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The events of my tale take place quite long ago, for some of you, and not that very long ago at all for others. Before the Plague, the Orcs, and the Sundering, the elven races all lived as one, a single people in relative peace. What is now pressing business to us was wild speculation to them, and their matters of import are our fables of old.

It was in this time that there lived a elf who's profession was that of a gardener. He was what we might call a simpleton, speaking little and understanding less, but his skill with shears and fertilizer was unmatched. It seemed he needed only to glance at a hibiscus and its petals would stretch out and glisten for his attention. People came from far and wide to stroll the garden he tended, and lovers often met there for romantic getaways. It was said that the garden this elf tended was the most brilliant in all the land, that no elven made palace could match the splendor of carpets of bright rose bushes and forests of blushing plum trees.

It was ironic perhaps then, that the Gardener himself, a tender of flowers that made elven maidens blush in envy, was not a pleasant sight himself. His face was irregular, his hair cut short, and his dress horribly out of fashion for the times. People who came to the garden to retreat from the drudgery of life retreated also from the man who gave them such beauty, but being simple, the Gardener made no note of this. He tended his irises and was oblivious to all else.

There was another elf that tended the same garden, by the name of Dionae. His skill was negligible, that is to say, he had none, but his face was like a flower itself, and his brilliant, impeccable hair its petals. Had he stood in a pot and stayed still, visitors might have stopped to inspect him in respect for the master who could shape such a radiant face. The women who buzzed to the Gardener's garden often found themselves trapped by Dionae's disarming grin, and soon he had himself a reputation for wooing any lovely lady he could catch. “The one who tends these gardens is I and I alone,” he would say. “That other elf we keep around in pity.”

One would think that if they knew what sort of person Dionae was people might avoid him, but some women are inclined to see a man like that as a challenge, and there were many that flocked to the garden seasonally, to stroll among the blazing falling leaves and pick themselves a fine dandy in the process.

One such lady was named Nessa. Her last name was lost to time, so let's not dwell upon it. Out of all the women that Dionae had enjoyed, she was perhaps the most beautiful, but she was also the most jealous. She came to the garden often, and monopolized Dionae's time, until he was thoroughly sick of her. In her quest to pluck Dionae for herself, she turned to the Gardener for advice, but he, being simple, shrugged of all her questions and said to his daises, "the flies are buzzing loudly today."

And one day it happened that she came upon Dionae serenading another woman, who held in her hands the bouquet arranged just for her that he had a habit of presenting to all of his new lovers.

"Well this is too much. I told him I was coming and still he looks for an appetizer before the meal!" She said, and stormed off.

It wouldn't do. Nessa needed Dionae for herself. She had to make him regret luring in all those other women when she was more than enough for him. With her thought bent to this she sought the Gardener out once more. He was easy to find. Nessa needed only to follow the whiff of manure.

"Oh there you are, I've been looking for you," she said, fanning her nose.

The gardener ignored her.

"You know everyone says that Dionae is the man behind these gardens, but we know he's more of a centerpiece than an artesian."

The gardener snipped at his branches and rubbed his crooked nose. "The bees are buzzing today," he said.

Nessa rolled her eyes and asked, "Is that any way to treat someone paying you a compliment? Won't you turn and look at me at least?"

But the gardener played her no mind. It was all too much for her, and tears were threatening to break from her eyes from the stench of the fertilizer.

"Well, won't you at least tell me where the most beautiful spot in the garden is come nightfall?"

"The yugao show their faces to naught but the moon. Their grove is the most beautiful at night."

"Won't you show it to me?" Nessa asked gently.

The gardener set his tools down and began to walk. Nessa followed, until they entered a small room-like enclosure of bushes, upon which pale green vines clung.

"The're nothing to see now. Show them to me again tonight, three hours past dusk."

The gardener nodded and left. Nessa found herself a rose, picked it, and attached it to a poem. I believe it went like this:

Your pretty face is dulled
by the weeds you draw about yourself.
Return to my bed
and you'll gleam again.

And below it she wrote, "The yugao grove, three hours past dusk."

When Dionae received the letter he curled his nose. "Her again? She's pleasant enough to be around but her nagging drives me mad. I've had it. I know she wants me to come alone, but I'm not in the mood for her games. I'll bring friends and we'll have a drinking party under the moon. That should get my point across." To Nessa he sent a poem of his own.

What weeds do you speak of?
This garden is full of flowers,
And it is those I've yet to pluck
That remain the most beautiful.

None the less my Morning Glory, I'll come see you.

That evening he went to all of his acquaintances and invited them to come to the Yugao grove. "Nessa has offered to host a moon viewing party," he said. "Let's make a good show of it."

His friends eagerly agreed. "That Nessa is a fine woman," they said. "Even among these flowers she stands out. And she makes such interesting conversation too. You're lucky that she's taken a fancy to you, Dionae, any of us would jump at the chance to woo her."

Dionae, who was first and foremost a fickle spirit, found himself warming up again to Nessa. "Yes, I suppose I -am- lucky," he said. "She may nag at times but at least she's serious. Not like the other girls that flutter here and there among men like humming birds. But it's too late to turn these people away. I'll apologize to her later and patch things up."

The third hour past dusk had come. The moon hung full and plump in the sky, and the yugao had bloomed. Their small white faces tinkled against the dark shrubs they clung to, creating the illusion of a sky of stars fallen down to the earth. Nessa sought out the Gardener and said to him, "You said you should show me the yugao grove." The Gardener nodded and led her to the flowers. Upon his arrival the petals of the yugao twitched and their milky petals strained to outdo each other with their inner light.

Dionae would be arriving soon. Tonight Nessa would teach him what envy felt like.

She turned to the yugao and said, "These flowers certainly are beautiful. I wonder, which do you prefer, them, or me?" And with that she shrugged off her robe and stood before the Gardener, bare and brilliant.

Now, the Gardener was simple, but he was not dead. The sight of Nessa's figure struck him dumb, if you'll pardon the pun, for I must admit that her beauty competed with the flowers about her quite soundly.

Someone was coming up the path to the grove. Nessa regarded the Gardener, eyes and mouth agape, crooked nose flaring, dirt clinging to his simple clothes. What an unappetizing sight. But there was no helping it. Dionae would see her with -him-, and her lover would be hard pressed not to fly into a jealous rage. She closed her eyes, held her breath, and leaned forward.

When the moon gazing party broke into the yugao grove, the Gardener was on the ground, limp as a pile of dirt, and Nessa was on top of him, her pearl skin reflecting the glow of the flowers about them. Dionae was as dumbstruck as the Gardener had been, and the other elves broke into a roar of laughter. "Well well," said one of them, "There's more than one moon we'll be viewing tonight!"

Word passed around quickly that Dionae, once the highlight of the gardens, had been passed up for the Gardener. His lady friends brushed him off to make the acquaintance of the man that Nessa was said to have grown so fond of, and Dionae found himself all alone. Nessa could not show her face anywhere without someone mentioning the shining moon and her preference for sleeping on manure piles. Dionae would not speak to her after that night. To take her back would be to invite further jeers from his fellows.

The Gardener alone seemed to benefit from the events of that night. Beautiful woman braved his face and his odor to get to know him a little, and it was said that the designs of his gardens grew even more splendid, as he had found an inspiration in the female form. They say he married a grounded, unshallow young lady and had himself a good number of children. Thus unavailable, he became even more popular with the ladies. And as oblivious as he was, he took everything with great humility. Of all the elves in the city, he was the only one that Dionae and Nessa could turn to without being laughed at. It's a shame their pride prevented them from doing so.

I've read LeGuin, but not The Wind's Twelve Quarters. And I've never heard of Donaldson.

*adds to To Be Read list*