The Remembrance of Trees
2. Hidden on the Mountain
I remember being plucked from my bough. Rough hands, callused with age, holding me softly despite it. Bearing me away in the night, swiftly, silently. Ever higher up to a cold place, the wind blowing relentlessly. Whispered words bade me sleep, and endure, until the time should be right.
Now I am awake, stirred from long sleep by a Shadow departed and the joyous cry of an Eagle.
Those old hands are nearby. But other hands cradle me. Rough hands, callused by the sword. But gentle, oh so gentle. Whispered words thank me, bless me.
Gladly, I relinquish my hold.
Now I am awake, stirred from long sleep by a Shadow departed and the joyous cry of an Eagle.
Those old hands are nearby. But other hands cradle me. Rough hands, callused by the sword. But gentle, oh so gentle. Whispered words thank me, bless me.
Gladly, I relinquish my hold.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.
