Speak Again

fanfiction by Wild Iris


You said, Are your lord's halls not fair? And yes, they are as fair as craft can make them, with their carved chaplets of stone. But it is an elegance that endeavours to conceal their nature, not to celebrate it.

Here, stone has husbanded a garden. Such a garden as grew before Anor rose: white branches and gold-veined saplings, graceful as a dancer's arms. I stand within the garden; I hear the echo of the living waters that have shaped it.

Here, stone speaks where oak and beech are quiet; and you, my friend, have words, and I have none.