite some time. Mellamir was about to ask him what he was thinking when suddenly he stopped his song and continued his tale.
"Fimbrethil walked with me at first, and we forged new paths together. I made this garden with her, hoping it would be enough, but her desire was not slaked. She often went to the Ent-wives and their garden. We still walked, but less and less, and finally not at all. Years passed, until at last I desired above all else to see Fimbrethil again. Earth and stone, what a beauty, what a loss. For when I went to find her, she was gone, hoom, they were all gone. We lost them."
"Lost them?" Mellamir looked puzzled, trying to understand this strange talk. What could Treebeard mean, lost them?
"Yes, lost them," Treebeard answered. "They loved straight lines, and straight lines do not grow in a forest. To the west was Fangorn, mile after mile, and then the Misty Mountains. To the north, Mirkwood; they would not go there. And to the south was Isengard. Saruman had not come to Isengard yet, none of the wizards had come to Middle-earth, but Isengard was no safe land then, either. It was the home of wild men, and they did not respect growing things any more than Saruman does, with his mind of wheels and metal.
"No, the Ent-wives could not go south. They went east, across the Anduin, and there they built their beautiful gardens. When at last I went to find them, they were gone. We lost them." He paused. "We looked for them, of course, but wherever we went we could not find any news of them." Treebeard looked out at the garden for a long time.
"That was a long tale," he said at last, "and you must be thirsty." Treebeard went to the shelves in his wall and took out two stone mugs. He poured an earthy-smelling liquid into the mugs and handed the larger one to Mellamir.
"Growing juice for growing things. Ent-draught we call it, and it keeps you growing for a long time." Mellamir shot a sceptical glance at her mug but Treebeard would not take no for an answer. "Drink up! You need your nourishment. All living things must grow as best they can." Mellamir drank her entire cup as quickly as she could, and Treebeard laid her down on the bed while he went to stand outside. She drifted off to sleep to the sound of his deep, sonorous voice singing the old songs:
When spring unfolds the beechen leaf, and sap is in the bough,
When light is on the wildwood stream, and wind is on the brow,
When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain-air,
Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair!
And Treebeard continued his song for many verses, until dream and waking truth faded into one hazy memory; and to this day Mellamir could not say what she dreamed and what she heard Treebeard sing in truth. That night she slept the best she had since she had left the farm south of the Pelennor years before.
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Notes:
When Gandalf speaks to Treebeard in Quenya he is saying, "She is a child of prophecy. She does not know. She cannot know. But if nothing else survives the coming war, Mellamir must survive. And she must survive intact." Thanks to Nath for the translation.