Entwives by hennethgalad

Entwives

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   I am Mallorn, I am builder, mighty are my towers, mine own still tallest, for I was the first, sung into shape by the Onodrim.
   Gifts they offered to the Eldar, gifts of song and thought and knowing, for the Eldar woke us, the Treefolk, Onodrim and Tree alike, and thus we learned thought and perception, and the song of the Eldar mingled with the song of the Onodrim, as the Fungus mingles with our roots, sharing in harmony the life of Arda.
   And after long building; when at times the very light of Arien seemed scant provision for my toiling, and the very waters of Uinen, gathered in the arms of the mountains, left me thirsting, I rose tall above the canopy and felt the mingling sparkle of water and light, which is life.
  For we Trees are different in kind to Onodrim and Eldar alike. In truth, the Onodrim say, there is no life like to us, the builders, save only under the protection of Ulmo, in the waters of Belegaer, which I shall never see.
   To me they are kin, though our kindreds dwell in different worlds. Yet still, I, we, the Mallorns sing to the Fungus, and the Fungus dwells partly in the delicate frills of the edges of water, and feels the echoes, yea even from Belegaer, of the song of the sea creatures. And among them, I believe, I hear the light sparkle of the builders of the sea, that the Eldar name Coral. 
   The Eldar brought me a little of the work of Coral, a broken twig from a faraway shore, where the endless waves hiss like the restless wind in our leaves. They buried the twig at my root, and I touched the dry stiffness of it, and wondered at the weight of water. But Fungus spoke of the taste of salts, of the deadly tang of the sea.
   So we are builders, Coral and Tree, but Fungus, thrusting forth merely their tiny tokens to the sky, thinks us extravagant and fey. Yet when the sweetness of sunlight seeps through the roots, then even Fungus celebrates our accomplishment, and shares our joy.
   This then is what I am, a little thin plant. But with Fungus to aid me, and the Song in my leaves, I draw life from the air, I lay down the years, for in summer I toil, in winter I rest, and I build, spreading my slim form thinly over my tower, cloaking myself in silver garment of my own shaping, and all to gather the light in my myriad leaves.
 
   And the Eldar took delight in my tower, and climbed among my branches, and all sang together. And my fruits were scattered on the hill, and carried further, until my kindred had built the Land of the Valley of Singing Gold, and the Onodrim sang to the Eldar of the wind in the leaves, and the orcs on the ground, and the Eldar perceived the wisdom of Fimbrethil and in my own branches built their first hall.
   Here dwell Celeborn of Doriath, and Galadriel of Valinor, whose song moves me more than any other, for Galadriel has swum in Belegaer, and has seen Coral, and in its song has heard an echo of the Music.