Author's Note: Realize now that Rowan's Song is not very "Tolkien-ish" in its style and meter. It's really just a sonnet, with a chorus that came to me at two in the morning. It sounded good, so I put it in. Can't refuse the call of inspiration, can you? Just know that I know it's not set up like the rest of the songs in The Lord of the Rings. If you're going to flame me, don't use that. Find something original.
Chapter 3: Of Music and Metal
Dawn's red sun broke a cloudless summer morn,
Birds raised their song in praise of the lightening sky;
But one voice, not joyful, but quite forlorn,
Disturbed the tranquil forest with its cry.
No Rider there to save the child,
No doting mother, meek and mild,
No Men to raise her rigidly,
Just Trees to rear her in the wild.
Found by an Ent who happened to pass by;
He brought her home to decide on her fate.
She settled in his arms with a soft sigh,
Her trust told of the life that did await.
No Rider there to save the child,
No doting mother, meek and mild,
No Men to raise her rigidly,
Just Trees to rear her in the wild.
Summer night, warm as sunlight, dark as slate
She slept between tree branches as he thought.
Under his care, could she grow tall and straight?
Or would she wither, without what men taught?
No Rider there to save the child,
No doting mother, meek and mild,
No Men to raise her rigidly,
Just Trees to rear her in the wild.
At last he chose to raise her in Fangorn,
And there I've thrived, as if there I was born.
Rowan's voice rang out; against all odds, the forest seemed to have lovely acoustics. Her voice was low and sweet, as one would have expected from looking at her, but there was a definite bitterness underneath. One could clearly tell that she was much happier among the Ents than she assumed she would have been with Men, but the animosity she sang with implied that she would have hoped that Men would have at least made an effort.
Merry and Pippin were silent for a few moments, stunned by her song. Rowan blushed, looking away.
"It is much more beautiful in Elvish," she said, "but there you are, as well as I can translate it."
"So you've had to explain yourself before?" Asked Merry.
She nodded. "I had to tell the Elves of Mirkwood who I was somehow. I chose song."
The hobbits said nothing once more; Rowan misinterpreted this as them not liking her rather spontaneous performance. She looked skyward. "It is almost midday," she commented. "We should be getting back to the ent-house. You will want a little something to nourish yourself, I presume?" Merry and Pippin nodded in unison, brightening up noticeably at the mention of food. Rowan laughed. "Turn this way," she said, pointing, "And continue straight for a short time, and you'll find it." She turned the other direction, and uttered a relatively short string of Entish. A distant whinny could be heard that proved Lasbereth had heard. "I will go for a draught for you."
Less than an hour later, Merry and Pippin were back on top of the boulder in the center of the ent-house, sipping at the last of their luncheon, while Rowan sat alone next to the small brook the spring created. Bregalad stood alone, facing the Moot, listening intently to the voices of the other Ents.
"What do you think?" Pippin whispered, leaning toward Merry.
"About what?"
"Everything, I suppose. Where the others are, Bregalad, Rowan, the Entmoot. What do you think they'll decide?"
"I really don't know, Pip," Merry murmured. He knew there was a possibility of the Ents deciding not to get involved, but he hadn't really thought about what would happen if that came to be. "But I hope they choose to help."
"What do we do if they don't?" Pippin asked, but Merry was silent. What would they do if the Ents didn't go to battle? They couldn't very well meet up with the others, considering they didn't know where the others were. They could go home, but Merry didn't want to think about that. He missed the Shire, and was sure that Pippin did too, but knew he couldn't possibly act as if nothing had happened while he knew so many of their friends were out in the world, involved in such epic conflict. "Merry?" Pippin said again quite softly. Merry could hear the uneasiness in his voice.
"I don't know," Merry said for the second time. "I'm not sure of anything right now, Pip." The younger hobbit fell mute, suddenly lost in his own turbulent thoughts, as Merry stood up, and walked over to where Rowan sat. She had whittled at a stick until it was perfectly straight, and was using a sharp shard of stone to bore holes in the end of it. The young woman seemed to be having a hard time with it, but at Merry's offer of the pin of his Lórien brooch, she shook her head vigorously, looking upon the thing as if it were something rather unpleasant, like Sam would a hardy weed.
"I loathe metal," she said, "and all it represents." Merry gave her a questioning look at this, and so she elaborated. "It is the harsh, impersonal machine of industry taking the place of the untamed, magnificent wild. It is the iron fist crushing the tender young sapling. It is the idea that all that is green and good in this world will be lost, and all that will remain in its memory will be the charred remains of slaughtered trees. The very thought of it makes me ill." She paused, thinking over her words, as if actually saying them would leave a bad taste in her mouth. "But," she muttered, "when it is necessary, I use it."
No words went between them for some time. She continued to work at the end of her stick, working small holes into the hard wood, while Merry gazed at the stream before him. The more she worked, however, the more curious he became, until he finally looked over at her. Rowan's attention had moved to the other end of the rod. The holes (though they were much more like grooves than anything else) had been used to help affix brown and white-speckled feathers, and she was now at work securing a stone arrowhead with a thin strap of leather. Merry was a bit surprised; almost every archer he had met on his journey used metal for their arrows, but considering what she had just said, Rowan's use of stone wasn't altogether shocking.
"So arrows aren't necessary enough?" He asked. His mindset was a bit glum after his conversation with Pippin, but he knew his question sounded like a joke, so he said it with a small smile. Rowan chuckled.
"No," she said. "The only time I have really voluntarily taken up metal is when it was a sword."
Merry considered this, but, as it seemed with everything she said, a question came to mind. "Do Elves normally teach their guests to use arms?"
"Not intentionally," she answered, laughing once more. "I learn most things through mimicry. I watched Elves practicing with their bows and swords, and imitated what they did at my own natural pace."
"But isn't 'your own natural pace' a bit slow to be of any use?" He had picked up a pebble from the edge of the stream, and was idly tossing it into the air and catching it.
"Just because I learn at my own natural pace does not mean I stay that way," Rowan said, rolling her hazel eyes. She slowly raised her hand into the air in front of her, and gently moved her fingers, as if she were playing a harp. "I learn all motions at this pace. In doing that, I find and memorize every little subtle adjustment my body makes. I know every shift in posture, every unconscious tilt of the hand, so that when I need to be–" she paused, as Merry reached out to catch his stone, only to realize that Rowan had snatched it out of the air without his seeing it. She now held it in her outstretched hand, and still didn't look as if she had moved at all. "I am lightning fast," she finished. Merry simply stared for a few moments, before she handed back his pebble, and he resumed tossing and catching is as if nothing had happened.
"But what do you need arrows for anyway?" He suddenly asked.
"I do not just stay in Fangorn, Meriadoc," Rowan replied. "Especially not since the coming of Lasbereth. I have traveled in most of the forests of Middle Earth, and when I am abroad, I need to provide food for myself, and so I hunt." She finally finished with the arrow she had been working on, and set it aside, on top of a small stack of them Merry hadn't noticed. Picking up another stick, she set to work boring holes in the end once again. "But now," she continued, "I have a much more productive need for arrows."
"What's that?"
"Why, the war with Isengard, of course," she said. "I thought you had realized much earlier than this, Meriadoc. I care not what the Ents decide at the Moot. I am going to battle."
This thought comforted Merry. If the Ents did not choose to go against Isengard, perhaps he and Pippin could go with Rowan. It would be unlikely that they would win, but at least they could make an effort. He looked back at Pippin. It appeared that, even with all the worries swirling in his head, the younger hobbit had dozed off in the warm sun. Merry chucked his pebble at his friend, hitting him on the side of the head. With a slight jerk, Pippin awakened, amid gay laughter from Rowan, and threw the stone back at Merry.
The trio again set out to wander the woods, their conversation jumping from topic to topic. Merry and Pippin were shocked to learn that Rowan could neither read nor write.
"No Ent does," she explained, "and of language in general, I only know what they have taught me." Merry immediately took it upon himself to teach her, and began drawing Elvish letters in the dirt. Rowan watched bemusedly for a little while, as he explained what vowels looked like, and what letter represented what sound, but she soon became bored with it, and said outright that she cared not for learning such things. After a while Merry sighed, giving up, and they continued on their way. She began to show them how to tell one tree from another, pointing out subtle differences between them, in hopes of both hobbits feeling a bit less lost. This kept their interest for some time, but after a while Rowan could see that Merry's eyes had begun to glaze over, and it had been a good deal of time since Pippin had been paying attention.
Conversation continued intermittently, but as sunset approached, they mostly walked in silence. Both Merry and Pippin could clearly tell that Rowan's ears were pricked, and she was listening to the Moot once more. They allowed her to do so, but it wasn't long before she realized that it was high time for the hobbits to get back to the ent-house. She led them back, and the last thing either hobbit saw before falling asleep was Rowan and Bregalad standing side by side, listening intently to the rising and falling voices of the Ents deciding upon the fate of Isengard, and Saruman himself.
~*~
Response to Reviewers:
Special thanks to Lya Wills, a first time reviewer.
Elessar*Lover: I'm so sad that yours is over, but I can't wait until the sequel. I'm really happy that you like mine so much!
Lorfindiel: Huzzah! You reviewed! Thanks for the praise, Rel. You should really write some fanfiction of your own!