Chapter 13 --- Naked Among the Ents

"What -- ?" Boromir came awake with a start.

Fern fronds, moss and earth rained lightly onto his face and bare chest. The ground, the walls, the ceiling, everything about him was shaking, a rumble thrumming through the earth.

A Mumakil charge? Cavalry? Nazgul bombarding the walls?

No, he was in Fangorn Forest. He sat up, looked for his Hobbit friends. He turned sharply about, scanning the shelter quickly. No sign of them.

"Merry! Pippin! To me!"

No answer, just more earth shuddering noise and vibration.

Boromir stood, got his balance when his wounded leg stabbed at him, made worse by the unsteady floor. Not waiting to dress, he drew his sword and wrapped the elven cloak about his arm as partial shielding against enemy blades. He charged outside at a lurching run his wounded leg throbbing angrily.

"Merry! Pippin!"

The loud rumbling drowned him out. He had never heard a sound quite like it before. It was coming from ahead and to his left through the forest. As he got closer he heard something else -- a voice?

"Please. You must help us! Our friends are out there!"

"Merry!"

He veered aside, running harder, crashing through the underbrush, his sword held clear, and his left hand and arm protectively low before him. He broke out into a clearing, his sword at the ready.

"Boromir! What are you doing?"

He came to a staggering halt, relieved to see Merry and Pippin apparently unharmed. He moved quickly to stand before them, crouched in battle ready position.

"It's all right," Merry said quickly. "They're friends!"

"Who?"

"Treebeard, Quickbeam, and the others. They're having a meeting."

"Where are they?"

"Right here," Pippin said. "They look like trees. See?" He waved an arm at the massive trees circling the glade. "They're Ents and they're talking to one another. It's called an Ent moot."

Boromir's jaw dropped. He turned his head enough to study their expressions, sure they had to be playing some kind of elaborate prank. "Ents are not real. It's just a story." He remembered telling Faramir that, years ago. Faramir still stubbornly maintained they might exist. Despite being teased ruthlessly for it.

"Not real! Hhhrrrooommm!" A booming rumbling voice, sounding miffed. Boromir swung about trying to find the source. "Just a story!"

One of the trees moved and bent toward him. Startled, Boromir realised the voice had come from somewhere amid the thing's branches. Then, he saw it. Eyes, huge, green-gold, like sunlight on leaves, opening and closing, looking at him curiously above a craggy nose and split wood mouth.

Boromir stared, and stared some more. The thing blinked. He dragged his eyes from it to look at Merry and Pippin to check they were seeing it too. They held his gaze, their lips twitching, then breaking into full grins apparently finding his dumbstruck expression comical. He remembered to close his mouth. Then their eyes went lower and they smirked. Boromir's face burned as he realised what they were seeing. He lowered his left arm to cover his groin.

Merry bit his lip. "I'm glad to see you're not cold."

"Even though you're naked." Pippin snuffled, trying not to laugh.

"The Little One is awake." That was the tree talking again.

"Little One!" Merry exclaimed, eyebrows climbing.

"Maybe by comparison to an Ent!" Pippin said. He and Merry looked at one another, looked at Boromir again, spluttered harder.

Boromir unwound the cloak from about his arm and covered himself.

"Exactly what did Aragorn put in that water?" he demanded.

"Aragorn? Nothing," they assured. For some obscure reason, Merry patted the top of Pippin's head as if measuring his height. They wiped tears of laughter from their faces. "This is Fangorn, remember?"

"Boromir, meet Treebeard," Merry said. "He's the leader of the Ents."

"Umm," Boromir looked up and up and up some more. Saw the green-gold eyes were still watching him. He simply could not believe it. He couldn't think. "Hello."

Merry and Pippin snorted. He flicked a glare at them and they subsided.

"I am… glad… to see you… well." The thing's – the Ent's – words were delivered very very slowly.

Boromir had to concentrate carefully, his head spinning with disbelief. It didn't help when he thought he saw Treebeard close one eye in a premeditated wink to Merry and Pippin. Then it said, "You seemed… so fragile… Littlle One … when I carried you… ."

"Thank you," Boromir interrupted. His leg was hurting and he was losing patience. He had to get to Edoras. Then, he realised what it had said, "You carried me?" That meant it must be able to walk. But that couldn't be, trees couldn't walk.

"He takes really big steps," Merry said, reading his expression.

"We got here fast," Pippin added, studiously not looking at his cousin and chewing on the inside of his lip to stop himself laughing again.

"It was too far… for you to walk," Treebeard said slowly, " Little One."

Boromir gave Merry and Pippin a suspicious look. They looked upward, all innocence.

"Speaking of walking too far," Merry said seriously. "You should be resting that leg, not running all over the forest."

"You were missing," Boromir growled.

Merry had the grace to look a little abashed. Pippin said brightly, "We didn't go far, and we had important business. "

"The Ents are deciding whether or not to go to war against Saruman," Pippin explained.

That made Boromir's eyebrows climb. And not just at the prospect of unexpected and formidable allies. He only now realised there were several of the creatures standing about the glade, talking in their low rumbling voices or watching he and the Hobbits.

"Which way does it look like going?" he asked."

Merry sighed and traded a disappointed look with Pippin. "No."

"Oh. Too bad. Rohan and Gondor could use their help. We need to get to Edoras. I'm worried about Theodred and his father. If we hurry we should still be able to catch Aragorn. Do you think your friends would – ?

"Erm, Boromir," Pippin interrupted. "How long do you think it is since Aragorn and the others left?"

Boromir glanced up at the sky, studying the angle of the sun through the trees to check his earlier guess. "It's mid-afternoon. They left early morning."

Merry and Pippin again traded looks, their eyebrows raised, and their lips pursed in silent whistles. "Oh, boy," Pippin said.

"Early morning two days ago," Merry corrected.

"What? No, that can't be –" But of course they would know. "How…? I couldn't have…?"
"Gandalf knew you wouldn't rest long enough for your wounds to heal," Merry said. "So he…."

"He didn't!"

"He did. He said he would see you sleep as long as you needed."

Boromir let out a heavy sigh, lowered his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Of all people, Gandalf should know better." His voice rose with the force of his impatience. "I can't afford to lose two days! Dammit! Why didn't you wake me?"

There was a moment's silence. Then Merry said, "Not much point in it, really. You wouldn't have been able to walk."

"Treebeard's water worked well on your leg," Pippin commented, bending forward to look at the wound. "It's closed over."

Merry gave a relieved sigh. "Good thing you didn't tear it open again."

Boromir waved a hand at the giant Ents. "They carried me once! I would only need to get to the edge of the forest. Then we'd be in Rohan where I could find a horse."

Merry and Pippin regarded him sympathetically.

"Maybe there'll be good news about your friend," Pippin said.

Treebeard stepped forward, startling Boromir. He'd never seen a tree walk before. The earth shook. Those giant feet were very dangerous, a well placed kick would bring down a Mumakil. Give him a regiment of Ents and he'd take down the Black Gates. Treebeard came another step closer. Boromir moved to place himself between the creature and his small friends.

"It's all right, Boromir," Pippin said. Merry adding, "He won't hurt us."

"Not intentionally," Boromir allowed. "But hearing 'oops I'm sorry I stepped on you' is not much use after you're dead."

"We couldn't hear it if –" Merry shut his mouth with a snap as Boromir gave him a look.

"It would make a good inscription on a head stone, though," Pippin said brightly, watching Treebeard and not catching the warning that had silenced his cousin.

"We have agreed," Treebeard announced in his painfully slow deliberate fashion.

He said nothing more and Boromir wondered if he'd fallen asleep. He had no idea how Merry and Pippin had had the patience to deal with the Ent this far.

"Yes?" Merry prompted.

"I have told your names to the Entmoot and we have agreed: you are not Orcs."

Boromir gaped and restrained the urge to kick the Ent's foot to wake it up more fully. He wasn't wearing his boots. His sword would make a good sharp prod. Then he'd probably get stepped on, if Treebeard felt it at all. Maybe that was not such a good idea. But, if they could not be harmed by a sword…. They could be most useful in battle. They must have enormous strength, much more than a Mumakil. Boromir began imagining how he would place them on a battlefield.

"Well, that's good news," Pippin responded to the Ent.

"And what about Saruman?" Merry asked with evident annoyance. "Have you made a decision about him?"

That returned Boromir's attention to the awkward, slow conversation. Merry and Pippin had already thought to have the Ents challenge Isengard? He was duly impressed. He leaned back a little and looked up at Treebeard hopefully.

"Now don't be hasty, Master Meriadoc," Treebeard said.
"Hasty!" Boromir exclaimed in disbelief, echoing the Hobbits. He was getting cold waiting for the Tree-Man to say anything at all.

"Our friends are dying out there! They need our help!" Merry declared passionately. "They cannot fight this war on their own!"

Boromir opened his mouth and shut it just as quickly for Merry had said it all for him. Pride warmed him; these two were doing a fine job of diplomacy.

The giant Tree-Man's eyes closed and opened again. "War, yes. It affects us all. But you must understand, young hobbit." There was another painfully long pause. Each word seemed to take an Age. Boromir wanted to order Treebeard to get to the point. His respect for his Hobbit friends grew exponentially with every slow, dragging word. Merry and Pippin might just win for Gondor a mighty ally.

"It takes a long time to say anything in old Entish," Treebeard at last concluded, "and we never say anything unless it is worth taking a long time to say."

Boromir was ready to walk away. He'd need to get some distance before he let out his frustrated scream.

Merry took a pace closer to Treebeard, his eyes gleaming with anger and his jaw set. "How can that be your decision?"

"This is not our war."
"But you're part of this world! Aren't you?"

A good tactic, Merry, Boromir nodded approval. About him the Ents shifted uncomfortably and eyed one another self-consciously. Maybe the Hobbits would yet sway them.

"You are young and brave, master Merry," Treebeard rumbled. "But your part in this tale is over. Go back to your home."

Merry put his coat back on and looked at Boromir in defeat.

"You did your best," Boromir said. He put a hand to each Hobbit's shoulder. "We will continue the fight. Come, back to the shelter. We will collect our things, and what supplies we might find, and leave for Edoras before the day grows any later."

"Maybe Treebeard's right," Pippin said dejectedly as Boromir released his grasp and they began moving away from the circle of the Entmoot. "We don't belong here, Merry. It's too big for us. What can we do in the end? We've always got the Shire."

Boromir and Merry exchanged a grim regard, knowing what the other was thinking.

"The fires of Isengard will spread," Merry said, his voice pitched low, his heart grieving, and tearing at Boromir more with every word. "And the woods of Tuckburough and Buckland will burn. And all that was once green and good in this world will be gone." Merry turned back to Pippin and lay his hand to his friend's arm, holding his gaze with heavy sorrow. "There won't be a Shire, Pippin," he finished with merciless truth.

A horn sounded, calling from afar, beautiful, stirring, alone.

Desperate.

"Aragorn!" Boromir whispered. He saw something that was not there, something Aragorn was seeing. A flash of exploding fire, huge stone squares hurled up and out, some turned to rubble, as if they weighed nothing.

"The Horn of Gondor," Pippin said.

"You loaned it to him." Merry turned sharply to Boromir. "Does that call mean he's in trouble?"

"Yes." Boromir ran a hand through his already disarrayed hair. "I caught sight of something, like an explosion. Dammit! There's nothing I can do from so far away! I hope Aragorn someone closer will hear, someone with more Men to bring to the fight. Again, he studied the enormous power in the Ents' limbs, the advantage of their height…. "They move fast," he murmured, "and they're damm near indestructible. " He sighed regretfully. "What I could do with a handful of them."

Pippin swung around and stalked toward Treebeard, his spine as stiff as an angry cat. "So you're just going to turn your backs on us all and stay nice and safe here?"

"You see?" Merry rounded to add. "How can you just stand there when people, good people are dying out there! The Horn calls for help!"

" Aragorn is High King!" Pippin said. "Will you not answer him?"

"The High King has returned?" Treebeard's large eyes blinked, then he stooped a little and looked down at Boromir. "Is this true, Steward's Son?"

"It is," Boromir said. "We must help him. We must stop Saruman."

"His armies grow larger and more vicious, hacking burning my friends." For the first time Treebeard sounded emotional, upset, angry. He turned and looked at his fellow Ents, who were gathering closer to him.

They talked slowly among themselves and Boromir waited as anxiously as Merry and Pippin. Finally, Treebeard turned back to them.

"We have not forgotten the days of the Kings of Men," he said in his rumbling slow manner. "The days of Elendil and Isildur and Anarion. Their sons call for aid. We will answer."

It was a long speech for an Ent and Boromir had hung on every word. "You will?"

"The Ents are going to war." Treebeard confirmed.

"Yes!"

Merry turned and grabbed Pippin by the shoulders and they danced a quick jig, turning in circles and lifting their feet high.

Boromir's elation at finding new, useful allies was dampened as he watched their celebration. He had led inexperienced youngsters into battle more times than he could count, and it never got any easier. Merry and Pippin had proven themselves as survivors, clever tacticians, and excellent diplomats. They would do well. Still, Boromir would not let them wander too far from him. This was no ordinary battle. They were about to take on Saruman who had already very nearly killed them all on Caradhras.

"Thank you," Boromir told Treebeard. "Your people's strength will make all the difference. When can you be ready to leave?"

"Now."

It was Boromir's turn to blink. They had been so incredibly slow. "I'll umm, go get dressed. We march for Isengard immediately." Boromir suddenly realised he had no idea where he was in regard to the outside world. "It shames me to admit it, but I do not know exactly which direction we need to go, nor how long it will take."

"It will be faster if we carry you."
Boromir didn't particularly like it, but knew it was true. "I thank you."

"You are welcome." There was a pause, possibly deliberate, but with their slow manner it was hard to tell. "Little One. " Treebeard winked slowly at Merry and Pippin who struggled to keep their expressions neutral.

Deliberate.

"You put him up to that, didn't you?" Boromir asked, ducking low to follow the Hobbits back into their shelter.

They blinked innocently up at him. "You mean getting them to fight along side us?"

Boromir scowled. "Just remember, I'm the big brother. I invented this game."

"What game?"

"Wait for it, my turn will come."

"So," Merry said. "What's it like to have to look up to talk to someone, Boromir?"

"Refreshing. I do thank you very much. You were very good out there. You were as persuasive as Faramir."

They glowed at the compliment.

"Well," Merry said. "We were just thinking with their strength they could pull Saruman's fortress to pieces in no time."

Boromir shook his head. "Not Orthanc, they won't. It's Numenorean. But you're right they can do much damage to Saruman's outer defences and the like. They are such gentle sheltered creatures, I fear they may not be stirred to kill."

"They're tree shepherds," Merry said, watching as Boromir awkwardly pulled his trousers up over his wounded leg. "Shepherds defend their flocks to the death."

Boromir met his young friend's eyes with approval. "True. I stayed in Edoras before journeying further to Imladris. Theodred reported much destruction of the forests on his borders."

"Ahh," Pippin said. "If we tell them that, they'll squish every Orc they see."

"Showing them would be better," Merry said.

Again Boromir nodded. "Good thinking. The damage should be progressively worse the closer we get to Isengard."

"They'll fight," Pippin said. "And they can lift a Man like he's nothing."

"Or," Merry said, his lips twitching. "Like he's very little."

Boromir looked down his considerable nose at them. "Today's events, I believe, have proven otherwise." He settled his armoured cup into position with a significant pat.

"Hey!" merry exclaimed, turning swiftly to his cousin. "Do you think the water could have ….?"

"I dunno," Pippin said, equally hushed. "I never thought to check. Did you?"

Boromir snorted. "Gentlemen, shall we have the pissing competition another day. We have a battle to win. Listen carefully, these are your orders. Number one, stay close to me at all times."

"And number two is?" Merry prompted when Boromir said no more.

"The same as number one. The Ents could as easily kill us as the enemy in the heat of battle. They're not going to take time to check where they're putting those big feet. We get our backs to the wall and stay out of their way."

"Doesn't sound like we get to kill any Orcs," Pippin said glumly.

"We have a score to settle with them," Merry added seriously.

"We'll kill plenty enough," Boromir told them. "I'll have the Ents," he paused, "shepherd some toward us." That earned the bad pun groan and roll of the eyes. "I too, feel the need to chop enemy heads."

Treebeard's bellow of outrage and pain rolled downhill, enveloping the smoking filth of Isengard and climbing again to disappear into the remnants of forest on the other side of the valley.

"These trees were my friends," the Ent said brokenly. "Creatures I had known from nut and acorn. They had voices of their own."

Pippin flinched. When they had discussed rousing the Ents to battle he hadn't really considered the amount of pain that would drive the rage. He looked up at Boromir's face, saw a grim recognition, a mirror of the Ents' pain and loss. The difference was there was no surprise, just bitter recognition and it struck Pippin that Boromir was not seeing felled trees and axed stumps, he was seeing his people, and the broken bodies and hacked off limbs of his soldiers who had given their lives at his command.

Boromir turned and caught Pippin's gaze. As if reading his thoughts, he said gravely, "Welcome to Gondor, Master Took."

"We stop this here," Merry said, equally solemn. "Before this becomes The Shire."

"And that is why Gondor fights," Boromir told them grimly.

"Today we are the destroyers," Treebeard said ominously. "Saruman! A wizard should know better!" He let out another thunderous cry and the earth shook, the trees behind them rustling with the force of it. "There is no curse in Elvish, Entish or the tongues of Men for this treachery."

"I'm sorry about your friends, Treebeard," Merry said quietly.

The Ent lowered a craggy eyebrow to glower at his three small friends protectively. "I am not sure you will be safe. You are so small."

"We'll fight our own battle, clear of yours," Boromir told him. "Any that get by you will meet our swords."

"Hrroomm," Treebeard rumbled, uncertain.

"The closer we are to danger," Pippin chimed in, "the farther we are from harm. It's the last thing Saruman will expect."

Boromir flicked a huh-what glance at him.

"Hmm," Treebeard considered. "That doesn't make sense to me. But then, you are very small. Perhaps you're right."

Boromir leaned closer to the Hobbits and whispered, "Faramir would never let me get away with that remark."

"But," Pippin said perkily, "You're not a Hobbit."

Merry who was looking over Treebeard's shoulder suddenly gasped a sharp breath. "Look at the trees, they're moving!"

"What do you mean," Pippin said. "You know they …."

"No. The trees! Not the Ents."

"I've only just gotten used to Ents walking," Pippin said, "don't tell me the – " Then Pippin saw it. "The whole bloody forest is moving!"

When he found his voice again, Boromir said, "Faramir would love this. Walking trees." He shook his head in wonderment.

"Where are they going?" Merry asked.

"They have business with the Orcs in Rohan," Treebeard answered. "My business is with Isengard."

Boromir clapped Treebeard's bark-covered arm. He winced a little. He'd forgotten it was not flesh. "You send troops to the High King! Well done! The call is answered on both fronts."

"Rárum-rum! Come my friends. The Ents are going to war. It is likely that we go to our doom. The last march of the Ents."

"Put us down there by that old mill," Boromir instructed. He could not believe how easily the Ents had smashed through the outer wall. Already, they were stomping several Orcs at a time. Boromir grinned, he could watch this all day. But he wanted some of the action for himself. Staying by the mill also put them well clear of Saruman who would no doubt be well distracted by the Ents' attack. Boromir could almost wish he could see the look on the traitorous wizard's face.

Treebeard stooped and carefully lowered his three friends who jumped from his arms.

"Chase a few back this way, and I'll give these two some battle practice," Boromir said.

"Hurrrum." Treebeard sounded doubtful and said no more, hurrying off to claim some targets of his own.

"Best we don't get between the Ents and their sport," Boromir warned.

"Good advice," Pippin agreed, wincing as yet another Orc was rendered to black sloppy jelly that oozed between Ent toes. He retreated to the upper mill steps where he could stand with his shoulders level to Boromir's.

Boromir, Merry and Pippin waited a while, watching the battle from the mill steps. No Orcs came their way. The Hobbits weren't alone in their disappointment.

"All right," Boromir surrendered. "We move a little closer."

"Yes!" They cried, jumping up and down in celebration.

"This is not a game," he reminded them. "Stay close and do exactly as I tell you."
"Yes, sir," they chorused, managing to sound serious.

A little further on they found a half-collapsed stone wall leaning drunkenly above one of the great maws hacked into the earth and turned into furnaces and foundries.

"This should get their attention," Boromir said. He put aside his sword and heaved at the wall, using a piece of broken timber as a lever. Slowly, then rapidly, the wall tumbled inward, crashing and caroming off the sides of the pit. Cries of outrage and pain sounded from below.

"Cowards!" Boromir bellowed downward, brandishing his sword. "Come out and fight!"

"They haven't got any archers, Boromir," Merry commented.

"Right," Pippin finished. "They won't dare come at you without archers. They probably heard what happened to their friends."

"You pickled 'em proper, Boromir," Merry crowed.

"All well and good," Pippin said, "But how do we get them up here?"

"Like that, maybe?" Merry jabbed a thumb behind him toward Boromir.

Pippin's eyes widened. "Oh, yeah," he said in a somewhat squeaky voice. "That should do it all right."

"Stand back," Boromir ordered.

Merry and Pippin traded impressed glances. "Yes sir!"

Boromir booted the now burning barrel of tar, sending it over the side. It burst open as it bounced off the wall and continued bouncing downward, splattering burning pitch over all below. Screams rose up.

It took only a moment or two before they got their first customers. At first, Boromir hogged all the fun. But after a while, as he began to hobble on his wounded leg, he allowed more assistance though not without offering advice.

"Block, block, dammit! Block! Thrust up, up! Under the stroke. Use the backswing!"

Their was unholy joy in his voice and a great grin on his face.

From somewhere across the field of battle came an appalling inhuman scream. With a few savagely efficient strokes, Boromir finished off the opposition, leaving none alive on whom to turn his back as he pivoted to see what was happening. Merry and Pippin had already spotted their wounded ally.

"Two of the Ents are on fire!" Merry said with horror.

"Water," Boromir said, his expression desperate as he too saw the screaming staggering Ents, wreathed in flames. "There's got to be water here somewhere." Harried, he turned about, cried, "There was a river here once, I know there was."

"It's been dammed," Pippin said. "Up there, look."

Boromir followed the line of his pointing finger. "What the -- Oh, shit!"

"Break the dam!" Treebeard cried somewhere in the distance. "Release the river!"

"Oh, shit," Pippin echoed as an Ent pulled open the beams supporting the dam wall.

"Run!" Boromir yelled. "The mill!"

A moment later, he had caught them up in his arms. From behind came the threatening roar of the unleashed river, rushing toward them. From the apparent safety of Boromir's strong shoulders, Pippin dared look.

Furious at having been pent up so long, the river hissed and piled upon itself, higher and higher, a massive brown-white towering wall, racing faster and faster. There was a crashing thud, Boromir smashing the mill door open, barely slowling. He took the old mill steps two or three at a time, the boards creaking dangerously beneath his boots.

The water was faster.

It caught him about the knees, climbing with him up the stairs. The steps spiraled round, dizzying Pippin with the speed of their passage as he stared mesmerized at the water.

"Dammit!" Boromir cursed breathlessly as the reached the uppermost landing and the river rushed in, hunting them down. Boromir stood, panting, most of his weight on his good leg, holding a Hobbit under each arm. He shifted them higher against his shoulders as the water reached his hips. Pippin wanted to say put us down, but there was no place to go. All three of them looked hopefully upward, in search of refuge.

"There!" Boromir exclaimed, his chest heaving with a great breath of relief. "I can get you through there!"

Sunlight streamed through the broken shingled roof, a gap just big enough for a Hobbit to squeeze through.

"What about you?"

Boromir did not answer. "One at a time," he said.

Merry nodded. "I'll grab hold of your belt."

"What?" Pippin cried. "No …"

But Merry was already carefully sliding down to Boromir's hip. Boromir did not release him until he had a firm grasp on the sword belt.

"Wait! What about .." Pippin protested, staring horrified at the murky water slapping about Merry's shoulders.

"Shut up and go!" Merry snapped.

Boromir was already hoisting him up, the muddy water lapping at the Man's waist. Merry floated at his side, one hand anchored to the belt, the other clutched in the arm-hole of the leather over-tunic. Merry stared up at him, white-faced.

"Grab the edge!" Boromir ordered.

Pippin's head was level with the hole in the roof. He snatched at the shingles, the edge broke off in his gloved hand. He scrabbled about, found the timber joist, got a more secure hold. He heaved as Boromir pushed and suddenly he was sitting outside in the warm sunlight. All about the mill the water surged, swallowing everything and drowning anything inside the furnace holes. Steam hissed and billowed upward.

"Merry!" Pippin yelled. He stretched himself out flat on his belly on the shingles and stuck his head and shoulders back inside the hole. He reached down, his arm outstretched.

Boromir boosted Merry and Pippin guided his cousin's hand to the secure hold of the timber beam. "Pull on that!"

Pippin slid carefully back, his feet scrabbling for purchase on the sloping roof. Merry popped up beside him and immediately bent back down, calling, "Boromir!"

Pippin lay on the other side of the hole and peered inside. The water was now at Boromir's shoulders.

"Move back!" he warned.

He drew his dirk and, reaching up, attacked the shingles, alternating the blows between point and hilt. One of the shingles cracked a little. Too slow, the water would outpace him. He could not get any force to his hammering, his arm repeatedly sinking beneath the surface as he drew back. It was all he could do to maintain his grip on the slippery wire-wrapped hilt, he no longer dared flip his grasp but tried to prise at the shingle edges with the point. He punched with his left hand. Pippin glanced desperately about the rooftop, found nothing, looked back inside, seeking a better cudgel.

"Oy! Help us!" Merry bellowed. He whistled sharply, trying to draw the Ents to the rescue.

Pippin's attention was fixed on Boromir. The tide was at his throat, his chin lifted, his teeth gritted in angry determination. He treaded water with one hand and stubbornly hacked and punched at the shingle nail-heads with the other.

"Boromir!" Pippin cried.

"I. Am. Not. Fucking. Drowning. Twice!" Boromir growled, each word punctuated by another reverberating blow to the shingles that resisted as stubbornly as he fought.

Seeing his friend trapped and remembering him sprawled unconscious, dying on the riverbank, Pippin fought back tears of frustration.

"Don't worry," Boromir said, "I think I can get my head through the hole, at least."

"But –" Pippin turned, sitting up a little, looking for something he could use to tie the Man in place if need be.

A shadow fell across him. "Treebeard!" he exclaimed with great relief. "Boromir's trapped! He's too big to get through the hole!"

"Little One, huh?" Boromir said, his bark of laughter punctuated by a fist thudding into the boards.

"It isn't funny, dammit!" Pippin yelled down.

"Hhrrroom!" Treebeard, thankfully, did not wait to say more.

"Climb up!" Merry ordered Pippin as he clambered onto Treebeard's shoulder. "Get out of his way!"

Pippin obeyed hastily, realising what the Ent would do.

Treebeard bent a little, his powerful gnarled hands gripping the edges of the roof and heaving. The shingles shrieked and the timber joists gave way in a splintering crack. Treebeard tossed the roof aside as if it weighed nothing. Boromir blinked upward in astonishment. The muddy water subsided a little from about him as some of it escaped through the rents in the timber walls. Treebeard did not wait but reached down and scooped Boromir up into his splayed, branch-like hand.

Boromir shook his head, sending water flying from his hair. He stared downward at the devastation and ruin that had been Saruman's stronghold. The tower still stood, but the rest of it was gone, utterly destroyed.

"Good job!" Boromir whooped and slapped Treebeard's arm. "That's Isengard done!"

"He doesn't look too happy, does he?" Merry commented cheerfully.

Pippin saw where he was looking. Saruman was pacing furiously on the balcony of Orthanc, stopping to lean on the balustrade and glower down at the ruin of all his works, stranded in a sea of muddy water.

"Not too happy at all, Merry," Pippin chortled.

"Get down!" Boromir ordered. "Treebeard, find some place for us where he can't see. We do not know what power he yet possesses."

Some distance further out from the tower stood the remnants of the stone wall that had encircled the keep. Treebeard carefully set them down atop it, just inside the shelter of a leaning, half-wrecked gate-house. He prized the roof up a little, checked inside, and said, "Safe. No orc-rats."

"Young Mister Gandalf tells me…" Treebeard said, surprising Boromir with the form of address. "He comes to deal with Saruman. Your friends accompany him."

Boromir dipped his head in acknowledgment, very glad of the news. "Theoden King rides with them?" he asked.

'Yes. I am told to prepare for his arrival."

"Gandalf has freed him!" Boromir breathed relief. "Is there also news of Prince Theodred?"

"He did not say." Treebeard turned toward Orthanc. "I must keep guard. Quickbeam will attend you."

Boromir looked up, nodded greeting at the younger Ent. "I should come with you," "he told Treebeard.

"Hhhrrrooomm. You are wet… Stay in the sun." Treebeard left.

"I should be checking what's happening with Saruman." Boromir repeated, absently wringing water from his cloak.

"Leave him to Gandalf," Merry said. "You didn't drown, and you're not dying of pneumonia again, either."

"The sun will dry me as I walk. I want to go have a look at –"

"You have better things to do," Pippin said, reappearing at the door of the gate-house.

"Such as?"

"Beer."

Boromir and Merry swung toward him. "Beer! Did you say beer?"

"Beer. Pipeweed. Ham. Bread. Fruit. Dry firewood." Pippin grinned happily at them. "Follow the trail." He waved a hand at the apples bobbing everywhere in the dirty water. "I think we've found Saruman's private stores."

"My day finally gets better," Boromir exclaimed. He lay a hand to their shoulders. "Shall we go liberate the supplies, gentlemen?"