Played By:
Belenos (BelenosStormchaser Magic)
The world, they say, is silent at night. Silent of the tongues of men, perhaps, but as the gentle rain, last remains of a passing Summer storm, drifts down through the deep forest, the world is not silent. The small creatures that roam the night in search of food must still do so, despite the damp. A badger, fur sodden and spiked into clumps by the rain, pauses in the course of its hunt to sniff warily at the building that looms in the dark just beyond the forest's edge. It crinkles its nose at the strange smells of woodsmoke, wet thatch, and humans, smells that tickle at its nostrils. The cough of a restless sleeper and the creak of a bed are enough to send the badger scurrying on its way and the cottage swiftly disappears behind it in the forest gloom.
On her narrow bed in the tiny attic of the cottage the Vala, Yavanna Kementari, Queen of the Earth, lies sleepless, listening to the sounds of the night as she thinks on the passing of recent days. She hears the old woman cough in her sleep and stir in her bed below. She smiles a little to herself when she hears Arianna resume her soft snoring. Since Yavanna had arrived at the cottage lost in so many ways, the crone has shown her a rough compassion that touched her deeply. There have been nights when, despite the long days of hard physical work, the old woman did not sleep peacefully, and Yavanna wondered on those night what dreams disturbed her, but the look of deep sorrow that dimmed those bright blue eyes the following morn made her hesitate to ask. It is enough for Yavanna that tonight is not to be such a night.
Carefully, so as not to make her own bed squeak and disturb the other's rest, Yavanna raises an arm to tuck behind her head and stares up at the thatch so close overhead. She can hear the small rustles and squeaks as the tiny creatures who made their homes there bury themselves a little deeper to escape the rain. Home. Yavanna sighs at the thought. Where is her home? Surely she has one? What had she been doing alone in the forest late at night? Something in her mind coils tightly as it always does when she asks herself those questions.
Sighing again, Yavanna restlessly turns over to lie on her stomach, her chin propped on her hands. An old woman such as Arianna has a home, as does the tiny beings in the roof above her, but she does not. All she has are odd, unsettling dreams of a lover whom she did not even know was real or not. If he is real, where is he? If he loves her so, why is she alone in the forest? Her heart squeezes tightly in her chest, and tears track silently down her cheeks. Yavanna lifts a hand and wipes at the tears. Did he cast her out? Is that why she feels such pain whenever she thinks of him?
Sniffling a little as she settles her chin back on her hands, her eyes fall upon the small crib that lies in a corner of the attic. It stands forlorn and empty. Arianna has never mentioned children, and again Yavanna wonders at the presence of the crib. There is so much she does not know of the life of the old woman. So much she dare not ask for risk of seeing that sorrow return her eyes.
"There is so much you do not know about yourself, either," she whispers softly into the dark room. Like why, when she felt such love and companionship towards the growing things, if she touched them, they would curl and wilt. Unheeding of the creaks of her bed, Yavanna curls her long frame into a tight ball, her arms wrapped protectively around her knees as she thinks of the pain and mortification she felt that first day Arianna took her out to work in the garden. How her heart had leapt when she stepped into the small fenced vegetable garden, the smell of rich fertile soil redolent in the air, the swell of thriving well-tended plants clustered before her. Unthinking she had reached out a hand to touch one, smiling a greeting to it as though to an old, well-loved friend.
Yet, before her eyes, the leaf she had touched had yellowed and wilted, swiftly followed by others around it. Horrified she had let her hand fall, something in her pierced to the core. She had barely heard the crone's outburst of dismay, had barely felt her bundling her from the garden. Unceremoniously she had been assigned to the task of washing clothes, that day, and the old woman had looked at her long and hard that night over supper. Her few words had become fewer still, and her eyes held a puzzlement whenever Yavanna found them upon her.
So Yavanna's days were filled with simple tasks of cleaning and repair. Simple tasks, but she had to learn each of them, for it seems whatever her life has been before, it has become apparent that it has not been one of domestic chores. She smiles a little as she catches a glimpse of a tiny bewhiskered snout of a field mouse poke through the thatch, followed shortly by a pair of bold, bright eyes. Small round ears pop through and twitch nervously as the creature senses around for danger. Emboldened it wriggles its body free of the thatch and scurries along the roof beam and down an upright onto the floor. Utterly charmed, Yavanna watches it as it scuttles about the room, long tail curling elegantly whenever it stops to peer about.
After exploring the room thoroughly, the tiny mouse daringly climbs an upright on her bed, coming to rest on the top of the post not more than an arms-length from where Yavanna lies. It pauses and shakes itself, freeing the soft grey fur of the last clinging droplets of water and then turns to stare at Yavanna. Not even daring to blink lest she scare it away, Yavanna stares back. The tiny nose twitches and snuffles as it takes in her scent, the whiskers quivering delicately. Bright eyes stare back at her, and the mouse raises up on its hind legs, forepaws extended delicately in front of itself. Automatically Yavanna lifts a hand, one finger gently extended to reach out to touch the tiny creature, but she stops, hesitating. What if the same thing happens to the mouse as happened in the garden? Sadly she lowers her hand and drops her gaze from the mouse, burying her face against her arms.
Overhead, the nightly array of stars fight their way through the thin wisps of remaining cloud and dance their way across the velvet sky. Somewhere below a mouse scurries silently back to its home. Somewhere below tears are silently shed as one of the mightiest of the Vala learns of sorrow and pain, fear and doubt in the mortal world.