A Dream

Played by:
Belenos Rhiano
Shawn Rhiano 


Layer upon layer, dimension on dimension, Irmo searches the Gardens of Lorien for any sign of Yavanna. The Gardens are anything that a dreamer or one in need of healing needs it to be. He does not know what Yavanna needs so he does not know where to look.

Each dimension is an entire world, every bit as large as Middle Earth or Aman. Irmo's search has so far proved fruitless. Time is passing, and his concerns increase. Trying the same approach over and over is not working. He knows that she prefers her physical form, so that she can carry out her tasks and care of her aspect of Arda. And Irmo has learned, as Estelin the Teleri Musician, that physical forms have limitations. She has to sleep sometime. In her sleep, she would dream. This would be a good aspect to focus on, her dream energy. He will seek her as she dreams.

Far from Aman, far from the one who seeks a dreamer, deep in a forest, huddled in a small room beneath the thatch of an old cottage lies a woman. The old dry wood of the camp bed creaks in protest at the shifting weight of the woman's body.   In the room below, snores break from their steady rhythm, and Yavanna freezes for fear she has woken the old woman.  After a moment though, the rasping breathy snores resume, and above the woman relaxes and slowly eases her body into a more comfortable position.  The world outside the one small window in the room is dark this night for Tillion's vessel has already docked below the horizon, giving way for the approaching passage of Arien and her charge.  Now, in the pre-dawn the world is dark and silent.  Now, at last, her mind as worn out from questions with no answers as her body is from the day's labour, at last, Yavanna slips into sleep.  

He casts about with his mind knowing that she must sleep. She must...   finally, Irmo senses her. Weak. Distant. Surely it is her. But then it vanishes. He casts his mind back to where he had sensed it. And yes, there it is. It is a familiar feeling.  A distant and flickering glimmer of her.  Excited, he directs his mind towards it, seeking her, fearful she would vanish before he can pinpoint her more accurately and maybe approach her.

Yavanna shifts restlessly at first, her fretful mind disinclined to surrender its worrying so easily.   Slowly, she slips deeper asleep, and at last, she dreams.   At first they are disjointed and broken, as her mind clings tenaciously to control.  Finally though her breathing evens out, her body and mind both relax, and the disjointed scenes take solid form as Yavanna walks through a leafy forest.  Her footfalls are silent for the forest floor is carpeted with soft green moss.  Around her the trees tower majestically, the base of each trunk wearing a skirt of delicate fronds for ferns dip and rustle lightly around her all about.  She gasps for she knows this place.  This is where he had chased her,  and they had made love.  This is the grove where first he had marked her so she would never forget that day.  She lifts a hand to her face to trace again the delicate patterns his fingers had wrought upon her skin as her eyes cast eagerly about for him.  Is he here?  Surely he is here!  

But the one she seeks is not dreaming. He is not even asleep.  Restless and impatient with waiting, Aule Tulka Marda is pacing his room in the house of Eonwe the Herald, anxiously awaiting the summons from the Lord of the West.  

Irmo senses her, vaguely at first but then more strongly.  He casts his vision to look for her.  He is frustrated at not being able to see her.  Her dreamworld is a forest, great trees reaching high and ferns draping their bases. His mind is close, and he can see more clearly, and Yes! There she is!  Tall and fair haired, with the fine tracings of the artwork Aule had placed upon her ivory skin so long ago. Yes! It is the form she prefers. It is her!
  
Despite herself, Yavanna cannot help but smile at the beauty around her.  As she walks she lets her fingertips trail against the velvet fronds of the ferns, and they seem to dip and bow in greeting at her passing.  No brown shrivelling at her touch here.  No dropping of leaves and curling to die.  This place has known such happiness.  Yet why, as she walks it, does her heart ache so?  Why does it feel she carries a leaden weight where once joy had shone so clear and bright?  A frown forms on her sleeping face, and she whimpers, her hands clutching fearfully at the pillow.  No! Her mind shouts at her.  Do not seek that!  Movement catches her eye, and she turns, her heart leaping. He has come!  

Irmo is so, so pleased to see her, so relieved. He scarcely remembers the mission set upon him to find the Lady of Fruits. He is also glad she seems unhurt. He has heard about the events that transpired at the Halls of the Dead in Melkor's old chambers from his brother, Namo. He had feared that she may had been ensnared as well. But to find her dreaming in this ethereal forest of beauty and life brings him great relief.  At first he is lost for words, but then he notices her quick movement. Irmo calls out to her. "Thank Eru. Lord Aule is beside himself," he says as he reaches his hand out to her.

It is not he who comes, but another.  Her emerald green eyes widen as she beholds him for she knows him.  She knows him!  Smiling, he holds out a hand to her and calls to her, but the words he speaks send her heart pounding, her blood roaring in her ears, and her mind screaming for escape.  No.  No! NO!  "NO!" Her voice is ragged in her ears, and she looks about her, dazed, panting in panic, and she is sitting rigidly upright in her bed.  There is no forest.  There is no one calling her.  It was just a dream.  Just a dream. 

"Yavanna." He had called her Yavanna.  No! Please, no!  Desperately she looks about her.  No. "No!" she gasps again.  Uncaring if her noise wakens the crone, all she knows is she cannot remain still.  She must flee.  She must get out of the house. Pulse racing, heart still hammering, barefoot, and still in her night attire, she takes the stairs two at a time, finally landing on the floor below and rushing to the door.  For a moment her fingers fumble, and she struggles with it in desperation.  At last it is open, and she is outside.  Her chest heaving, she gulps in deep lungfuls of the clear crisp pre-dawn air.  Panicked beyond words, not even knowing truly why she feels as she does, she looks over her shoulder.  The dream has gone.  The figure has vanished.  It does not matter. She must leave.  She must go.  She cannot stay here any longer. 

The Lord of Dreams is appalled by her reaction. He stands mutely staring at the place where she had been for a while, his hand to his mouth as he thinks what to do. "Tell Manwe, definitely." Even though he cannot understand why Yavanna fled at the sight of him, still he needs to tell Manwe. "And then?"  All he can do is stay and hope when next she sleeps, he can find her again. "But Manwe must know!"