A Sleepless Night

Played by:
Belenos Rhiano
Rhun Rhiano


Tilion's vessel hangs low in the western sky as it nears the end of its nightly journey, clothing the land below in the small clearing in the forest where sits the crone's cottage in a gentle silver light.  The forest around breathes the quiet rustlings of creatures seeking their dens after a night foraging.  From the old stable there comes the light rasping of tongue upon empty manger as the cow, its black and white hide gleaming softly in the moonlight, licks hopefully for remains of last night's supper.  Dissatisfied the beast swishes its tail across a flank and settles down to wait impatiently for the dawn and a renewal of its food, shifting a little on its feet to relieve the ache of an increasingly full udder. 

Tilion's vessel hangs low in the western sky...

The beast is not the only wakeful one this night.  In the tiny space that is the upper floor of the old cottage another stirs.  Sighing, she turns onto her back, moving carefully on the thin camp bed upon which she lies.  Despite her care the old dry wood of the frame creaks a loud protest and she freezes to listen, waiting for a reprimand, but the snores of the old woman below continue unabated.  Breathing a sigh of relief, Yavanna Kementari, Queen of the Earth, carefully folds her arms behind her head upon the coarse but clean fabric of her pillow.  

...another stirs.

Her gaze is drawn to the one small window of her room.  Beyond the thick, rough glass panes she can make out the restless shifting of the forest, as leaves flutter and rustle, clinging desperately to their branches, as though in defiance of their coming death. The cold season of snow seems bound and determined to push through to an early arrival, barely allowing time for the completion of harvest and laying in of stores. Despite the unseasonal warmth of this night, before long the trees would lie naked, clothed only in snow and ice. 

A long silver beam of light from Tilion's vessel inches its way across the floor as she watches, falling upon the empty cradle, unused but unable to be thrown away, that rests upon the far wall, a silent memento of times long past.  Yavanna has heard the love in the old woman's voice as she has spoken of her husband and child.  What hope and joy must have once been in her life and yet.. and yet she is alone now, struggling with age against every passing year.  How much longer would she be able to go on?  Who would know the moment when she failed at last?  Perhaps a fall, or a long slow death one winter when not enough stores had been laid in.  But who would know? Who would care?  Perhaps in the town where the crone went from time to time to trade and barter, her absence may be noticed and some may come to look for her. 

...unused but unable to be thrown away.

Does anyone look for me? Do I have a child who cries for its mother?  Is there a husband whose heart breaks for missing me, as Arianna's does for the loss of her husband?  She shifts a little and stares up at the thick thatch of the roof.  What was my life like?  What did I do?  As always her mind skitters away from those questions, leaving behind only a sense of aching sadness and despair.  

Does anyone look for me?

Yavanna lifts a hand and trails her fingertips over the delicate artwork upon her face.  "He" had done that, she knew.  She had seen it, in her shimmering reflection at the stream where she went to wash.  Delicate curve of leaf and vine trailed across her forehead and cheek, down her body, even to the most intimate of places.  Kneeling at the stream she had closed her eyes and could almost feel his touch as he marked her with his love.  Why then, when she opened her eyes again did tears fall, shattering the image in the stream?  Why now did her heart feel as though it was being torn from her chest even by thinking of him?  He had loved her.  He had LOVED her!  And she had loved him.  Is he looking for her?  

She presses her eyes closed again and shakes her head impatiently.  One thing she had learned in her time here with the old woman was that she, Yavanna, was not .. normal.  She would have to be blind not to have noticed the steady decline and death of all living things she touched.  Even the mossy path to the stream, once green and springy beneath her feet was now nothing but dry, brown and crumbling.  The crone had forbidden her to work in the garden after that first day.  The merest touch of her fingers had turned the leaves of one plant yellow and shrivelled   "Even I am turning brown and dead." The whisper is a harsh acknowledgement of what she knows to be so.  The last time she had looked into the stream her skin had been even more dark: her hair, once like spun silver was lank and the color of old straw.  

She returns her hand to behind her head and opens her eyes again and they stare, large, luminous and unseeing up at the thatch.  Is that why I was alone in the forest?  Did he abandon me because I am cursed somehow?  Maybe she truly was addled as the crone had implied.  Maybe she had become lost and he was looking for her.  Again the overwhelming sense of sorrow and heartbreak washes through her and she catches her breath at the intensity of it.  "I am here," she whispers into the silence of the night. "I am here!"

"I am here!"

Far away, beyond the Great Sea, beyond the Enchanted Isles, upon the distant high slopes of Mount Taniquetil, Aule Tulka Marda stumbles as he follows the Herald, Eonwe, to his lodgings.  He pauses and turns, looking around.  He had heard her voice!  As clear as though she had walked by his side, he had heard her call him, "I am here!"  Yet there is no one but the Herald, walking on ahead of him.  Yavanna!  By Eru's beard, it had been Yavanna!  But where? Where?