Attack of the Plot Bunnies Chapter Twenty Four
Timeline: late November 1419/3019 Chapter: 6.IX
Credit where Credit is due: Written for Marigold's challenge #3
and previously posted in the "talechallenge03" LJ.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tolkien (except for the bits that belong to Peter Jackson and the rest of the people who made the movies.) I'm just playing with the toys.
Author: rabidsamfan
Title: Memory of Ents
"We could use old Treebeard now, couldn't we Merry?" Pippin said, depositing another well-wrapped sapling into the pony cart and wiping his face with his sleeve in a failed attempt to clean off some of the dirt. "He'd just tell these trees where we wanted them and… hoom, baroom, away they'd go!" The December sun shone thin through a frail fretwork of high cloud, but he'd been working hard and was sweating despite the coolness of the day. He stopped to take a drink of water, stretching his back against the ache of hard work."I'm not sure regular trees could go like that," Merry answered thoughtfully. "Just huorns."
"This is the Old Forest," Pippin pointed out cheerfully. He grinned mischievously at the third hobbit of their working party.
"Just the very edge of it," Sam said firmly. "And we're not a-going to go in no deeper. Tom Bombadil saved you two from that willow tree once, and I don't expect as he'd want to make a habit of it." He surveyed the nearby woods with a grimace. "And how the two of you talked me into getting saplings from here I don't know. I should have stayed back in Hobbiton, helping Mr. Frodo with seeing to the new smials in the Hill."
"You're the one who knows which kinds of trees are wanted," Merry pointed out. "And unless you plan to grow every one from seeds you'll have to choose from what's already begun to grow. The Forest is just the easiest place to get a lot of young trees," Merry took a deep breath and looked around at the quiet wood. "Saruman's thugs couldn't get past Buckland. And besides, after being in Fangorn Forest, it's not as frightening here as I used to think it was. It's just a matter of explaining." He tied the burlap sacking around the rootball of his chosen sapling and patted it fondly. "The trees know that we didn't come to burn or slash. And these little ones will all have a place to grow where they can stretch and reach the sun."
"They'll get taken care of, and that's true enough, with a bit of the Lady's earth to set their roots down right." Sam said. " I expect that none of these little ones are likely to take it into their heads to walk around." He shivered. "At least I hope so. I wouldn't want to get that Treebeard mad enough to come along to the Shire."
Merry looked at him curiously. "I thought you liked the Ents, Sam," he said.
"I liked hearing about them, well enough" Sam said. "But Treebeard…" he scratched his head. "It was different actually meeting Ents, than it was in a story, if you see what I mean."
"No, I don't," Pippin said, rummaging hopefully in the picnic basket. "What do you mean?" he asked, around a cheekful of cheese.
"Well," Sam said, taking the next sapling in the row and beginning to wind a strip of burlap carefully around the clump of dirt and roots at its base. "You didn't happen to mention as how they kind of wade through the earth like it was water, with their toes going down underneath, for one thing."
"No, I don't think we did," Merry admitted.
"And I don't think I rightly appreciated how big the Ents are, either," Sam admitted. "I'm surprised you didn't run for your lives."
"We might have, if Treebeard didn't already have hold of us when we met him," Pippin said. "But he was a lot less scary than orcs."
"But you weren't frightened of him, were you Sam?" Merry asked. "Not after we'd told you about him."
"Not frightened, exactly," Sam said. "Startled more like. The last tree I saw moving on its own was Old Man Willow, after all, and the last thing I'd seen that size was Shelob. If we hadn't been with Gandalf and the King and all, I'd have had my sword out – for all the good it would have done." He shook his head. "He made me feel even smaller than Minas Anor did."
"It's funny, but once I got used to him I never felt small," said Merry, remembering. "At least not the way you make it sound."
"I did," Pippin said. "But I didn't mind. I'm used to feeling small. It's being tall that feels funny. It's a shame you didn't have more chance to talk to Treebeard, though, Sam. You'd have liked his songs and stories."
"Stories?" Sam repeated, his hands going still for the first time since the conversation had begun. "He told you stories?"
"Well, one story, mostly. About the Entwives." Pippin boosted himself up onto the end of the cart and let his feet dangle as he rested his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. "Do you want to hear it?"
Merry and Sam exchanged knowing looks. There were six saplings yet to bundle, but Pippin had obviously reached the end of his patience for the monotonous task. He'd go back to work if he was asked, they both knew, but it had been so long since they'd seen him acting the irresponsible tween, they silently agreed to indulge him this time.
"All right, Master Peregrin," Sam said. "Tell your tale."
"Well, there were Ents, and Entwives, and the Ents liked wild woods, and the Entwives liked gardens, you see, so they didn't always stay together," Pippin began, and as he went on, with Merry correcting him and sending the story back on itself and forward again, it seemed to Sam that the air grew still and quiet, and the trees at the edge of the clearing bent closer to listen. They sidetracked for a while on exactly when the Entwives must have disappeared, and argued over the details, but the thrust of the story was plain enough, and Sam took a deep breath when he thought of how long the Ents had been alone.
"Do you remember the song, Merry?" Pippin asked, jumping down to make space for the last of the saplings at last.
"Of course I do," Merry answered, and began to sing the long plea of the Ents:
"When Spring unfolds the beechen leaf, and sap is in the bough,
When light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow,
When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain air,
Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair!"
Pippin answered as the Entwife, grinning at first until the sense of his words softened his elation. Sam could almost hear the words in Treebeard's deep voice when Merry sang the next verse, and as the song turned from summer to winter he felt tears sting at his eyes. The two hobbit voices twined around each other, joining at last.
"Together we will take the road that leads into the West,
And far away we'll find a land where both our hearts can rest."
Sam was glad his head was bent over the rope he was tying across the back of the cart to keep the saplings from falling out. He wanted to cry, and he wasn't entirely sure if it were only for the Ents' sake. He tugged at his knot, fiercely, wishing that he and Frodo had come back to a Shire where they could rest instead of having to mend what Saruman had broken.
But he couldn't dwell on it. Pippin was waiting for a reaction to the story. Sam made himself smile at the younger hobbit. "That's quite a tale. I expect you're right. I should have liked Treebeard's conversation, if we'd had any time for it."
Pippin smiled back, "Maybe you can visit him, if you ever go south again," he offered.
"Maybe," Sam said.
Merry, feeling the silence lengthen, took charge. "Come on, let's get back to Crickhollow before the sun goes down. I'm ready for dinner." He roused the drowsing pony, and guided it back into the traces while Sam and Pippin gathered the tools and leftover burlap and string. It didn't take long. Soon they were on their way, back to the Shire, and out of the Forest.
And not one of them saw the green eyes that watched them go.
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