Treebeard, Arhuine and Aldarwen, in Fangorn

The ancient woods known as Fangorn rustle with satisfaction as a shepherd of the trees enters the wood.

Glancing up, Arhuine watches, and listens. Slowly, she rises from where she sits upon her cloak of the leaf and mould. She inclines her head respectfully the the approaching Anod.

The sun has just set and as its last rays disappear in the horizon, some shinning and distant stars maybe seen in the sky, but not many of them, since the furled canopy of the forest stops the light of most of them. The light of the waning moon falls now into a small clearing, where a green-clad maiden sits. As she hears the soft sounds of movement in the woods, and sees Arhuine stand and bow, she imitates her gracefully, and stays silent.

An approach of near silence; naught but the slight noise of a passing breeze by leaf, the muted crunch of fallen leaf on ground. Thus does Fangorn himself approach - as silent as the twilight. As peaceful as the ancient woods at moonrise. An oak among oaks - a shepherd among his trees. "Hroom, hmmm...yes." The Ancient Anyd exclaims, passing a large, rooted hands along a trunk of a tree. "Hroom; visitors I know, your story tells true old oak." He speaks again, ancient, sorrowfull eyes turning upon the part of elves.

In each and every movement, Arhuine shows a studied slowness. Raising her eyes, the slightest smile playing upon her lips, she calmly looks upon the elder of the forest. No haste, and in due time, at last she breaks her silence. "Hail and greetings, sir. Although I have made my request to two other ents upon behalf of our party, it is only right and proper I present our suit to you. Thus we ask thy leave to be within thy wood, and moreso, express our gratitude for already being guests within thy mighty halls."

As the moon moves in his never ending round around Middle Earth, the light in the center of the forest becomes even dimmer. The green-clad maiden, standing some steps behind Arhuine, stands still, a broad smile appearing slowly at her lips, while her eyes are completely taken by the figure of the Anod.

Treebeard's eyes of everlasting green besought with the freckled specks of brown regard the speaker for a long, silent period; a glance shared by the maiden behind her. Both encompassed in his long, search look of life and mourning. "Aye, aye, yes you have. You have spoken to two others - the hasty ones, hrm? Longlimb and Goldroot, hroom, young they are...speedy too." Treebeard speaks; voice as slow as molasses as it envelops all about it in its warm blanket of ageless comfort. "Consider your presence welcome, or long ago would you have been asked to leave. But most of her children are welcomed here," he adds, eyes filming over as face contours into a "queer" look. "Hroom...yes...most."

Arhuine gives the companion by her side a glance and smile ere she returns her full attention to the ent. Clasping her hands loosely before her, she once more studies her host. After a short time she gives another respectful nod. Amusement shows in a twinkle in her eyes. "Yes, ever the young are in haste. Ever they feel that, as a passing zephyr all must be touched and stirred. They give little thought to the underlying song, the song as old and ageless as the land itself, and each season rings but a single note." She pauses, taking her time. "Forgiveness I must ask of thee. And indeed haste you shall accuse me of acting in. However, one of my errands requires I present a request to you from others who do not count time in such measures."

A sweet warm breeze blows softly through the leaves of the woods, singing a slow song in soft voice. Although the night becomes darker as the time passes, the faces of the elves are radiant as the look towards their tall interlocutor. The maiden behind Arhuine steps forward a little, and as she does so, her hair is caught by the breeze and shaken a bit. She tidies it up slowly and charmly, her eyes still fixed on the Anod.

"Hroom, yes - of this errand to I have heard." Treebeard murmurs, mind slow and methodical as it deliberates. "Hmm, haster you beg pardon of, but still hasty you are, yes." And again the queer look of the oldest of Ents befalls his face - again the look of recognition. "Hroom - before I have seen you, speaker, child of Illuvaltar. Aye, not long ago." Knotted hand of wood slowly strokes a beard of roots and twigs, an action done for a long moment. "Remember well do I your story of the Entwife. Was hasty, it was, but good for the kind. But tell me - why is it haste you seek when you've time as much as me?"

As the conversation goes slowly on between the Arhuine, and the shephard of trees, the other maiden starts to relax in her standing position, coming to lower her shoulders and relax all her face. However, her eyes never quite leave those of the Ent in front of her, a flicker of light illuminating the soft hue of her elvish orbs.

Arhuine's laugh ripples in the still air. "But sir, some are not their own masters and but bear messages. To my thinking, the asking of the Anyd's presence at the congress of the bards should be a seasons quest. Respectfully presented, without the press of time." She paces slowly forwards, looking up to her host. "That is the first of my reasons for coming. As no doubt you can imagine, those who instructed me to make the request did not take into account thy ways, and such a decision as to join our festivities would not be made as quickly as they would think or hope." She pauses once more, the humor slowly dissapearing from her countenance. Her head bows a little. "Mine other request is more dire."

One bushy brow, of the same mossy-twig that flows from his beard, uplifts in a humanish gesture. For many moments the hands of the tree rung ceaselessly through his flowing beard; a beard which glistens with light when there is none. "Hroom, news indeed - hasty all have become in the ages since last I walked from sea to sea and saw naught but trees!" Fangorn booms; his laughter rolling thunder, resonating through the ground, naught the air. "Perhaps this should be discussed in a moot, hrm? Hmm, yes. A moot shall be called - hroom, who would come?" And again he falls silent, counting slowly the names of those left to him and the trees.

With a start, Treebeard looks up from his thoughts; gaze afixed on naught but Arhuine. "You wish to ask me about the maiden whom is hurt in her body, no?" He asks, just now glancing to the other - Aldarwen.

The moon has reached another space among the tall leaves of Fangorn, and now its silver light falls brightly upon Arhuine, shaping her femenine body with its shine, making her dark blue tunic blur in the darkening night. As the Anod looks behinds the Istyara, the other maiden stands still again, the whole position of her body manifesting respect for the one that looks at her.

Arhuine glances at Aldarwen as well a moment. "Not her. Not her but one of our company. But now in repose."
A grave expression falls upon her features. Her voice becomes low, soft, and slows. "Elder of this land, wise thou are in thine own ways. Some may at times accuse me of the same in mine." Her eyes fix upon the ents. "A loss has been suffered. She who is injured was once a singer. Did once give song to all, bring joy to hearts, and did sing the peants of all, of what we the elves hold most dear, blessed Elentari, and oft, she did sing unto thine own Vala." She bites her lip a moment before going on. "When I discovered her discomfiture, my mind did walk through the ages I have spent with her. And that did come unto my mind. And with that did come the thought that if healing, if growth renewed, were to be found for her within  the circles of the world, it would needs come from the blessings of the Valar, of Kemetari, as much and moreso, than any healing arts the quendi may have."

As the conversation goes on, hasty for the Anod's point of view, and slow for the two elven maidens, the night has invaded the whole forest. Even the breeze is now softer, and the song of the shaking leaves seems somehow more distant. Dark is the story Arhuine tells, almost as dark as the place around her. As the Master of the Elven Healers speaks of the injured one, the expression upon the face of the other maiden chages into that of deep worry, making the dim light around her body fade.

"Hroom, hmm...yes." Treebeard muses, gutteral noises eminating from bulking frame as thoughts pass before his very eyes. "Long has it been since the name of Yavanna hath been spoken beneath the bows by others not of the same fruit as I. Hmm, but I see the truth in your words as clearly as I see your haste - but help of which I may not have. Hmm..." As he has done for countless ages, the old tree takes a long while to think - to ponder the thoughts and desicions before him.

"I herd the trees; the oaks which I love so. I am their shepherd." Treebeard speaks after his pause. "I love my trees naught as much as my lost love of Fimbrethil, but akin in so much. For she would wish it that I watch them, nurture them from the sprout - give my life to them, hroom...yes." Treebeard explains, hand again running down the length of his flowing beard. "Hroom, tell me, do you know this maiden's name? Not the name of which she is called by others, but her real name? Hroom...her life? Yes? And if so, do you love her? For naught heals more but the power of love...hmm." Eyes of green pass over with a grey of shadow - the misery of mistakes now ages past resurfacing upon the old tree's face. "Hroom - perhaps I have something other than love, yes...perhaps. Refresh I feel after I drink of it - tis a draught of sorts. Water perhaps but not quite."

Unable to restrain a sign of aprovement, the green-clad maiden nods slowly at the words from the Ent in from of her. The smile returns to her lips, and her eyes shine again with soft light, as they catch the cold ray of one of the stars upon the sky.

Arhuine nods slowly. Due thought is given for each word spoken. When she replies, it is little more than a murmur as the breeze upon the leaves about.

"Lindril is her name, singing brilliance in our tongue. That name she has recent forsaken, taking the name Naerdhin, woeful silence." Her real name as I understand you I know as well, for I have known her since birth. But it is not mine to speak." She studies the old ent falling silent for a time, then her soft voice goes on. "Do you love each sapling as it grows? Love each of thine charges? Take each unto heart and nurture? Hasty indeed one would call you if that was within thy power. Nay, in that respect my love for her is as yours for your beloved forest. That while you may not know and nurture each and all unto the last and least, the loss of a single one is a loss unto thee and all the others." She smiles a little. "But I do confess unto a more personal love. The loss of a part of me. For her voice was mine company, mine companion, and within my memories are interwoven the ages past, and at one time in their passing they were given a voice. That voice was hers. She has become a part of me, and thus the loss more heavy yet to bear."

Silently Treebeard shakes his gargantuan head; thoughtfull and slow it sways from side to side. "Hmm, perhaps yes...but each tree has its song - its name to tell. All of these I know of the trees I love most - my oaks." He says, eyes watching carefully that of the frail form of the maiden. "Kemetari loves all that she has bore unto the land. Unfaltering and ever faitfull in her children. You love she who no longer speaks, this I can see." He hrooms, yes. "Speak to her, nurture her like a mother's child at her bosom. Teach her again to sing and feel the love for which others share for her. Then perhaps will she again sing - weave her tails with yours for ages to come or until the great darkness falls."

Arhuine nods, bowing her head. "Would that I could. The wound, and it's healing, have caused something which obstructs her from making any sound at all." She smiles. "Nurture I will and do. And I shall seek the world over to find that which can aid her in her plight. First and foremost I seek what I can learn of growth and vigor. Of renewal. Of Yavannas sweet songs in it's myriad of forms."  Her eyes once more fix upon Treabeard. "And unto this end I wish to find a greater affinity to her. Through her children, and those who hold her in the most reverence. This is what brings me unto thy forest. The understanding and through it, the greater knowledge, of Yavanna and her gifts in their myriad of forms. Whom elder, whom upon this earth but you could I seek for such knowledge? If not in thy mind, in thy life, and in thy very lands. In those there must be an answer. For if not here than where? If I fail this quest, then the healing that I seek will only be found beyond the seas. There I shall seek last."

Thoughtfull silence does Treebeard again excuse himself. Green gaze distant with thought - old with age but with the vigour of salvaged youth does he take to the task at hand. "Hroom, I see. Aye, I do." He speaks, softly. "Old am I - oldest of Ents but all knowing I am anything but." Treebeard explains, pondering still his thoughts. "All over you have looked; seeking here last before departing over the sea. A dire measure that is for you shall never return here to your home if you do. But the love of Yavanna is within us all - her ways and healing there too. Inside you should be your next destination - not over the sea or in the Forest of Shepherds. Within you is your answer, maiden...hroom...yes, but sure I will be to give you a bit of the draught - look for it as you leave for there it will be."

Arhuine studies the ancient being in silence. No move does she make, nor gives any indication of hearing save the bright awareness in her eyes. As still as one of the trees about, she stands lost in thought. Seeking perhaps as instructed. Looking beyond the knowledge she has gained to the roots of knowledge itself. Time passes and the stars move past in glimpses through thick leaf and bough overhead. At last, ever so slow, she bows deeply.

"Hroom, yes." Treebeard chuckles softly, watching the deep bow. "Aye, we also shall consider this invitation, hroom - we shall have a moot! It has been long since a moot has been had!" And with those words and the fading remnants of night, Treebeard turns back into his ancient woods that are his namesake.

Arhuine remains with her head slightly bowed. Perhaps the woods, and the will within, has found a place within her heart. Raising her eyes she sighs, whispering to herself, "Would I have known thee better, Melian."