Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all its locations belong to the JRR Tolkien estate. The main characters belong to me and are copyrighted. I do not claim ownership of anything of JRR Tolkien's, and I bow down to him in thanks for his wonderful creations which act as inspirations to us all. *bows solemnly*
Wandering HeartsWith a few final goodbyes, June and Falco left them and walked away westwards, toward Sarn Ford and the Shire. Trotter and his companions watched the two steadily shrinking figures until they disappeared into the distance. Then they turned and, crossing the Shire Road, stepped onto the plains.
Minhiriath was not a plain of tall grass like the northern part of Gondor, nor of bare earth like the Brown Lands. Short, pale green grass covered the flat land; at times the stalks were crowned with yellow, so that the plain was spotted with patches of golden down. But nowhere did the grassland grow higher than Trotter's ankles. Once all that land had been covered in great forests, but Men had cut them down long ago, until only the flat land and the open sky remained. In some places yellow rushes grew, usually on the banks of small streams that were rarely visible from farther away, and seemed to pop up unexpectedly under one's feet.
No people lived here, but the land was not lifeless. Many times Trotter saw large birds circling overhead; he wondered where they nested, since there were no trees in sight, and decided finally that they must build homes on the ground. Small birds with feathered feet and fan-like tails darted across their path at times, ignoring the passage of the three small wanderers. Whenever they passed a watercourse, they heard soft cooing noises from among the rushes. Anna claimed that these were made by frogs, which would later dig themselves into the mud and sink into a long sleep for the winter. They saw horses as well, herds of them; some were small and shaggy wild ponies, but others were great and swift. Trotter could not know it, but this latter kind was descended from escaped mounts of Gondorian soldiers in their wars with the Dunlendings.
Soon they had left behind the Road and the higher country, and the plain spread out endlessly all around them. The sky was a blue bowl overhead. No sign of civilization could be detected, and at times Trotter almost forgot that they were still in Middle Earth – could they not have strayed into some distant land, where no human race had ever set foot?
The wind blew without rest, and always from the west. It was not cold, and the sound of it was pleasant, like the murmur of the sea. After a while they became accustomed to it, and they found that it was as sure an indicator of direction as the sun and the stars.
For several days they travelled undisturbed, save for the occasional visits from the boldest of the horse herds that sometimes followed them in curiosity. These delighted Anna, and she often pointed them out to Trotter and Beleg long before either of them became aware of their visitors.
They travelled every day from dawn until nightfall, pushing on as quickly as they could without horses to ride. In the evening they huddled around their rush campfire – protected by windscreens woven also from the rushes – and Beleg often told a story or sang a song to pass the time. At Trotter's request, the Elfit began to teach him the ancient tongue of the Elves as well, and to his delight, he found he had rather a knack for languages. He did not forget a word once he heard it, and soon enough he was speaking in halting sentences, the old words rolling off his tongue as if he were a Noldorin Elf himself.
It was the evening of their fifth day on the plains, and they were already drawing close to the Greyflood River, when Trotter attempted his first short poem in the Elvish language. They were sitting around the fire, and the flames were crackling softly, and before he knew it he was speaking aloud.
"I súrë harya lírë; lindëa lárnyan.
Queta lisseva mí salquë, or i landa latina nórië.
Aurer autëa lintavë, i vanwië vanwa.
Arwa otornonyo, osellenyo, umin rucë.
Umilmë ohtacarë. Cáralmë lairer.
I eleni nar rossë i Menelo
Serenta ná serelma."*
"Not bad at all," Beleg remarked, "For a beginner, of course." He had been listening quietly as he cleaned his knife, which had unfortunately rusted slightly after its adventure in the Brandywine River.
"I thought it was lovely," Anna said, "Even though I didn't understand a word of it. Much better than Beleg here could do himself, anyway."
Beleg rolled his eyes towards the star-strewn heavens and sighed in mock distress. "O melmenya! Súcanyë i sárië quetelyaron!"**
Trotter laughed. "It's hardly a worthy use of the language," he said, "But I didn't really mean to speak at all. It just seemed to come of itself, if you know what I mean."
"I absolutely do not," Beleg said, nodding emphatically. He had been in good humour for days, and his biting wit had gentled somewhat, to the point that Anna was forced to remark that he was obviously growing old and soft.
"In any case," Trotter said, "I have grown quite fond of Minhiriath, and I am almost sorry that we can't stay here. It's a lovely place – not dangerous or dark at all."
"No, not dark and dangerous," Anna agreed, "But we are not near the dwellings of Men yet. Here there is no evil; only the grass and the wind and the animals. The dark things gather further south, near Tharbad and around the country of the Dunlendings. I suspect we will have more trouble once we get there." She sighed. "The land is so peaceful when there are no people on it. Men always manage to bring evil everywhere, as if they wanted to live in the middle of pain and darkness. Except in the Shire, of course," she added thoughtfully, "The Shire is quite different, not like a place of Men at all."
"That is because it's a place of Hobbits!" Trotter said, "And Hobbits are not Men, even if we look like them in all but size."
"Unfortunately, the charming land of the Halflings is far behind us," Beleg said, tossing his now-gleaming knife up and down in the air, "And it will most likely be long before we see it again. All those dark and dangerous lands still lie in front of us, so don't get too fond of peace just yet!"
"I am always fond of peace," Anna said, "Even when everyone else is fighting and throwing knives around."
Beleg continued to throw his knife around, sending it into a flashing loop through the air and catching it deftly a moment later. "You should still bear some type of weapon. In these days it is always prudent, and on a quest like this it is madness to go unarmed."
"Well, I am going unarmed anyway," Anna said, "I want nothing to do with weapons of any kind."
Beleg stopped playing with his dagger and frowned at her. "That is not wise," he said, "What if something were to attack you? What if that water-dragon had tried to swallow you days ago? Without a weapon, you would be as good as dead."
Anna muttered something that they were apparently not supposed to hear. Trotter thought it was something like, "better me than someone else." Now that he thought about it, he had never seen Anna touch a weapon, except for the night they had met in Bree, when she had carried a Dwarven dagger, and later his own Nyéra. But even then she had been only too glad to get rid of the sword ...
"But why?" Beleg asked, "Killing is hardly a favourite pastime of mine either, but this is almost fanaticism."
"Then if everyone were a bit more fanatic, we wouldn't have wars at all," Anna said.
"Why?" Beleg asked again. Anna only shook her head and refused to answer.
Trotter wondered what was going through her mind at that moment. She was staring into the fire and seemed to have forgotten the presence of her companions. There was a troubled expression on her face, as if she were recalling some painful memory; he only hoped they had not reminded her of an unpleasant episode from her past. Trotter knew that Anna had found something in their little trio that she had never had before, and he did not want to take it away from her again. The past was a closed book as far as he was concerned; there were dark memories there for both of them that he did not want to bring to the light.
He slept longer that night than he had meant to, and when he opened his eyes the sun was already halfway above the horizon, caressing the wide plains with slender fingers of light. Their fire had burnt out, and only grey ash lay among the dead coals. He blinked sleepily into the lightening sky, then sat up.
Beleg lay next to him, not asleep, but sprawled tensely flat on his stomach a few feet away. As soon as he noticed that Trotter was awake, Beleg grabbed the Hobbit by the arm and pulled him down beside him.
"What -?" Trotter asked, startled.
"Shhh. Look!" Beleg pointed eastwards. Trotter followed the line of the Elfit's finger with his eyes until he saw what his friend wanted him to see.
About a hundred yards away, one of the wild herds of horses that roamed the plains was grazing lazily on the grass. It was a small group, only ten or so individuals, but they were of the large, swift kind that Trotter had admired before. They were clustered together in a rough circle, apparently minding their own business, except for the leader, a tall black stallion, who stood some yards away.
The sun rose golden behind him, silhouetting the animal with a shining aura. The horse stood with head bowed and did not move. Then it shook its mane once, and suddenly Trotter saw that it was not alone. There was another silhouette, small and dark, crouching before the horse. It was a human figure ... and suddenly he knew that it was Anna.
The girl was tiny compared to the horse, not even reaching to its shoulder, but she seemed completely unafraid. As Hobbit and Elfit watched, she reached out one gold-bordered hand and laid it onto the horse's nose. The two stood there, stark black shapes outlined brilliantly by the blazing light, for only a moment. Then the stallion pulled away, tossing its head, and trotted back to its herd. Anna remained where she was, slender and dark before the rising sun.
"You were right," Beleg said softly.
"About what?" Trotter asked.
"What was it you said to me ... 'Anna is a gentle soul, too gentle for the world. You just have to open your eyes and see it.' I didn't believe you, you know. But now ... what kind of person refuses to bear a weapon and loves horses more than her own people?"
"A very special one," Trotter laughed, "As I am sure even you have realized by now."
Beleg was silent for a moment. "You are so much like her," he said, "The two of you together ... you are like Elf-children, or angels. So innocent, so good. How do you do it?"
"I'm not sure what you mean," Trotter said, "I do not think I am particularly innocent, and as for good ... well, I only try to do what seems best in every situation. But everyone does that – don't they?"
The Elfit didn't answer. Instead he said, "She loves you."
"Of course!" said Trotter, "And I love her as well." Beleg stared at him with wide blue eyes, and suddenly he realized that his friend had meant the word in a different sense.
"Oh. No, you don't understand. It's not like that..." he fumbled for words, trying to explain, "She is like my family, and I am hers – we don't have anyone else left. Except that isn't exactly right either ... we are all like a family, all three of us. You are here too."
"I see," Beleg said, looking back at Anna, who was walking slowly back towards them.
Trotter did not question the Elfit further, deciding it would be better to let the matter lie. He was no fool, and he could guess his friend's thoughts easily enough, but he did not think Beleg would appreciate him commenting on the matter.
It was in the afternoon of that day that the first disturbing signs began to appear. They were striding along over the grass under the sun when a tiny black cloud drifted across the sky. Besides the fact that the cloud was black, however, it was moving against the wind, from east to west. When they stopped to watch it apprehensively, they realized that it was not a cloud at all, but a flock of birds; crows, to be exact.
"Crebain," Beleg said, "They are spies – they are looking for us!"
But there was nowhere to hide on the coverless Minhiriath. The crows wheeled overhead, calling and cawing loudly to each other. Then, all at once, they wheeled and began to fly northwards.
Trotter took this as a bad sign, and his companions were not comforted either. They decided to push on as far as they could that day; none of them wanted to remain near the spot where the crows had seen them. The sun sunk behind them as they walked, and no further sign of crebain or other creatures appeared. Trotter had begun to hope that they had been wrong and the crows had been ordinary birds, not in the service of the Witch-King, when the first howls split the air.
"They have found our trail," Beleg said.
"Are you sure?" Anna asked nervously.
"Yes," Beleg answered grimly.
The howls multiplied, rising and falling in an eerie melody contrary to the harmony of the wind. They were still far distant, many leagues to the north, but Trotter knew full well that that would be little protection.
"What are they?" Anna asked.
"Werewolves," Trotter said, "My father used to tell me about them. They are like ordinary wolves, only much bigger, and evil, and some have poisonous bites. Sometimes they allow Orcs to ride on their backs, when they want to travel quickly; and sometimes normal wolves travel with them as well, for they are akin to each other."
"They are Wargs," Beleg agreed, "And they have been sent after us. Unless we want to fight fifty or so of them by ourselves, we must make our way to a place of safety."
"Tharbad," Trotter said, "It's the only town in these lands. We are still a ways away, but those howls sound distant enough that we can make it there before they catch up easily enough."
"But only if we hurry!" Beleg said, "We should not stop tonight."
"Tharbad..." Anna said, "Is there no other place we can go to?"
"Not that I know of," Trotter said, frowning, "Why?" She did not answer, but he remembered suddenly that she had lived in Tharbad before she had come to Bree – perhaps that was why she disliked the idea of going there. "We don't have much other choice," he said, "But don't worry! We will be with you. And Tharbad is better than a Warg's belly, isn't it?"
"Of course, of course..." Anna said, "Let's go, then!"
They struck out eastwards, hurrying as quickly as their tired legs would allow. The day was still light; though the sun had lowered in the sky, it shone brightly. At occasions, they heard the howls of the Wargs far behind them, an eerie music accompanying the lowering light. Every time the werewolves voiced their cold song, the three travellers jumped and ran forward, only to slow back to a fast walk later.
Finally, Anna stopped and bent over, rubbing her legs.
"I have a cramp," she said, sounding frightened.
"We can't stop here!" Beleg cried.
"We can't walk all the way to Tharbad tonight either," Trotter said.
"Don't be silly," Anna said, "The two of you are quite alright, and if you keep on, you will reach Tharbad soon enough. I used to live here, remember; the town is not so far from where we are now. The sensible thing to do is for you two to go on. I'll catch up when I can."
"Oh, no you don't!" Trotter and Beleg said at once.
"We are not going to leave you here!" Beleg said indignantly.
"Under any circumstances!" Trotter agreed, "And don't pretend you mean to catch up – you can't walk any more and that's that, and you're trying to send us away!"
"Of course I am!" Anna said angrily, "And if you weren't such fools, you would go! What's the sense in all of us being eaten when you could escape?"
"We're not going anywhere without you," Beleg said firmly, "So you might as well stop arguing. I have a full quiver of arrows with me, and Trotter has his sword. They will not find us easy prey." But he did not sound very confident.
"Listen!" Anna said, "Do you hear that? They are coming closer, singing their dreadful song!"
Sure enough, the evening air rang with icy music. The voices of the Wargs had grown in number and volume; there were more of them, and they were closing in unfailingly on the three small wanderers. Trotter wondered just how long they could hold out against a pack of werewolves. If they failed now, what would become of Arnor? But he could not just leave Anna behind to be eaten...
The song was growing. A new voice had joined the symphony. But ... Trotter frowned. The new song was different, nothing at all like the Wargs' music. It flowed smoothly, firm and fluid, seeming to tell of acceptance and joy, loss and yearning beyond anything Trotter had known in his short life. There was a tale in every note, and with every note it became stronger. The werewolves' voices dropped out one by one, and the howls of the pack stilled, as if they had been shocked into silence by the new singer. The song, alone now, continued.
"What is it?" Anna asked wonderingly, "That is no wolf song!"
It came from much closer than that of the pack. Trotter turned in a circle, seeking the source. The sunlight glimmered over the short grass – but there, on the distance, a new feature decorated the horizon. Trotter squinted. It was a tree.
"It's coming from that tree," he said, "The singer must be there. He seems to have scared the Wargs at least – let us go and see who it is!"
They began to hurry once more, and soon they drew close to the lone tree. It was swaying back and forth in the wind, but try as he might, Trotter could not make out anyone near it. The song had not ceased, rather, it had grown louder and stronger. In fact, it seemed to be coming from the tree.
Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. At his side, Anna gasped in wonder.
The tree was singing.
Here was the singer: the beautiful melody that had drawn them here radiated from the tree, if a tree it was. In fact, as Trotter stared it seemed to him that the singer looked less and less like a tree and more like a person, though unlike any person he had ever met. She - somehow he knew it was a she and not a he after all - was tall, ten feet at least, and her hair was long and green, twiggy at the roots like the branches of a tree. Her skin was a smooth reddish-brown; it seemed thicker than normal skin somehow, more akin to bark. Her arms were long and strong, branching into many fingers; her legs were thick and her feet sprouted toes like the roots of a tree. She wore a green gown of moss - or perhaps it was no gown, and the moss grew upon her skin, Trotter could not tell. White flowers grew along her hairline, like a natural circlet of a queen. Queenly she seemed indeed, and radiant as she sang.
Trotter did not know how long he stood, spellbound. The Wargs and their pursuit were forgotten. It seemed to him that all was a dream, or that he had somehow travelled outside the borders of the earth. Truly there were wonders in the world beyond what even the oldest tales told.
Slowly, Trotter became aware that the song had
stopped. He felt as if he awoke from a long sleep, or swum up from the depths
of a warm green pool. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he suddenly
became aware of something else as well: the singer had spotted them.
More fantastic even than anything yet were her eyes.
They were deep and clear, green flecked with gold. They were wells of wisdom,
filled with knowledge and kindness and thoughts that Trotter felt must be as
old as the world. She was ancient, this singer, for all her beauty. But as they
regarded each other, Trotter saw that she was not without sorrow; her cheeks
were hollow, and scars marred her brown skin. Her liquid eyes swirled with
sadness and confusion as well as wisdom and benevolence.
"An
Entwife," whispered Beleg at his side.
"An Entwife," Trotter echoed. Next to him, Anna stared at the singer in awe. Silence reigned between the three of them.
"Er ... Beleg?" Trotter said, shrugging
uncomfortably, "What exactly is an Entwife?"
Beleg turned to stare at him in surprise. Before he
could speak, however, he was forestalled by the Entwife herself; her laughter,
to be precise. Trotter blushed. Her laughter was like a song itself, clear
bells ringing and echoing through the trees. Her eyes were merry now, and she
swayed and shook with mirth. Trotter felt very young all of a sudden; rather
childish, in fact, and not adventurous or heroic at all.
"What am I?" the Entwife said, still
chuckling, "Hmmm, and what might you be? Far have I travelled and seen many
strange things, only to find surprises in my own homeland! Hum!" Her voice was
a pleasant rumble, sweet and soothing as a mother's lullaby.
"If you please," Beleg said, stepping forward and bowing, "I am Beleg the Elfit, and these are my companions Trotter the Hobbit and Anna Applethorn."
"Hobbit! Elfit!" the Entwife exclaimed, "Not in the old lists, those." Her brow wrinkled, "Very odd now, that. But we mustn't be hasty. You asked what an Entwife is?"
Trotter nodded. "I have never heard of one before,"
he said, "And I wish I had, for you are very beautiful, and I would have liked
to have known of you before."
"Hum! Beautiful?" she answered, "Perhaps - but you
mustn't judge by beauty alone, you know. Hasty decisions lead to nasty
consequences, I always say. I could be an evil tree with a twisted black heart,
after all, in league with Goblins and Wargs and the Dark Lord himself!" Her
eyes twinkled. "But enough jest," She continued, "You have kindly told me your
names, and I will return the favour. I am Fimbrethil in the Elvish tongue,
Wandlimb in your language. Come, lay down your packs and talk with me awhile. I
am curious about you, who are not on the ancients lists."
"But the Wargs..." Anna said, "Won't they catch us?"
"Hmmm, what?" Fimbrethil said, "Those young pups? They can't sing a true song, no matter how they try! The music of true wolves, now that is a joy to hear, but these werewolves twist the art, as they are twisted themselves." She shook her leafy head. "They have heard my song, and I daresay they are rather frightened to meet a real singer! They were quite hasty in following you, weren't they? Ran into something they didn't expect! I doubt they will come near for a while. But before we do anything, we must speak a while and decide what is best. It doesn't pay to make quick decisions!"
Without the slightest further hesitation, Beleg pulled off his pack and seated himself on the soft grass next to Fimbrethil. He seemed to trust in the Entwife's conviction that the Wargs would not dare to come near. Trotter and Anna followed his lead, eager to learn more about this strange singer. She towered far above them, her arms shading them like the branches of a tree.
"Have the Entwives then returned?" Beleg asked,
eyes shining, "I have heard many tales of their disappearance and of the long
search of the Ents for their lost mates."
A frown creased Fimbrethil's brow like a shadow, darkening her eyes. She shifted nervously, her hair rustling like leaves.
"They search for us?" she asked softly, "How long
have they sought?"
"Why - for many years," Beleg replied, "Since long
before my birth. Did you not know?"
But it was obvious from Fimbrethil's expression
that she had not. Trotter watched her closely, and it seemed to him that there
was a sorrow deep inside her, a sorrow that had waited long and was only now
coming into the light. She seemed to him like a woman who has travelled long to
reach her home, only to find that she had forgotten the way.
"I do not know the story of the Entwives, Fimbrethil," Trotter said softly, "But I see that some unhappiness darkens your heart. Perhaps if you tell us your story, we will be able to help you."
She gazed at him in silence. Then, "Your eyes see
clearly, young Hobbit," she said, smiling once more. "Very well. I will tell
you my tale."
"It is a rather strange and sad story," she began, "And it has no ending that I yet know of. Many years ago, when the world was young and the woods were wide and wild, the Ents and Entmaidens lived together and walked together. Ah! yes ... we were happy, together in the woods, taking care of the trees and the plants we loved. The strength of Fangorn, and the laughter in his eyes - I remember them yet. But our hearts did not grow together. The Ents loved to wander in the forests, talking with the trees and living among the wild things. But we Entwives, we saw that there was pain and barrenness where there could be beauty. We saw the dark places in the woods where the trees fell upon one another and were choked in roots and vines, and the fruit that did not ripen for lack of sun or water. And it seemed to us that we, the Shepherdesses of the Trees, betrayed our office and that which we loved by allowing this waste and decay. In our minds there came visions of gardens, gardens like no other; long orchards stretching away into the distance, heavy with fruit; cherries, peaches, apples, pears; herbs growing in thickets, their scent flooding the air; great fields of wheat waving in the wind; gentle streams flowing to feed the greenery. And all growing in the light and giving fruit and seed to the world.
"But when we spoke of our dreams to the Ents, they
did not hear us, for to them the wilderness was beautiful, where everything
grew without direction, whether good or bad. This saddened us a little, but it
seemed of no great import; we built our gardens and tended them while the Ents
shepherded the trees, and all was well for a while.
"But then the great Darkness came in the North, and
we feared for ourselves and our charges and all that we had worked hard to
build and keep safe. So we went far away, across the Great River, leaving
behind the evil and the dark, and set ourselves to building the gardens anew.
These gardens, now, were yet more magnificent than the first; the tilled fields
and orchards, blossoms and fruit, rich and growing. Many men came to us to
learn our craft, and we taught them gladly, for they helped to spread the life
and beauty that we cherished so. We saw the Ents more seldom now, for they
remained in the forests with their trees. By and by, we saw them not at all, so
entrenched were each in their way of life. They did not come to visit us; they
forgot us. But we were yet content with our gardens.
"But alas! Our gardens were not to grow in peace.
War came to our land, and the shadow grew in the East."
Fimbrethil paused, and her eyes were distant.
Trotter could almost see the endless orchards in them, gardens of unimaginable
beauty ... ravished by the fire and blood of war. He was silent, barely
breathing, spellbound. His companions sat at his side, lost in the tale as he
was himself.
"Yes, war came," Fimbrethil continued, "And it
passed over our land. Nay, it did not pass; it devoured! The trees were broken,
hacked down for firewood and building materials, the fields burned, what fruit
that was not immediately eaten trampled. Hrooom! Fire swept over our fields ...
we could hear the trees groaning as they fell. Their skeletons lay upon the
once-green earth. Their fruits rotted upon the ground; the air, once sweet with
heavenly scents, stunk with decay. This had become of our work, of our dreams.
"But we had no time to mourn, for war is
indiscriminate, and we had no desire to lay dead upon the brown earth next to
our trees. We fled to the East, seeking to outrun the black hatred and burning
anger that lay behind. Often we wondered what had become of the Ents: did they
live? Had they survived? Had they fought? We tried to return to them, but
whenever we turned our steps back to the West, we were met only with blood and
pain. So we continued on, fleeing ever further East. We crossed many strange
lands this way: burning deserts, tall mountains, freezing plains and fertile
valleys. Some were very beautiful, some desolate. For a time we even forgot our
fear in the wonder of our new surroundings.
"Finally we came to a new land, one inhabited by
men. The Easterlings, they are called here, and they are indeed strange to look
upon. Small and black-haired, speaking tongues we had never heard before. They
feared and hated us immediately. Perhaps they thought we were an evil kind of
magic; in any case, they hunted us wherever we came upon them.
"We were scattered far and wide, driven apart by
the hatred and the raids of these humans. Many a sister I saw burn like a
torch, or chopped to pieces for firewood. Rrroom! An Entwife for the fire! Ah,
it was terrible! A horror such as I could not bear to witness again! Even now
it pains me, so many years later ... all gone, all gone. My gardens, my sisters
...
"We were splintered as if by lightning, lost in a strange land. How we missed the Ents then! Why had we cut ourselves off from them before? For now they were lost to us. No Ents, no Entings, and soon enough, no Entwives. The wild woods faded in our hearts; our gardens were dim and pale in our minds. Dust and ashes, all.
"One day the Easterlings held a great hunt for us;
their King offered rewards to those of his murdering men who killed the
greatest number of Entwives! They came with fire in their hands, fires that
could not be put out even with water, and they drove us through the woods. I
became separated from my friends and sisters, and I fled from the sounds of
their voices, dying under the hands of men.
"Long I wandered alone after that fleeing the fires and axes of men, knowing not whither I ran. Often I thought of Fangorn, and wondered what had become of him. And finally, after many, many years, I came to a place that seemed familiar to me. I stood at the shores of a salty sea, and knew that I had come to the Sea of Rhûn, the easternmost march of Middle Earth. I felt then a stirring of hope in my heart, knowing that I had come home; and I set out to the West to find the Ents and my lost abode.
"Alas! I came to our gardens, or the place where
they had once been. All dead, all brown, ugly and bare. Men call them the Brown
Lands now. Such is the evil of war.
"And I came finally to the woods of the Ents.
Silence greeted me as I stood under the eaves. The trees waited there, wild as
ever, but the Ents were gone. Despair nearly overwhelmed me ... after so many
years, so much pain and destruction, even the Ents, our dear Ents, were gone.
What is there now? Our people are gone. I turned my feet to the West and went
whither they led me, passing by the mountains and over the Greyflood. And I
came to this land, so beautiful in its purity. Here, I wished to rest. I could
stand among the grasses, unmoving, until I drifted into a sleep. There are no
trees here, no trees to sing with the voices of the Ents, no memories. To be
like a tree myself ... but today I hear the singing of the wolves far away, and
it troubled me. The dark creatures are getting ever bolder; but I do not love
them, and my own song is stronger than theirs. So I sang, and you, hearing me,
have come, strange beings such as I have never seen before.
"And you tell me now that the Ents are not dead,
but that they search for us somewhere - and a fruitless search it will be, for
I think no Entwife survived to return to Middle Earth beside myself. The
Entwives are dead, and the Ents have gone far away in their search.
"That is my tale, Trotter of Bree. Think you now
that you can help me?"
"I only wish I could," Trotter said, shaking his head. He frowned. Something about the tale tugged at his memory, but he could not decide what.
"It's so ... beautiful and sorrowful," Anna said, "I can hardly believe it's true." She sat comfortably, cross-legged. All three of the travellers had forgotten their fatigue in the tale of the Entwife, and Trotter hardly felt tired any longer.
"Hoo, eh?" Fimbrethil said, "Indeed? Well, I daresay you have a tale of your own to tell. I have stood here for quite a time, but I have not seen anyone else. Why might you be here, hmmm?"
"We are on a quest of our own," Beleg said, "And if you will allow, I will tell you about it!"
"Please do!" Fimbrethil said, "I am quite curious – almost too curious! I must cool down a bit. But first, tell your tale!"
Beleg obliged her gladly. Trotter's mind wandered as the Elfit recounted their errand and adventures. That strange feeling of familiarity that had begun to nag him as he listened to Fimbrethil's tale had not gone away. What was it? He was sure he had never heard of Entwives before ... or of Easterlings. And yet, something from the story was known to him.
"Well!" said Fimbrethil when Beleg had finished their story, "Your tale is hardly less extraordinary than mine! Hmmm! Little people have more about them than it seems! I must say I feel quite lively after hearing such a good story." She sighed. "Fangorn would have enjoyed it immensely ... he was always so fond of stories."
Fangorn ... Fangorn?
Suddenly, comprehension exploded in Trotter's head like a wizard's fireworks.
"Fangorn!"
he cried, leaping to his feet.
Anna and Beleg stared at him as if he were a madman, and Fimbrethil's
gaze too, was full of surprise.
"I've got it!" Trotter gasped, full of excitement, "I knew it was familiar somehow! Fangorn!"
"Trotter?" Beleg asked, puzzled, getting to his feet, "What are you talking
about?"
"Some hasty idea, eh?" Fimbrethil asked, "Hoom, what are you thinking, little Hobbit?"
"I come from Bree, Beleg!" Trotter exulted, "Never thought it would come in handy, but ... Bree, the crossroads of Arda, where rumours and stories of all sorts are told!"
"Now wait a minute..." Beleg began.
"You have heard something?" Fimbrethil asked, her
deep, shining eyes fixed on him.
"Yes ... it was a very long time ago," he said, "Or, well, a very long time by my standards. Years, anyway – I will still a tweenager then. Some friends of mine and I were at the Prancing Pony. It was my friend's coming-of-age celebration, you see, and Bernard Butterbur - the innkeeper, that is - had a fresh shipment of Dwarvish ale. We were celebrating, and well, there was a party of Elves on their way from Rivendell to Lindon, and ... I don't recall his name, but one of the Elves, a tall blonde fellow, was telling a story of a visitor who came to Rivendell some weeks before. The name of that visitor was Fangorn, I remember it clearly! He had come through with some fellows of his, searching for something ... oh, I wish I had paid more attention! But we had had a bit too much ale, all of us, and the story was of no great import to us, you see. In any case, I never heard the word "Ent" and I assumed at the time that the people in question were Men. But now! If Fangorn came to Rivendell - why, he would have spoken with Lord Elrond, and you could go there and ask where they went - the Ents, that is..." Trotter trailed off as he watched Fimbrethil.
She stood up straighter, and her eyes were clear. It had grown late while they talked, and the sun was setting. Fimbrethil's shadow stretched out behind her, long and dark, like her past. She faced the sunset, and the sun set in her eyes. The light was red upon her skin, the breeze rustled through her hair. She lifted her arms, and they too were red in the dying light. Something stirred in Trotter's heart as he watched her. He swallowed, feeling unexplainably melancholy. Black and red ... he brushed away his thoughts.
"Rivendell..." she sighed into the wind. Then she smiled. "Fangorn. I will find Fangorn again ..." She turned to Trotter. "You have done me a great service, little Hobbit," she said, "You have given me hope." And she laughed as she had when she had first seen them. Caught up in her mirth, the three small travellers could not help but laugh as well.
"Then you will be going the same way as we for a while," Anna said excitedly, "Why don't we go together? That is," she said, turning to Trotter, "If you don't mind, since you are the official leader of our company!"
"Mind?" Trotter said, "I am delighted at the very idea!"
Fimbrethil smiled down at them. "Hmmm! That was a very hasty decision! It seems Hobbits are not the kind to think about things properly before they speak! But I am happy. And I am fortunate to have such companions," she said, "I shall add you to the old lists and tell Fangorn when I find him - although perhaps he knows of Hobbits and Elfits by now!"
"Well, then it's settled," Beleg said, "We can travel together tomorrow at least. Then we will have to go to Tharbad, and you can continue on northwards to Rivendell. But you must be careful; we do not know how far the Witch-King's arm now stretches. When we left I had not heard that his power had reached the Mitheithel, but now I cannot say."
"Hoom! The Witch-King, eh?" she shook her head sadly, "That young man made some very thoughtless decisions, and you can see what it's brought him to. But I do not fear him. We Entwives are stronger than we look; much stronger, and very few things in the world can hurt us."
Night had rolled over the plains by then, and there was no sign of the Wargs that had pursued them. Trotter allowed himself to relax, finally. He felt much more content than he had in a long while; he had been able to help someone, he had made a difference at last. It was just luck, of course, that he had overheard the Elf mention the name Fangorn, but it felt good nevertheless. Fimbrethil would find Fangorn. And perhaps the Ents, after hearing her story, would go to the East and find the other Entwives - some of them must have survived! And then there would be Entings, and they would grow into more Ents and Entmaidens. The gardens might blossom yet...
"I don't know about you, but I'm starving," Anna said suddenly, "We haven't eaten for hours, and tomorrow there is still more ground to cover." She reached for her pack and began to dig out some of their dwindling provisions. Trotter absently accepted the waybread and dried meat she handed him.
"Would you like something to eat, Fimbrethil?" Anna asked politely, offering the Entwife a piece of bread.
"Oh, we
don't eat, we Entwives," she answered merrily.
"Don't eat?"
Trotter asked in amazement, surprised out of his reverie, "How terrible!"
Fimbrethil laughed. "Nay, but we drink, and Entdraughts are as good as any man-food! Perhaps you would like to try one, hmmm?"
"I certainly would..." Beleg said. Trotter nodded in
agreement, but wondered just where Fimbrethil kept these Entdraughts of hers.
She carried no pack, and he could not see how else she would transport a drink.
As if she had read his mind, Fimbrethil said, "Hoom! And I don't have to carry Entdraughts upon my back either; wherever there is water, there is an Entdraught waiting to be made! There is a spring near here; be patient for a moment, and I will show you."
She turned slowly and began to walk away. Trotter watched in fascination as her long toes gripped the smooth earth with every giant stride. A few yards away, she bent to the earth and scooped something up with her hands. Trotter could not hear or see any sign of water, but he guessed that there was another of the tiny water-courses that were so common on the plains concealed there.
Fimbrethil blew twice on the water cupped in her huge hands. Then she began to walk back slowly, not a drop spilling.
"Hmmm ... Do you have a bowl?" she asked, "It may be easier for you that way!"
Luckily, they did have one bowl. Anna fished out of her pack, and Fimbrethil emptied the water from her hands into it. The water glimmered in the starlight, but it did not look particularly special; Trotter wondered what exactly this Entdraught was supposed to consist of.
Anna raised the bowl to her lips and drank deeply. Her eyes went wide, and she handed the bowl to him a second later.
"Trotter," she said, "You must try this!"
Wondering if this was some sort of elaborate joke, Trotter accepted the vessel and gingerly took a sip.
His eyes went wide. It definitely wasn't water! Liquid, yes, with the texture and thickness of water - but it tasted quite different. It tasted of fruit, almost like a fruit tea, but cool and somehow filling. He drank deeply. Perhaps it was only his imagination - it had been known to be rather wild at times - but he could have sworn that he could feel the draught spreading through his limbs, all the way to the hair on his toes, cleansing and invigorating him. He licked his lips, wondering how many other things there were in the world that he had never dreamed of. Then he handed the bowl to Beleg.
"Good, eh?" Anna asked, watching him, "I thought so myself! It's like magic, almost..."
"No, not
magic," Fimbrethil murmured, "Just an Entdraught."
"It beats Dwarvish ale, in any case!" Beleg said after he had drunk from the bowl. Fimbrethil seemed mildly confused at this comment, but said nothing. She seemed to grow more alive by the minute, as if waking up from a very long sleep. Her long arms and flowing hair waved in the wind as she swayed gently back and forth. The sound was pleasant and peaceful, and Trotter felt drowsiness stealing over him as he listened.
"Ah! Fangorn!" Fimbrethil said, with a sigh as deep as the heart of the earth.
"Ah Fangorn! I searched for you in all the world's wide lands
Dearer to me than the labour and work of my own hands!
From the Eastern Shore to the Northern Mounts
From Sang-yama to Beiril's singing founts
In the forests of Rassatando frozen fast
Many young trees with strong roots I passed
Where the sun never sets from the burning sky
Where treetops rose beyond the reach of my eye
I return to the land, to the earth so dear
So hear that you are here, so near, so near ..."
That night the three travellers fell asleep with the singing of an Entwife in their ears.
* Trotter's Song:
"The wind has a song; it is singing in my ears.
It speaks sweetly in the grass, over the wide free land.
The days pass swiftly, the past lost.
With my sworn-brother, my sworn-sister, I do not fear.
We do not make war. We make poetry.
The stars are the dew of the heavens
Their peace is our peace."
** Literally: "O my love! I drink the bitterness of your words!" In effect: "Sweetheart, that hurt my feelings!"
