[Fairleaf]

Long had it been since one of Firstborn had sung to her. Often the fair folk of Lorien would cross over from Parth Celebrant and into the once green fields where Fairleaf and her sisters and friends had nurtured their gardens. Or in turn, the Entwives and maidens would cross into the Naith to admire the gardens there. The Elves had sung to them and walked with them talking of plants and growing and other things.

There was more light then and Fairleaf’s lands were green. Then the darkness had come and the lands turned sere and brown was their color. She and her kin that remained had fled east, seeking refuge.

Fairleaf rustled her leaves, a song in return for that of the Elf. A turning song as listing trees make whispering in the wind. She loosed some of the pink and white hawthorn flowers that graced her branches a t this time of year. They fell, fluttering in the air, to dot the bright gold of Uien’s hair.

But she would speak no words. Long had she kept her secret and even now, despite the fair song and fairer face, caution urged her to be silent. She was patient; she could wait until the Elf grew tired of her vigil. Neither was she sorry she had tripped Uien in her pursuit of Lithmire.

Poor, sad creatures. she thought to herself. Curse the Dark One for bringing this upon them and my kin!

She chastened herself for this last harsh remark. Better the cursing be done by those who can assure the bane be carried through.