Hey there! Thank you for my lovely reviews to the last chapter! Sorry for the second week of a late update, I'm exhausted and have been very busy. I'm pretty sure I'm happy with this one now (happy enough at least, but I'm always nervous writing new and iconic characters) so we'll just have to see. As ever, please forgive any typos.

Chapter Fifty-Four: The Maddening Wood

The first thought in Pippin's mind was that Nelly was right – he had gone well and truly mad. He must have gone mad. There was no other explanation.

Because there was a tree standing in front of him, a tree with a face. And the tree was talking.

"Hrum, hoom," said the tree, in a voice so deep that Pippin felt the world murmur. "So, these are the little orcs chasing squirrels from their trees."

Pippin blinked, staring at the eyes of the tree and hardly understanding its words at all. The eyes looked so old, as though there was a well beneath them full of deep memory, with the life sparkling like starlight over the surface. He found when he looked at them that he could not be afraid. He felt an odd sense of suspense, and a swell of curiosity, but no fear. It was like looking into history, and seeing history stare back at you.

Pippin's head began to spin. He wondered if this was what Bifur had felt like when he woke from the axe-wound, if exhaustion had finally broken his mind in two. Hopefully, Merry would be able to keep his own sanity long enough to get himself out of this mess. If he had to leave Pippin, that would be alright. Pippin was tired. It would not be too bad to stay here, in this forest, with the talking tree.

With two large, branch like hands, the tree reached out and plucked Merry and Pippin from their perch, and Merry yelled, grappling to keep his grip on Pippin with such ferocity that he scratched him. They were pulled apart, and Pippin supposed that he was probably just toppling out of the tree while he hallucinated, and poor old Merry was trying to catch him. He felt tired enough to fall out of a tree, after all. So very, very tired.

Maybe that was all it was. Maybe he was only dreaming.

"We're not orcs!" cried Merry, as the tree brought them up close to its face. "We're hobbits – halflings – we're running from the orcs-"

Bewildered, Pippin stared at his cousin. If he was hallucinating, how could Merry know what the tree said?

Maybe he doesn't, Pippin thought. Maybe I'm hearing things too, and Merry's talking to me, and not that old tree…

Or maybe, just maybe, there was a real life talking tree in front of him, and he was not mad at all. If that was the case, they were both being very rude. After all, his Mama had raised him with manners.

"We're hobbits, Mister Tree, sir," said Pippin firmly, nodding once, though it hurt his head a little to move it. "Who are you?"

"Tree?" said the tree, raising its bark eyebrows high. "I am no tree – I am an ent, and they call me many things. You may call me Treebeard, if you are a friend of the forest. Orcs are not friends of the forest – but perhaps you are not orcs, as I am not a tree." He drew the hobbits towards his face, and narrowed his ancient eyes. "You do not look like orcs, now I look closer. More, more like children, barum, elf children, perhaps. I have not heard of hobbits, and I do not recall such folk in the old songs. Child-like you may be, or you may be some orc spy. There are some who are fouler than they seem."

"We're not spies," said Merry quickly. "And we're always left out of the old songs, it seems. Our people live in the Shire, in the west, and some call us halflings. In Rohan, the men call us Holbytlan, though most there think us only myths. 'Hobbits' is the name we give ourselves."

"Oh?" frowned the tree. "Do not be too hasty in saying what you call yourselves, little Master. If you are not careful, you'll be letting me know your own true names next."

"We're not private about that," said Merry, and Pippin shot him a sharp look.

Hobbits may not be private about their names, but Merry and Pippin both had secret names of their own – names that some may argue were their 'true' names. All of the dwobbits had them, just as all dwarves had them. After a couple of years of living in Erebor, each of the hobbits were given Heart Names, names that were rarely spoken and never written, and names that the dwarves believed were bound to their souls.

"A Heart Name is used only three times," Fíli had explained to him. "When you are born – or in your case named – when you marry, and when you die. It is not the name your family will think of you by. They will always know you as Pippin, as you will always know me as Fíli. Fíli is what I call myself, what my family and friends call me. What my people call me. But my Heart Name is what Mahal will call me. When I die, it will be my Heart Name that leads me home. It is a name that no one can take from me. You can never tell anyone your heart name, Pippin. Not until you are married, at any rate. For now, those who need to know do."

And that was one instruction that Pippin had never failed to follow. It worried him, the idea that when he died, he might not end up in the same place as his dwarves. He knew that it would likely not change things, but he liked to think that clinging to his Heart Name would help to bring him back to them when he passed.

It was not something that this talking tree needed to know.

But when he caught the look, Merry gave a weary smile, and signed quickly in Iglishmêk. "Birth names, not Heart Names." Then, he said aloud. "I'm Meriadoc Brandybuck, but most folk just call me Merry. This is Pippin, as we call him, though his right name is Peregrin Took."

Treebeard's eyes widened, and he stared at them for a long moment. "You are a most hasty folk. Be careful who you give your names to – there are ents and ents, as they say. But those names suit you, I think. Merry and Pippin – they are nice names. Tell me, Merry and Pippin, what is going on? I see and hear and feel much from this forest, but there is more I would know. I feel something great is stirring. What is Gandalf up to?" His voice darkening, Treebeard gave a low, growl-like sound, "And burárum, what is this talk of orcs, and does it have aught to do with young Saruman in Isengard?"

Pippin opened his mouth to say that it certainly did have something to do with that awful man, thank you very much, but Merry beat him to it.

"Begging your pardon, Master Treebeard, but that's a long story, and even if we were to tell you quick, it'd take a long time, and you said not to be hasty. But before we do tell you, might you forgive us for asking what you're going to do with us, and whose side you're on? Did you know Gandalf?"

Pippin blinked. That was a very good point. He had not thought of that. Now that the initial shock of the talking tree was out of the way, he was beginning to feel sore again, in his aching legs and empty chest and his poor, empty stomach – not to mention his head. It felt very tight, as though he was wearing a hat that was far, far too small. And he was starting to feel dizzy again, too, as though there was nothing but space in his skull. Every so often, he had to blink away blurs from the world, as though he was trying to look through water.

"I know Gandalf," said Treebeard, drawing Pippin's attention again. "The only wizard who truly cares for the trees. Do you know him?"

Heart sinking low, Pippin hung his head. It was Merry who answered, in a low voice. "Yes, we knew him. He was a great friend."

"Then I am happy to answer your questions. If you are asking what I am going to do 'to' you, then the answer is nothing, not without your consent. But we may do some things together, now. So it is with sides – I don't know much about sides. My way is mine and yours is yours, as they say, but for a while our paths may go along together. Come, let us go. You can tell me your tale, and take your time with it."

"Where will we go?" said Merry. "We, we haven't any supplies, really, we've hardly any food…"

"Don't you worry, Master Merry," said Treebeard, settling the two hobbits into the crooks of his arms. His grip was gentle, and Pippin felt very safe. Safe from falling, safe from orcs – in fact, the only thing he did not feel fully safe from was falling asleep. He was so tired. "We shall go to my home – or one of them. I have drink that will keep you green and growing for a good long while."

"How far is it?" asked Merry, and Pippin frowned. His cousin was being rather rude – they had just been offered food and shelter and - "Only it's Pippin, Master Treebeard, he's exhausted, and injured, badly. The orcs – they nearly killed him, I'm afraid if he doesn't get some proper food and rest soon he'll get worse."

Guilt stirred in Pippin's heart. His cousin looked so drawn, so afraid. "I'm alright, Merry, really…"

"No, you're not," said Merry sharply, his eyes flashing. Pippin opened his mouth, but Merry was not having it. "Do you want proof? You're thin as a rake, you're slurring your words, your eyes keep glazing over - you're not alright, Pippin. You're very far from alright."

Treebeard gazed down at the hobbits, looking at Pippin with what looked like great pity. Pippin could not really tell. He was not always the best at reading faces, and the ent looked more like a tree than he did a man. His eyes still on Pippin, Treebeard turned and began to walk back into the forest. His long, meaningful strides were smooth, and Pippin hardly felt like he was moving at all. He was just swaying ever so gently, and felt a great sigh rise within him.

"Do not worry, Master Merry," said Treebeard, in a voice calm and slow. "I do not like to be hasty, but speed and haste are not one and the same, and we will soon be home. Perhaps for now, Master Pippin can get some sleep. When he wakes, you can tell me your tale."

"Don't wait," said Pippin, his head lolling to the side so that his cheek rested against Treebeard's arm. It was warm and smooth, like the bark of a young beech tree on a summer's day. That way, he could see Merry, and he met his cousin's eyes. "You won't wake me."

Understanding in his eyes, Merry gave a sad smile and nodded, speaking softly and calmly, speaking just to let Pippin hear him. To let him know he was still there. Pippin closed his eyes, and Merry began to talk of the hobbits of Erebor, and how they came to be there. Even as Pippin was tugged down into a deep slumber, Merry's voice fell gently around him. As long as Merry spoke, Pippin felt safe. As long as Merry spoke, the nightmares were chased away.

And then Pippin woke to silence.

At first he panicked, but even as his fear rose, sleep still clung to him, and he blinked fiercely, trying to open his eyes and flail his arms and catch his bearings. Before he could so much as gasp, Merry's hand squeezed his.

"It's alright, Pippin. We're safe now," he murmured, though he did not look like he thought them very safe. His brow was shrouded and low, and there was a tightness to his lips that suggested he was holding back tears. Concern was strong in his eyes, so strong that Pippin was afraid.

He glanced around quickly, and found that he was no longer in the arms of ent. Instead, he was lying on what looked like a smooth, stone table, with his head in Merry's lap. There was a leafy ceiling above him, and the floor seemed a very long way down, and a horrible thought seized him. Had they escaped the pawing orcs, only to be eaten by a talking tree?

"What is it?" he gasped, and found that his voice was raspier than he had expected it to be. "How long was I asleep?"

"Just an hour or two," said Merry, "it's alright, Pippin. Treebeard's gone to get something to drink."

That brought Pippin little comfort. "To drink with us or with us?"

Merry's frown deepened. "What are you talking about?"

His fear rising up into his throat, Pippin grabbed Merry's wrist and tried to sit up, looking around and trying to see where they could run. There was a great, open doorway on one side of the room, and a tall, long stone bed, and odd lamps that glowed on their own with no visible flame, and he could hear the deep thrum of the end humming outside. "Merry, we're on a, a table, and-"

Merry swallowed and shook his head, guiding Pippin back down into his lap. "No, Pip, it's alright. I promise. He set us down here so I could see him when I was talking to him. So we could be more level. He doesn't sit much. In his words, he's 'not very bendable.' It's alright. Even if he does turn out to be some troll-like monster, you're going to be just fine. I won't let anything happen to you. Don't worry, Pippin." Merry smiled sadly, and gently poked Pippin's nose. "I don't think there's much chance of his being evil anyway. You'll remember why when he comes back."

Pippin shook his own head, but found that it hurt, and stopped. "Then why do you look so scared?"

Merry gave a hollow laugh. "I could answer without words if you had a mirror. You scared me, Pippin. I thought I'd lost you."

Guilt joining with fear to block up his throat, Pippin looked away, staring instead at the ceiling. It was alive, still, strong, green leaves, all small and vulnerable, all banding together to form something stronger. Something that could weather the rains. But could it weather a storm? Pippin was less sure of that.

"I'm sorry, Merry," he mumbled.

"I know. You ought to get some more sleep – after you've eaten, mind. You're not in any danger of getting fat any more."

Pippin frowned a little, and prodded at his stomach. It felt very empty, and very much smaller than it ought to be. He felt starved, and thirstier than he had been even in Mirkwood. His belly gave an almighty rumble, and as though the sound had summoned him, Treebeard came in through the tall door, carrying three large bowls.

"Well, now," he said appreciatively. "You're awake, Master Pippin, and just in time for a drink. Very good." As his deep, calm voice met Pippin's ears, and his gentle eyes found the hobbit's, Pippin remembered why he had not been afraid before. There was something about Treebeard that felt safe. Merry was right.

"Come on," Merry murmured, shifting his hands onto Pippin's back to help ease him into a sitting position. Pippin needed more help than he thought he would, and by the time he was upright there were lights dancing in front of his eyes.

When they faded, Pippin was able to see the bowl that Treebeard had placed down in front of him, and he peered inside curiously. His heart sank a little. Water may well be all you needed to keep a young tree growing, but a hobbit needed a little more than that. And it looked like water was all they had. Glancing at Merry, Pippin wondered how much lembas they had left. How long it would last.

"Drink up, my little friends," said Treebeard. "Master Merry has told me much of your adventures, though not all, I deem, and it seems you have faced many hardships. But you are safe now. Drink deep, and rest, and when you are rested, we shall think about what must be done."

Pippin opened his mouth to ask what had to be done, but Merry pushed a bowl towards him and gave him a meaningful stare. Obediently, Pippin took it, and found that it was so heavy his arms shook. The moment the water touched his lips, his eyes widened in surprise. It tasted so like water, but also like so much more than water. He could not name any one taste, nor even determine whether it was sweet or savoury or sour. Only that it was almost earthy, and tasted like a warm spring morning, like the sun on your face and the dew from soft grass between your toes. And as he drunk, his hunger waned, and his pain eased just a little. It was not like the orc-draught – he did not feel that he could run another hundred miles, nor that his pain was gone. It was more like the comfort of a well-cooked meal, one that dulled no pain, but helped you forget about grazed knees.

He did not realise how quickly he was drinking until the water splashed onto his face, and Merry tried to tug the bowl away.

"Slow down Pippin, you'll choke."

Pippin threw Merry's hand off and brought the bowl back up to his lips, but he obeyed, drinking more slowly until the whole bowl was drained. Treebeard laughed.

"I am glad that you like my ent-draught, Master Pippin. Little will give you greater nourishment."

Pippin opened his mouth to reply, but all that emerged was a hiccup. Merry rolled his eyes. Treebeard did not seem offended – on the contrary, he gave Pippin a smile that crinkled around his eyes. Then, he drained his own bowl in one go, and placed it down on the table.

After a moment's pause, Merry cleared his throat. "If you please, Treebeard, I've told you our story. Is there anything that you can tell us, anything that could help us? About Saruman, perhaps? We know nothing of him other than his home, and that he is a traitor who bred the uruk-hai who captured us. But he is not far from here. You must know more."

Pippin shivered lightly. He did not want to know any more about Saruman. He wanted to forget that the wizard had ever existed.

"Then you know as much as I, Master Merry," said Treebeard. "Long ago he used to walk in my woods, and we would talk, on occasion. I would tell him much of the forest, of the ways of the woods, but I remember he never told me much in return. At the time I thought nothing of it, but now I know better. He was spying – learning my secrets, and now he uses them against me. It is the fault of Saruman that orcs run so freely in my woods, and it is Saruman and his foul folk who are felling good trees down by the borders, felling them that they may feed the forges of Isengard. Curse him – curse him, root and branch! Many of those trees were my friends – creatures I had known from nut and acorn; many had voices of their own that are lost for ever now. And there are wastes of stump and bramble where once there were singing groves. I have been idle. I have let things slip. It must stop!"

With a speed that Pippin would not have guessed the ent capable of, Treebeard thumped his hand on the table, and the odd glowing lamps sent out small jets of flame. Pippin jumped and fell, tumbling back into Merry's lap with a gasp. Merry's arms wove around him, but the older hobbit spoke eagerly.

"What are you going to do?"

Treebeard paused, his eyes on Pippin. "Well – I am getting too hot. I was very nearly hasty, and I feared I scared Master Pippin, here."

"No," squeaked Pippin.

"There is much that must be done," said Treebeard slowly. "Many who must be called, many who might come. And come they will, and we shall march to Isengard. Together, we will help my people, and yours. But night is falling, and you are both weary. You shall sleep here tonight, sleep here and rest. I have some errands to run ere I sleep myself, but nothing will harm you while you remain in this house."

"Thank you, Treebeard," murmured Merry, and Pippin added a mumbled thanks of his own. The ent lifted them down from the table, onto a soft bed of grass on the ground, and then he strode out of the doorway. It seemed to be made of living branches, and they closed a little behind him. The lanterns dimmed.

Almost at once, Pippin dropped back down onto his back, resting his head on Merry's arm. He felt his cousin drape his own jacket over Pippin, and he mumbled a protest, but already sleep was calling to him, and within moments, he was under.

And then Pippin was woken again.

It felt like he had only just fallen asleep when Merry began shaking his arm. Panic could not take him this time – he was too tired, too deeply asleep, and also, if Merry wanted to wake Pippin in a crisis he would put a hand over the younger hobbit's mouth. There was no hand on Pippin's mouth. Just on his arm, shaking him. Pippin groaned, and tried to roll over, but Merry shook him harder.

"Wake up, Pippin, wake up!" he said, and there was an odd note to his voice – a surprise, a joy, an awe – Pippin could not place it, and quite frankly he did not care to. Not until Merry added, "Look who's here!"

Damn it. Now Merry had woken Pippin's curiosity, and that was harder to keep asleep sleep. He opened his eyes onto darkness, or at least only a very dim light, and struggled to sit up. Merry's arm wove around his back and helped to pull him up, and Pippin rubbed his eyes and looked ahead.

Then he froze.

And then he rubbed his eyes again, harder, but the person before him was still there.

"Am I dreaming?" Pippin whispered hoarsely, grabbing onto Merry's arm.

"No," said his cousin, and the choked awe and joy and sorrow made sense now – almost.

"Am I mad?" he asked, in a trembling voice. Talking trees were one thing, but –

"No," laughed the man before him. "No, Master Peregrin, you are not mad. Not yet, at any rate."

"Gandalf?"

The wizard smiled, and his blue eyes twinkled, but the smile and the twinkle were the most familiar things about him. His matted hair was white and straight and clean, and he was wearing robes of brilliant white, not grey. He looked sterner, with deeper lines in his face, but no longer did he seem to bear the shadows of Mordor. His cheeks were no longer hollow, and his eyes no longer as haunted, and he no longer looked thin enough to break in two.

"Yes, Pippin. It is I. Though when I last saw you, I was known as Gandalf the Grey. Now, I am Gandalf the White," he said, in the same voice as ever, as though he was explaining top a child why the sun went down at night.

"But, but you," choked Pippin, tears rising unbidden to his eyes and throat. "You died, we saw you, saw you fall."

"I fell," agreed Gandalf. "But my work is not yet done, and I have been sent back."

"I'm sorry!" Pippin blurted out, before anyone else could say anything else. He had to, had to, his guilt had been building in him since Moria, and now, faced with Gandalf, alive and breathing before him, it was too much to bear. "I'm so sorry, Gandalf, I – if I didn't drop that stupid stone, if I'd woken you all quicker, if-"

"My fall was not your doing, Peregrin Took," said Gandalf sternly. But then he smiled, gently, and crouched down beside Merry and Pippin. He took Pippin's hands in his own, and Pippin felt the warmth of life in the wizard. His eyes filled with tears, and Gandalf spoke again. "Nevertheless, I forgive you, my young Took. Whatever guilt you carry, you can let go of it now. It is forgiven, and in the past. Why, would I be here with you now if I harboured any anger towards you?"

"Perhaps," mumbled Pippin, unwilling to believe that he would get off so easily. "Perhaps you want to turn me into a frog. Or you could be here to see Merry, or Treebeard, or-"

"Hush, my lad." Gandalf smiled sadly, squeezing Pippin's hand. "While I had every intention of talking to Treebeard, I had not planned on visiting his home. Not even when he told me that he had found you in the forest, and taken you here. You are safe enough with him, and as long as you are safe I can attend to other things. But then Treebeard told me of Merry's fears, and told me how close your call with the orcs truly was…"

Pippin felt his cheeks burn red, and he looked away. He was only worse than Merry because he was weaker. He was only struck more because he was an idiot, who provoked the uruks and made pointless dashes for freedom.

"You have been very brave," murmured Gandalf. "Very brave indeed, my lad. But it is not only Merry you had worried." He placed his hand on Pippin's forehead, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he smiled softly again. "You will be alright. I don't see anything that will cause lasting damage – we got there in time, it seems. There's nothing a some good rest and nourishment won't fix."

Merry let out a sigh of relief and relaxed. "Thank you, Gandalf."

The wizard nodded, his eyes sparkling. He put a hand on Pippin's cheek, and the other on Merry's, and Pippin felt his eyes prick with tears. "I am very glad to see you both safe. Very glad indeed."

"You too," mumbled Pippin, dragging his sleeve across his watering nose. "I'm very glad you're alive, Gandalf."

Gandalf smiled, and then stood up. "I must go – there is much that needs my attention. You already know that this war is greater than two small hobbits. But I shall see you soon, I expect."

Pippin's heart stumbled. Was Gandalf leaving again, leaving them right after he had returned? Were they to sit here and wait like children? Had Uglúk simply knocked him a little too hard on the head after all?

"We can come with you!" said Merry, leaping to his feet. "Gandalf, we can help."

Gandalf nodded. "You can indeed, and you will. For now, it is important that you regain your strength. Stay with Treebeard – you will find that you will help each other, and help your friends besides. Take care, my dear young hobbits."

He turned, and walked towards the door, and a great pressure began to build in Pippin's chest. He was tired, so tired and so scared, and so scared that he was going mad, so scared that he would wake up in the morning tied to the back of an orc.

"Wait!" he cried, clambering to his feet and ignoring the way that the world span around him. He threw himself forward, stumbling like a toddler until he reached the wizard. Then, Pippin threw his arms around Gandalf's waist and hugged him as tightly as he could. "Good luck."

Gandalf jolted slightly as Merry crashed into his other side, embracing him with more strength than Pippin had in him. The wizard laughed, ruffling their hair and patting their backs for a lingering moment.

"Who needs luck," he chuckled, "When you have friends like hobbits?"

Drawing away, he nodded at them once more, and then strode from the room. They could hear him talking to Treebeard, but Pippin was too tired to eavesdrop. He leant against Merry, who brought him back down to their grassy bed.

"I promise you can sleep now," Merry said. "I won't wake you again, not unless it's an emergency."

Pippin nodded, and yawned. "If Frodo turns up, he can wait till morning."

"Aye," said Merry, making himself comfortable and letting Pippin snuggle against him. "I told you it would be alright. I told you."

For a moment, Pippin smiled, closing his eyes. Merry closed his eyes, too, and in mere moments he was asleep. But as exhausted as he was, Pippin was afraid to follow. If he did wake, and find it was all a dream, he would not fight the uruk-hai any longer. He would not have it in him.

But when Pippin woke ten hours later, it was to the morning sun filtering down through a bright ceiling of leaves, to Merry breathing deeply beside him, and to a warm, grey cloak that smelled faintly of pipe-weed, tucked snuggly around them both.

I hope that you enjoyed that chapter, and that I caught most of the typos. I'm exhausted at the moment, so I probably didn't, but hey ho. I know that we didn't see too much of Treebeard, in a way, with Pippin being so out of it, but we'll get more of him soon. And Gandalf's back – bet you didn't see that coming, lol.

Please do let me know what you think, I love hearing from you guys! Until next time, thanks for reading and take care of yourself :D