Fimbrethil's Return

Disclaimer: I do not own this…I only own myself, and my alter ego Happy Elf Smiley, or ^.^ (see the pointy ears…admire the pointy ears…) And a huge debt of gratitude to my parents, inspirations, friends and role models (Enya, J.R.R. Tolkien, Esther Friesner…)

A/n: I always thought that perhaps the most beautiful, tragic, and compelling parts of the canon are the Ents and Entwives, and their separation (other than the elves, and the Rangers, and the War of the Ring, and…). Moved by this, I decided to write a reunion story…I was also driven by the utter lack of the big wooden guys in fanfiction, so I decided to take the mantle of responsibility upon my own humble shoulders. This story is completely unrelated to my other love story/Entwife-Ent tale, 'Entling', but if you read this…read that too, please…;-)

Prologue: Discontent, or Waiting For the Change

The fields, as usual, were golden; the flowers rich, the grass emerald. And yet- and yet- something was missing. The Entwives had begun to feel as though each day dawned alike, despite the passing of the seasons. Time passed slowly, crawling, caught. Even the flowers of the spring appeared to be waiting, trapped in a limbo, hanging in the air exhausted by the effort of patience.

Fimbrethil walked among her flaxen fields, the feeling of discontent within her growing tall as an oak sapling. She had begun to dream of Fangorn again, as she had from the first moment their eyes had met. He haunted her steps, his trees shadowing her, blocking out the sunny flax- fields. Her heart ached for him.

The places that had given her so much pleasure for so long now offered only tedium, and even moonlight- the moonlight she loved, that she had walked long hours bathed in- now held only painful memories, memories of his eyes, his hands on her hair…

Alenor, her greatest friend, had begun to long for Bregalad as well. All of the Entwives had begun to tire of their fields, begun to dream of the old times when their loves had visited them, and been with them in the moonlight…but that was long ago, before they had tired of the dark forests and wished for sunny fields and flax, grassy plains and streams. And now the moments seemed to wait, watching, waiting always, never moving.

All seemed to lie in wait for the coming of something, something that would take the Entwives from their apathy, force them to leave, give them something to hope for other than dreams and memories, something to feel other than sadness and regret. The time was coming for a change.