Author's Note: I made a vow to finish this chapter before the end of my summer term. That's on the 27th. This would have been done earlier, except for two things:
1. I think Nazgul actually means "summer school history teacher".
2. Right in the middle of writing this chapter, I got amazing inspiration for a Harry Potter fic, so I took a break and wrote two chapters of that one. I'll start publishing that one after school starts up again (upperclassman, yeah!). Chances are it'll be on (less likely to be lost in the tide), but that remains to be seen.
If anyone's interested in who the girl behind the keyboard really is, I have a real LiveJournal now. My screenname there is rosepetal9. I say now, it's a lot of me bitching about my friends and life in general, but it may be interesting to someone. Hey, there's a photo of me there, looking damn good from when my friends and I went bowling in formalwear on Prom Night (great fun, I highly suggest it).
Chapter 5: Instinct
The company of Ents marched on through the afternoon, until they reached the desolate valley that was Isengard. Merry and Pippin stayed with Treebeard, while Rowan rode up and down the line of Ents, singing and chanting along with them. Even from their place at the front of the army, the hobbits could hear the low voice of their friend nearly the entire time.
The sun had long since set when the army found themselves before the remnants of the once beautiful valley. Now it was bleak, with little growing save for thorny bushes and dry, spiky grass. What trees that had once grown there had been ripped from the earth; all that told of their existence were the gaping scars left in the land, and the occasional charred stump where a tree's roots had grown too deep to uproot. Smoke rose from the walled ring in which the ominous tower of Orthanc stood.
Hobbits have a natural love for nature; that alone made the landscape shocking. But after spending an extended period of time with Rowan and the Ents, Merry and Pippin had picked up at least a semblance of their reverence for life and growth. The barren wasteland was burned into their minds as vividly as any battlefield.
Pippin noticed the eerie silence that had fallen like snow over the Ent army. There was no singing, no marching; it was as if time stopped for a few moments. Without a sound, Rowan and Lasbereth broke through the lines, almost as if they hadn't noticed everyone else come to a standstill.
After going nearly thirty feet ahead of the Ents, both horse and rider froze as they confronted the sight before them. Then, without warning, Rowan let out a pained shriek of horror. She screamed, and could not stop screaming. A face that had been ripe with sorrow hardened into one of rage. In one fluid movement, she ripped her bow from where it had been strapped on her back, and nocked an arrow to the string. She nudged Lasbereth gently with her heel; the horse started forward, but in two easy strides Bregalad caught up with her and easily plucked her from atop the steed.
"Stop," he commanded, and Rowan finally fell silent. "Do not hastily run into this," he said in a decidedly kinder tone. "To charge into battle in such a fashion is suicide. It would mean the death of us all." Rowan sighed, taking a moment to ponder what he said, before nodding reluctantly. Satisfied, he gave Lasbereth a little push with one long arm. The horse understood, and turned around, speeding off in the direction from whence they had all come. Rowan cried out in protest, struggling to reach the ground, but Bregalad held tight.
"You must understand, little one," he whispered (or rather, tried to: his voice was not exactly designed to whisper). "Battle is nearly always the death of the mount, much less the rider. Do not resign such a friend to a painful death without giving her a choice."
Rowan glared up at the Ent, her mouth open to retort, but to her surprise, no words came. The hard, icy gleam in her eyes melted as she went limp in her father's grasp. Her breath came in short, quick gasps, like one who is trying hard not to cry. Bregalad did nothing to stop her, simply holding her until she calmed down, before gently placing her on his shoulder.
Pippin was still watching her; her face was cool and composed, but her hands were gripping her bow so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. At his angle, he could only see one of her eyes, but it was ablaze with some mixture of grief and anger, like a pinprick of hazel fire.
Treebeard and Bregalad (with Merry, Pippin, and Rowan, respectively), along with a few other Ents started forward once more, within sight of the great gates of Isengard, but once again they stopped. Rowan began to shake, as if it were taking a great deal of willpower to keep from leaping down from her father's shoulders and mount a one-warrior attack all over again. But the Ent inside her kept her mindful of patience, and she stayed atop Bregalad.
Without warning, there was a great blowing of trumpets. The walls surrounding the fortress vibrated with the echo. Both Merry and Pippin jerked upright, looking about for some sign that the army of Ents and Huorns had been discovered. Rowan remained outwardly calm, but she was quite swiftly looking down the shaft of her arrow, watching for any movement. With a thunderous, resounding clang, they watched the gates slowly open, and almost immediately, regimented lines of Orcs and Men began filing out, seemingly without any end in sight. It was as if Saruman was emptying Isengard. Merry's eyes widened. How many soldiers did their adversary have?
Rowan's bow was still pointed at the opening of the gate. Her hands were itching to let her arrow fly, and she wasn't the only one who knew it. Bregalad reached up, slowly enough that none of the soldiers noticed, and placed a hand on her comparatively tiny lap. She looked down at it, before again aiming for the center of the still marching army.
"Just one," she whispered. "Please. Just let me shoot one soldier." But Bregalad pressed down on her lap, indicating that she was not to let go of the arrow. She sighed, biting down hard on her lip as she lowered her bow.
For nearly an hour, warriors piled out of Isengard. Some marched off down to the Fords, while others turned to go east. Rowan fidgeted constantly; she clearly wanted to take some action, but she was given direct instructions to wait. Then, after what must have totaled ten thousand Orcs and Men, there were no more. The gates shut again, and the Ents went to work.
Merry and Pippin were set on the ground. Rowan would have been with them, had she not flat-out refused to move from her advantageous position on Bregalad's shoulder. If she couldn't ride forth into battle atop a steed, she would go into battle at the best shooting angle she would find. Treebeard strode forward, and began to bang on the great iron gates.
"Saruman!" He roared. "Come out and face the consequences of your crimes!" There was no answer, save for a volley of arrows and stones. Rowan took aim, and began doing her best to pick off the Orcs that were positioned around the gates, but Treebeard was full of arrows. The enraged Ent let out a great "Hoom-hom!" and the battle began.
Several of the other Ents met up with Treebeard, and began tearing at the gate. Rowan took the opportunity to leap down from Bregalad's shoulder, and broke out in a run across the top of the wall, doing her best to shoot at the now-retreating Orcs. That was proving hard; once the Ents broke through the gate, the few remaining lackeys were running as fast as they could to safety, but that tactic didn't seem to be serving them well. Between the Ents and the Huorns, Rowan didn't in truth have much to do, but she kept going, as if it would somehow relieve her pain.
Then, out of nowhere, a great, hulking mass of Orc warrior stood in her path, axe in hand. Rowan's eyes widened, and her hand slipped slightly as she fitted her arrow to the string. This split second was all her opponent needed; with a flash, he swung his axe with the clear intention of cutting her in two.
Rowan did her best to roll out of the way, but the axe caught her on her left side, leaving a deep gash nearly ten inches long. Rowan let out a gasp she tried to push herself into a standing position, but try as she might, she remained splayed out on the walkway around the top of the wall. The Orc leered sadistically, raising his axe over her to shatter her ribcage in triumph, but Rowan found some last source of strength. She lifted her bow, and let her last arrow fly. He fell backwards, her arrow's feathers sticking out of his forehead like some bizarre headdress. She fought to stand, just in time to see Bregalad start Saruman, shouting as he went. "The tree-killer! The tree-killer!"
Kneeling again, the young woman groped blindly around her feet, looking for any stray arrows of which she might make use. All the time she fought to keep her sight, but she was losing a great deal of blood from her wound; the green-tinged sparkle of unconsciousness beckoned from the corners of her vision. Finally, she found a single Orc-arrow, some two feet from where she knelt on her hands and knees. With the last of her strength, she raised her bow and did her best to aim for the tiny pale figure running for the safety of Orthanc. He ducked into his safe haven just after she let the arrow fly. She watched it as it flew through the air; her ears caught the faint sound of it striking the tower and clattering to the ground before blackness took her, and she knew no more.
Bare minutes later (though for all her knowledge, it may as well have been hours), she awoke to the great roar of Saruman starting up the fires of his machines. Hazel eyes fluttering open, she only dimly registered the sights before her. The Ents had the outer walls in a shambles; by some outrageous stroke of luck, the stretch of walkway on which she lay was still intact.
Her mind returned to her current situation as one of the tall, angry shapes she recognized as Ents went up in flames. At this she scrambled to her feet, only barely being able to recognize the burning creature. It was Beechbone, a handsome, fairly young Ent she knew well. She could do nothing except stand there, staring at him as he flailed desperately. It was then that she found her voice at last. She screamed in horror, in grief, not only for the painful death she was observing, but also for everything she had seen since they had arrived on the outskirts of the fortress. The scream was originally intended to be as long and as piercing as her shriek back before the battle, but she was a great deal weaker than she had been then; she did her best to let out the strangled cry.
Just as she felt she could do no more before again passing out, Treebeard called for silence. The other Ents crowded around him, as he began giving orders in their own language. Rowan strained to hear, but she was too far away, and too far gone to be able to follow a long strain of Entish. They were all heading off to do the work laid out for them when, by chance, one of the Ents spotted Rowan atop the wall.
"What's this?" He said softly, gently picking her up. Careful not to touch her wound, he carried her over to where Merry and Pippin sat, where the two hobbits had observed the entire battle. The Ent strode off to do his work as the two moved closer to Rowan, examining her.
Fighting to keep her eyes open, Rowan did her best to smile. "I see the two of you managed to avoid the conflict," she murmured, "and for that, I am glad." She squirmed a bit, wincing, before she was in the position to shrug off the strap that held her pack and quiver to her back. She motioned to Pippin, being the closer of the two, and he pulled her things out from under her. She fumbled with her bundle for a moment, her tired hands having trouble finding the opening, but at last it opened. She pulled out a small flask, and took a few small sips of the good Entwash water. Almost immediately her breathing was smoother, more even. Sitting up a bit, she dribbled more of the water on her wound, sighing delicately as the cool water sank into her broken skin.
Both hobbits were fidgeting a bit, not wanting to admit that they were thirsty. Rowan noticed, and gestured for her pack once more. Looking inside, the hobbits found a decidedly larger bottle full of the same good water as the one in her hand. They drank eagerly, while the young woman pulled a rolled-up length of soft fabric out of the bundle, along with a short stone knife. Ripping away at the thin cloth of her gown until it was in two definite pieces, on either side of her wound, she unrolled the gauzy fabric, revealing a small, sharp needle tucked inside, along with a spool of thin, wiry thread.
Glancing at the hobbits to be sure that they weren't watching her too closely, Rowan turned away from them. Taking a moment to gaze in revulsion at the metal needle in her hand, she bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out in pain as she set to work stitching up the gash in her side. Every few moments, when the pain was growing too great, she picked up the flask again, and let the cool, healing water trickle into the deep laceration.
The work was painful, but the work was quick, especially once the first pale rays of sunlight began to peek over the horizon; soon enough the wound was clean and sewn shut, though Rowan was a good deal paler than when she had begun. After winding the cloth around her torso as a bandage and putting enough loose stitches around the rip in her gown to count it all as one piece again, she finally felt the strength to stand.
"Are you all right?" Pippin asked, getting to his feet. Merry followed shortly; both were aware of the large patch of dried blood in her dress, and would have supported her, but their height would have allowed for little more than Rowan putting her hands on their shoulders and propelling herself forward. At the moment she could hold her own weight, so the problem didn't go any further than that.
"I will be fine," she assured them, hiding a wince as she shifted her weight. "I do believe I would benefit from walking around for a while."
And so they did, at least for a little while. Rowan, while vastly better since stitching up her wound, still had a long way to go to recovery; she tired easily, and stopped frequently to rest, until around midday she came to a decision.
"Stop," she said, more loudly than she had spoken all day. Merry and Pippin looked back at her in surprise. "I am overexerting myself," she replied, as if she were commenting on the weather. "It would be wise for me to rest." With that, she (slowly) lowered herself to the ground and laid back, not seeming to notice the dry, stubby grass beneath her.
Smiling up at the hobbits (a new concept for her), Rowan's eyes went in and out of focus in exhaustion. She opened her mouth to speak, but in her state, she was unable to manage more than a whisper.
"Hmm?" Merry said, kneeling next to her.
"I said, it is odd," she replied, louder this time. "Never in my life have I rested lying down. And now I suddenly lie back, as if this were normal."
Merry shrugged. "Must be instinct."
Rowan shrugged ever so slightly, smiling before her eyes closed, and she surrendered to the dark.
I'm really sorry it took so long! Even now, I'm not happy with this chapter, but what was I going to do? Write it again? That would take another five months!
There'll be a sort of explanation to this chapter on my fanfiction LiveJournal. I feel the need to say something about it.
Thank you to anyone who still reads this. I'm only sure of two, Elessar-Lover and Laseri. They not only bugged me until I updated, but their amazing work has inspired me like the Valar themselves. Love and happy thoughts to you both.