Author's Note: This is… Well, fair warning, if you're a Tolkien purist it might annoy you a little. It's just a little something that wouldn't leave me alone.

Also, the story will probably make more sense if you've read the Silmarillion.

Summary: It is said that Yavanna created all the forests of the world. It is said that, sometimes, she walks among them still.

Queen of the Earth

Her tread is light. Her skirts sweep the forest floor as she walks towards the sounds of laughter and singing.

Mortals call it ancient, the home of the King in Emyn Duir, the heart of the Woodland Realm, but it has existed for but a heartbeat in the span of her long, long life. It rises gracefully through the trees, as much a part of the forest as the oaks and the beeches.

She can hear the sounds of their joy. They are happy, and she is glad of it. She does not know as much of the future as her sister Varda, but she knows that dark days lie ahead.

She walks among the Firstborn of Eru. In the form she has chosen today, she looks like one of them, a visitor from Lothlórien or Imladris, perhaps, come to be witness to this day. She could be invisible if she wished, but she enjoys the smiles they give her, enjoys the laughter as they tell her the cause of their rejoicing.

The Woodland Realm has a new prince.

She walks beneath the spreading trees. Nobody questions her. It is not a day for mistrust or fear.

Through the wood she goes, bright eyes taking in everything she passes. The home of the Elven-king has changed little since she was in it last, so many centuries ago. Oropher was King, and Thranduil dwelt to the west with Gil-galad, a young warrior eager to try his mettle.

The home of the Elven-king has not changed, but Greenwood has.

Oropher dwells now in the house of Námo, and that young warrior has been forged by fire and battle and grief into the greatest King the Woodland Realm will ever know.

About to step onto the green, she pauses in the shadows of the oaks, studying the scene before her. Greenwood has a new Queen as well as a new King. Lindariel is one of the descendants of the Nandor, a daughter of the forest in the way no trueborn lady of the Sindar could be. She has watched Lindariel from afar, and been fond of her, although she will always deny that she had anything to do with guiding Thranduil's steps in her direction on that memorable day when the King was lost in his own forest.

She steps into the bright sunlight. The green is full of merry Elves, and she takes a moment to smile at their happiness before she makes her way to the centre of attention, to the baby that has been laid in a cradle so that any who wish it may come and greet the new arrival – under the watchful eyes of his mother, of course.

Two tall young Elf-lords bow courteously as she passes, although they have no idea who he is. She can guess who they are, although she has not seen them before: the twin sons of the peredhel Elrond. She responds with a smile.

Then she is standing by the cradle.

The baby is asleep. Bright golden hair falls on his face and over his ears. He has a pert mouth and a firm chin.

He is going to look like his father. She can see him, as an adult, just as mettlesome, just as eager to try himself as ever Thranduil was.

But she can also sense that he will love the forest, that, much like his mother, he will know every tree for a friend and revel in the beauty of the green growing things.

She looks at Lindariel, intending to ask for permission to pick up the baby, and sees in the Elven-queen's wide-eyed gaze that she has been recognized. She should have expected it. She has walked unknown among Elves before, but Lindariel is a daughter of the forest.

"Kementári," Lindariel whispers.

"May I?" she asks, indicating the child.

"Yes – yes, of course."

She picks him up. He wakes, but he does not cry. Curious blue eyes look up at her, and the pert mouth stretches into a toothless smile.

"He will be happy," she tells Lindariel. It is not a blessing, only a fact. "The Shadow will grow to the South, and the Woodland Realm will know darkness and suffering, but he will bring it cheer."

Lindariel's eyes grow wider.

"Thranduil fears he will have to be a warrior," she whispers, and it is clear from her tone that she thinks that is almost shameful. Lindariel has both courage and spirit, but she has never seen battle.

"He will defend what I create. That is honourable, and he will be dear to me for it."

The Elven-queen bows her head in acknowledgement.

She lays the baby in the cradle again. Then she puts her hand on his head and speaks, and this time it is a blessing.

"This I promise, that even as he will defend my creation from the Shadow, so too will all I create defend him. Never will he come to harm from the green things that grow."

She slips away without waiting to hear Lindariel's thanks.

The woods are aflame.

She walks barefoot through the crackling dry grass, feeling every burning branch and collapsing tree as a dagger to her heart. Emyn Duir, which has seen centuries of laughter and cheer, is a blackened ruin.

So much has changed in so short a time. Lindariel is dead, and soon Orcs and Wargs will walk over the once-green grave of the Elven-queen. The Elves of the Woodland Realm have fled, going to the safety of the north as the warriors guard their escape and try desperately to halt the advance of the Shadow.

She can see them in the distance, and her heart swells with affection for their gallantry. Some of them are no more than children, novices who stayed to face possible death so that more experienced warriors could travel with the people. They hold their lines when they could flee, defending the forest that is their home instead of running to the protection of the Three.

She longs to intervene, but it is forbidden. All she can do is watch as they spend their arrows, as bows twang and knives flash and the night is torn with gasps and soft curses from the Elves and screaming from the Orcs.

She walks among them invisible. Although the Elves cannot see her, the sense the peace that her presence brings the trees, and it gives them hope.

Through the trees she can see smoke rising from what used to be the King's house. She goes towards it. There are more Elves here, but they are scattered. They were trying to the last to repel the invaders; when their line was finally broken, they had to fall back as they could and slip through the ranks of Dol Guldur where they could. Some have already rejoined the main body of the army; others, in ones and twos, soon will.

Some are being cornered, penned in by large groups of Orcs. She reminds herself again that she cannot interfere.

She would weep at the sight of the Elves already dead, if she had tears.

Behind the palace is the small clearing where Lindariel sleeps. There is an Elf there, though she does not notice him at first. He is on the ground, slumped against a tree on the edge of the clearing, too weak to stand. He has his knives, but the last of his strength is failing. He knows it. The Wargs that are circling him know it as well.

She turns away. She cannot watch as an Elf is torn to pieces by Sauron's travesties.

But something makes her turn back, and as the light from the burning trees glints on golden hair she knows who he is.

She hesitates. She is forbidden from interfering, but did she not promise Lindariel that the forest would repay her son for the blood he spilt defending it? It is not interference, then. It is keeping a promise.

She draws closer, still invisible. Legolas seems to sense something of her presence; he sits up a little straighter. The Wargs sense her, as well, and they bristle with fear even as they snarl at the fallen Elf.

The growing things gather enough strength to keep the promise she made on their behalf. Vines rise around the Wargs' ankles, holding them immobile. Tendrils of ivy creep over their bodies. The Wargs would flee, but they cannot move. They can only stand there, frozen with terror, as she comes closer.

She orders the plants to release their captives. She does not want her forest tainted by evil and death.

The Wargs are too frightened to do anything but yelp and run.

She waits until they have gone before she takes on an Elvish form. She gives herself dark hair and warm hazel eyes. She looks enough like Lindariel to comfort the young Elf, but not enough to frighten him.

His breathing is raspy and uneven, and his eyes have closed by the time she draws close to him.

She bends to lay a hand on his cheek. His eyes open to slits. He looks at her.

A question trembles on his lips. She silences him with a gesture. He cannot afford to expend strength talking. She can feel the dampness of the earth where his blood has soaked into it.

How did they come to corner him here? Did he come here when the line broke, running, like the child he was not so long ago, to the comfort of his mother? Did they push him here, sensing that the place had meaning for him?

It does not matter.

"Have courage," she tells him. She cannot heal him, but she can reassure. That is permitted. "Your friends will come for you." His skin is cool. Cold. That worries her. "You must fight to live. Your father has need of you, more now than ever before."

She gets to her feet. She would stay with him, but his friends will come – the trees will guide them here – and she cannot allow herself to be seen.

"Be safe," she says. Then she looks around the clearing, at the broken trees and the brown grass.

She comes to a decision.

The forest is soaked in Elven blood, and she cannot help the Firstborn who fight so bravely. She cannot restore their home to them, or persuade Námo to return those he has claimed.

But there is one thing she can do.

She glances at where Lindariel lies, where her son's blood has been spilt in the defence of the forest, and under her gaze the leaves grow strong again and the trees put forth new buds.

The taint of Dol Guldur may cover Mirkwood, may cover all of Middle-earth, but in this spot, there will always be a carpet of green grass over the grave of the Elven-queen.

She goes to him as an old Mortal woman.

She does not think he could possibly remember her. The last time he saw her, he was near death, and she doubts he remembers much of that night.

He is despondent, and she knows he fears his father's disappointment. The little one, the one that was once something similar to the folk they call Halflings, has fled. He is tainted by Sauron's evil, and he almost certainly means mischief.

What harm he might do she cannot say, but the thought is worrying. She loves the forests of Middle-earth. She loves Eryn Galen, held so bravely and fiercely by the Elves who have nothing but the strength of their arms and their love for their home. She does not want to see the Woodland Realm burn, as it will if Sauron wins the war that is coming.

All the same, she cannot find it in her to condemn the act of kindness that led to the creature's escape. Perhaps she has spent too much time in the company of her sister Nienna.

She goes to him as an old Mortal woman; all the same, when he sees her, his eyes widen in recognition.

"Kementári."

He is truly his mother's son. He looks so little like her, and yet she can discern Lindariel in his movements and smile and the tilt of his head.

"You are troubled about the escape of the creature you call Gollum."

He grimaces. "It was my charge to guard him."

"Thranduil would have known better than to give in to pleas for sunlight and air, no matter how piteous." His face falls, and she studies him for a moment before she goes on. "Lindariel would have had pity."

His head comes up sharply. "You knew her?"

"The forest knew her." She seats herself on a fallen log. "There was a time when I knew little of pity or compassion. That is Nienna's study, and to me Nienna's song was one of sorrow. I, who had never known sorrow, feared it."

"What happened?"

"The Treekiller came." Even as she says it, she feels an echo of the desolation and loss of that day. "The Two Trees were my pride, my most glorious creation, that which above all other green things I best loved. I knew sorrow, and I had perforce to learn pity."

"You pitied the Elves?"

She smiles. "I grieved for their troubles, but that took no learning. Nienna taught me to pity Melkor."

"Melkor!"

"That surprises you? He wrought great evil. He destroyed much that I loved. And yet I still had much, and he had nothing. I had my forests in Valinor and in Middle-earth. I had Maiar and Eldar who were willing to love the trees and tend them. And I had my… the others. Nienna who pitied me in my grief, Aulë who gave me strength, Varda who taught me to hope… What did Melkor have but the eternal, lonely darkness?"

"Our world grows dark as well."

"So it must seem to you, Elfling. But it would be a darker one if you had lost your compassion." She lays a hand on his shoulder. "I cannot answer for how your father will react when he learns what has happened, though I believe he cares for you too much to be angry for long. But I can counsel you not to regret an act of compassion. Regret, if you must, that you did not post more guards near Gollum's tree. Regret that you could not repel the Orcs sooner. But never regret that you found it in your heart to pity a creature that had been denied the light of the sun."

She can see he does not entirely believe her, but in time he will understand.

He steps off the ship, accompanied by several of his friends. Other friends who already heard and heeded the call to the Elvenhome are waiting for him.

She sees the moment when he glances around, and she knows he was hoping to meet Lindariel, hoping she would have been released from Námo's halls. But her time of Awaiting is not yet complete, and it will be some springs yet before she sees her son or her husband again.

She goes to him in the evening. She goes, this time, in the form in which she walks in Valinor, her simple green gown draping her slender form, fresh grass springing wherever she places her feet. The Elves part to make way for her, bowing deeply and attempting to hide their surprise at seeing her so far from her Pastures. In truth, she has come to take counsel with Varda, though she is not displeased to meet Legolas.

He bows his head formally.

That is when she sees the… Dwarf… with him.

He follows her gaze. "Gimli is a good and true friend, my lady. If… If he had not come with me, he would have been the last of the Fellowship left in Middle-earth. And he hoped to see Lady Galadriel."

She does not know if Manwë will permit Gimli to stay, but she believes he might. He permitted the two Halflings to stay, after all, even though – or perhaps because – they had been touched by the evil of Sauron.

"Altariel has mentioned him," she says. "Perhaps he will be permitted to dwell here. It will please Aulë, certainly." Ignoring the way the Dwarf's eyes bulge at the mention of Aulë, she goes on, "The Elven-king is still in Eryn Lasgalen?"

"He said it would be a few seasons before he could leave."

"He will come. He has duties he must fulfil, but he will not stay past that. Not when all that he loves best is now on this side of the Sea."

"My lady."

"You have dwelt long among Mortals, Elfling. Your soul has grown as restless as theirs." She smiles to take the sting from her words. "Walk among my trees. It will do your spirit good." She cannot keep her smile from turning a little mischievous. "Perhaps your spirit will do the trees good."

She walks away to the sound of his startled laughter.

What do you think? Good? Bad? Please review!