Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, blah, blah, blah.

The Memories of Trees

This place is a dream, a swirl of incandescent pearl enveloping the timesongs and their mournful harmonies. Time passes slower here than the rest of the chaotic world around us. We have been here since the first chords of the timesongs rose from their dreamless sleep and began flowing through the deserted pathways of the lands. We have been here since the deathless ones who witnessed the light of the Two Trees arrived. It was they who awoke us from forgetfulness into sentience. It is they who are fading, as are we, into myth and legend, into dark nothingness. We remember.

Come, sit close to us as we tell you all you wish to know, all your heart longs to learn. The spirit is a wondrous, dreadful place, a fire scorching within. Perhaps you wish to hear of the Great Kinslayings, or maybe the terrible wars brought on by the Evil One that ravaged the lands and souls of the races of Middle-Earth. Will you hear the tale of the immortal Nightingale who sacrificed her eternity to be reunited with a mortal Follower? Listen as we relate to you the tragic lay of the Master of Doom, or the fall of the Hidden City, as we regale you with the legends of the Firstborn and the departure of the Entwives.

The Noldor Queen who dwells in the Dreamflower has long been our ally, for she is one of the few who also remember. But even this, she does not know. An evil is stirring again. A summons, a cry of a master to his black soul has been heard. It reverberates throughout the land and echoes in the silent moments. It is what you feel when shudders traverse your spine and the hollow cold replaces your center of being. It is what you dream when you dance among the stars in sleep. It has awoken. It is coming from the bowels of the Black Land. It seeks- what? What is there for it to seek? Power. The blissful inebriation of control. The final realization of despair.



It comes.



Not very long ago, a fortress of the greatest magnitude was erected near our forest. It was named Nencoras, a name we do not understand, with a purpose we can only fear. Hidden in a valley branching from the Misty Mountains, it is unknown to most, and is zealously guarded from prying eyes by fearsome soldiers who prowl the woods surrounding it. It is a training grounds, a project designed to produce great soldiers, quick of mind and reflex, strong in body and heart. Children are brought there and are raised to be cold, calculating war machines, their sole purpose in life to kill or be killed. We know. We have seen them. They dash through our wood and prepare for battle. They swing from our boughs and loose their arrows at targets unseen. They ride the savory tides of bloodlust, the slavering jaws of death consume their being. We are bewildered and troubled by what we have witnessed. Do you know? Can you reveal the workings of the human heart to us? Can you tell us, with soft speech, what drives the dark interplays of calamity among you? Perhaps not. These questions shall wait. All will be revealed to us in time. Time is no object to us. But as for you?



Have you the time to learn?