Manadhlaer, Lady of the Order of the Pillar and of the Houses of Healing, looked most unladylike as she crawled on all fours around her garden. Indeed, dirty as she was, she would have resembled a giant shrew at a distance, had she a tail. As she was not so endowed, she merely resembled a garden-variety gardener as she crawled around her yard, making sure that each precious athelas start got its grip in the rich Imladris soil. Someone drawing near would have heard her humming an unmistakably lovely tune they had not heard before.
Hum tee tum... what are the bravest and best words for this tune that Ealendil has left me with? How does that other bit go... tee tum, tee tum? She is so gentle and delicate, so slight of build -- how did she ever get across those mountains in the first place? Well, Elvealin will surely look out for her. Sending Elvealin is almost as good as sending a piece of myself to do the job. But then who looks out for Elvealin? Well, all those warriors, I suppose. Hum tee tum... oh, a hedgehog, that is surely good luck, for they will eat all the snails off my lettuces later in the season. Hullo, hedgehog! Hum tee tum, tee ta tum.
Manadhlaer stopped and used her soft hat to wipe away some sweat. It was by no means hot out, and would not be for months yet, but it was likely that some of her fëa, however tiny a portion, went into each delicate seedling as she smiled at them with maternal affection.
In no way may I let Ealendil down! These lyrics are for all time, and maybe some mortal will find them in the Library after we have gone, beaten back the Shadow... good old Tindir, that's a stout fellow. He reins in my more foolishly soft-hearted impulses. Once I wanted to give away some of our supplies to a party of Dúnedain, and had to be talked down by him and Brother. Oh, I do hope Brother comes back from his secret errand and meets the party! Then I should be sure Ealendil and Elvealin would be perfectly safe, for if Elvealin is not, Gilinnen will, no doubt, want my head on a pike for her own garden. What was that phrasing again? Hum, tiddy tum, tiddy tum... O Flower of... no, that's not right, pillars don't flower. They just make paperwork. Got all those requisitions done, though -- ink for the scribes, some more of those curiously ground glass lenses for Anglador. Whatever he does with them, I trust him entirely... I must tell him Themodir said in the dream... Oh, hedgehog! You must not climb my leg, little one, for it sticks me so.
Manadhlaer's breath quickened as she stood up, careful of the small life-forms about her. She took a brief look around the garden to make sure Losgael and Meluilindelë's rabbit hadn't shown up looking for an unauthorized snack. Perhaps the terebinth pine had gifted her with some shed branches after the recent rainfall? She ambled over and ducked under it, indeed finding a few twigs here and there. She would need only a bit of twine to fashion the stout, still needle-laden twigs into cages to put over the seedlings, which would not block the sun but rather repel pests -- and it pained her to put her kinfolk's pet on a par with wandering deer and such, but there it was -- with the pine's copious needles and odorous sap.
Hum tum, tiddy tum... Wait! I have it -- Hark, when the night is falling / Hear... no, honestly, the scratching of quills on parchment is not really an edifying noise, is it? Scratch that... well, there you have it. Many thanks to you, Sister Pine. These twigs will go to a good purpose, I vow. And I can use my very own twine. Rank has its privileges. I can use up a whole ball of twine, even the imported stuff from the docks of Celondim... ah, I miss the water. Note to self to go fishing when I get a break again. I wonder if Sarmëtecil would go with me if I got her a fine rod of lebethron? Ah, and Duillond will be covered in cherry blossoms soon. I wonder how Lothoniel and the Flower-kindlers are getting on this spring? Now there is one who must have a very fine garden indeed, and the plants need not all be medicinal, but chosen purely for beauty... Ah! You things of evil! If you touch the radiant Elvealin, the willowy Ealendil, you shall answer to me personally! A heroic song... the Pillar's very own song at long last... hum tum, it is peculiar, but this is the most musical thing I have done in a long time save for dancing to that of others. I owe her extra for that. Cherry blossoms, indeed. I shall implore Illuvarion to hold back some of that miruvor until the party returns, for then they shall have the mallorn honey... and I must hold my tongue and tell only Norlië and Los and Melui what I know how to make for us to drink! How kind that nice mortal lass from Rochand was, to leave the instructions. It is worth knowing Westron after all.
Manadhlaer emerged from the pine tree, with only her much-abused hat saving her from a silver head full of sticky needles to wash out, but successful: she carefully inserted the raw pine twigs into her garden-basket. Luckily the shears were always put in the same compartment, for she saw a bit of onion-grass sticking out around the borders of her path. That would not do! Once again she folded to all fours, this time with a fierce but oddly rhythmical pattern of snips at the offending weed.
Hum tee tum, tiddy tum... I must see how the tune sounds on a flute, for Norlië and Tardhilhael both enjoy it so. No doubt Ealendil has it all scored out, with parts for all of Lindamar, at least I feel confident she must have done. "Towering in gallant fame..." well, almost, but we are not really gallant, we pen-wavers. The fighting orders do, and we support, and some of us patch up after -- well, there is more than a little gallantry in that long trip Norlië undertook to try to get the flowers and mushrooms. Ai! But if it saves one life, my darling will be happy, some day across the sea when I come again to the true home of our kind and recount what I did, what I did to try to keep the mischief of a difficult world from sundering my Dear Home. And my garden. And my friends.
The path cleared of onion-grass, Manadhlaer headed to the door, for she knew precisely where that twine was. As she opened it, she paused and looked back over the bushes that in a few weeks' time would be covered with delicate blue buds. "There is still a little time, my friends," she whispered to them. "Oh, you will be needed, for stocking the travellers has made a dent in my supply of the Fire. But there is still, still, just a very little time." She picked up the tune again, and humming, went to fetch that twine.
