Meaning: In Shadows Lies Hope
Pairing: n/a
Type: AU; X-over; action/adventure; fantasy
Rating: PG
Note: Oh my lord, I've made it to the fourth chapter! Aren't you all so proud of me now? … I thought not. Oh well. Happy reading! This is going up in honor of Girl-chama-san, who has always encouraged me and provided much constructive criticism when I felt my stories were lacking in something.
Disclaimer: Anything owned by me will be duly noted. Until such a time, you may safely assume that everything belongs to someone else.
Warnings: Spoilers for The Two Towers. Usagi is NOT betrayed by any senshi. She does NOT realize "how the senshi really are", and will NEVER realize how wonderful they are. She does NOT dump Mamoru, and Mamoru does NOT dump her. She does NOT gain new powers. She does NOT go to another dimension. She does NOT run off into the Wild Blue Yonder with the Outer senshi. Come to think of it, she's not even in this. If you have a problem with this, then leave; otherwise your prerogative is furthermore inane.
Merry and Pippin climbed and scrambled up the rock-hill they had found. If the stair like indents had been made, it was for feet far larger and legs far longer than theirs. They were far too eager to be surprised at the way their wounds from being captives of the Orcs had been healed and their vigor returned. They finally came to the edge of the shelf almost at the feet of an old tree; then they sprang up and turned around with their backs to the hill, breathing deeply and looking to the east.
"No animals here, nor hobbits," said Pippin. "And I don't like the thought of trying to get through here, either. Nothing to eat for a hundred miles, I guess. How are our supplies?"
"Low," said Merry. "We ran off with nothing but a couple of spare packets of lembas, and left everything else behind." They looked at the remains of the elven-cakes. "And not a wrap or blanket. We shall be cold tonight, whichever way we go."
They saw that they had only come some three miles into the forest: the tops of the trees marched down the slopes to the plain. Near the fringe of the forest tall spires of black smoke went up, wavering and floating towards them.
"The wind's changing," said Merry. "It's turned east again. It feels cool up here."
"Yes," said Pippin; "I'm afraid this is only a passing gleam, and it will go all grey again. What a pity! I almost felt I liked the place."
"Almost felt you liked the Forest! That's good! That's uncommonly kind of you," said a lyrical but strange voice, the same one who had spoken of spring-cleaning. "Turn around and let me have a look at your faces. I almost feel that I dislike you both, but do not let us be hasty. Turn round!"
A gentle but firm hand was laid on each of their shoulders, and they were twisted around. They found themselves facing a young-looking man, with auburn hair that tumbled out of a light green hood. His body was shielded from view with the rest of the light green cloak, as was his face, but brilliantly green eyes peered out at them and shone with laughter and kindness.
"Very odd indeed," Makoto murmured, playing the role that Treebeard would have otherwise. "Do not be hasty, that is the motto of the Ents, and so will it be mine for now. But if I had seen you before I heard your voices, I should have just attacked you. I like your voices, however – nice little voices. They remind me of something ... I cannot recall what. Yes, if I had seen you before I heard you I might have just trodden on you and found out my mistake later."
Inwardly, Makoto laughed. She knew in her heart that she would never have been able to raise a hand in menace to these childlike hobbits, but this was necessary for making sure of the truth. Pippin, though amazed that someone did indeed live in the woods, felt afraid no longer. Rather, he felt quite at ease, though a curious suspense lingered.
"Please," he said, leaving Makoto with a pleasant surprise. Not many were polite to the inhabitants of Fangorn – Ent, Elf, or otherwise. "Please, who are you? And what are Ents?"
A kind of wariness settled in the eyes of their new acquaintance, and he stepped back from them, drawing the cloak more tightly around his body.
"Ents are the inhabitants of this forest, other than myself. They are - well, you shall see them for yourself when I bring you to Treebeard. As for myself, you may call me Lintëmi Súrë, or just Súrë if you like."
"But, an Ent?" said Merry. "What's that? What do they do? And what is your real name?"
"O-ho!" replied Súrë. "Now that would be telling! Not so hasty, and I am doing the asking. You are in my home after all. What are you I wonder? I cannot place you. You are not in the old lists that I learned, but they may have made new ones since. Let me see! Ah yes:
Eldest of all: the elf-children; Dwarf the delver, dark are his houses;
Ent the earthborn, old as mountains; Man the mortal, master of horses;
It continues on like that for quite some time. But anyway, you do not seem to fit in anywhere."
"Yes, we always seem to have got left out of the old lists and stories," said Merry. "Yet we have been around for quite a long time. We're hobbits."
To Makoto he seemed slightly bitter about being left out of the old lists, and the more outspoken and brazen of the two. However, she knew now that they were the hobbits she had been looking for, and was more than willing to let his brazenness pass by; Orcs were not the most hospitable of races. Pippin, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by his people being left out and stepped forward slightly.
"Why not make a new line?" he said. "'Half-grown hobbits, the hole-dwellers.' Put us in amongst the four, next to Men, and you've got it."
Súrë smiled down at them. "Hm! Not bad, not bad. Treebeard will approve, I think," he said. "So you live in holes, eh? That sounds very proper. But who calls you hobbits? That does not sound very elvish to me. Elves made all the old words: we began it."
"Nobody calls us hobbits, Master Elf, we call ourselves that," said Pippin.
Irritated at herself for giving away her race, Makoto pushed on, keeping up the charade she had set up for herself. "Ho, come now! You call yourselves hobbits? But you should not go around telling just anybody. There are those who are trustworthy and then there are those who would feign their trustworthiness, you know. You'll be giving out your own names if you're not careful."
"But we aren't careful about that," said Merry. And he was right. "As a matter of fact, I'm a Brandybuck. Meriadoc Brandybuck, though most people just call me Merry."
"And I'm a Took. Peregrin Took, but I'm generally called Pippin or even Pip."
"Hm, but you are hasty folk," said Súrë. "I am honored by your confidence. I'll call you Merry and Pippin for now, if you please - nice names. As for my name and who I am, know that I have been looking for you for quite some time. Your friends, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, are on the march looking for you."
Merry and Pippin gaped at her in wonder.
"You mean ... you mean they are coming after us?" said Pippin. "But you said nothing of Boromir. What happened to him?"
"Of course they are coming for you," answered Makoto. "And they have asked me to help in the search for you. As for Boromir ... he ... he has passed on to the Halls of Mandos. He would not let me do anything for him."
There was silence for a short time as Merry and Pippin mourned quietly but quickly for their companion. Makoto soon found, however, that Pippin was as curious as he was hasty, and that the hobbits were very childlike in their emotions.
"Please, sir. If you are an Elf, why are you here in Fangorn and not in Rivendell or Lórien?" he said.
"Not all who are Elf-kind live in Imladris or Lórien, but that is a tale for later, little one. I will tell you this now: I am not a 'sir'," replied Súrë, and let his hood fall back and cloak loosen, proving himself not a male, but female.
The two hobbits both looked and were rather embarrassed, but Súrë's eyes shone with humor and they began to feel at ease once again.
"Come now, Masters Merry and Pippin. I will take you to Treebeard, he can explain this forest far better than I. Oh, and the Ents are rather fond of news, for they do not get it often, and I daresay you will be asked to explain everything from the beginning," Súrë said with a slight grin. "Well, this way."
"Where shall we go?" asked Merry.
"To his home ... or one of his homes," answered Súrë.
"Is it far?"
"I suppose you might think it far. I do not know. But what does that matter?"
"Well, you see, we have lost all our belongings," said Merry. "We have only a little food."
"Oh!" Súrë smiled reassuringly at them. "You need not trouble about that! Treebeard has a drink that he may give you, should he like you, that will keep you green and growing for a long time. I myself do need solid food, and I have some that I will share when we arrive. And if we decide to part company, I can bring you to any point in the forest from which you can leave."
Súrë led them down the stairs at an un-rushed pace, halting every now and again to allow them to catch up to her. Once they reached the bottom she led them deeper and deeper into the forest, never too far from the river. They climbed steadily up the slopes and to the hobbits it seemed that the trees were asleep, though some of them moved to clear the path for Súrë. The hobbits were silent for a time, listening to the sounds of the forest. They felt oddly safe and comfortable in the presence of Súrë, and they had quite a bit to think about. Only after an hours walk or so did Pippin venture to speak again.
"Please, Súrë," he said, "could I ask you something? Why did Celeborn warn us against your forest? He told us not to get entangled in it."
Súrë sent them a backward glance over her shoulder, and a matching mischievous smile to go along with the look in her eyes.
"Hmm, did he know? Well, for starting, it is not my forest – I am but a guest here. And I do suppose Treebeard might have said the same thing, should you have been going the other way. 'Do not risk the woods of Laurelindórinan!' That is what we used to call it, though now I have heard the name shorter: Lothlórien. And perhaps ... perhaps it is right: maybe it is fading, and not growing. Land of the Valley of Singing Gold, that was the name when I was younger. Now it is just the Dreamflower. Ah well, but I suppose Treebeard would tell you that it is a queer place, and not for just anyone to venture in. Though I am not, he would be surprised that you ever got out, and yet moreso that you ever got in, and he will tell you this himself when you meet him."
Here Súrë paused to breath and gather her thoughts and the hobbits were left quite without the answer to Pippin's question at all. She stopped in a pleasant enough clearing and motioned for the two to sit, something they did gratefully, though they kept their eyes on her. She looked about and chose a branch that looked sturdy enough to support her and leapt up to the forest roof.
"Yes, Lothlórien is a queer land," she said when she came back down. "And so is this. But neither land is evil for it. Many have come to grief here, so far as I have seen and have heard, from the anger of the trees. Many have come to grief in Lórien, as well, from the power of the Lady Galadriel and the Galadhrim. As for the rest, you shall have to ask Treebeard. He may not understand it fully, but he can tell you a great deal more than I."
The hobbits nodded when Súrë finished, each hoping they understood what she was saying. After a brief rest she stood and the two reluctantly but obediently followed. Only as the Sun set and dusk settled about the forest did the hobbits realize that rising dimly before them was a steep dark land. They had finally come to the feet of the mountains, and to the roots of Methedras. On they went, down the hillside where the Entwash leapt to meet them from high springs above them. A long slope to the right of the river, grey in the twilight, opened into clear sky, for no trees grew there.
Hardly slowing her pace, Súrë moved farther on, heading up the slope. Merry and Pippin thought to ask for a pause, but the way she moved would rest for none. They soon found they needed not wonder about their destination, for a wide opening was before them, and Súrë moved towards it with determination. Two trees stood there, looking like large gateposts with no gate between them. They quivered and moved their branches lower as if to inspect Súrë, and their leaves rustled. Here their guide spoke to the trees, then paused and turned to the hobbits.
"You should take some rest here while I speak with Treebeard. He is not a hasty Ent, nor would he approve of hasty guests," said Súrë, and spared them a rueful grin. "I myself am often found at the receiving end of his lectures."
Nodding to show their understanding, and smiling as they had not smiled since their capture, Merry and Pippin sat themselves in the protection of the gatepost-trees as Súrë instructed. She ran a critical eye over the horizon, as if searching for someone or something, then nodded to herself and stepped into the broad, level floor of Treebeard's home. The walls were of the slope itself, the hobbits noted, and the floor seemed as if it had been cut from the side of the hill. The walls themselves reached fifty feet high, and taller, and along each wall ran an isle of trees that increased in height as the walls did. They watched Súrë disappear into the wide depths and waited nearly thirty minutes before they saw her again.
"Treebeard has asked that I bring you to him," Súrë said. "He is rather anxious to meet you – as anxious as I have ever seen him, at any rate. Follow me, please."
Legolas and Gimli stood by watching Éomer warily, as Aragorn began his tale.
"I set out from Imladris, many weeks ago," Aragorn was saying. "With me went Boromir of the city of Gondor ... "
The Elf allowed himself to tune out the sounds of his friend speaking so as to give himself silence in which to think. Having had seen Makoto again, after they had all but given up hope, Legolas was becoming acutely aware of the need to interact with his own kind. True though it was that Gimli and Aragorn were indeed good friends of his, they were not of his people, they did not understand his views, nor think the way he did. To simply speak Sindarin tongue again to one other than Aragorn alone, as opposed to singing to himself in it, would be a welcome thing. There was a thought: Was Makoto of the Grey Elves ? Clearly she knew Sindarin, but perhaps she was of the Calaquendi and a native speaker of Quenya? She herself said that it had been many years since she had stayed in any of the Elven lands, but was that by choice? Her father was Erufailo, a name that had not been said in many years, though Legolas had never truly bothered to ask why. It had always seemed unimportant. Now his own curiosity was piqued and, loathe though he was to admit it to himself, he missed her presence, for Makoto very nearly reminded him of the hobbits that they were trying to retrieve.
" ... Gandalf the Grey was our leader," said Aragorn.
Inwardly Legolas winced. The name of the wizard brought sadness and memories of pain back to him, memories that he would rather forget. He was an Elf; he was not supposed to know of death. And yet, he had already lost two companions to it. He wondered if perhaps Makoto knew death, too, being but half-Elf. Had she been given the choice of Elrond Peredhil, as Elrond's own children had? What path had she chosen?
"Gandalf!" Éomer exclaimed. "Gandalf Greyhame is known in the Mark; but his name, I warn you now, is no longer a password to the king's favor. He has been a guest in our land many times, coming and going as he pleases, after a season or after many years. He has always brought news of strange events, and some now say he is a bringer of evil. When he came just last summer, all things began to run amiss. Until then we had counted Saruman as our friend, but Gandalf warned us of war preparing in Isengard."
Legolas fought the urge to smirk as he had seen Men do, knowing of the war that was indeed coming, and succeeded. Gimli, however, could not stop the snort that escaped from him. Éomer took no notice of this, and the Elf could only be glad, for he might have taken it to be an insult.
"He said that he had been a prisoner of Orcthanc himself," Éomer continued; "and said that he had just hardly escaped. Théoden would not listen, however, and Gandalf left. Aye, speak not the name of Gandalf loudly in Théoden's ears! For he took with him the great horse Shadowfax, whom only the Lord of the Mark may ride. Seven nights ago Shadowfax returned, but the king's anger is no less. Now the horse is wild and will let no man handle him."
Now Legolas gave into the desire to smirk, turning his head away slightly as if to study the forest of Fangorn, where Merry and Pippin and Makoto were. Thinking of Makoto brought back a pang of hidden memory. He felt he should remember the name Makoto or Naoko, as he did Erufailo, but could not find them in his memory. Grimacing inwardly at his failure, Legolas resolved to ask Makoto more about herself when they were next joined together.
"Then Shadowfax has found his way home alone from the North, for that is where he and Gandalf parted," said Aragorn. "But alas! Gandalf will ride no longer. He fell into shadow in the Mines of Moria."
"That is heavy tidings indeed," said Éomer. "At least to me. It will not be so to all, you will find, if you come to see the king."
"It is far more grievous than any in this land can understand," said Aragorn, and to Legolas his words carried a sharper tone than usual. "It will touch them sorely before this year is over. And when the great fall, the lesser must lead. It has been my duty to guide our Company since Moria. We came through Lórien - and you would do well to learn the truth of it before speaking - and then down the Great River to Rauros. There it was that Boromir was slain by the same Orcs you destroyed."
Not even Gimli was dense enough to hear the slight wavering of pain in Aragorn's voice as he spoke of their late companions. They still felt the pangs as well, but Legolas was adept at hiding his emotions, and the Dwarf had not known Gandalf or Boromir well enough to be openly emotional about their deaths.
"Your news is of nothing but woe!" cried Éomer in pure dismay. "His death will bring great harm to Minas Tirith and the rest of us. Boromir was a worthy man! All spoke his praise. He was seldom in the Mark; but I have seen him. More like the sons of Eorl than of the grave men of Gondor did he seem to me. I thought him likely to prove a great captain of his people, when his time came. But we have had no word of this grief from Gondor ... When did he fall?"
"It is now the fourth day since his passing," answered Aragorn, "and since that evening we have traveled here from Tol Brandir."
"On foot?" cried Éomer.
"Yes. As you see us."
A strange kind of wonder came to Éomer's eyes and he shook his head, chuckling to himself in a sort of ironic way. "Strider is too poor a name for you, son of Arathorn," he said. "I name you Wingfoot, and say that this deed of three friends should be sung in many halls. Forty-five leagues you have covered yet before the fourth day is over! Those of the race Elendil are hardy indeed."
"We owe much of it to Makoto," said Legolas quietly. "She has guided us much of the way."
"Indeed the Elfling is a valuable friend to have," Éomer agreed. "She is swift and loyal, but deadly. But what now would you have me do? I must return in haste to Théoden. I spoke before my men warily. It is true that we are not yet openly at war with the Black Land, but there are some, close to the king's ear, that speak devious counsels; but there is war coming. We shall not forsake Gondor, or our alliance with them, and while they fight we shall aid them: so say I and all who are with me. The East-mark is my charge and I have removed all here but swift scouts and guards to beyond the Entwash."
"Then you do not pay tribute to Sauron?" asked Gimli.
"We do not nor have we ever," said Éomer with vehemence and a flash in his eyes; "though I have heard that a lie has been told. Some years ago the Lord of the Black Land wished to buy some of our horses at a great price, but we refused him. Then he sent his Orcs to plunder our land and take with them what they could. They still carry off what they can, choosing always the black horses and few of those are left. Our feud with Orcs is bitter, but at this time our most pressing concern is Saruman. He has claimed lordship over all these lands, and there has been war between us for many months."
Here Éomer paused to let the three companions take in his words. At a nod from Aragorn, he continued, and Legolas tuned himself out of their conversation, which had very little to do with him. He set his mind back to Makoto, to her father, hoping to stir his memory. The Elf only came out of his own musings in time to hear Éomer's last few sentences.
" ... If you come to the king's house you shall see for yourself. Won't you come? Or do I hope in vain that you have been sent to me as help in these hard times?"
"I will come as I may," said Aragorn.
"Come now!" cried Éomer. "The Heir of Elendil would be a welcome strength to the Sons of Eorl in this evil time ... "
Once again Legolas tuned himself into his own head, sensing that the Rider was about to go into another long speech that only Aragorn was interested in. Beside him, the Elf vaguely noted that Gimli had rolled his eyes once and was shifting boredly. Once again Legolas allowed himself to smirk visibly, just a slight twitch of his lips upwards. He wondered what Makoto was doing with the hobbits. He wondered why he bothered to wonder what Makoto was doing with the Hobbits. To put things as colloquially as he dared: he was bored. And he came to actual attention just in time for Éomer to finish his long speech.
" ... Yes, and we could use Gimli's axe and the bow of Legolas, if they will pardon my rash words concerning the Lady of the Wood. I spoke only as do all men in my lands, and I would gladly learn better."
"I thank you for your fair words," said Aragorn, "and my heart desires to come with you; now that I know my friends are safe. But I would see them with my own eyes before anything else is done."
"You do not trust the Elfling?" said Éomer.
"I do. She would not give us a false tale. But my step would be lighter for the sight of them, and my purpose stronger."
Éomer was silent for a moment, then he spoke. "We both have need of haste," he said. "My company chafes to be away, and every hour keeps you from your friends. This is my choice. You may go; and more, I will lend you horses. I ask only this: when your quest is achieved, or proven lost as I think it is, return with the horses to Meduseld, the high house where Théoden now sits. Thus you shall prove to him that I have not misjudged. In this I place myself, and maybe my life, in keeping of your good faith. Do not fail."
"I will not," said Aragorn, and indeed, his determination seemed stronger than before.