Disclaimer: I own none of the characters within.

Author's Notes: A BILLION apologies to my loyal reviewers! Life has been hectic, with cleaning and school (I'm home-schooled, so school comes along on vacation! NOOOOOO!) and all sorts of stuff. And to top it off, we went on a vacation-within-a-vacation and visited my Grandpa up in his mountain hideaway. Good news and bad news. Bad news: There was no Internet! Good news: My muse apparently likes mountain air too, and finally pulled me out of my writer's block. You see, this chapter was the hardest one ever to write. I'm hoping it meets all your patient expectations. Please enjoy...



Chapter Eight







~

Quaking, Merry strained his ears and eyes to make out the enormous figure in the mist. It was large, huge, towering high above them on long, thin legs. Great, branch-like shapes loomed near its' head. And then it stepped forward...

A moose.

A moose it was, mighty and strong, old and wise, ruler of the South and all his herds. His dangling furry throat was clumped with moss, and in the Hobbit wolves' minds he became Treebeard.

Lowering his large head, the sweeping antlers that they had mistaken for tree branches became clear.

Cowering to the ground in fear, Merry nonetheless stood before Pippin, ready to die protecting the younger pup. He saw the size of this creature, and in its' largeness saw only a threat. Perhaps he could fight it...

But Treebeard was of the elder mind, and had always possessed the gift of communication by thought, not unlike Elrond and Gandalf.

-Little wolves, do not fear me.-

Cracking his eyes open, Pippin looked up at the giant in awe. And coming around from behind Merry, he walked boldly towards the moose and touched the huge muzzle with his own tiny nose.

Merry sighed and Treebeard rumbled deep in his chest, a low droning sound that seemed to shake the very earth beneath their feet.

Thrusting his head closer to them, Treebeard inclined the antlers towards the little wolves. They were wide and cupped within, like a bowl with decorative ridges around the edge. And Merry saw what he meant...

Taking Pippin in his teeth, Merry cautiously slid the pup into one of the massive antlers. He glanced at Treebeard for reassurance, and the old moose nodded. Satisfied, Merry himself clambered onto the other, bracing himself.

Treebeard lifted his mighty head...

Never before had either of the Hobbit wolves been quite so high off the ground. At first it was daunting, and both closed their eyes in fear. But Treebeard stood still until they adjusted to the height, and then took off at a slow, easy pace, his long legs hardly bending at their joints and instead moving in large and stiff strides.

And for the first time since their capture, Merry and Pippin felt a thrill of hope spark within them...

~

They traveled for a few hours, passing the enormous stretches of the low country that moose inhabited, the land dotted with clumps of shrubbery and the occasional tree. Partridges scurried underfoot, and every so often a lemming would poke its' head from its' nest and cast its' gaze about in annoyance at being disturbed.

This was the land of the Ents, the great herds of moose that had once wandered the whole tundra but had been driven to the South by the Great Hunter in the days of old. And as Treebeard continued his journey, many others joined him, their craggy antlers clustering together to give the illusion of a walking forest.

And Merry and Pippin saw it all from the top, staring in awe at these mighty beast that they could not believe they had never heard of. The herd seemed to stretch on into eternity, an eternity of shaggy backs and mossy beards.

Finally, the Ents stopped their march in a grove of sorts, forming a circle with their massive bodies. Treebeard lowered his head and the Hobbit wolves hopped from their perch, looking around at those watching them.

The eyes... never had they seen such eyes before. For the eyes of the Ents seemed deep and unfathomable, dark and foreboding at the same time they twinkled with hidden mirth. Those clear orbs seemed to own all the secret knowledge of the world, every little thing there was to know about the tundra and its' inhabitants.

-He told us you would come.- Treebeard nodded sagely. -He said so, he did.-

Merry turned a questioning gaze up to him, and all the Ents rumbled with a kind of sound that could only be laughter.

-Now we must only wait. Wait for the signal. That is what he told us to do.-

Now the Hobbit wolves exchanged their own confused glances, while Treebeard turned to his herd.

-Imagine us coming forth once more!-

And the Ents laughed again, a sound that could be described best as -Hoom, hom, hoom, hom....- or something along those lines. It was a strange sound, warm and full of deep contentment born of many years of peace.

Yipping with delight, Pippin danced in the snow, his curly-furred little body twisting and arching joyfully. A dance of happiness, he tossed his head and howled in a shrill voice that made the Ents laugh again. Panting, the pup turned his happy face up to his saviors. Again, he trotted forward and rubbed his head along Treebeard's foreleg, sending a strong message,

'Thank you.'

~

And still to the North, tension was high.

Aragorn was restless, pacing to and fro and sniffing the air. Danger was coming, hurtling towards them, and all he could do was wait. He could not run out and seek it; that would surely result in his death. For the Rohan pack would not leave its' territory, leaving only Legolas and Arwen at his side should he choose to race towards his foe.

And putting Arwen in danger was not an option.

Flopping down on a mossy hilltop, he tipped his head to the sky. Having lived most of his life as an omega, the bottom of the pack, he was used to scorn and sneers. But the female Elven wolf seemed to care for him, and he found himself reciprocating the feelings, foreign though they were.

Suddenly, teeth closed on the back of his neck.

Leaping to his feet, Aragorn spun in the air, jerking his body to rid himself of the intruder. The move worked, and his attacker was thrown to the ground before him.

Wormtongue. Snarling, the beta of the Rohan pack got to his feet indignantly, licking a stray patch of fur back into place as though nothing had happened.

Legolas came loping up, having heard the commotion and always ready to defend his leader, Aragorn. Sensing what had happened, he advanced on Wormtongue with his hackles raised and teeth bared. Assuming an authoritative stance, he towered over the smaller grey wolf until Wormtongue lowered himself to the ground. But he did not roll onto his back in the 'surrender' position. He was not finished, and that was clear.

The slim Mirkwood wolf would have attacked Wormtongue for this insolence, but a casual grunt-whine from Aragorn told him otherwise. Reluctantly, Legolas curled his lip back over his glistening fangs, and lowered his bristling ruff. But he cast Wormtongue a look that was plain:

'I'll be watching you.'

Wormtongue shot a mocking sneer at him when he turned his back.

~

The starry night brought little comfort. Theoden and Eomer sang a brief song to the half-moon, but no one else joined in and they fell quiet. Wormtongue focused all his attention on scratching out a sleep-bed. Ears cocked serenely, Legolas listened to the wind and felt the calm before a storm.

Arwen was scratching herself a place to sleep on the rough ground when Aragorn came up beside her. Using his powerful claws, he uprooted the earth and turned it over and over, creating a soft bed of moss. Turning his gaze to Arwen, he gave her a crooked wolf-smile. Flashing a smile of her own, she nuzzled him fondly under the chin.

Nearby, the young Eowyn pined.

As soon as Aragorn left Arwen to her sleep, the Rohan female caught up to him and yipped in a friendly manner. He rumbled a polite response and continued back towards his own nest. Trying again, she rubbed her head on his side in a slightly-more-than-friendly fashion. Surprised, Aragorn lifted his head above hers in a sharp gesture that said, 'I am the alpha'. And instinctively, she slunk away to her own sleep spot.

Rejected.

As an alpha and beta, Aragorn and Legolas exchanged meaningful glances. Shuddering, the Elven turned his gaze to the East. Aragorn followed suit, and gave a soft whine.

It would not be long.









~ To Be Continued