Post by Admin on Jan 10, 2021 0:47:50 GMT
Author: Eärillë
Rating: PG
Warning: a brief glimpse of battle
Summary: At a point during their trek before the Ring War, a part of the broken Fellowship of the Ring unwittingly met someone special. Changes were happening, and they were in the thick of it; but not alone, never alone. – Now, who gives hope to whom?
Author’s Notes: Dedicated to everyone who love trees. And I am sorry if this story falls short of its mark. I never intended it to be rather light like this, but oh well. I hope you will still enjoy it despite everything, though. The italicised part of the story is taken verbatim from The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers, by the way.
Years may have passed, as the Elves and Dwarves and Men count it. But to me there is no difference between a year and the next. The seasons do not bring much change, also.
But now, I can feel it… The wind carries sounds of hasty battle fought nearby, and blood – both pure and tainted – seeps into the grassy earth. It has been a long time, as Men count it, since the last battle was fought near where I currently stand idle. It solidifies the rumors I have been hearing and sensing and smelling throughout the land these few seasons. It makes me uneasy, yet I feel too comfortable standing here doing nothing.
I was not alone when I firstly found this patch of rich green earth and took a stand. Many of my herd had followed me, and at last took places around me. I still moved about, then, especially in winter, when the drowsy heat of the Sun was least abundant. But then my companions were taken one by one for various purposes of the Men that dwelt nearby, and at last I was left to stand here alone. Should I move away now, before the Men come and take me – last of all?
But it may have been too late. Three are approaching me now, riding on… horses, I think they call those four-leggers. Not all of them are Men, though; one is even a Wood-Elf! Things have truly changed, then, for I have never witnessed such a group since that dark, dark time…
The little group find shelter under my boughs, and cautious happiness runs through my woody veins. I hope they are not going to use me as kindling?…
Hmm, but it seems that they are too occupied with themselves, for now. And from the uneasy conversation they are holding, I deduce that they have been forewarned about my kind – or at least the forest in general. The Dwarf among them has decided to search for kindling elsewhere, among the dead pieces – wise choice! And the fire that he lights is particularly warm without scorching… I shall help them find their lost friends, then, in the only way I can without startling and frightening them further.
I talk to the Wood-Elf, whispering about secrets kept within the forest, giving him reassurance that his friends are safe. (No orcs will harm them there, under the watch of my brethren.) And as the fire becomes steadier, and the little group gather around it for warmth and companionship, I also stoop down towards it, rustling happily. “Hope, hope,” I sing in the language of the trees.
And the Wood-Elf at last looks up, his gaze knowing and full of wonderment. “Look!” he said. “The tree is glad about the fire!”
Well, yes, I am glad indeed. (I am not being used as the kindling, after all, and the small flame is friendly.) But I am also glad that he does not speak of my messages to him to his friends – not yet, at least. It has been quite a long time since I last had some friendly company not of my own kind or my herd, and I do not want this moment to last too quickly.
All the same, the Wood-Elf’s two comrades are getting jittery again. Ah…
Still, I tell myself, at least I have part in all the changes that have been happening. My kind and our herds have been getting too lackadaisical, and I have tarried here for too long, taking roots and growing just like my herd did before their downfall.
Unknowingly, I have built my mind towards this decision since that great war of Elves and Dwarves and Men all those years ago. I just have to seal it now.
And so I do. I, whom the Elves call Finglas and the Men call Leaflock, shall defend this forest together with my brethren until the bitter end.
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References:
“A little way beyond the battle-field they made their camp under a spreading tree: it looked like a chestnut, and yet it still bore many broad brown leaves of a former year, like dry hands with long splayed fingers; they rattled mournfully in the night-breeze. … It may have been that the dancing shadows tricked their eyes, but certainly to each of the companions the boughs appeared to be bending this way and that so as to come above the flames, while the upper branches were stooping down; the brown leaves now stood out stiff, and rubbed together like many cold cracked hands taking comfort in the warmth.…” (The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers, Chapter 2: The Riders of Rohan.)
“… Some of us are still true Ents, and lively enough in our fashion, but many are growing sleepy, going tree-ish, as you might say. Most of the trees are just trees, of course; but many are half awake. Some are quite wide awake, and a few are, well, ah, well gettingEntish . That is going on all the time. … We are tree-herds, we old Ents. Few enough of us are left now. Sheep get like shepherd, and shepherds like sheep, it is said; but slowly, and neither have long in the world. … Some of my kin look just like trees now, and need something great to rouse them; and they speak only in whispers. … Only three remain of the first Ents that walked in the woods before the Darkness: only myself, Fangorn, and Finglas and Fladrif - to give them their Elvish names; you may call them Leaflock and Skinbark if you like that better. And of us three Leaflock and Skinbark are not much use for this business. Leaflock has grown sleepy, almost tree-ish, you might say: he has taken to standing by himself half-asleep all through the summer with the deep grass of the meadows round his knees. Covered with leafy hair he is. He used to rouse up in winter; but of late he has been too drowsy to walk far even then. Skinbark lived on the mountain-slopes west of Isengard. That is where the worst trouble has been. He was wounded by the Orcs, and many of his folk and his tree-herds have been murdered and destroyed. He has gone up into the high places, among the birches that he loves best, and he will not come down.” (The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers, Chapter 4: Treebeard.)
Rating: PG
Warning: a brief glimpse of battle
Summary: At a point during their trek before the Ring War, a part of the broken Fellowship of the Ring unwittingly met someone special. Changes were happening, and they were in the thick of it; but not alone, never alone. – Now, who gives hope to whom?
Author’s Notes: Dedicated to everyone who love trees. And I am sorry if this story falls short of its mark. I never intended it to be rather light like this, but oh well. I hope you will still enjoy it despite everything, though. The italicised part of the story is taken verbatim from The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers, by the way.
Years may have passed, as the Elves and Dwarves and Men count it. But to me there is no difference between a year and the next. The seasons do not bring much change, also.
But now, I can feel it… The wind carries sounds of hasty battle fought nearby, and blood – both pure and tainted – seeps into the grassy earth. It has been a long time, as Men count it, since the last battle was fought near where I currently stand idle. It solidifies the rumors I have been hearing and sensing and smelling throughout the land these few seasons. It makes me uneasy, yet I feel too comfortable standing here doing nothing.
I was not alone when I firstly found this patch of rich green earth and took a stand. Many of my herd had followed me, and at last took places around me. I still moved about, then, especially in winter, when the drowsy heat of the Sun was least abundant. But then my companions were taken one by one for various purposes of the Men that dwelt nearby, and at last I was left to stand here alone. Should I move away now, before the Men come and take me – last of all?
But it may have been too late. Three are approaching me now, riding on… horses, I think they call those four-leggers. Not all of them are Men, though; one is even a Wood-Elf! Things have truly changed, then, for I have never witnessed such a group since that dark, dark time…
The little group find shelter under my boughs, and cautious happiness runs through my woody veins. I hope they are not going to use me as kindling?…
Hmm, but it seems that they are too occupied with themselves, for now. And from the uneasy conversation they are holding, I deduce that they have been forewarned about my kind – or at least the forest in general. The Dwarf among them has decided to search for kindling elsewhere, among the dead pieces – wise choice! And the fire that he lights is particularly warm without scorching… I shall help them find their lost friends, then, in the only way I can without startling and frightening them further.
I talk to the Wood-Elf, whispering about secrets kept within the forest, giving him reassurance that his friends are safe. (No orcs will harm them there, under the watch of my brethren.) And as the fire becomes steadier, and the little group gather around it for warmth and companionship, I also stoop down towards it, rustling happily. “Hope, hope,” I sing in the language of the trees.
And the Wood-Elf at last looks up, his gaze knowing and full of wonderment. “Look!” he said. “The tree is glad about the fire!”
Well, yes, I am glad indeed. (I am not being used as the kindling, after all, and the small flame is friendly.) But I am also glad that he does not speak of my messages to him to his friends – not yet, at least. It has been quite a long time since I last had some friendly company not of my own kind or my herd, and I do not want this moment to last too quickly.
All the same, the Wood-Elf’s two comrades are getting jittery again. Ah…
Still, I tell myself, at least I have part in all the changes that have been happening. My kind and our herds have been getting too lackadaisical, and I have tarried here for too long, taking roots and growing just like my herd did before their downfall.
Unknowingly, I have built my mind towards this decision since that great war of Elves and Dwarves and Men all those years ago. I just have to seal it now.
And so I do. I, whom the Elves call Finglas and the Men call Leaflock, shall defend this forest together with my brethren until the bitter end.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
References:
“A little way beyond the battle-field they made their camp under a spreading tree: it looked like a chestnut, and yet it still bore many broad brown leaves of a former year, like dry hands with long splayed fingers; they rattled mournfully in the night-breeze. … It may have been that the dancing shadows tricked their eyes, but certainly to each of the companions the boughs appeared to be bending this way and that so as to come above the flames, while the upper branches were stooping down; the brown leaves now stood out stiff, and rubbed together like many cold cracked hands taking comfort in the warmth.…” (The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers, Chapter 2: The Riders of Rohan.)
“… Some of us are still true Ents, and lively enough in our fashion, but many are growing sleepy, going tree-ish, as you might say. Most of the trees are just trees, of course; but many are half awake. Some are quite wide awake, and a few are, well, ah, well gettingEntish . That is going on all the time. … We are tree-herds, we old Ents. Few enough of us are left now. Sheep get like shepherd, and shepherds like sheep, it is said; but slowly, and neither have long in the world. … Some of my kin look just like trees now, and need something great to rouse them; and they speak only in whispers. … Only three remain of the first Ents that walked in the woods before the Darkness: only myself, Fangorn, and Finglas and Fladrif - to give them their Elvish names; you may call them Leaflock and Skinbark if you like that better. And of us three Leaflock and Skinbark are not much use for this business. Leaflock has grown sleepy, almost tree-ish, you might say: he has taken to standing by himself half-asleep all through the summer with the deep grass of the meadows round his knees. Covered with leafy hair he is. He used to rouse up in winter; but of late he has been too drowsy to walk far even then. Skinbark lived on the mountain-slopes west of Isengard. That is where the worst trouble has been. He was wounded by the Orcs, and many of his folk and his tree-herds have been murdered and destroyed. He has gone up into the high places, among the birches that he loves best, and he will not come down.” (The Lord of the Rings, The Two Towers, Chapter 4: Treebeard.)