Chapter Eighteen - The Road to Isengard
15 January - -3 March, 3018; Moria, Amon Hen, Rohan, and Isengard
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_It all started with a pebble_, Merry thought. _The guard's well just stood there, and my silly cousin wanted to know how deep it was. So he dropped a pebble in. That was silly of him. And foolish._
Merry sighed. Yes, it had been foolish for Pippin to drop the pebble down that well, but at the time, it had seemed innocent enough. He hadn't meant any harm, but harm had come of it. The noise that pebble made when it finally hit the bottom of the well, far below, had woken something that would have been better left alone. Then came the orcs, and the trolls, and battle. They had fled down the stairs and to the last bridge. There, Gandalf had made his last stand. That awful Balrog had tried to cross the bridge, but Gandalf wouldn't let him. They stood on the bridge, Gandalf and the Balrog, and when the Balrog had moved to pass, Gandalf broke the bridge with his staff. The bridge under the Balrog broke and crumbled into the abyss, but the fiery creature pulled Gandalf down with him, and the two fell, locked in combat, into the fathomless depths below Khazad-dûm.
_Aragorn made us follow Gandalf's last command_, Merry thought: _to run_. So the remaining eight ran, pursued by orcs from Moria, across the Dimrill vale to the Elvish woods of Lothlórien. Boromir did not want to go there, but the rest were too exhausted to care where they went.
_Boromir!_ Merry cried to himself. _What madness awoke in you there?_ It was in Lothlórien that Merry and the others first saw a change in Boromir, subtle at first but increasingly obvious as they moved down the Great River. Then the day had come when they had to decide what path to follow. To the east lay Mordor, the road they must take if they were to destroy the ring, and to the west Gondor. Boromir had decided he must go to Minas Tirith, and he wanted to take the ring with him. Wisdom said that was the path to take. Travel to Minas Tirith, and rest for a while; regain their strength before trying the road to Mordor. But Merry sensed a great shadow on his heart, and he guessed the others sensed it too.
There, at Amon Hen, Boromir's will broke. He attacked Frodo and tried to seize the ring, take it to Gondor by force if Frodo would not go willingly. Frodo at last saw that the ring had taken control of Boromir, and he ran. An hour later Aragorn happened across Boromir and asked him when he had last seen Frodo. Boromir told him of their quarrel, and Aragorn went with Sam in search of Frodo. Everyone else ran in every direction in search of their comrade, but none of them could find him. That was stupid of us, Merry reflected, though of course he didn't know what would happen. Orcs attacked while the company was separated from each other. They made for Pippin and Merry, not to kill them but to take them as captives. At the last moment, Boromir had come down upon them, and he killed many orcs, but in the end, the man of Gondor was pierced by several arrows and lay dying against a tree. The orcs left, carrying Merry and Pippin away to Isengard.
That was an awful run, across the plains. The orcs and uruks did not stop for night or day, and they crossed Rohan with a speed that the hobbits would have never thought possible. Merry didn't remember much of it, though; he had received a blow to the head and was unconscious for a lot of it. He did remember a foul-tasting liquor and a salve that burned his cut, many days and endless nights, being forced to climb over rocks, and then at last, the last battle at the very edge of Fangorn. There the riders of Rohan slaughtered those orcs and uruks who had not run off. Somehow, though, the Riders did not see the two hobbits among the dead orcs. _What will they do when they discover us_, Merry had wondered. Probably think them orcs and kill them, only finding out the difference later. That wouldn't do. Merry and Pippin made their way into Fangorn. True, they had heard many frightful tales of that ancient wood, but the unknown forest seemed less perilous than almost certain death at the end of a rider's spear.
They wandered under the stifling branches for the better part of a day until at last they came to a small clearing. In the middle of a clearing stood a rock pinnacle, and up the sides there were rough, uneven stairs, so rough that the hobbits thought them just natural cracks in the rock. They thought to climb up the rock and get a better look at the forest, perhaps see a way out.
But they couldn't see far. The forest was thick around them. Yet the sun broke through here, and that at least was encouraging.
"It's nice here," Pippin noted.
"Yes," Merry agreed, "but I fear it's only a passing thing. We must get down soon and try to find our way to somewhere or other by tonight." He looked around him. "What a pity! I almost thought I liked this old forest in the light."
"Almost felt you liked the forest!" a voice boomed behind them. "Oh, that's nice, so uncommonly nice. I almost feel I dislike you. But we must not be too hasty." The two hobbits turned around to see the most frightening creature either of them had ever imagined. It was Treebeard, and if Mellamir had been there, she could have told him they needn't fear for anything. But she was not there, and Merry and Pippin had heard truly frightening tales of walking trees from the Lothlórien Elves. It did not help that both of them had been swallowed alive by a tree on the borders of their own lands, and the two of them tried to run from this new terror, but they did not get far.
Merry reached out his hand and stopped his cousin from running, for the tree had not made any move to crush them under his feet or snap them in half. They turned around slowly and stared at the Ent, not with terror but with wonder. "Root and twig," he rumbled, "very odd you are. If I had seen you before I heard your voices -- nice voices, I liked them -- I might have taken you for little orcs. Yet it is plain now that you are not. But what are you?"
That question took some explaining, for Treebeard knew as much of Hobbits as Mellamir had of Ents when she first came to Fangorn. Treebeard took Merry and Pippin to his home at the base of the Misty Mountains, and there they told most of what they had seen since they had left Rivendell months earlier. Not all, and nothing of the ring, but enough to interest Treebeard. The story took some time to tell because the hobbits would often interrupt each other and Treebeard questioned them, making them repeat what they had already said, but at last they had told everything of their quest that they felt comfortable saying. Treebeard did not press them; he had enough news to think on.
The next day Treebeard called an Entmoot, a gathering of Ents, to discuss what Merry and Pippin had told him. He had long suspected and feared that Saruman was not a good neighbour but he was now sure of it. Pippin had mentioned something Gandalf had said at the council, that Saruman was tearing down the trees all along his border to feed the furnaces of Isengard. This, much to their surprise, upset Treebeard more than anything else. If the hobbits had known more of Ents they might have guessed that Treebeard was a guardian of the forest and cared for his trees above all else. The thought that someone as wise as a wizard should tear down trees so recklessly burned his heart, and Treebeard feared for Fangorn. Fangorn lay at Saruman's doorstep, and what would he do when he ran out of his own trees? He did not fear evil, that much was clear.
The Ents talked for three long days before they made their decision, but that, Treebeard said, was a very hasty Entmoot. The Ents were going to war, to seize Orthanc or die in the attempt. _Hasty, perhaps_, Merry thought, _but not too hasty. The Ents are strong, and Saruman had best watch out._
~*~
Far away, Théoden and his company of Riders set out from Isengard. With him rode Éomer at his right hand, and Gandalf at his left. Mellamir rode her horse, Rimsul, a gift from Éomer, one of the best horses in the land, behind Éomer, and to her side, rode Aragorn on Hasufel and Gimli and Legolas on Arod, gifts from Théoden. Éowyn was not with them; she had wanted to come, but Théoden had charged her with governing the people. Éowyn led them to the mountain refuge of Dunharrow as Théoden rode to battle.
They rode all that afternoon until, at last, evening caught them, and they rested. They lit no fires and the thick clouds blotted out the stars and the moon. That was an uneasy night, but Mellamir slept as best she could. Morning came and the darkness lifted, but the heaviness in the air did not. Still they rode on.
Gandalf often rode ahead and peered at the horizon, but he could not see anything, at least anything he would share with others. At last, he rode back to Legolas. Quietly he asked the Elf, "You have the far-seeing eyes of your kindred. Tell me, can you see anything?"
Legolas raised his hand to above his eyes and stared off to the western horizon. "I see a dark cloud gathering, and smoke. But I can see naught else. Only a great shadow."
Gandalf nodded slowly. "And the shadow of Mordor comes behind us." Gandalf rode back to his place beside the king, and the company rode on for several more hours. At last, in the last light of the dying sun, a lone horseman came riding out of the west. His shield was broken and his helm dented, and he slowed his horse in front of the company.
"Is Éomer here?" he asked. "He should return to Edoras; he comes too late."
"Nay, not Éomer alone." And Théoden rode forward through the wall of guards, so that the man could see his King. "Théoden rides forward, with Éomer and the last host of the Rohirrim. They will not return without battle."
The man bowed before Théoden, a look of both shame and joy lighting his face, and he offered his notched sword to the king. "Command me, lord! I thought --"
"That I still sat stooped in Edoras. So it was when last you saw me. Take back your sword, and mount your horse. We ride to Erkenbrand and his men, to see if any still live to be saved."
"Nay, lord!" Gandalf said. "Ride not to the Westfold; make for Helm's Deep. The storm comes. I must leave you for a while, on a quick errand, but I shall return. Look for me when you least expect me." Then Gandalf turned to Mellamir. "This is not your fight, and I promised your father I would keep you safe. You must ride with me." Mellamir thought to protest, but the look in Gandalf's eyes convinced her otherwise, and she urged Rimsul forward. But he shook his head. "Your horse is too slow. He is a great beast, but not fast enough. Let us ride Shadowfax together."
Mellamir looked uncertain, but she dismounted and climbed on to Shadowfax behind Gandalf. Éomer said, "I will take Rimsul to Helm's Deep and stable him there, until I can return him to you." Mellamir nodded, and without another moment's delay, they shot off into the night.
What a breathtaking pair, shooting across the plains as fast as a silver arrow, her young arms holding tight around his old waist to keep from falling off. Finally, they arrived at Fangorn, but everything was different. No huorns greeted them as they entered the forest, and the birds no longer sang.
"Gandalf ...?" she asked. But he wasn't listening. He rode Shadowfax through a part of the forest where horses hadn't trod for many years, not since the Elves stopped coming there, until at last they reached the meeting point in the centre of the forest.
"This is news," Gandalf said to himself as he dismounted. "A huorn stood here...and another. A moot! Treebeard has not called a moot for an age. But -- " he was silent for a moment, and far away, on the wind, he heard the sound of wood pounding wood, and songs of war, and voices shouting that sounded almost human. "Of course, Isengard. The Ents are storming Isengard."
He quickly remounted, and before Mellamir knew what was happening the two of them were riding off at breakneck speed through the forest. Mellamir shouted, fighting the wind, "Isengard?"
"That will have to wait," Gandalf said. "Quiet now, we must hurry!"
At last, Gandalf and Mellamir saw Orthanc in the distance. As they approached, Mellamir noticed that it was not like the land she had seen in her dreams. The tower didn't stand in the middle of a wasted field but instead in a great pond with debris floating around. She looked away to the mountains and saw where the dam had been torn down. Shadowfax walked around a pile of rubble -- a house of some kind, and some caved-in pillars; Mellamir imagined it must have been some kind of a gate -- and saw Treebeard and other Ents standing away in the corner. With them were two boys who couldn't have been more than twelve; dressed in the strangest clothes she had ever seen.
"Gandalf!" one of the boys cried. "You're alive? What happened to you?"
"Whoa, Shadowfax, whoa," Gandalf said, and he and Mellamir dismounted. "I have fallen through fire and water, but there is no time to speak of that now. Wherever I have been, I am back. Treebeard! I am here on urgent business. Come, we must talk! I --"
"How is this possible, Gandalf?" Mellamir interrupted. "When I was in Fangorn, Treebeard hadn't seen a child in years, and here are these two boys --"
"Boys!" one of them cried. "Child! I like that, Pip, doesn't she know that we've come many a hundred miles, carried by orcs, half dead--?"
But Gandalf merely chuckled to himself. "Boys! Mellamir, do you not listen? These are the Hobbits I told you about."
"They still exist?" she asked incredulously.
"What did you expect?
But Mellamir was silent. Suddenly she walked over, picked the younger up under the armpits, and investigated him. She rubbed the cloth of his overcoat between her fingers, turned him around, and squeezed his cheeks to see if they were real.
"Put me down, miss!" he cried. "Now! This very --"
"Mellamir," Gandalf said, "I assure you they are very much alive. And when they kick you, it hurts. I would put him down if I were you."
"But ... Halflings!" she exclaimed as she replaced the hobbit on the rubble. "Periannath, they still ... "
"Yes." He turned to Treebeard. "I have returned you Mellamir. Rohan is in danger. Saruman's army is on the move, and they will be attacking Rohan within the week. Rohan's forces are scattered; they are not ready for a war. They need your help, like they have never needed it before."
"A week," Treebeard said slowly. "We Ents hate those, barrum-brum, those orcs, and will do what we can, but ... a week. What do you want?"
"I need all the huorns you can muster, and as quickly as possible. They must hold the orcs in."
"But one week ... " Treebeard replied, "that is very hasty indeed, especially for an old Ent ... "
"Yes, but it must be done."
Treebeard nodded slowly. "Let us see, then. The huorns are away east. Come with me, and we will see what can be done." Gandalf and Treebeard set off, Treebeard's slow ent-strides matched easily by Gandalf's hurried pace. Mellamir stood before the two hobbits.
"I am sorry about that," Mellamir said at last. "You must understand, though ... "
"Don't mention it," the younger of the two replied.
Mellamir laughed, a smile breaking across her face. "What I wouldn't do for a pipe and an hour to smoke it," she said, "to hear your tale ... "
"Well, do you have your pipe?" the older one said at last.
"Pipe ...?" Mellamir mused. "Why, yes but -- how do you know about it? I thought only Gandalf knew how to smoke a pipe, and maybe the occasional soldier from the North --"
"Who do you think taught him the art?" the older one asked proudly.
"You?" Mellamir cried. "Why, the world is full of wonders after all!"
"Indeed," he laughed. "I am Meriadoc Brandybuck, but folks call me Merry; and this is Peregrin Took, though you can call him Pippin. We are hobbits, from the Shire."
She stopped laughing and crossed her chest with her right arm in the traditional greeting. "I am Mellamir, of Gondor."
"Gondor. Pip, you hear that?" Merry asked excitedly. "Say, you wouldn't know a Boromir, son of Denethor, would you?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "He's my brother. Or was ..."
Pippin nodded sadly. "Your brother. I'm so sorry, miss."
Mellamir sat down on the rubble beside them. "If you don't mind my asking," she said at last, "how did he die, and you escape?"
Merry frowned. "I don't really know," he said after a pause. "But those orcs, they just seemed to want us. They took us, and set off as soon as they had us." He looked up at her soberly. "Your brother saved my life, miss, and we're --"
But they were interrupted as Gandalf strode quickly over. He unlatched Mellamir's saddlebags from Shadowfax and handed them to her. "I am off to Helm's Deep, you understand," he said, "with the huorns. I want you to stay here and keep safe. Talk to Treebeard and help how you can, but don't leave Isengard. You will be much safer here than anywhere else I can carry you."
"I won't be left for baggage, to be claimed when the fighting's over!"
Gandalf smiled. "No, you won't. There will come an hour when I can't save you any longer. But that is not this hour." And with that, he rode off. As he passed the horizon Mellamir settled down on the rubble, opened her bag, and pulled out her pipe. Merry, always the gentle-hobbit, opened his weed-pouch and filled it for her. They leaned back and looked up at the sky as the clouds passed by.
"So tell me," Mellamir said at last. "You say you taught Gandalf the art? Who taught you?"
"Who taught us?" Pippin asked indignantly. "No one. 'Course, the Bree-hobbits, they say they first grew the true weed, but they say that about most things, so I wouldn't give them no mind ... "
15 January - -3 March, 3018; Moria, Amon Hen, Rohan, and Isengard
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_It all started with a pebble_, Merry thought. _The guard's well just stood there, and my silly cousin wanted to know how deep it was. So he dropped a pebble in. That was silly of him. And foolish._
Merry sighed. Yes, it had been foolish for Pippin to drop the pebble down that well, but at the time, it had seemed innocent enough. He hadn't meant any harm, but harm had come of it. The noise that pebble made when it finally hit the bottom of the well, far below, had woken something that would have been better left alone. Then came the orcs, and the trolls, and battle. They had fled down the stairs and to the last bridge. There, Gandalf had made his last stand. That awful Balrog had tried to cross the bridge, but Gandalf wouldn't let him. They stood on the bridge, Gandalf and the Balrog, and when the Balrog had moved to pass, Gandalf broke the bridge with his staff. The bridge under the Balrog broke and crumbled into the abyss, but the fiery creature pulled Gandalf down with him, and the two fell, locked in combat, into the fathomless depths below Khazad-dûm.
_Aragorn made us follow Gandalf's last command_, Merry thought: _to run_. So the remaining eight ran, pursued by orcs from Moria, across the Dimrill vale to the Elvish woods of Lothlórien. Boromir did not want to go there, but the rest were too exhausted to care where they went.
_Boromir!_ Merry cried to himself. _What madness awoke in you there?_ It was in Lothlórien that Merry and the others first saw a change in Boromir, subtle at first but increasingly obvious as they moved down the Great River. Then the day had come when they had to decide what path to follow. To the east lay Mordor, the road they must take if they were to destroy the ring, and to the west Gondor. Boromir had decided he must go to Minas Tirith, and he wanted to take the ring with him. Wisdom said that was the path to take. Travel to Minas Tirith, and rest for a while; regain their strength before trying the road to Mordor. But Merry sensed a great shadow on his heart, and he guessed the others sensed it too.
There, at Amon Hen, Boromir's will broke. He attacked Frodo and tried to seize the ring, take it to Gondor by force if Frodo would not go willingly. Frodo at last saw that the ring had taken control of Boromir, and he ran. An hour later Aragorn happened across Boromir and asked him when he had last seen Frodo. Boromir told him of their quarrel, and Aragorn went with Sam in search of Frodo. Everyone else ran in every direction in search of their comrade, but none of them could find him. That was stupid of us, Merry reflected, though of course he didn't know what would happen. Orcs attacked while the company was separated from each other. They made for Pippin and Merry, not to kill them but to take them as captives. At the last moment, Boromir had come down upon them, and he killed many orcs, but in the end, the man of Gondor was pierced by several arrows and lay dying against a tree. The orcs left, carrying Merry and Pippin away to Isengard.
That was an awful run, across the plains. The orcs and uruks did not stop for night or day, and they crossed Rohan with a speed that the hobbits would have never thought possible. Merry didn't remember much of it, though; he had received a blow to the head and was unconscious for a lot of it. He did remember a foul-tasting liquor and a salve that burned his cut, many days and endless nights, being forced to climb over rocks, and then at last, the last battle at the very edge of Fangorn. There the riders of Rohan slaughtered those orcs and uruks who had not run off. Somehow, though, the Riders did not see the two hobbits among the dead orcs. _What will they do when they discover us_, Merry had wondered. Probably think them orcs and kill them, only finding out the difference later. That wouldn't do. Merry and Pippin made their way into Fangorn. True, they had heard many frightful tales of that ancient wood, but the unknown forest seemed less perilous than almost certain death at the end of a rider's spear.
They wandered under the stifling branches for the better part of a day until at last they came to a small clearing. In the middle of a clearing stood a rock pinnacle, and up the sides there were rough, uneven stairs, so rough that the hobbits thought them just natural cracks in the rock. They thought to climb up the rock and get a better look at the forest, perhaps see a way out.
But they couldn't see far. The forest was thick around them. Yet the sun broke through here, and that at least was encouraging.
"It's nice here," Pippin noted.
"Yes," Merry agreed, "but I fear it's only a passing thing. We must get down soon and try to find our way to somewhere or other by tonight." He looked around him. "What a pity! I almost thought I liked this old forest in the light."
"Almost felt you liked the forest!" a voice boomed behind them. "Oh, that's nice, so uncommonly nice. I almost feel I dislike you. But we must not be too hasty." The two hobbits turned around to see the most frightening creature either of them had ever imagined. It was Treebeard, and if Mellamir had been there, she could have told him they needn't fear for anything. But she was not there, and Merry and Pippin had heard truly frightening tales of walking trees from the Lothlórien Elves. It did not help that both of them had been swallowed alive by a tree on the borders of their own lands, and the two of them tried to run from this new terror, but they did not get far.
Merry reached out his hand and stopped his cousin from running, for the tree had not made any move to crush them under his feet or snap them in half. They turned around slowly and stared at the Ent, not with terror but with wonder. "Root and twig," he rumbled, "very odd you are. If I had seen you before I heard your voices -- nice voices, I liked them -- I might have taken you for little orcs. Yet it is plain now that you are not. But what are you?"
That question took some explaining, for Treebeard knew as much of Hobbits as Mellamir had of Ents when she first came to Fangorn. Treebeard took Merry and Pippin to his home at the base of the Misty Mountains, and there they told most of what they had seen since they had left Rivendell months earlier. Not all, and nothing of the ring, but enough to interest Treebeard. The story took some time to tell because the hobbits would often interrupt each other and Treebeard questioned them, making them repeat what they had already said, but at last they had told everything of their quest that they felt comfortable saying. Treebeard did not press them; he had enough news to think on.
The next day Treebeard called an Entmoot, a gathering of Ents, to discuss what Merry and Pippin had told him. He had long suspected and feared that Saruman was not a good neighbour but he was now sure of it. Pippin had mentioned something Gandalf had said at the council, that Saruman was tearing down the trees all along his border to feed the furnaces of Isengard. This, much to their surprise, upset Treebeard more than anything else. If the hobbits had known more of Ents they might have guessed that Treebeard was a guardian of the forest and cared for his trees above all else. The thought that someone as wise as a wizard should tear down trees so recklessly burned his heart, and Treebeard feared for Fangorn. Fangorn lay at Saruman's doorstep, and what would he do when he ran out of his own trees? He did not fear evil, that much was clear.
The Ents talked for three long days before they made their decision, but that, Treebeard said, was a very hasty Entmoot. The Ents were going to war, to seize Orthanc or die in the attempt. _Hasty, perhaps_, Merry thought, _but not too hasty. The Ents are strong, and Saruman had best watch out._
~*~
Far away, Théoden and his company of Riders set out from Isengard. With him rode Éomer at his right hand, and Gandalf at his left. Mellamir rode her horse, Rimsul, a gift from Éomer, one of the best horses in the land, behind Éomer, and to her side, rode Aragorn on Hasufel and Gimli and Legolas on Arod, gifts from Théoden. Éowyn was not with them; she had wanted to come, but Théoden had charged her with governing the people. Éowyn led them to the mountain refuge of Dunharrow as Théoden rode to battle.
They rode all that afternoon until, at last, evening caught them, and they rested. They lit no fires and the thick clouds blotted out the stars and the moon. That was an uneasy night, but Mellamir slept as best she could. Morning came and the darkness lifted, but the heaviness in the air did not. Still they rode on.
Gandalf often rode ahead and peered at the horizon, but he could not see anything, at least anything he would share with others. At last, he rode back to Legolas. Quietly he asked the Elf, "You have the far-seeing eyes of your kindred. Tell me, can you see anything?"
Legolas raised his hand to above his eyes and stared off to the western horizon. "I see a dark cloud gathering, and smoke. But I can see naught else. Only a great shadow."
Gandalf nodded slowly. "And the shadow of Mordor comes behind us." Gandalf rode back to his place beside the king, and the company rode on for several more hours. At last, in the last light of the dying sun, a lone horseman came riding out of the west. His shield was broken and his helm dented, and he slowed his horse in front of the company.
"Is Éomer here?" he asked. "He should return to Edoras; he comes too late."
"Nay, not Éomer alone." And Théoden rode forward through the wall of guards, so that the man could see his King. "Théoden rides forward, with Éomer and the last host of the Rohirrim. They will not return without battle."
The man bowed before Théoden, a look of both shame and joy lighting his face, and he offered his notched sword to the king. "Command me, lord! I thought --"
"That I still sat stooped in Edoras. So it was when last you saw me. Take back your sword, and mount your horse. We ride to Erkenbrand and his men, to see if any still live to be saved."
"Nay, lord!" Gandalf said. "Ride not to the Westfold; make for Helm's Deep. The storm comes. I must leave you for a while, on a quick errand, but I shall return. Look for me when you least expect me." Then Gandalf turned to Mellamir. "This is not your fight, and I promised your father I would keep you safe. You must ride with me." Mellamir thought to protest, but the look in Gandalf's eyes convinced her otherwise, and she urged Rimsul forward. But he shook his head. "Your horse is too slow. He is a great beast, but not fast enough. Let us ride Shadowfax together."
Mellamir looked uncertain, but she dismounted and climbed on to Shadowfax behind Gandalf. Éomer said, "I will take Rimsul to Helm's Deep and stable him there, until I can return him to you." Mellamir nodded, and without another moment's delay, they shot off into the night.
What a breathtaking pair, shooting across the plains as fast as a silver arrow, her young arms holding tight around his old waist to keep from falling off. Finally, they arrived at Fangorn, but everything was different. No huorns greeted them as they entered the forest, and the birds no longer sang.
"Gandalf ...?" she asked. But he wasn't listening. He rode Shadowfax through a part of the forest where horses hadn't trod for many years, not since the Elves stopped coming there, until at last they reached the meeting point in the centre of the forest.
"This is news," Gandalf said to himself as he dismounted. "A huorn stood here...and another. A moot! Treebeard has not called a moot for an age. But -- " he was silent for a moment, and far away, on the wind, he heard the sound of wood pounding wood, and songs of war, and voices shouting that sounded almost human. "Of course, Isengard. The Ents are storming Isengard."
He quickly remounted, and before Mellamir knew what was happening the two of them were riding off at breakneck speed through the forest. Mellamir shouted, fighting the wind, "Isengard?"
"That will have to wait," Gandalf said. "Quiet now, we must hurry!"
At last, Gandalf and Mellamir saw Orthanc in the distance. As they approached, Mellamir noticed that it was not like the land she had seen in her dreams. The tower didn't stand in the middle of a wasted field but instead in a great pond with debris floating around. She looked away to the mountains and saw where the dam had been torn down. Shadowfax walked around a pile of rubble -- a house of some kind, and some caved-in pillars; Mellamir imagined it must have been some kind of a gate -- and saw Treebeard and other Ents standing away in the corner. With them were two boys who couldn't have been more than twelve; dressed in the strangest clothes she had ever seen.
"Gandalf!" one of the boys cried. "You're alive? What happened to you?"
"Whoa, Shadowfax, whoa," Gandalf said, and he and Mellamir dismounted. "I have fallen through fire and water, but there is no time to speak of that now. Wherever I have been, I am back. Treebeard! I am here on urgent business. Come, we must talk! I --"
"How is this possible, Gandalf?" Mellamir interrupted. "When I was in Fangorn, Treebeard hadn't seen a child in years, and here are these two boys --"
"Boys!" one of them cried. "Child! I like that, Pip, doesn't she know that we've come many a hundred miles, carried by orcs, half dead--?"
But Gandalf merely chuckled to himself. "Boys! Mellamir, do you not listen? These are the Hobbits I told you about."
"They still exist?" she asked incredulously.
"What did you expect?
But Mellamir was silent. Suddenly she walked over, picked the younger up under the armpits, and investigated him. She rubbed the cloth of his overcoat between her fingers, turned him around, and squeezed his cheeks to see if they were real.
"Put me down, miss!" he cried. "Now! This very --"
"Mellamir," Gandalf said, "I assure you they are very much alive. And when they kick you, it hurts. I would put him down if I were you."
"But ... Halflings!" she exclaimed as she replaced the hobbit on the rubble. "Periannath, they still ... "
"Yes." He turned to Treebeard. "I have returned you Mellamir. Rohan is in danger. Saruman's army is on the move, and they will be attacking Rohan within the week. Rohan's forces are scattered; they are not ready for a war. They need your help, like they have never needed it before."
"A week," Treebeard said slowly. "We Ents hate those, barrum-brum, those orcs, and will do what we can, but ... a week. What do you want?"
"I need all the huorns you can muster, and as quickly as possible. They must hold the orcs in."
"But one week ... " Treebeard replied, "that is very hasty indeed, especially for an old Ent ... "
"Yes, but it must be done."
Treebeard nodded slowly. "Let us see, then. The huorns are away east. Come with me, and we will see what can be done." Gandalf and Treebeard set off, Treebeard's slow ent-strides matched easily by Gandalf's hurried pace. Mellamir stood before the two hobbits.
"I am sorry about that," Mellamir said at last. "You must understand, though ... "
"Don't mention it," the younger of the two replied.
Mellamir laughed, a smile breaking across her face. "What I wouldn't do for a pipe and an hour to smoke it," she said, "to hear your tale ... "
"Well, do you have your pipe?" the older one said at last.
"Pipe ...?" Mellamir mused. "Why, yes but -- how do you know about it? I thought only Gandalf knew how to smoke a pipe, and maybe the occasional soldier from the North --"
"Who do you think taught him the art?" the older one asked proudly.
"You?" Mellamir cried. "Why, the world is full of wonders after all!"
"Indeed," he laughed. "I am Meriadoc Brandybuck, but folks call me Merry; and this is Peregrin Took, though you can call him Pippin. We are hobbits, from the Shire."
She stopped laughing and crossed her chest with her right arm in the traditional greeting. "I am Mellamir, of Gondor."
"Gondor. Pip, you hear that?" Merry asked excitedly. "Say, you wouldn't know a Boromir, son of Denethor, would you?"
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "He's my brother. Or was ..."
Pippin nodded sadly. "Your brother. I'm so sorry, miss."
Mellamir sat down on the rubble beside them. "If you don't mind my asking," she said at last, "how did he die, and you escape?"
Merry frowned. "I don't really know," he said after a pause. "But those orcs, they just seemed to want us. They took us, and set off as soon as they had us." He looked up at her soberly. "Your brother saved my life, miss, and we're --"
But they were interrupted as Gandalf strode quickly over. He unlatched Mellamir's saddlebags from Shadowfax and handed them to her. "I am off to Helm's Deep, you understand," he said, "with the huorns. I want you to stay here and keep safe. Talk to Treebeard and help how you can, but don't leave Isengard. You will be much safer here than anywhere else I can carry you."
"I won't be left for baggage, to be claimed when the fighting's over!"
Gandalf smiled. "No, you won't. There will come an hour when I can't save you any longer. But that is not this hour." And with that, he rode off. As he passed the horizon Mellamir settled down on the rubble, opened her bag, and pulled out her pipe. Merry, always the gentle-hobbit, opened his weed-pouch and filled it for her. They leaned back and looked up at the sky as the clouds passed by.
"So tell me," Mellamir said at last. "You say you taught Gandalf the art? Who taught you?"
"Who taught us?" Pippin asked indignantly. "No one. 'Course, the Bree-hobbits, they say they first grew the true weed, but they say that about most things, so I wouldn't give them no mind ... "