The Last Dreamwalker

The Curse of the Palantír

"You young rascals! A merry hunt you've led us on and now we find you feasting and smoking!" Gimli scorned.

Only Legolas could detect the hint of jealousy in his angry voice.

"We are sitting on a field of victory enjoying a few well earned comforts," Pippin pointed out as he stuffed something into his mouth. "As our dear Lady Lessien here has said, we've done a good job."

Gimli stared, open-mouthed with astonishment. Or more probable, jealousy.

"The salted pork is particularly good."

The little hobbit smirked.

Gimli replied, his voice practically salivating as he asked, "Salted pork?" He looked as if he was going to fall off the horse he was sitting on.

Gandalf shook his head. "Hobbits!"

Lessien could only agree.

The Wizard was the only one not smiling. Everyone else was beaming, even the severe King Theóden and his servant.

Even Legolas.

Especially Legolas.

Lessien couldn't help but savor the moment and soak it all up with her sad eyes. It was lucky for her that Legolas was too busy teasing Gimli to have noticed her.

Or was it?

"We're under orders from Treebeard, who's taken over management of Isengard," Merry finally announced.

As if to answer this, a large pounding of footsteps could be heard. A huge man, no, tree. No, man and tree came loping over. This, Lessien supposed, was Treebeard.

"Masters," the Ent boomed, his voice so incredibly powerful that Lessien imagined it causing an earthquake if he yelled and so low that if he really tried, it would be too deep for the human ear to hear.

His big, yellow, dinner-plate sized eyes landed on Lessien herself and she felt a bit see through to him. She felt as if she had something to hide, though she was sure she didn't.

"And lady," Treebeard said this part even slower than before. She swore she felt him survey her suspiciously.

It was silent for a moment.

Lessien cleared her throat loudly.

The Ent said nothing but just gestured for the group to move along.

-

Treebeard was a giant figure, standing at the least twenty five feet tall, his limbs majestically twisted together by tree trunks, and great curtains of leaves and moss served as facial hair and hair alike. His face, though gnarled, looked stern and kind at the same time. His slender, twig-like fingers never seemed to stop moving, which was strange, because when he spoke it was a very, very slow drawl.

Even though his voice could put her to sleep, Lessien found herself hanging onto his every last word because it was the deepest boom of a voice she had ever heard, and there was something about him that seemed so very old. No, not old, ancient.

For some reason this put her on edge.

Lessien very much liked Treebeard right after meeting him but he seemed to get the opposite effect from her.

He barely looked at her and when he did it made her feel as if he might crush her then and there. It was sort of like he was a spooked horse.

"There is evil nearby," Treebeard announced, casting his glance conspicuously Lessien's way.