The two rangers stood in front of the White Tree, looking at the dead wood.
Beren motioned at the Fountain Guards. "I wonder why they are here, guarding a dead tree."
Haldor shrugged. "Perhaps fear of vandalism. A pity we cannot ask them, nephew. I am sweating as I am. With all the black clothing one might wonder at their mortality rate. Heatstroke would not be my choice of death."
"I am sure Faramir knows, or one of his underlings." Beren supplied helpfully. He laid a hand on his lips and sneaked passed the tree on silent feet. Haldor put a hand over his eyes and groaned softly, knowing what was coming. His nephew halted behind an unsuspecting guardsman and leaned to the side. "Buh". The guardsman jumped and made a muffled noise behind the cloth that almost sounded like a shriek.
"What wonderful guards these people are," Beren remarked to Haldor.
Haldor groaned again. "Tell me, how old are you?"
"Sixty-seven, uncle dearest." He returned to the other.
"Behave like your age."
Beren laid an arm around Haldor's shoulders. "You have always been so grim, do enjoy yourself. Such ridiculous things are only to be found in Gondor."
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.