Author's Note: I've finally worked through my writer's block, and gotten to this point. This chapter is mostly fluff, though, because I needed to fill time before what happens at the end of the chapter. I am actually quite happy with the little song I wrote. I don't know how long it'll be before Chapter Five is up, because while I've been working through writer's block, I started typing another story. I can't decide if I want to post it yet or not.
There's a big chunk at the end of this chapter that I took pretty much directly from The Two Towers, except that I put Rowan in (obviously).
Chapter 4: Ornon's Ring
Merry and Pippin awoke the next morning to find Rowan and Bregalad standing exactly where they had when the hobbits had fallen asleep. By the looks of it, neither had moved. Pippin opened his mouth to say good morning, but Rowan put a finger to her lips, motioning for him to be silent. The two sat there, pretending that they weren't getting bored, and occasionally sneaking glances at the girl and the Ent. After nearly fifteen minutes, Rowan sighed, and finally moved from her position, and bent down over the seated Halflings.
"Fine," she whispered. "We will do something. But we should go out into the Forest to do whatever it is. Bregalad wishes to listen, and we should not disturb him." Nodding, Merry and Pippin stood up, and tried to be as quiet as possible while they followed Rowan out of the ent-house. Rowan, as usual, made no noise at all as she moved, and the contrast between her and the hobbits made Pippin feel like the occasional rustling of clothing or crack of a twig underneath his feet was terribly loud.
After a few minutes of walking, they came to a small clearing. Here the ground was soft to the hobbits' feet, and covered with the pale green of new spring grass. The Entwash could be heard flowing just through the trees on the other side of their little opening in the trees. In the center, there were the remains of a great tree. It was just barely a stump now, but by its size, it had stood for many thousands of years.
"This was once the grove of Ornon," Rowan murmured reverently. "Some believed him to be the first tree of all of Fangorn. He was the tallest, strongest tree anyone could have the honor of seeing." She fell to her knees before the remains of the tree, softly chanting in Elvish. "A Ornon, le linnathon. A Ornon, im ortanailye. A Ornon, si le laitan. Nai."
Pippin turned to his cousin. "Is she praying?" He asked somewhat naïvely. Merry rolled his eyes, and shushed the younger hobbit. She had been very kind to them, especially when it was obvious that she knew they were not telling her the entire tale of their journey. It was the least they could do to respect her customs, no matter how odd they seemed. But by this time Rowan had gotten to her feet, and motioned for them to come closer.
"Come," she smiled. "Let us sit within Ornon's Ring." As they came forward, she lifted each of them in turn onto the soft wood of the remnants of the tree. "I have been told that Ornon was truly majestic in his prime," she said, almost to herself.
"You never saw him, then?" Merry asked.
Rowan shook her head. "No," she answered. "Ornon was dead long before my time, perhaps even before the leaving of the Entwives. There was a great fire, and he passed back into the act of Creation." She motioned to the circle of trees along the edge of the clearing. "The shock of his death allowed him to sire more trees, thus starting the cycle once more." She sighed, looking skyward as she leaned back onto the tree. Merry and Pippin followed suit; they sat peacefully for a long amount of time, during which Merry was sure Pippin dozed off, due to the occasional gentle snore he heard from his cousin's general direction. He swatted the furry top of Pippin's foot, effectively waking the hobbit with a start. Rowan laughed.
"Now," she said, "tell me of your home once more. Tell me of the Shire, and of your people." Neither could really think of anything they hadn't said of the Shire the day before, so they spoke of all their favorite memories: nights at the Green Dragon, Bilbo's birthday party, all the happy things they could think of. Pippin wondered if this was a tactic to occupy them while she focused her ears on the distant voices of the Moot, but as they went on, she seemed sincerely interested in what they had to say. She smiled and laughed in all the right places, and asked questions when necessary.
The subjects of Bilbo and the Green Dragon both inevitably led to talk of songs, and Rowan immediately latched on to the idea. She asked to hear them sing something of Bilbo's, but both hobbits were overcome with an uncharacteristic bout of bashfulness.
"Our music," Merry protested, "isn't near proper enough for such a place." Neither he nor Pippin quite understood the deep respect Rowan had shown the tree stump, but both could tell that it was a sort of shrine to her.
But Rowan shook her head. "Ornon's Ring is not a forum for solemn worship," she said. "It is one to view and experience the cycle of death and rebirth. It is a place of pure, raw joy. Why should any form of expression be excluded from here?" They were still a bit doubtful, but she continued to insist.
In later days, neither was sure who began first, but they launched into a slightly self-conscious rendition of one of Bilbo's old walking-songs. That lead into another, and a third after that; they gained confidence with each song, until both were singing as merrily as Frodo had in the Prancing Pony. After every song, Rowan made a point to applaud enthusiastically, further boosting the hobbits' confidence.
After the third song, however, Pippin asked to hear her sing again. She blushed as she shook her head, and suddenly became quite interested in the remains of Ornon. "Please, Rowan," he said, his large eyes imploring. "You said yourself that this was a place from which no expression can be banned. If anyone's creativity should be here, it's yours."
"He's right," Merry chimed in. "Please sing."
"Fine," Rowan conceded, rolling her hazel eyes with a smile on her face. "But the song I have in mind is far different from the one I sang yesterday. It is a lullaby Bregalad sang to me when I was still but a small child." She cleared her throat, before beginning to sing, softly and slowly:
Farewell, o green and supple Spring;
Summer is on Her way,
With promises of warmth and joy
In every breaking day.
But Summer, too, goodbye to you,
For you must also flee;
The first cool breath of Autumn
And you fade from ev'ry tree.
But Autumn's sweet, red-golden bliss
Is soon to go as well,
The swift, crisp bite of Winter
Makes it vanish from the dell.
And Winter, too, will disappear,
As if on silver wings,
Allowing in the next of o'er
A hundred thousand Springs.
And so, until the end of time
The Wheel turns ever on.
Forever lies ahead of it,
And all behind is gone.
We are but helpless riders
And we never will escape.
For there is no destination
And one never will take shape.
So hush, my little darling,
Let its rocking bring you sleep.
May you find good cheer and comfort
From this slumber, dark and deep.
I will stay here to watch over
While you travel in your dreams,
The Wheel rolls ever onward
Its path lit by pale moonbeams.
Rowan smiled as she sang, her voice containing none of the bitterness it had the last time she had sung for the hobbits. She seemed to be channeling the pure, raw joy she had spoken of before.
Both Merry and Pippin applauded as she finished, just as fervently as she had for them. She simply smiled, and laid back onto the stump in which the three sat, gazing up at the bleak grey sky. Nothing was said for a few moments, and it was during that time that Pippin noticed that something was different.
"The Ents," he said, sitting up slightly. "They've stopped."
"Indeed," Rowan replied without moving from her reclining position. "They have been silent for some time, Peregrin." She swung her legs around, and pulled herself into a standing position atop Ornon. "I do believe, my little hobbits," she said, "that we should be getting back to Bregalad." She jumped down from the soft wood of the stump onto the soft grass below. Merry and Pippin followed suit as Rowan made a short, sharp cry to Lasbereth, who cantered through the trees into the Ring moments later. She lifted both hobbits onto the dark chestnut back of the mare before mounting Lasbereth herself; as soon as Lasbereth could feel all three bodies on her, she sprang into action, cantering through the trees back to the ent-house.
The three arrived back at the ent-house to find Bregalad standing alert, facing northward toward Derndingle. Rowan dismounted, lifting Merry and Pippin off Lasbereth as well, before slowly walking toward Bregalad, ready to ask him if he knew anything.
Then with a crash came a great ringing shout: ra-hoom-rah! The trees quivered and bent as if a gust had struck them. There was another pause, and then a marching music began like solemn drums, and above the rolling beats and booms there welled voices singing high and strong.
We come, we come with roll of drum: ta-runda runda runda rom!
The Ents were coming: ever nearer and louder rose their song:
We come, we come with horn and drum: ta-runa runa runa rom!
Bregalad picked up the hobbits and strode from his house. Rowan stood still for barely a second, before leaping atop Lasbereth and speeding along beside her father.
Before long they saw the marching line approaching: the Ents were swinging along with great strides down the slope towards them. Treebeard was at their head, and some fifty followers were behind him, two abreast, keeping step with their feet and beating time with their hands upon their flanks. As they drew near the flash and flicker of their eeys could be seen.
"Hoom, hom! Here we come with a boom, here we come at last!" called Treebeard when he caught sight of Bregalad, Rowan, and the hobbits. "Come, join the Moot! We are off. We are off to Isengard!"
"To Isengard!" the Ents cried in many voices.
"To Isengard!"
To Isengard! Though Isengard be ringed and barred with doors of stone;
Though Isengard be strong and hard, as cold as stone and bare as bone,
We go, we go, we go to war, to hew the stone and break the door;
For bole and bough are burning now, the furnace roars — we go to war!
To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum, we come, we come;
To Isengard with doome we come!
With doom we come, with doom we come!
So they sang as they marched southwards. Bregalad, his eyes shining, swung into the line beside Treebeard. Rowan, with a whoop of joy, gave Lasbereth a gentle kick, and they too joined the crowd of Ents marching on toward Isengard.