Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings, that is property solely of J.R.R Tolkein,from whos mind sprung the famous trilogy,and later Peter Jackson who created the movie trilogy. Thus, the passages from the book I do not own, niether the characters mentioned.

Author's Note: The passages taken from the book are italicized.

Fangorn's Hill

In the shaft of sunlight that had managed to break through the over-grown canopy of the tree's leaves the wood gleamed rich browns, the bark looking like black-grey polished leather. Twigs and branches of the faded trees appeared too reach out like arms towards the faint sunlight. Alone on a hill of stone, though hill was a bad name for it ages old as the mountains, stood a tree, the two branches looking like arms, the top bent as if a man fighting sleep. Standing there, blinking in the pale light as if it had not seen the Sun in so very long that it was a dim dream in tree-memory.

The face was more knarled than it once was, though there was no one left to tell and if there was they would not be able to, so wrought and deep were the lines of age upon the man-tree's face. Heaving something that would have been called a sigh, the head lifted staring at last towards the faint shaft of light already fading, the shadows of the wood overthrowing it at last. "Hrum, hoom," the voice was raspy, as if it had no need to be used for a many long year. "The Sun, if Sun it be if memory serves correct. But let us not be hasty! Some things still strive for mischief in the deep shadows that dwell here-in." But it seemed as if in the old tree's mind that it was indeed light of Sun long forgotten by the trees of the forest. He had stood upon that hill for long ages, the seat of the lord of the forest as one might call it, but to the Ent (for that was the name given to such beings by the horse-lords long ago) it was something nameless, old as the mountains reaching deep their roots onto the cores of the earth.

If one looked into his eyes they would find that they were like deep wells of memory, recalling many, many things that even the Elves of long ago had forgotten and let fade into the shadows of time. One being, long ago, a Peregrin, Took had tried to recall his first impression of them although this remained unknown to the Ent.

'One felt as if there was an enormous well behind them, filled up with ages of memory and long, slow, steady thinking; but their surface was sparkling with the present; like sun shimmering on the outer leaves of a vast tree, or on the ripples of a very deep lake. I don't know, but it felt as if something that grew in the ground-asleep, you might say, or just feeling itself as something between root-tip and leaf-tip, between deep earth and the sky had suddenly waked up, and was considering you with the same slow care that it had given to its own inside affairs for endless years.'

Now, those same eyes took in the surrounding forest around it though looking very distant and far away indeed: as if trying to recall something that lay heavy on its slow mind that it had thought of many long years as it stood upon the rocky hill, barren of leaf and twig even and deprived of sunlight, fighting inevitable sleep. The old Ent saw before him a forest long withered and faded of former glory, deep in shadows and hidden places forgotten by Men who still roamed the earth in the lands outside and far to the west and east. "Hoo, now. Hoo! What was it?" The voice was deep sounding like rocks grating against the bottom of a river or lake. "Hoo! What were those lists I learned when I was young? That was a very long, long time ago and faded in my mind. What was it now, how did it go?

Learn now the lore of Living Creatures!
First name the four, the free peoples:
Eldest of all, the elf-children;
Dwarf the delver, dark are his houses;
Ent the earthborn, old as the mountains;
Man the mortal, master of horses:

Hm, hm, there was one more added, Hoo, now what was it?"

'We always seem to be left out of the old lists, and the old stories,' said Merry. 'Yet we've been about for quite a long time. We're hobbits.'
'Why not make a new line?' said Pippin.

'Half-grown hobbits, the hole- dwellers.'

"Yes, yes! I recall, lets not be too hasty, shall we? Yes, yes…

Half-grown hobbits, the hole-dwellers.

Master Merry, Master Pippin! Whatever became of them, hm? Hrum, hoom. Deep and long is my memory, years have grown and died as I have fought my sleep! That was many, many long years ago I left them, and they left me. Hroom, whatever became of those called-by themselves-hobbits? Hasty folk they were, not good, not good at all. Hasty makes you hasty, and long years are best spent in slow ways."

The forest had become darker than it was, although that one shaft of light still seemed to prevail in the battle of shadow and sunlight. The far trees seemed to be covered in eternal darkness, shadows seemed to grow and move: take on a life of their own, becoming things not really there.

At last Pippin ventured to speak again.
'Please, Treebeard,' he said, 'could I ask you something? Why did Celeborn warn us against your forest? He told us not to risk getting entangled in it.'
'Hmm, did he now?' rumbled Treebeard. 'And I might say the same, if you had been going the other way. Do not risk getting entangled in the woods of Laurelindeorenan! That is what the Elves used to call it; but now they make the name shorter: Lothlorien they call it. Perhaps they are right: maybe it is fading, not growing. Land of the Valley of Singing Gold, that was it, once upon a time. Not it is the Dreamflower. Ah well! But it is a queer place, and not for just any one to venture in. I am surprised that you ever got out, but much more surprised that you ever got in: that has not happened to strangers for many a year. It is a queer land.
'And so is this. Folk have come to grief here. Aye, they have, to grief. Laurelindorenan lindelorendor malinornelion ornemalin,' he hummed to himself.

The trees far ahead of him were bent as if sleeping, never to wake again. He recognized some as fellow Ents, come to their lord before their most untimely end. Untimely it was, and caused many songs of grief in old Entish and even elvish words. A place of grief, he remembered calling it, long ago. A place of grief, doomed to fade, and fading into the shadows of deep memory of time it was. Glory of ages passed long forgotten in the mind of the old Ent-lord. He dreamed Ent-dreams and tree-dreams in his half wakefulness over the long years he lived after the departure of Merry and Pippin to the outside world he did not venture into anymore. Once upon a time he had, "A very long time ago indeed, for tree to fade and Ent fall into slumber."

'The trees and the Ents,' said Treebeard. 'I do not understand all that goes on myself, so I cannot explain it to you. Some of us are still true Ents, and lively enough in our fashion, but many are growing sleepy, going tree-ish, as you might say. Most of the trees are just trees, of course; but many are half awake. Some are quite wide awake, and a few are, well, ah, well getting Entish. That is going on all the time.
'When that happens to a tree, you find that some have bad hearts. Nothing to do with their wood: I do not mean that. Why, I knew some good old willows down the Entwash, gone long ago, alas! They were quite hollow; indeed they were falling to pieces, but as quiet and sweet-spoken as a young leaf. And then there are some trees in the valleys under the mountains, sound as a bell, and bad right through. That sort of thing seems to spread. There used to be some very dangerous parts in this country. There are still some very black patches.'

The forest was vast, vast and deep in shadows everlasting. Ents had once wandered this land, fair or ill, for many a long age. But things happened and changed as the Darkness began to grow. With each passing year tree-memory grew dimmer and was as of now, the Ent-lord's was very faint indeed. Earth-born like the mountains ages old he was, tall with arms of leather-grey skin faded into rough bark. His beard was long now, so long that it touched the rocky hill upon where he stood, like a weeping willow it swayed in the wind. The hill was his court now, his dwelling. The court of trees had fallen long ago during the Ent's half-wakeful slumber hidden in the forest.

The day waned. And dusk was twined around the boles of the trees. At last the hobbits saw, rising dimly before them, a steep dark land: they had come to the feet of the mountains, and to the green roots of tall Methedras. Down the hillside the young Entwash, leaping in springs high above, ran noisly to meet them. On the right of the stream there was a long slope, clad with grass, now grey in the twilight. No trees grew there and it was open to the sky; stars were shining already in lakes between shores of cloud.
Treebeard strode up the slope, hardly slackening his pace. Suddenly before them the hobbits saw a wide opening. Two great trees stood there, one on either side, like living gate-posts; but there was no gate save their crossing and interwoven boughs. As the old Ent approached, the trees lifted up their branches, and all their leaves quivered and rustled. For they were evergreen trees, and their leaves were dark and polished, and gleamed in the twilight. Beyond them was a wide level space, as though the floor of a great hall had been cut in the side of the hill. On either hand the walls sloped upwards, until they were fifty feet high or more, and along each wall stood an isle of trees that also increased in height as they marched inwards.
At the far end the rock-wall was sheer, but at the bottom it had been hollowed back into a shallow bay with an arched roof: the only roof of the hall, save the branches of the trees, which at the inner end overshadowed all the ground leaving only a broad open path in the middle. A little stream escaped from the springs above, and leaving the main water, fell tinkling down the sheer face of the wall, pouring in silver drops, like a fine curtain in front of the arched bay. The water gathered again into a stone basin in the floor between the trees, and thence it spilled and flowed away beside the open path, out to rejoin the Entwash in its journey through the forest.

It was something deep inside the old Ent that had fueled such an anger towards Saruman at the news gathered from the telling of Merry and Pippin. It was such in this way he learned of the fateful demise of the wizard that had walked for so long beneath the leaves of the trees and with such hatred at the murderer of those he'd known from nut and acorn. There had not been another Entmoot for a terrible long count of years never since the last whence the hobbits had wandered lost within the wood. Staring into the sunlight he remembered only vaguely as a dream of memory deep within his mind he watched the battle of sunlight and shadows deepening play out. It seemed to remind the ancient being of something, deep within his eyes it could be seen playing out like a story.

Then with a crash came a great ringing shout: ra-hoom-rah! The trees quivered and bent as if a gust had struk them. There was another pause, and then a marching music began like solemn drums, and above the rolling beats and booms there welled voices singing high and strong.

We come, we come with roll of drum: ta-runda runda runda rom!

The Ents were coming: ever nearer and louder rose their song:

We come, we come with horn and drum: ta-runa runa runa rom!

Bregalad picked up the hobbits ans strode from his house.
Before long they saw the marching line approaching: the Ents were swinging along with great strides down the slope towards them. Treebeard was at their head, and some fifty followers were behind him, two abreast, keeping step with their feet and beating time with their hands upon their flanks. As they drew near the flash and flicker of their eyes could be seen.
'Hoom, hom! Here we come with a boom, here we come at last!' called Treebeard when he caught sight of Bregalad and the hobbits. 'Come, join the Moot! We are off. We are off to Isengard!'
'To Isengard!' the Ents cried in many voices.
'To Isengard!'

To Isengard! Though Isengard be ringed and barred with doors
Of stone;
Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare
As bone,
We go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door;
For bole and bough are burning now, the furnace roars—we go
To war!
To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum, we come,
we come;
To Isengard with doom we come!
With doom we come, with doom we come!

So they sang as they marched southwards.

The Ents were not easily angered, caught up in the web of time that passed ever so slowly, the world of the outside and all its events went un-heeded, un-known for the Ents lived in a completely different way than Outsiders. "War is always the same," murmured Treebeard unaware. "War is always the same, in forest here, or world out there. Burning, hacking, breaking go the burarum. Beating go the war drums deep within the earth and bravely ride the Men on horses to their dooms. But we Ents, we Ents go naught to war no more, and war comes no more to us. We have been forgotten, hoo, forgotten long ago." The Ent-lord's eyes clouded over once again with memory.

'The Ents made up their minds rather quickly, after all, didn't they?'
Pippin ventured to say after some time, when for a moment the singing paused, and only the beating of hands and feet was heard.
'Quickly?' said Treebeard. 'Hoom! Yes, indeed. Quicker than I expected. Indeed I have not seen them roused like this for many an age. We Ents do not like being roused; and we are never roused unless it is clear to us that our lives and trees are in great danger. That has not happened in this Forest since the wars of Sauron and the Men of the Sea. It is orc-work, the wanton of hewing—rarum—without even the bad excuse for feeding the fires, that has so angered us; and the treachery of a neighbor, who should have helped us. Wizards ought to know better. There is no curse in Elvish, Entish or the tongues of Men for such treachery. Down with Saruman!'
'Will you really break down the doors of Isengard?' asked Merry.
'Ho, hm, well, we could, you know! You do not know, perhaps, how strong we are. Maybe you have heard of Trolls? They are mighty strong. But Trolls are only counterfeits, made by the Enemy in the Great Darkness, in mockery of Ents, as Orcs were of Elves. We are stronger than Trolls. We are made of the bones of the earth. We can split stone like the roots of trees, only quicker, far quicker, if our minds are roused! If we are not hewn down, or destroyed by fire or blast of sorcery, we could spilt Isengard into splinters and crack its walls into rubble.'
'But Saruman will try to stop you, won't he?'
'Hm, ah, yes, that is so. I have not forgotten it. Indeed I have thought long about it. But, you see, many of the Ents are younger than I am, by many lives of trees. They are all roused now, and their mind is all one thing: breaking Isengard. But they will stop thinking again before long; they will cool down a little, when we take our evening drink. What a thirst we shall have! But let them march now and sing! We have a long way to go, and there is time ahead for thought. It is something to have started.'
Treebeard marched on, singing with the others for a while. But after a time his voice died to a murmur and fell silent again. Pippin could see that his old brow was wrinkled and knotted. At last he looked up, and Pippin could see a sad look in his eyes, sad but not unhappy. There was a light in them, as if the green flame had sunk deeper into the dark wells of his thought.
'Of course, it is likely enough, my friends,' he said slowly, 'likely enough that we are going to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later. That thought has long been growing in our hearts; that is why we are marching now. It was not a hasty resolve. Now at least the march of the Ents may be worth a song. Aye,' he sighed, 'we may help the other peoples before we pass away. Still, I should have liked to see the songs come true about the Entwives. I should dearly have liked to see Fimbrethil again. But there, my friends, song like trees bear fruit only in their own time and their own way: and sometimes they are withered untimely.'

But to their doom the Ents did not go, he recalled. They prevailed although it was indeed the last battle they ever fought. Peace crept slowly back into the forest, and straying orcs were killed by the trees.
"Such times were those of final greatness sung in songs of fair elvish in the lands of Lothlorien and beyond, no longer are they fresh in my mind such things have faded to old tunes that blend with those even older, like a dream of the last fairness of all woods the Elves ever lived in, a dream yet to end for my forest. But it is fading; stopped growing long ago, hasty is not the end coming. Hrum hoom. It will not be long. The withering of Fangorn is very, very near."

So passed away the Ents, back into myth and legends said they passed long ago, though in the corner of one's eye they would see a large shadow move within the wood, and remember the tales they'd been told of the Ents as a child, and tell them to their own childen beside the fire. And myth and legend passed into memory, and were forgotten by Men long ages passed. The Ents faded into the shadows of time, although they still roamed the forest, fewer and fewer as time went on. So passed the Ents did in the minds of mortal Men.

The sky was darkening, though the shaft of light still struggled to survive. The Ent watch this, and he could remember no more; so blurry and thrown together were his thoughts, all fighting to be heard. The sunlight began to fade ever so slowly, and the shadows deepened as night crept forward warily. The green flame of his eyes having sunk so deep that sadness was all one could see. But no unhappiness. The old Ent-lord was not unhappy that at last the old tales of Men were coming true. The Ents had lived for many a long age, and then some. It was time for them to at last fade away. Closing at last his glittering eyes, alone on the hill of stone, Fangorn at last succumbed to his inevitable sleep.