Meaning: In Shadows Lies Hope
Pairing: n/a
Type: AU; X-over; action/adventure; fantasy
Rating: PG
Note: And here comes installment seven of dear old Lumbulëssë Caita Estel. I have decided to use this chapter, and the following two, to explain Makoto's back story up until her entry into Fangorn. I don't think I explained the whole family connection fully, so I'm going to try and clear that up. I also may toss in a bit of romance later on, but it is yet undecided. Also: there will be no Gimli, Legolas, or Aragorn in this chapter except in mention because I want to focus on the hobbits and Makoto/Súrë. A longer explanation as to why I've been dead for – I don't want to think how long – to follow. 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.
The Ents Choose War
At last, as Súrë finished teaching the hobbits a few Elvish greeting and parting phrases, there came a pause in the Ent-voices; and looking up Merry, Pippin, and Súrë saw Treebeard coming towards them, with another Ent at his side. Súrë smiled jovially and raised a hand in greeting.
"Hm, hoom, here I am again," said Treebeard. "Are you getting weary, or feeling impatient, hmm, eh?"
"No, sir," said Pippin. "Súrë is very entertaining company."
"Well that is good. I am afraid you must not get impatient yet. We have finished the first stage now; but I still have to explain things again to those who live far away from Isengard, and to those I could not get to before the Moot, and then we shall have to decide what to do. Deciding what to do does not take as long as going over the facts and events that we have to make up our minds about. Still, it is no use denying that we will be here for a long time yet: a couple days perhaps."
Merry and Pippin looked at Súrë in disbelief, but she nodded sagely; though not without a hint of a smile on her face. Merry decided that he liked her because of this quirk. Treebeard continued undaunted.
"I have brought you another companion. He has an ent-house nearby. His Elvish name is Bregalad. He says he has made up his mind and does not need to stay at the Moot. Hm, hm, he is the closest among us to a hasty Ent. He and Súrë get on well together, and I see no reason why you should not get on well too. Good-bye!" Treebeard turned and left them.
Bregalad allowed Súrë to climb up his long limbs and perch on his shoulder, and stood for some time surveying the hobbits solemnly; and they looked at him, wondering when he would show a sign of 'hastiness'. He was tall, and likely one of the younger Ents; he had smooth skin on his arms and legs; his lips were ruddy and his hair was grey-green. Though she might have said something, Súrë sat on his wide shoulders and the inspection to continue silently. At last he spoke, and his voice was higher and clearer than Treebeard's.
"Hm, ha, my friends, let us go for a walk!" he said. "My name is indeed Bregalad, that is Quickbeam in your language. But it is only a nickname of course. They have called me that ever since I said yes to an elder Ent before he finished his question. Also, I drink quickly, and go out when some are still wetting their beards. It was a glad event indeed when I was able to bestow the name Lintëmi Súrë upon our Elfling. But, come with me!"
He reached down two long arms and gave a long-fingered hand to each of the hobbits. All that day they walked with him about the woods, singing and laughing; for Quickbeam was quick to laughter. He laughed if the sun came out from behind a cloud, he laughed if they came upon a stream or spring: then he stooped and splashed his feet and head with water. He laughed sometimes at a sound or whisper coming from the trees. Sometimes Súrë laughed with him, as if a very funny joke had been told and only the hobbits could not understand it. Whenever they came upon a rowan tree he stopped and with his arms stretched out, he would sing and sway. At one of the many streams they came across, when Súrë had gone off some ways into the woods and Bregalad had stooped to splash his head, Merry finally asked, "Bregalad, how is it that you named Súrë?"
"Hm, hm, I found her. On the border of Rohan, near the mouths of the Entwash: Likely some two-hundred and sixty years ago by Elvish reckoning. I traveled far in those days, before the Orcs began cutting away at the Forest. There were some trees there, I know not if they still exist for I have not traveled there for many years, who whispered to me, asking for my help. I followed the whispers right to the very mouth where the Mering Stream joined it and there I saw a huddled form in the grass. It shivered from cold, for it was winter, but did not shrink away from me as I approached. The trees told me that the form had been talking to them." Bregalad bent once again to splash his head in the water.
"But why didn't Súrë give you her name?" asked Pippin. "She had one then, didn't she?"
"As surely as you and I do. But when I brought her into my ent-house she was sleeping. The following morning I did not think to ask – I named her for her actions. With her she had a cloak, a traveling sack, and a box, you see, and when she awoke she drew them close to her body and moved as far from me as she could. 'You are as swift as the winds!' I said and laughed. 'And that shall be your name! Lintëmi Súrë!' And so she has been known to us all."
"But after so long, you do know her real name," said Merry. "Don't you?" "Hoom, ha, perhaps. But I will not tell you now, for that name is for Súrë give when she deems right. Come now! Let us continue! I hear Súrë approach."
At nightfall he brought them to his ent-house: nothing more than a mossy stone laid upon turves under a green bank. Rowan trees grew in a circle around it, and there was water (as there is in all ent-houses), in the form of a spring bubbling out from the bank. Súrë started a small fire for their comfort as the night air chilled, and they talked for a while as darkness fell on the forest. Not far away the voices of the Entmoot could still be heard; but now they seemed deeper and less leisurely. Every now and then one would rise in a high and quick music, and all others would die away. But with them Bregalad spoke gently in their own tongue; and they learned that he belonged to Skinbark's people, and the country where they lived had been ravaged. That seemed quite enough to explain his 'hastiness' to the hobbits; at least in the matter of Orcs.
"There were rowan-trees in my home," said Bregalad softly, and sadly, "rowan-trees that took root when I was an Enting, many many years ago in the quiet of the world. The oldest were planted by the Ents to try and please the Entwives; but they looked at them and smiled and said they knew where whiter blossoms and richer fruit were growing. Yet there are no tree of all that race that are more beautiful to me. And they grew until their shadows were like green halls and their berries in the autumn were red burdens, and a beauty and a wonder. Birds used to flock there. I like birds, even when they chatter; and rowan trees have enough and more to spare. But the birds became unfriendly and greedy, and they tore at the trees with their beaks and threw down the fruit without eating it. Then Orcs came with their axes and cut down my trees. I came and called them by their names, but they did not hear or answer me: they lay dead."
He began to sing a soft, lamenting song. Sparing just enough thought to make pillows of their cloaks, Merry and Pippin, as they had the night before, fell asleep to the sounds. The soft singing of Bregalad, though she had heard the song many times before, brought misted tears to Makoto's eyes. His voice seemed to lament in many tongues, all of which she knew, the fall of the rowan trees that he had loved. She covered the hobbits with her cloak, for she could not provide them with blankets and did not need one for herself.
"Someday, Bregalad, I shall find you a rowan," Makoto said to herself in her native tongue. "Someday I shall find you many rowans."
It was a silly promise, she knew, and it was a promise never to be kept. But despite that it was a promise that Makoto made to herself each time she heard Bregalad's song. Her hands strayed to Pippin's curly hair and she began to stroke it as if he were a child in need of comfort. In so many ways he seemed to her a child, and yet neither he nor Merry were children. Makoto smiled softly at the dear hobbits.
"Hmm, hoom, you should take some rest as well, Súrë. Makoto."
"I am yet unweary, Bregalad. But I thank you for your concern."
"All the same, little Elfling, you should take some rest. Your hobbits shall not go without protection if you do," Bregalad said and to Makoto his voice seemed chiding.
Her human blood demanded that she keep awake nonetheless, but her elvish blood and her entish habits were victorious. Makoto conceded defeat. "Aye, Bregalad, I know that well. Forgive me for doubting you. I mean you no offense."
"And you have not offended me, Makoto. Hm, what was it the trees called you long ago? I find I can hardly remember now. 'Mako-chan', was that it?"
"'Mako-chan'," Makoto repeated softly. A saddened smiled crossed her lips, "My mother used to call me that when I was a child ... I will sleep now, Bregalad. I will see you in the morning."
"You will sleep the Manish sleep?"
"Aye."
"Dream good dreams, then."
"Thank you. Good night," Makoto turned to her charges to make sure they were still well wrapped in her cloak. Satisfied at last that they were, she settled herself on the ground by them and let sleep claim her.
The next day was spent also in Bregalad's company, but this day they did not go far from his 'house'. Most of the time the hobbits and Makoto sat silent under the shelter of the bank, for the wind was colder, and the clouds closer and greyer; there was little sunshine and in the distance the voices of the Ents at the Moot still rose and fell. Sometimes the voices were loud and strong, sometimes they were low and sad, sometimes quickening, and sometimes slow and solemn as a dirge. Every now and then Merry could have sworn that he heard Makoto singing under her breath, but when he looked at her, her lips did not move. He wondered if it was an Elvish trick but did not press to ask as he might have were they not in the Forest. Had he still been a simple hobbit in the Shire, rather than a simple and scared hobbit out in the world he had never truly cared to travel. Merry wondered if Pippin felt the same way. A second night came and still the Ents held conclave under hurrying clouds and fitful stars.
The third day broke, bleak and windy. At sunrise the Ents' voices rose to a great clamour such that neither hobbit had ever expected and then died down again. As the morning wore on the wind fell and the air grew heavy with expectancy. The hobbits could see that Bregalad was now listening intently, although to them, down in the dell of the ent-house, the sound of the Moot was faint. And suddenly they noticed that Súrë had gone. The afternoon came, and the sun, going west towards the mountains, sent out long yellow beams between the cracks and fissures of the clouds. Suddenly the hobbits became aware that everything was very quiet; the whole forest stood in listening silence. Of course, the Ent-voices had stopped. What did that mean? Bregalad was standing up erect and tense, looking back northwards towards Derndingle, but Makoto had disappeared from sight.
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.
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 eyes could be seen.
"Hoom, hom! Here we come with a boom, here we come at last!" called Treebeard when he caught sight of Bregalad 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!"
Merry and Pippin looked at each other, excitement suddenly coursing through them.
"D'you hear that, Pip? Isengard! They've chosen war."
"I hear Merry," Pippin replied.
A gleam was back in his eyes that Merry had not seen in a very long time, and it was soothing in a strange sort of way. It was mischievous. Pippin looked about the Ents for a sign of Súrë, but found none. "Where do you suppose Súrë has gone off to? I would think that she would be the one to head the army."
Merry now looked about as well. He could see nothing of the Elfling among the Ents nor in the trees ahead of them. "Perhaps she has gone back to Treebeard's home to retrieve something. I do not think that she would leave us alone to take all the glory of bringing down Saruman."
"Hm, ha, hoom, like as not she will be there. She is quick to battle if she believes it worthy. Fear not, young Pippin, she will be there," Bregalad said.
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 bold 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 doom we come!
With doom we come, with doom we come!
So the Ents sang as they marched southwards.
Bregalad swung into line beside Treebeard, his eyes shining. The old Ent took the hobbits from him, and settled them upon his shoulders again, and so they rode with heads held high and beating hearts at the front of the singing company. Though they had expected something to happen eventually, they were amazed nonetheless at the sudden change that had come over the Ents. It seemed as if the sudden bursting of a flood that had been long held back by a dike now came forth. But the hobbits were still puzzled by the sudden disappearance of Súrë, despite Bregalad's assurances.
"So the Ents made up their minds quickly after all, didn't they?" said Pippin after some time, during a pause in the singing when only beating hands and feet could be heard.
"Quickly?" said Treebeard. "Hoom! Yes, indeed."
"Quicker than I expected!" chirped Makoto from beside them, where she rode upon Bregalad's shoulders.
"Súrë!" cried Merry, "We thought you'd gone off and left before the battle!"
"But Bregalad told you I would come, did he not?"
"Well, yes – "
"And so here I am!" said Makoto firmly. "Fear not, for I would not desert you before this battle. I have been about much of the Forest this morning, gathering things that may yet be needed. Though I should like to speak with Aragorn before we begin."
On that subject she would say no more. The clamour of the Ents droned on around them, and Treebeard looked about the company.
"Indeed, I have not seen them roused like this for many an age. We Ents do not like being roused; and we are never roused unless it is clear that our trees and our very lives are in great danger. But that has not happened here since the wars of Sauron and the Men of the Sea. It is the orc-work, the needless hewing of our trees without even the bad excuse of feeding fires that has us so angered; and the treachery of our neighbor, who should have helped us. Wizards ought to know better: they do know better! There is no curse in Elvish, Entish, or the tongues of Men bad enough for such treachery! Down with Saruman!"
"I'm quite sure I could think of a few very good curses in the tongue of my people," Makoto said to herself, "but perhaps this is not the time."
"Will you really break the doors of Isengard?" asked Merry.
"Ho, hm, well, we could, you know! You do not know, perhaps, how strong we are. You maybe have heard of Trolls in the tales of old? They are very strong, but they are only a counterfeit, made by the Enemy in the Great Darkness. They were made in mockery of the Ents, as the Orcs were of Elves. We are stronger than Trolls. We are made of the bones of the Earth. We can split stone like the roots of trees, only much quicker, if our minds are roused! If we are not cut down, or destroyed by fire, blast, or sorcery, we could split Isengard into splinters and rubble."
"But Saruman will try to stop you, won't he?"
"You can be sure of that, Master Merry," Makoto interjected, "but we shall march anyway and shall not stop until he has been rendered powerless."
"Hm, ah, yes, that is so," Treebeard said. "I have not forgotten it. Indeed, I have thought about it for some time. But what Súrë says is equally as true. Many of these Ents here are younger than I am, by many lives of trees. They are all roused and their mind is on one thing: breaking Isengard. They will start thinking before long; they will cool down when we take our evening drink. But let them march and sing now! We have a long way to go, and there is time ahead for thought."
Treebeard marched on, singing with the others for a while, and fairly ignoring the hobbits, who were burning with questions. Makoto sang as well for a short time, but soon their voices died to a murmur, and then both fell silent. Pippin could see that Treebeard's old brow was wrinkled and knotted, and when he looked across to Súrë, her face was drawn in intense contemplation. At last Treebeard looked up, and Pippin could see a sad look in his eyes. Sad, but not unhappy. There was a light in them, as if the green flame had sunk deeper into the wells of his thought.
"Of course, it is likely enough, my friends," he said slowly, "that we go to our doom: the last march of the Ents. But if we stayed at home and did nothing, doom would find us anyway, sooner or later. That thought has been growing in our hearts; and that is why we are marching now. It was not a hasty resolve. Now maybe the last march of the Ents will be worthy of a song. Aye," he sighed. "We may be able to help the other peoples before we pass away."
The Ents went striding on at a great pace. Merry was sure that not even Aragorn would have been able to catch them. They had gone down into a long fold of the land that fell away to the south; now they began to climb up, and up, onto the high western ridge. The woods fell away and they came to scattered groups of birch, and then to bare slopes where only a few, gaunt pine-trees grew. The sun sank behind the dark hill-back in front and grey dusk fell.
Pippin looked behind, to see the goings-on of the rest of the company. The number of Ents had grown – or what was happening? Where the bare slopes that they had crossed should have been, he thought he saw groves of trees. But they were moving! He rubbed his eyes, wondering if sleep and dim light had deceived him; but the great grey shapes moved steadily onward. There was a noise like wind in many branches among them.
"Yes, Pippin. Those are the trees of the Forest you see," Súrë said quietly, her face no longer clouded in thought, but turned towards them. Her eyes seemed much greener than they were in the Forest. "They have roused themselves to answer the call of their herders. The trees of Fangorn Forest are awake, and they march to war with us."
The Ents were drawing near to the crest of the ridge now, and all song had stopped. Night fell, and there was silence: nothing was heard save the faint quiver of the earth beneath the feet of the Ents, and a rustle, the shade of a whisper as to many drifting leaves. At last they stood upon the summit, and looked down into a dark pit: the great cleft at the end of the mountains that Súrë had shown them: Nan Curunír, the Valley of Saruman.
"Night lies over Isengard," said Treebeard.
"I aure ú-arathan an-Curunír," said Súrë, darkly, and neither Merry nor Pippin asked to know the meaning.
OTHER NOTES
And I'm sure you're all wondering what the hell happened to me. Basically: Life. I decided to become a techie at my school; meaning I switched from the vocal department to the tech theater department. I don't regret that choice one bit, but it has given me a lot of extra work to do, and taken away the majority of the time I had to write. Not only do I have to work during school time, but I have to give up a good part of my time after school to run shows and set up the ones I'm not crewing. I also lost interest in this for a while. I started writing other genres of fanfiction, out of the various anime series, and I started taking requests on my web-site, which have been tying me up a little. I'm not sure what's going to happen, but I'm going to work on finishing all my unfinished stories before I begin any new ones; and I may have to hang up my hat and stop writing Makoto-based fanfiction entirely once I do finish what I've started. There are only so many plots I can think of for her.
Also, I don't know how good this was in comparison to the other chapters, if the other chapters were any good at all. The gaps between writing are so long, that I fear for the continuity of style and enthusiasm in general. So please, critism is a necessary thing! I want to know that I'm doing this right, especially for the relatively loyal following I've got. In other notes: the hobbits don't get to know what Makoto said at the end there, but you all do. It's an approximation, seeing as I wrote it, but it should be fairly accurate going by the on-line sources that are available.
I aure ú-arathan an-Curunír
I (the) aure (day) ú- (not-) arathan (will dawn) an- (for) Curunír (Saruman)
The day will not dawn for Saruman