Hey all! Sorry to be a day late again, but I was very busy last night and will be for the next two weeks. Nevertheless, I thank you for the lovely response to the last chapter, and hope that you will enjoy this one. Please do forgive any typos, as ever.

Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Way of the Wolf

His breath came hot and fast, and his lungs felt like there were great dwarves sitting upon them, squeezing until they were almost empty.

He carried on.

He no longer felt his legs. They flew beneath him – one, two, three, one, two, three – flew as fast as he could dare them to fly. He could not stop, or halt, or pause. He had grabbed a couple of mouthfuls of water here and there, when he chanced to find a stream, but there was no time to eat. No time at all. He had to run, and find his master.

He had to find Merry.

The news of the eagle was spinning in his mind – the land of the Beornings was burning, and Beorn's strength was failing. His own kin, wolves from his parents' pack, were falling and dying, wolves older and younger than he, hunted like prey and then left to rot. His packs never hunted for pleasure, even if they took joy in the hunt. They ate every last morsel of their prey – it was the only respectful way of doing things. But these orcs, they did not need the food. They did not need to eat. They killed because they enjoyed killing, and they were killing everything in their path – wolves and their cubs, deer and their fawns, men and their children.

His fellow wolves had insisted on staying with their pack. The dwarves needed to get to Erebor – Denahi knew that. They needed to get to safety, and they needed the wolves' help to do so. He knew that too. But Denahi had called to the eagle that brought the news.

"Hobbits?" he had asked. "Have you seen my hobbits?"

The eagle had huffed in reply. "Hobbits? No. Orcs here and orcs there – from the Gap to the Gundabad. Why care for hobbits?"

Then, Denahi had bared his teeth and advanced, and demanded that the damned bird take to the skies, that he find out if Merry was alright. It was not impossible – Hafoc had watched for them before, on other trips back to the homeland of the hobbits. Like many of the eagles in the surrounding lands, he would often carry out errands or watches in exchange for fresh meat, or carrion, and though he was grumbling and irreverent, he was also reliable, and – begrudgingly – a friend.

He knew what Merry looked like. He knew that Merry was Denahi's master, that Denahi loved the hobbit as though they were born of the same litter. And with no shortage of complaint, Hafoc had taken off, and days later he returned with news.

News that he had seen a pack of uruk-hai below him, travelling towards Fangorn forest, and Isengard, travelling with two hobbits among them.

Travelling with Merry.

Denahi had not waited to the other wolves to react. He had sprung off into the trees the moment that he heard the call, sprinting south as fast as he could, until he ran far enough that his legs collapsed beneath him, and he tumbled to the ground. Then, he had begun to pace himself. And he had run.

It had been six days, nearly a week, and he had barely stopped to sleep. Hunting was out of the question, and he had eaten naught but a little carrion he had found on the way. He was afraid, very afraid, that Merry would already be within Orthanc. If he was, there was little Denahi could do. He was only one wolf, he could not infiltrate the lair of a wizard.

But half an hour ago, something had changed. He had heard chatter, the chittering of angry squirrels complaining about two small, pale orcs that had climbed their tree and chased them from their home. Excited, Denahi had bounded over to ask more, but these were squirrels of Fangorn, not of Wilderland, and they sped away through the trees with frightened squeaks.

Nevertheless, Denahi was relieved. He was going in the right direction, he had to be – squirrels were morons who assumed that anything on two legs was an orc. It was why they threw nuts at so many wondering travellers. Denahi hated squirrels, but he had never been so pleased to hear them. Two little white orcs, up in trees – that had to be his hobbits.

If there were just the two of them, that meant that they had got away from the orcs. Or maybe not, he thought, his legs flailing like a new-born fawn's as his blood ran cold. Perhaps they were the other hobbits – Frodo or Sam or Nelly – perhaps Merry was still captive.

Or even dead.

With a breathless whimper, Denahi ran faster, his feet stumbling beneath him as his weary legs pushed onwards. He wouldn't be able to sustain this pace very much longer, not without feeding, but he had to.

And then he caught a scent, faint and far away, and he whined in relief and ran faster. Faster, faster, faster, until he was smashing into hedges and tripping on the undergrowth. The forest fled before him, its birds and beetles and small mammals terrified by the sight of the frantic wolf with burning eyes and tongue lolling from his mouth, but Denahi ran faster.

Nearly there, nearly there now – the scent was growing stronger.

He tripped and crashed to the ground, skidding across the undergrowth and smashing into a nearby tree. With a whimper, he got back up onto his feet and shook his head. His legs trembled beneath him, and they felt almost like they were melting. Denahi sighed, and stepped forward. One, two, three.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something very strange, and he paused. It was a tree, but it was moving. Moving against the wind, moving as though it was alive. He paused and shook his head, certain that he must have been tricked by the light, but then it turned. A tree, a living tree as great as a troll, it turned, and then it fixed him with wide, green eyes.

With a howl of fear, Denahi bound into the woods, and again, he ran.

For the first time in days, Merry felt truly safe. He sat on the back of a little stream, dabbling his feet in the water, while birds sang above him, and the sun fell warm upon his back. He was warm and comfortable, and there were no ropes around his wrists or orcs at his back.

And most importantly, Pippin was at his side, safe and sound. They were sitting so close together that Pippin was almost in his lap, and he was dozing again, his head on Merry's shoulder.

There was more colour, now, in Pippin's cheeks, and when Merry had woken this morning, he had seen his cousin's eyes focused and bright. Now, Pippin was asleep again, and Merry was glad for it. Gandalf may have said that Pippin was not seriously injured, but he did say that food and rest would help him heal, so Merry had made sure that Pippin drank his ent draught, nibbled on some lembas, and then sat quietly on the bank with him. It had not taken long for Pippin to doze off, and as he slept, Merry's own fears eased.

Not knowing what the orcs had done with Pippin had been the very worst part of their journey, and he had never felt more horrific than when he thought that Pippin was dead. Now, he had Treebeard's assurances that they were safe, and they had Gandalf's assurances that Treebeard could be trusted.

Gandalf – Merry still could not believe that Gandalf was alive. His heart lifted at the very thought of the wizard, and is wonder was beyond any he had felt before. He hoped that someone would tell Frodo.

Merry sighed, staring down at his feet. He wondered where Frodo was – he had to be out of the Emyn Muil by now. Merry and Pippin had been dragged in the other direction – they had little chance of catching up with him now. A secret part of Merry was relieved. He had not wanted to go to Mordor. He had never wanted to go to Mordor – but he had wanted to help his family, and his friends. What little relief he felt was dwarfed by guilt and fear.

Regardless of whether or not he wanted to, Merry would have walked into Mordor for Frodo. He knew it, deep in his bones, and he owned it – he would not have turned back if he had not been taken, he would not have left Frodo's side if there was any other way to protect him. He hated the idea of Frodo and Sam alone, he hated it, but then again, he was sure that they were not alone. Nelly and Bróin would have caught up, they would have got away from the orcs.

He hoped, at least, that they had. He did not know. With a sigh, Merry ran his hands through his hair. He wanted to be sure that the others had gone with Frodo, but he was not.

More than ever, Merry wished that he had a mind like Gandalf's – that he could reach out with his thought and see where his friends were, or let his mother know that he was alright.

A small bird came down from the trees and perched on the rock by Merry's hand. He stayed very still, watching as the as it hopped towards him. It was a tiny little thing, and he thought that he ought to know its name. If he had grown up in the Shire, he probably would know it, or at least know what type of bird it was most likely to be. A sparrow, perhaps. It hopped closer, staring up at him with bright eyes, and he slowly turned his hand over. The bird fluttered back, and then hopped forward, and perched on his palm.

Merry smiled, and the bird pecked at his skin as if expecting him to be holding seeds. Slowly, Merry unwound his arm from Pippin and reached into his pocket, breaking off the tiniest amount of lembas and spreading the crumbs over his palm. The bird ate greedily, puffing itself up a little, and Merry's grin grew. Then, with a happy song, the bird took to the air, its little claws pinching at Merry's skin for a half second before it rose. It circled above his head for a moment, and then shot away into the woods.

Merry wondered where he would shoot to next. He gazed down at Pippin, wondering which would be the right way to go. Was there even a right way? Should they go home? If so, which way? Erebor was closer, but Legolas had said that the mountain would be surrounded soon. They might not even be able to get there, and he had no desire to get captured again. If they did make it inside the mountain, they would be safer, but there would be shame, too. Why had they returned, without everyone else? Because they had been kidnapped, and saved by chance, and then scurried away home like the frightened rats Ioán said that they were.

They could make for the Shire, but they were trapped by the Misty Mountains. The Gap of Rohan was too close to Isengard, far too close, and they could not cross over the mountains alone. Not unless they made it all the way north to the High Pass, and that road was known for teeming with goblins. Yet the payoff – if they got home, they might be of some use. They could help protect the Shire, and look after the dwarflings, and they could reassure their parents that they were not dead. No, not dead. They had simply abandoned their siblings and cousins and left them to tramp across the most dangerous reaches of Middle-Earth.

Pippin shifted in his sleep, and gave a little moan. He was frowning, and his breathing grew fast and deep. Merry put his arm back around him, humming softly under his breath until the nightmare had been chased away, and Pippin's breathing returned to normal.

It was no exaggeration to say that they had been through something awful. Their parents would not be ashamed of them returning home, and Thorin would not be ashamed of them returning to the mountain. Merry knew that. But Thorin and his parents still thought of him as a child, too young to make his own decision and forge his own way. It may be forgivable to return home after such an ordeal, but Merry was not sure that he could manage it. To go now, to let the others struggle on without even trying to help – he could not stand it.

Perhaps they could go to Rohan. There would be work there that could be done, he was sure, and – more importantly – the Rohirrim were supposed to be the allies of the Mountain. They might be able to get a little food and supplies, maybe even to loan some ponies. Or, they could go to Gondor. Boromir had said that the frontline was there, that there was fighting to be done. Merry sighed again, and kicked at the water. He was afraid for Boromir, deathly afraid. In his heart, he did not believe that the orcs would have left him alive – not creatures as foul and evil as Uglúk and Grishnákh. His logic told him Boromir was dead, and the fear in his heart did little to dissuade it.

Beside him, Pippin sighed happily, shuffling around until he slipped. Merry caught him before he could fall, rolling his eyes as he settled Pippin's head onto his own lap.

Whatever it was they were supposed to do, wherever it was they were supposed to go, that would come in time. For now, they would sit here, by the Entwash, and they would stay here until Pippin had recovered. Then, and only then, would they decide what to do.

There was a rustling in the leaves before him, and Merry looked up. A smile spread across his face as the little bird returned, cheeping up a storm, and hopping to the rock by Merry.

"And what are you doing, then?" murmured Merry with a smile, holding out his fingers. The bird hopped onto them with a shrill whistle, and then hopped up onto Merry's head. Merry laughed softly, and the bird took off, shooting up into the air as straight as an arrow. For a while, he watched it fly, watched it flicker through the green leaves into the brilliant blue of the half-hidden sky, but then he heard something else rustling, something bigger, and he looked down.

Emerging from the bushes was a great paw, and then a snout, and Merry's heart leapt. He sprang to his feet with a cry, unwittingly knocking Pippin into the stream, and dove forward.

The wolf sprang at him, knocking him off his feet as Pippin spluttered awake with wide eyes, and Merry flung his arms around the wolf's neck, even as his face was bombarded by slobbery, wolfen, kisses.

"Denahi!" he cried, scratching behind the wolf's ears and trying to escape the frantic licking. "Hello – hello, boy! I missed you, I missed you so much! Good boy, good boy..."

Drenched from head to toe and shivering, Pippin stared at the scene with awestruck eyes. "Is that…?"

"It's Denahi." Merry beamed, managing to sit up and press his forehead against the wolf's, even as his eyes stung with tears. "Good boy…"

"How did he find us?" frowned Pippin, even as reached up to stroke Denahi's dirty coat.

"I don't know," Merry admitted, running his hands over his wolf's coat as Denahi curled around him. The wolf's rear end was wiggling in the air like a little puppy's, and his three legs seemed to be off the floor more than they were on it. Merry had never seen him so excited – and he had never been more happy to see him. "Where are the others?"

Denahi whined, tossing his head to the side. That meant 'back', or 'away.'

"Away? You left them behind?"

Denahi nodded, and Merry glanced at Pippin.

"Are they alright?" he asked slowly, and Denahi nodded. He let out a soft howl and licked Merry's nose, just once.

Pippin smiled. 'He was looking for you, Merry.'

Denahi nodded once, firmly, and then let out a triumphant howl and barrelled forwards, wrapping his great limbs around Merry and nuzzling against his neck. Laughing, Merry hugged his wolf as tightly as he could, and pressed a kiss to Denahi's forehead.

"Good boy," he murmured, and then he looked to Pippin and smiled sheepishly. "Oh… I am sorry, Pippin.

"Sorry?" said Pippin, looking confused even as water dripped down into his eyes. "What for?"

Merry rolled his eyes and offered Pippin his hand. "Throwing you into the stream."

Pippin smiled, taking Merry's hand. "Oh, it's quite alright." He put his foot on the bank, and then yanked Merry as hard as he could, tugging him into the stream. The water was shallow and cold, and Merry spluttered to the surface with no small amount of flailing, but he could not wipe the grin from his face.

"Well, that's very mature, Pippin," he said, hoisting himself out of the stream. There was so much joy in his chest that it was a wonder that it did not carry him into the air. Together, the two hobbits clambered out of the river like half-drowned cats, and collapsed on the bank in the sun.

With a soft whine, Denahi whined loped over to the stream, and leant down to the water. For a long, long time he drank, without stopping even to breathe, and Merry propped himself up on his elbows.

"Just how long were you running, boy? You surely didn't come from the High Pass?"

Denahi whined, looking up and over his shoulder. Water was dripping from his chin, and he breathed very heavily, nodding at Merry before returning to the river and drinking again. Finally, he rose, and walked slowly to Merry's side, collapsing beside him and resting his face on Merry's stomach.

"Merry, it's a little chilly," Pippin commented lightly. "You oughtn't have pushed me in, I have no spare clothes. My mother will be very unimpressed."

Deciding that, despite his teasing, Pippin had a point, the two hobbits stripped down to their undergarments and hung their clothes on a tree to dry in the sun. They wrapped their elven cloaks around themselves and settled down by a large tree, far enough from the stream that they would not fall in again. Soon, Merry was warm and comfortable again, and he sat with Denahi's head in his lap. At his side, Pippin began to chatter happily, and relief filled Merry from head to toe.

It was quite a while later that Treebeard appeared. The sun was waning, and the afternoon drawing on, and as his surprisingly quiet footsteps approached, Denahi raised his head and began to growl.

"It's alright," said Merry soothingly, stroking Denahi's ears. "It's just Treebeard. He's a friend of ours."

Treebeard strode into the clearing and Denahi sprang to his feet, staring incredulously at Merry. In turn, the ent raised his old eyebrows and clenched his hands slowly into fists.

"Master Merry, Master Pippin," he said evenly, staring at Denahi, "are you alright?"

"Most definitely" said Merry eagerly. "Treebeard, this is Denahi, my wolf. He's from Wilderland, one of the wolves of Beorn himself. Denahi, this is Treebeard. He's been looking after us since we got away from the orcs. He is an ent."

"The Ent, as some say," agreed Treebeard, nodding his head slowly. "Welcome, Master Denahi. Well – it is time, young hobbits. We must go. Tomorrow, we shall be at Entmoot, and here is some distance between here and there."

"Where is Entmoot?" Pippin asked curiously, as Merry passed him the rest of his clothes. They were only a little damp, by now. "And why are we going there?"

"Entmoot is not a where, but a what," said Treebeard patiently, lifting Pippin gently from the ground and settling him on his shoulder. "It is a meeting, of all the ents. And we are going there to discuss what to about Saruman, bararum. There is something to be done, and we are to decide what that shall be." He settled Merry onto his other shoulder, and then peered down at Denahi. "Well, would your friend like a ride, too, Master Merry?"

Denahi skittered backwards, but Merry smiled. "It's alright," he called soothingly. "Treebeard is safe, he's a friend. Do you want to rest your legs a while? You've come a long way, there's no shame in a little rest."

Denahi stared at Merry apprehensively for a long moment, and then nodded, once. He crept forward, and Treebeard stretched out a giant hand, settling the wolf in the crook of his arm. At first, Denahi scrambled and wriggled uncomfortably, and he let out a whine of alarm when Treebeard moved, but Merry reached down and stroked him gently, and the wolf finally relaxed. With a deep sigh, Denahi relaxed into Treebeard's arm and slipped into sleep.

Many a creature gaped as they walked past, and trees and ents that had been slipping towards sleep were wakened by the strange sight – the sight of the oldest Ent of them all cradling a wolf in his arms, with hobbits on his shoulders, and fire in his eyes.

I hope that you enjoyed that chapter! I know it isn't necessarily huge plot wise, and I intended on having it as a two parter with the Hunters' arrival at Edoras, but I ran out of time. That'll be coming up next, though! Please do let me know what you think, I absolutely adore every review I get and they really make this experience so much richer.

Thank you for reading, and have a lovely day.