Summary: Along with peace, the Fourth Age also brought discoveries that nobody thought possible. As sentimental as a story about Ents can get (I'm guessing).
Rating: K+ for some drug references (Sam smokes a pipe?) and also for thematic elements. The A/N also references hot steamy sex with Legolas.
A/N: This is the result of many dreams and many wonderings why there aren't more stories about Ents, who are actually very interesting. This story is for everyone, though it might be boring for those who are looking for cheap LOTR thrills (a.k.a. hot steamy sex with Legolas). Also there is one mistake that you might notice: Hamfast is younger than Goldilocks and yet he can talk while she cannot. If you knew this by reading all the family trees in the appendices or at least before reading this note, you are an extreme fan (unlike me, who had to look this up) and my story is not worthy enough for you (but you can read it anyway). Be aware that this is not a change I made for cheap thrills (a.k.a. hot steamy sex with Legolas) so I think that I am to be given some leeway.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (though wouldn't I love to?) or any of its characters. Every character in this story, yes, including Fimbrethil, belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien.
"G'morning, Dad," chirped Hamfast as he skidded to a stop towards the master of Bag End and daintily tipped his hat. No response. "Dad?"
Samwise twirled the mahogany pipe in his mouth and groaned. What was it with hobbitlings these days?
"Not now, Hamfast," his use of Hamfast's full name as opposed to the usual "Hammie" indicated that Sam was too lost in his own thoughts to engage in affectionate terms. As mayor, it sometimes proved difficult to balance his jobs as father of the Shire and father of his nine children. Of course, there was Rosie, but she was so ageless and merry (even in her tenth pregnancy) that he couldn't bear to put another straw on her already heavy load in fear that it might turn her into some of the other housewives of the Shire: bitter and grumpy with years of stress.
Suddenly Sam was jolted back into his seat at the kitchen table as he felt an outstretched hand brush his cheek. Rosie. And Bilbo, he thought amusedly as he felt a large bump touch his stomach. Rosie was that beam of light in his blackened world; Rosie was the one who tended to his wounds from long ago, though not thoroughly understanding what had caused them.
"Hello, Sam," she whispered flirtatiously. Fifty-one years old and not any less of what she was at thirty. Most housewives had long settled down to their boring selves at around forty years of age, but apparently Rosie was still going strong.
"Rosie- " began Sam hesitantly, "I know it must be tiring to carry Bilbo around everywhere, and I know how burdensome pregnancy can be, but I have a staff meeting today that will last all afternoon and I was wondering if you could keep the children out of trouble (especially Frodo) again?
"Sam, my dear Sam," Rosie spoke tenderly. "Of course. Sometimes you forget that you're a man, which means you're the father, which means you're not the mother, which means that it's my job first and foremost to care for them. Now off you go to work- it's almost nine o'clock!"
Sam's tense muscles relaxed, then quickly tightened as another thought struck his overflowing mind.
"Oh, and could you please keep Goldilocks away from that Faramir? I noticed a little bit o' interest the other day during playtime."
Rosie rolled her eyes lovingly. "She's four years old, Sam; you're not allowed to worry like that until she's at least thirty-three."
"Hey," called Sam with one foot out the door and the other balancing on the threshold as he threw on his overcoat, "All I'm saying is that Took blood is mighty strong and I don't want no drinker for a son-in-law."
"Goodbye, Sam!" Rosie heard the door shut and she sighed before getting up slowly to wash the dishes. Sam had forgotten to kiss her goodbye.
"All right, children," Rosie instructed at the head of her nine equally burdensome children, not counting Bilbo who was, in fact, equally burdensome.
"Today you will be playing outside with guidelines," she added quickly amidst the many squeals of delight.
"First of all, there will be no hollering or trampling. Do you understand, Goldilocks?" Goldilocks obviously didn't, but nodded her head at the recognition of her name.
"Good," said Rosie, noticing that Goldilocks could barely speak let alone have a romantic interest in Peregrin's son. Not to mention that Peregrin and Diamond only came with their son to visit for a few weeks and would be gone before Goldilocks would even reach her tweens.
"Secondly, there will be no provoking of animals using sticks or anything else on this earth. Do you hear me, Merry? Pippen?"
There was no response.
"What does that mean?" asked an unidentified youngster.
"It means no butt-poking," answered another one.
"Frodo!" Rosie identified the boy without any trouble, "Come up front, yes right on that green tile, and put a coin in the swear box."
"Mother –"
"Now." The littlest children in the back saw nothing but heard a tiny clink. It landed on a large pile of metal coins very quickly, meaning that their mouths had been rather naughty lately.
"Alright then, shall we continue?" started up Rosie sweetly. "Thirdly, there will be no exclusions of youngsters in our games, Elanor and Rose." She painfully recalled a sobbing Hamfast last year who had been pushed out of a game of pat a cake simply because he couldn't walk or talk. Where was justice these days?
"And lastly, there will be no soiling of clothes, Daisy." Contrary to popular belief, a two-year-old could possibly crawl over to a mud puddle and roll around in it like a pig.
As she watched the children run off to play, Rosie couldn't help but feel the satisfaction of knowing that she had covered all of the rules and all of the children except for Primrose of course who was still a baby. And Hamfast; Hamfast didn't need any scolding whatsoever, for he was the quietest hobbitling in Hobbiton. He practically didn't even know where the swear box was, and would die before he let a single dust particle touch his pearly white shirt. This was partly due to the fact that Hamfast didn't play with the other children. An outcast between siblings? Not quite, but Hamfast chose to wander by himself across the Shire during playtime ever since the pat a cake incident, and Rosie let him go wherever he pleased simply because he was a good hobbitling and she trusted him.
By now the children were already well along in their games of hide-and-go-seek and so forth. Hamfast had waddled over to the fence in his usual manner and pushed open the door, marking the beginning of a new adventure.
After a full year of adventuring, it was inevitable that all the locals knew who Hamfast was. Thus his connections and his endearing blond curls almost always guaranteed him a third breakfast consisting of a heavily buttered roll from the bakery and a slice of bacon from one of the many farms on Bagshot Row. If he was lucky, a passing old lady would find him "simply adorable" and buy him a turnip. The Gardner's were a well-known and respectable family now, partly because Sam was the mayor, and if his other children had known this they would have gone off adventuring everyday.
The sunny weather improved the people's spirits (and it reflected off of Hamfast's golden curls) so it was a very profitable morning indeed. A roll with extra butter, two slices of oil-dripping bacon, and the fattest turnip in the whole vegetable stall made their way into Hamfast's eager stomach. Little did he know that fat added even more to his charm.
As he went about the Shire enjoying its sights and eating his impressive third breakfast, Hamfast heard a distant singing coming from behind the police station. He inched towards the mysterious voice, enchanted by the depth of its sound. Hamfast couldn't catch the words for they were in a foreign language, but from the way it gave him shivers, he understood the feeling that it portrayed: longing.
Eventually he found himself behind the police station, but to his immense disappointment, there was no elf awaiting him, only a score of tree stumps and a few standing trees. Hamfast sighed and turned to go home for the midday meal. Suddenly the music stopped abruptly in the middle of the sixth verse, and Hamfast spun around to face the trees.
"Little hobbitling," called a high, comforting voice, "Don't leave me here! I've been asleep for so long… I want to, hm, go home to Fangorn… Fangorn…"
Hamfast trembled as he tried to locate the speaker.
"Where are you?"
"I'm right here, child," spoke the voice tenderly. Suddenly, one of the standing trees opened its eyes and light filled the forest with beauty as Hamfast had never seen before.
The tree curled its majestic branches gracefully and picked a nephredil from the ground and examined it. "Oh how I've, hm, missed my garden of life, little one; but this is an illusion. This is not real; I have nothing. Take me to Fangorn… Fangorn…"
Hamfast felt at ease with this beautiful creature. That name- Fangorn- it sounded so familiar.
"Who are you?" he asked timidly.
"Why, my name is Fimbrethil. I've lived here for, hm, so long… but it is time to return to, hm, Fangorn. I have nothing."
Fangorn, thought Hamfast- what was she speaking of? He didn't understand what she was trying to say. Fangorn- wasn't that a name that Peregrin had mentioned in his tales of old? Fangorn… Fangorn… Treebeard!
Peregrin came sprinting with Hamfast from the Ivy Brush where he was staying. Hamfast had arrived as worn out as anything and had only needed to say one word to Peregrin: "Entwife".
Upon arriving at the police station, Peregrin had slowed down to marvel at Fimbrethil's beauty that could be seen from many blocks behind. "Hello, miss, we have no time to lose. You need to carry us to Fangorn Forest. Do you remember Fangorn Forest? If not, I can give directions. I have been there before-" Peregrin barely spoke in two breaths before he was cut off."
Fimbrethil closed her eyes and spoke to him gently. "Wait, wait, young sir. You must, hm, slow down for me. You see, I am, hm, wounded by Saruman from years ago. Before he came to the Shire, I was, hm, living here in peace with my sisters. Now they are all, hm, dead. He killed them for reasons that are unknown, hm, to me. I have nothing. It is time."
Each sentence was agonizingly slow for the two hobbits, and they stood on the balls of their feet until it was over.
Peregrin was terribly confused, but he understood that she was too hurt to travel to Fangorn Forest by herself. Even so, Fimbrethil was the last of the Entwives and had lived there all along; she had once been the Shire's source of beauty.
It was a hazy afternoon in Fangorn Forest, the perfect weather for a cup of fragrant lavender tea. All of the Ents seemed to know that, for the scent of lavender flowed heavily from each Ent house and intertwined to create one twisted rope of comfort.
"Treebeard," began Quickbeam as he gulped down another pot of tea, "Do you remember how we used to be needed here in the Forest? I miss that."
"Treebeard sighed loudly enough to scare the bird off of a nearby tree. "We all do, Quickbeam, we, hm, all do."
Sighing along with his friend, Quickbeam realized that what had started out as morning tea in Fangorn Forest had managed to last all the way until supper. It took so long to say something, even for a quick Ent such as himself that each time he had tried to leave, one conversation would lead to the next and soon he would be staying a few hours longer than he expected.
"Quickbeam, could you please, hm, bring me another sugar, hm, cube?" Treebeard requested. Quickbeam nodded silently and started towards the kitchen cupboard. Treebeard smiled. To an outsider, such a request to make of a guest would seem unthinkable. It was different here; the age of the Ents was finally taking its toll on them. Quickbeam was basically the single young aspect of their community now, meaning that he expected to be asked every once in a while to "please pick up this flower" or to "be a dear and help clean this branch".
As he heard Quickbeam rummage through the cupboard, Treebeard took a sip of his tea thoughtfully. When they lived amongst the Elves in thousands of years past, the Ents had lived for the Elves: speaking with them and learning with them. When the Elves had left and Saruman appeared at their doorstop, the Ents had lived for Saruman: revealing things between each other and contemplating deep matters. When Saruman and his armies slaughtered their friends, the Ents had lived for their companions: avenging their deaths by destroying Isengard. Now that all of that was gone: the Elves, Saruman, and their companions- what else was there to live for? What else did they have? Nothing. They had nothing. It was time.
From the edge of the forest, slow, heavy footsteps could be heard; too small to be men's, too clumsy to be dwarves', and obviously too loud to be Elves'. Treebeard frowned as he tried to guess their race. After many minutes, Quickbeam emerged from the house carrying a bag of sugar cubes and he sat silently, as though he understood the situation. Nobody had visited Fangorn Forest in nearly fifteen years.
They first appeared as tiny bright specks against a dark green background of trees. Closer and closer, they moved slowly towards Treebeard's headquarters. As their forms got bigger with every step, Treebeard suddenly gasped. Hobbits!
An army of ten hobbits came forth into view and Treebeard only recognized one: Pippin. With him came nine other hobbits, including Diamond, Sam, Rosie, and Hamfast. The rest were just curious hobbits dying to get a glimpse of the legendary Ents. Behind the hobbits paraded forty-six of Hobbiton's finest ponies (half of them from Bywater seeing as the Shire can only hold so many ponies). There was something radiant lying flat on the back of the ponies, like a long glass tube of light. The company came closer still, and suddenly the tube of light was brought into clear view. Tears came to Treebeard's eyes and his voice wavered. "Fimbrethil."
Pippin ran forth to great Treebeard, looking the same as ever except less boyish and more manly. Not to mention, thought Treebeard, married! Who would have thought?
"Treebeard," shouted Pippin with fear ringing throughout his voice, "We bring you Fimbrethil from the Shire. She is the last of the Entwives, but she is dying from wounds from Saruman's orcs. Our healer has tried many herbs and medicines to soothe her pain, but the Shire holds no effective medication for Ents. We bring her, therefore, to die in your care."
At this, many of the hobbits were choked up though they had never known Fimbrethil. It was a shame for any creature of such radiance to die without ever revealing so much more of its beauty. Then again, it was a shame for anything to die. None, however, reacted quite as strongly as Treebeard did. Tears escaped from his once proud eyes and turned to seeds as they hit the ground, for out of the most immense sorrow on earth sprouts life.
"So it is fulfilled," Treebeard whispered softly, " 'The Ents and the Entwives may someday, hm, meet again and stand in peace with one another, but only, hm, when each has acquired nothing.' Is it fair that my wife, hm, escapes her nothingness and leaves me, hm, behind with more? Is it fair that our souls will never rest in peace with, hm, one another and only our bodies when, hm, I have passed?" His wavering voice grew solid and angry as he stood up from his wooden chair.
"No," he replied softly to himself, "No, it is not. Bring my wife to me so, hm, that we may share our last, hm, words together."
Diamond quickly directed the ponies to Treebeard and he stooped low to pick up her still body from their aching backs. The watching hobbits and Ents stepped back as a sign of respect.
"Treebeard- "whispered Fimbrethil to her husband as she lay in his trembling arms. The two stood for an eternity, just wanting to be in each other's lives for a little bit longer.
"Fimbrethil… I… I… love you," whispered Treebeard, wincing at the insufficient word. The Entish expression for love would have taken an eternity to say.
He embraced her body and they grew cold and still in the dawning light. The Valar had allowed them to join in both spirit and body forever. Eru is fair.
A/N: I know, kind of short. Please review; flames are definitely welcome as long as they provide useful criticism.