Disclaimer: Not mine... sort of duh. I am neither male, nor in my mid-twenties, nor in the possession of glasses. So obviously I am not Christopher Paolini, and therefore I do not own this fic.

Author's Note: Writer's block in my multi-chapter story results in creativity in other areas, explaining why this is not the next chapter of the Rise of Surda. Also, I am writing this on Notepad, the second-most archaic word processor in existence, beaten by the typewriter. Bear with all nasty annoying errors. This is also completely, completely speculatory. Barely any of this is based on fact... it is only a random plot bunny. It started out fairly boring, but then as it went on... all the canonness ran away, except for the names of the elven rulers. It kind of reminds me of the book/movie "The Ruins". Never mind the fact that I've never read/watched it. I just remembered that there were evil sentient plants in it... and then I was like, "Hey! The Menoa tree's sentient! Why can't she/it be evil, too?"

Summary: Beneath layers of cracked bark, behind veils of pine needles, a whisper of consciousness stirs. There is betrayal and love, anger and sorrow. There are the memories of an elf, and there is malice. Manipulation. Menoa.

Menoa

The forest of Du Weldenvarden rustles with life. The animals--uncannily bright-eyed, often without fear of man--and the plants seem to whisper with their own magic. The trees themselves are alive and watchful, like giant, leafy sentinels.

And when the fey lift their voices in song, when they lose themselves in their own magic... the whisper of the forest becomes a roar, bending unnaturally to wills of the immortal elves. There are tales of walking trees, of ghostly dragons flying over the canopy. Mortals edge around the enchanted forest warily, telling their children stories of the witches waiting within to devour them.

They tell stories of the Queen of the Woods, who controls the creatures and plants.

In truth they do not understand, and what they do not understand, men fear.

What men fear, men destroy.

When the fires came to Du Weldenvarden, however, the trees themselves screamed in defiance. Armies of animals came to save the trees. Bears, wolves, birds, bats. Every creature was joined to the forest and came to its defense. The invaders fled home, to bring their people even more terrible stories than before.

In the far distance, the mortals would say, they heard a soft fey voice. Singing.

But this time, it was no mere elf who lifted her voice in song. No voice could have traveled so far from the elven army, which would arrive in mere hours to find animal and human corpses scattered around the forest.

"Linnea," the soldiers would whisper, and fear struck at their immortal hearts.

They returned to Ellesmera worried and frightened. But the great Menoa tree seemed as it always was. Whispers of "Linnea? Are you there?" went unanswered. The tree was still a tree--magical in size, perhaps, but as normal as could be hoped for. Leaves grew, birds sang. Nothing was amiss... or so it seemed.

Unseen by the elves, sentience stirred sluggishly beneath the bark.

With a slow, plodding patience greater than even that of the oldest elf, the thoughts of the tree and the spurned lover had become one. And very carefully, Linnea planned her revenge. Now, with the vast power of Du Weldenvarden behind her, she rose up against the family of the man she had killed.

She will be Queen of the Woods and no one will stop her.

One by one they disappeared, never in a particularly suspicious manner. Every decade or so, one of House Berundal vanished into the forest, never to be seen again. Sometimes there would be outright killings. An herb might be misplaced in someone's stew, or perhaps a poisonous berry would mysteriously fall into an elf's food. They were written off as accidents. After all, Linnea had satisfied her taste for revenge centuries ago and had sung herself into a tree for shame--hadn't she?

Maddened by love and pain, Linnea resorted to more direct methods. Docile bears would suddenly attack without cause, swarms of bees would fly into homes and sting the inhabitants to death. The forest turned on House Berundal with such violence that every male, female and child was wiped out. The elves took notice at last and attempted to contact Linnea, deep within the tree.

There was no reply. Just as the army had tried to reach her after the destruction of Palancar's forces, the Menoa tree was merely a tree again. Birds chirped placidly in its branches, Riders-in-training practiced magic beneath its roots.

Yet so frightened was Queen Dellanir by the complete extinction of one of the noble Houses that she ordered the tree to be destroyed.

She spoke to a private council, in a windowless room sung from the sturdiest wood... but how could one hide from the forest of Du Weldenvarden, which so permeated the elves' lives?

How could one hide from the Queen of the Woods?

Dellanir died that very night while at dinner, when a poisonous snake slid into the room and bit her on the ankle.

Every elf in Du Weldenvarden was caught, whether they knew it or not, in the Menoa tree's vise. From Linnea came magic and cunning, from Menoa; patience. Together they were unstoppable.

Linnea sent wolves and insects to eat the body, but Evandar realized that his mother was dead, even though her body was gone.

Evandar came to the tree and attempted to contact the Linnea-Menoa entity. But as always, the tree was silent and appeared harmless--merely tending to the affairs of the plants and animals, tending to the forest.

Half-mad with grief, he shouldered the responsibility of the throne. Desiring to keep his subjects from panicking, Evandar told them that Dellanir had left to study the secrets of magic. They believed him, and Evandar's reign began.

As the centuries passed, Linnea's influence grew beyond the borders of Du Weldenvarden. First she sought after the Spine, where dragon magic permeated the forest. Then Silverwood, the forest twisted by elvish magic from Luthivira into only producing pale-barked trees. Linnea and the Menoa tree carefully connected the three enchanted forests together until they absorbed the savage, dangerous power of the Spine and the pale elegance of Silverwood into the dark, ancient power of Du Weldenvarden. Her magic grew in power, feeding Linnea with heady visions of glory. She lusted for greater and greater power from within the outwardly peaceful Menoa tree.

Alone in the ancient tree, insane with bloodlust and betrayal, Linnea crowned herself Queen of the Woods.

But all these changes happened invisibly, silently, imperceptibly. No more strange disappearances occurred, and eventually the House of Berundal was all but forgotten. Evandar himself began to forget his mother's death and the mysteries surrounding the Menoa tree.

But the tree had not forgotten him.

Nearly four hundred years after Dellanir's supposed abdication (for even Evandar could barely remember what had truly happened), a human was born in the city of Furnost, in the province of Inzilbeth. One day he walked into Silverwood, and Linnea saw her chance.

For the first time, her consciousness spoke to another. Through the Silverwood trees that Du Weldenvarden had taken for its own, the elf woman whispered to the boy. She gave him magic beyond that of a normal human, or even an exceptional elf. She whispered through the tree, 'You will become a Rider.'

He was taken to Ilirea and trained, so that Linnea could no longer monitor him, but one day, he and his dragon came to her in Silverwood Forest, seeking the voice which brought him to the Riders.

She told him to go north, to seek more power. 'Destroy the Urgal tribes,' she lied softly, 'and I will show you a secret hidden in the ice, forgotten by even the oldest of elves. Destroy them all, and I swear to you, you will have power unimaginable.'

Galbatorix was eager to do her bidding. He left, and the last Linnea saw of him then was a glimpse out of a falcon's eyes as he and two others flew over Du Weldenvarden.

He returned in a state of collapse on the north edge of the Spine. He was raving, gasping for breath, throwing himself at wolves and bears without fear, only a desire to die. Linnea forced the animals to flee from Galbatorix's form and whispered into his fractured mind, 'The elves did this to you. The elves did it. They killed your dragon. They and their puppets, the Riders...'

Linnea let him know no rest from her whispering until he broke down completely. Carefully, she pulled him together. 'You cannot die yet,' she whispered. 'The elves must suffer for this.'

The no-longer Rider was helpless to her. 'Yes, yes,' he repeated mindlessly, desperate for support, for a mind to share with his own battered one. 'They will pay. I'll destroy them...'

Linnea led him through the Spine, scaring away dragons and animals alike. Galbatorix finally collapsed in the mud of a farmer's field, when he had left the forest and Linnea could do no more for him. She watched him through the eyes of an owl on the edge of the forest until his unconscious body was discovered and brought to the authorities.

She waited for the fires to come.

The Queen of the Woods was not disappointed.

Humans with torches shouting and waving weapons, alongside traitor Riders and Ra'zac. Linnea laughed deep in her heart. This time, she welcomed the invaders to Du Weldenvarden and let her forest burn, taking pleasure from the pain, eagerly tasting the blood that spilled onto the roots of her trees. The Menoa tree groaned with agony, but Linnea was dominant now.

At they neared Ellesmera, Linnea began to fight back at last. Her mind was centered around the Menoa tree. She could not let it be harmed.

The boy she had handpicked came to power at last and the son of Dellanir, the only elf who faintly remembered the House Berundal, was dead, his body rotting in the plains. But Linnea was not done yet.

In Ellesmera, she searched for and found what she needed. In the mind of a surviving Rider, she took on the voice of his dead dragon. 'Brom,' she whispered to him, 'Avenge me.'

Just as the mind of a broken child was bent into a tyrant's, so did Linnea twist this man into a vengeful killer. She smiled. It was easy to nudge him into creating a radical terrorist organization set on destroying the new king.

Eighty years of civil war. Linnea smiled a satisfied smile when news spread to her of killing and bloodshed. It amused her to no end to see her opponents destroying each other while she waited in the shadows. There would be war and fighting, and when they finally had had enough, when one side or the other was beaten... she would strike.

She was Queen of the Woods now, but it was not yet enough.

With careful consideration, Linnea now sought out Arya, granddaughter of Dellanir. She whispered almost silently until Arya fled from her mother and became the Varden's egg-courier. She was young and foolish, and perfect for Linnea's purposes.

It was only a matter of time until the egg would be recaptured by the Empire and hidden away, so that no Rider would rise again and possibly guess at the vast intelligence driving the bloodshed.

But her careful plans went awry when Arya, that fool, sent the egg away, away... In disgust Linnea searched for the egg, hoping that it had reappeared in Du Weldenvarden.

The egg had not gone to Du Weldenvarden, but to the Spine...

A boy was picking up the egg, looking at it stupidly. Linnea watched, wresting control of a fleeing deer and turning to observe the boy. He seemed fairly simple, Linnea thought. Perhaps it would work to her advantage.

The war, after twenty years of stalemate, began again in earnest.

And now?

Linnea watches the fighting from her home in Ellesmera. When the time is right, Eragon and Galbatorix will fight, and Eragon will win. Linnea will make sure of it. After all, it was she who gave Galbatorix power in the first place. Surely she can bring him down and replace him with a slightly more sane, more easily manipulated ruler. Then she will claim Eragon's soul and dragon as her own and rule Alagaesia as four minds together--Linnea's, the Menoa tree's, Eragon's, and Saphira's...

She is Queen of the Woods, and nothing can stop her.

Author's Note: Although I hate the excuse of "insanity" being used for every act Galbatorix has done, I wanted to have someone manipulating Alagaesia. Namely, someone who is not Christopher Paolini. The Menoa tree came to mind when I was looking for something suitably powerful and ancient, something that somewhat tied in Solembum's prophecy about a weapon beneath the Menoa tree... Perhaps not literally beneath, but from the Menoa tree... heh, what do I know? I just want to know what you thought about it. So please review!

PS. Dang, this is a lot shorter than I thought it'd be... Oh well.

Review! Please? I know it's not too good quality, but still...