The Choices of Mayor Samwise

by Bracketyjack

A continuation of *The Lord of the Rings* into the early Fourth Age, very largely canon-compliant but overwriting Tolkien's ending, a little. Updating Saturdays.

2. Chapter 2 Trees

II Solmath 1420 SR : Trees

PLANTINGhad already taken Sam around half the Shire. Once he'd remembered the Lady's gift and decided how he'd use it, he'd started in Hobbiton and Bywater and circled out. Before Yule he'd worked his way along the East Road between Waymoot and Whitfurrows, though there were nothing like enough saplings available to replant the avenue that had shaded the road, much of which had been destroyed. Since then, blessing the absence of snow and generally mild winter, he'd been south to Tookbank and Tuckborough, themselves preserved but with damage all around where the Ruffians had been held off. To his surprise the Thain had somewhat stiffly invited him to stay at the Great Smials while he was working in the neighbourhood, and when he found that all Sam was interested in talking about was his trees (and how happy Rosie had made him by accepting his proposal) he thawed considerably, and proved quite knowledgeable about arboriculture, as he called it. He did ask what the Lady's gift was and what Sam was doing with, but the answers didn't go down so well and thereafter he'd simply ignored it, though he had detailed some Tooks to help with the digging and others to fetch further saplings from various nurseries, as they were needed.

From the Tooklands Sam had gone east again to The Marish, and was even more surprised to be invited to stay by Farmer Maggot while he saw to the considerable damage around Stock and all the way south to Deephallow — an invitation he cautiously accepted and was soon glad he had. It was not only trees that had suffered — the Ruffians kept out of Buckland had vented their frustration all along the west bank of the Brandywine, and there was one miserable evening when he was cornered in the Golden Perch by friends and relatives of poor Daisy Oldburrow and asked how it was orcs could do as they did. What they expected him to be able to say was a sore puzzle, but he reluctantly relayed something of what he knew about orcs — their uncertain origin in the evils of Morgoth, long ago, their harsh and to Sauron wholly expendable lives, their constant quarrels, fears, and hatred.

"I can't tell you no more than that," he concluded sadly. "They were bred by evil to do evil. The only good thing is that Sauron's gone, gone for ever, and as best I understand it the most of them died with him or fled back underground. And without him driving them on all the time, Mr Gandalf and the King reckon the ones as survived will mostly stay there."

What good it did, if any, he couldn't guess, but they listened attentively with troubled faces and seemed to find something in what he'd said, thanking him with a humble respect he found altogether disconcerting. At least poor Daisy's scorched bones had been found and buried decently, and the next morning he made a quiet detour to her grave to plant a sapling, a gesture, Farmer Maggot told him that evening over supper, that had been noticed and was warmly appreciated.

"It's the worst thing that's ever happened round here, Mr Gamgee, I can tell you. All the Troubles was bad, acourse, and when Daisy just disappeared her family was fit to be tied, as you might suppose. But when we had word from the Trials in Hobbiton as to what had truly become of her, well, there was folk who just went to pieces."

"I'm sure there was, Mr Maggot. And what help it might be to her kin to hear more of orcs I can't imagine, but I couldn't tell them no when they asked like that."

"No more you couldn't." They were filling up corners and the old farmer chewed thoughtfully for a while. "It's just having something rather than nothing, I think, even if it don't make much sense nor bear much thinking on. They don't know the old tales so well as you and me, and them they do know they don't believe. Or they didn't, leastways." He chuckled. "Now they don't know what to think."

Sam looked at him with interest and took a chance. "I learned most of what I know from old Mr Bilbo, and I can't say if I quite believed it or not. But I wanted it all to be true, and when we got to Rivendell and met Mr Elrond and other Elves I learned it all was."

"Ah. I had a tale or two from Mr Bilbo myself, and they never seemed so far-fetched to me as most thought them. But then, when you know of Master Tom and Old Man Willow you know the world's a lot bigger than our bounds, with some mighty queer things in it."

Sam nodded in satisfaction. "It is that. I'd heard you knew Mr Bombadil."

"Oh yes, though there's not many as do. My Da took me to meet him and Missus Goldberry when I was still a tween, and you could have knocked me down with a feather. But he's a good chap to know, for all his rhyming and stomping about, so I've taken my lads and lasses in their turn. After you all vanished, gone into the Forest, seemingly, Master Saradoc asked me to ask him if he'd heard aught, which he had." His eyes twinkled. "And some years back he introduced me to the elves as use their Hall in the Woody End, so I was cured of thinking the world had shrunk any just because I'd grown a bit bigger and more sensible."

Now that was unexpected, especially as Missus Maggot and the grown children were nodding as they filled their own corners, clearly familiar with the existence of Elves and Tom Bombadil both. So this time when conversation came round to the Lady's gift and what he was doing with it, Sam could pour some heart and detail into his tale. The beauty of Lothlórien and the kindness as well as the wisdom of Lady Galadriel were strong in his mind, and on the long ride back through Rohan and southern Eriador he'd ventured to ride beside her several times when Frodo wanted no company, and learned a lot. Able at last to think of returning to Aman, and in a strange mood after parting with her granddaughter, she'd been willing to speak a little of her memories of the West before the poisoning of the Trees and the doomed revolt of the Noldor against the Valar led by her half-uncle Fëanor. But they had also spoken of simpler things — the pleasures of gardens and gardening, cooking and caring, songs and mirth around table and fireside. Sam hadn't altogether realised how much he'd wanted to speak of her and his hopes for the value of her gift, and when he wound down Mr Maggot asked if he might see the box and the soil it contained. His calloused hands were reverent, and his careful sniffs at the box and its remaining contents brought a smile to his face.

"Well now, you do know some lore, Mr Gamgee, well beyond my ken. And you've seen and heard things I can't hardly imagine. But Master Tom told me a little of that Golden Wood once, after we'd been speaking of the Old Forest, and a fine place it sounded, so I'm glad to hear more now." He grinned. "I did try asking the elves when I next ate with them, but their answers was mostly songs in a language I didn't know, though I got some hazy pictures from it, if you understand me."

"Oh yes. Sindarin, I expect, or Quenya maybe. They both do that, I've found."

"You know Elvish tongues, Mr Gamgee?" This time there was a note of surprise in the farmer's voice and Sam flushed a little.

"Only some Sindarin, Mr Maggot. I had a bit from Mr Bilbo so when I met all those elves I could build on it. And though it's a twister to write down, I find it has a way of being remembered, as of being understood."

"That's interesting. I'd be glad to know how to express my thanks, if you're willing — I still see elves in the Woody End sometimes."

Sam had never imagined he'd find himself giving a lesson in basic Sindarin to a fascinated roomful of hobbits, but he'd discovered as a gardener that he enjoyed teaching as well as he did learning, and some simple phrases of thanks with the forms for male and female, one and many, were no problem, though writing them down for the Maggots to practise took some concentration. He was asked for more lessons the next night, and wound up teaching them the hymn to Elbereth he had first heard in the Woody End and learned properly in Lothlórien.

"Now if there is elves somewhere, and they hear you singing that, they'll likely pop up to see who's there. So it's a way of calling, like, or knocking politely on the door, you might say. And then, if you're ever in a spot, it's a call on the Valar too, for courage and protection."

"Useful, then, as well as a treat on the ear."

Before he left he added a hymn to Yavanna he'd half-remembered from Rivendell and had had Gandalf teach him properly after the blessing that had cancelled Saruman's curse. When he and the Maggots sang it together the room seemed brighter for a moment, the air sweeter, and afterwards he found himself telling the tale of what Gandalf had done in Hobbiton. They had heard several wild versions but the true one was wonder enough, and Sam found himself thinking that maybe Lady Yavanna was tickled to find her children at last paying her a little long-overdue attention. By the eve of Solmath he'd done all he could for The Marish, and set off again knowing he'd made some solid friends with a far wider knowledge than most hobbits, and that the warm respect he felt for them was returned.

Eager as he was to get back to Hobbiton and see Rosie, he'd promised Merry and Pippin to call at Crickhollow before heading home, and so made his way with Bill and the borrowed mule that pulled the cart he used for saplings toward the Bucklebury Ferry. Crossing, he was amused to realise he had no real fear at being on the wide river — or not so wide, really. Unnatural as those elven boats down the Anduin had felt at the time they'd cured his worries at being on water, seemingly, and after the Great River the Brandywine didn't look so bad. Swimming, though, remained a thing no sensible hobbit would consider, whatever Frodo and Merry said, and renewed amusement at himself and hobbits in general carried him to Crickhollow. A surprising number of Bucklanders he didn't recognise greeted him by name as he passed Brandy Hall, offering respectful nods, and he wondered what Merry and Pippin had been saying about him, or even Master Saradoc. And then he was surprised all over again to realise he didn't much mind being known to strangers, though it had bothered him a good deal in Gondor, but his chains of thought were interrupted when he came to Crickhollow and found it empty, though not locked. The stable was open too, and he unharnessed and rubbed down Bill and the sturdy mule, giving them their well-earned feed before going in to make himself some welcome tea.

It wasn't long before the clop of hooves and jingle of harness announced Merry and Pippin, delighted to see him and apologetic for not having been there to greet him, but looking strained and worried. Pippin took their ponies to the stable and Merry gratefully accepted tea.

"I'm sorry, Sam. We meant to be here and have some proper lunch waiting for you, but everyone's in rather a taking, just now, and we were lucky to get away when we did."

"Oh? What sort of a taking?"

"It's the trees, Sam. The Old Forest. They've felt bad all winter, very gloomy and menacing, and before that too, Da says. He's not allowed anyone in since cousin Ilberic had his arm broken by a falling branch when he was gathering mushrooms, while we were away. But these last ten days they've come crowding the High Hay again, harder than I've ever seen or Da can remember, and I'll swear they're trying to get in." He frowned as he sipped tea. "And today they were … well, in a pony I'd say frisky, creaking and rustling even though there's been no wind to speak of. We don't know what to make of it at all, and there's folk muttering that we need another bonfire glade."

"No!"

"I'm afraid so, Sam. Da's no keener than I am, but if this goes on it may come to that."

Sam shook his head. "It can't be right, Merry. Here am I planting saplings to try and replace the worst losses, and folk want to be cutting down more trees? Have you asked Mr Bombadil if he can help?"

Merry shook his head. "Not yet. I did think about it but I'm sure using the Withy path wouldn't be safe and there's been no-one free to go all the way round."

"If felling and fires are being thought of, Merry, you'd best make someone free. We can't be having a fight between trees and hobbits."

Merry blinked. "Hobbits aren't starting it, Sam."

"And do the trees know that?"

"Eh?"

"I'm thinking they probably felt what was happening in the Shire, with Ruffians murdering trees left and right. And how would they know it wasn't hobbits doing it?"

"Now there's a thought." Pippin came in, throwing his coat over a chair and pouring himself tea. "You know the Forest better than me, Merry, but it does feel like they're angry at us. And cousin Derumbold, who led Tom's and Jolly's escort when we sent them to fetch Gandalf, said he'd never felt such menace as he did from the forest eaves."

"Maybe, Pip. I agree they're angry, but … oh I don't know, but today it felt like they were wanting something as well. But they can't be let in and what else is there we could give them?"

"An explanation, maybe?" Sam grinned at Merry's look. "Have you tried? Tell them it was Ruffians and we've put a stop to it." A thought came to him, and he turned it carefully in his mind. "Or maybe … You said it's the last ten days that have been bad?"

"More or less."

"That's pretty much the time I've been in The Marish, working up and down the west bank. So I'm wondering if maybe they've sensed the Lady's gift, too."

"And another thought." Pippin laughed. "We should have known to send for Sam straight away, Merry. He's made more sense of it in ten minutes than we have in ten days. And seeing as he speaks better Sindarin than either of us, he's the person we need to try explaining to them it wasn't hobbits felling trees, and it won't be if they leave the High Hay alone."

"Now hang on a minute …"

But Sam's protests went in vain, and after a much hastier and smaller lunch than he'd been hoping for he found himself walking the same path towards the High Hay they'd taken all those months ago. Half-way there they met Master Saradoc, with a hobbit Sam didn't know who turned out to be his brother Merimac, and after bare courtesies and a rattling account from Merry, the Master of Buckland turned a thoughtful look on him, eyebrows quirking.

"Ringbearer and more yet, it seems, Mr Gamgee. I knew you could speak to a horse, but not that you can also speak to trees."

Sam rolled his eyes at the Master's humour, drawing a glinting look from Merimac, and shrugged. "I can speak to Shadowfax, Master Saradoc, sir, and so can you, or anyone. And anyone can speak to trees. I always do when I'm planting, by way of encouragement, like. It's whether they understand you that's the puzzle. But Pippin's right it was elves that first woke them up, so it could be Sindarin might mean more to them."

Master Saradoc blinked. "Elves woke up trees?"

"So Treebeard said, Da, and Gandalf agreed. I did tell you."

"I dare say you did, but then you told me a lot, Merry mine, and all of it stranger than the rest. Still, if you're willing, Mr Gamgee, I'd be glad to have you try. The way the trees are crowding against the Hay has me badly worried — I've never seen the like. And though they've quietened a bit since this morning you can still hear them rustling and groaning from here, though there's not a breath of wind."

When he listened Sam could hear it, familiar yet strange, and as the Hay came in sight, treetops and thrusting branches visible above it, the sound suddenly became markedly louder and Master Saradoc frowned.

"They're getting worse again. We'll go through as far as the gate, but no further. And you need to keep your eyes open, Mr Gamgee, and your wits about you — there's been branches dropped that could kill a man, never mind a hobbit."

The tunnel was just as dark and damp as Sam remembered, though seeming more spacious without ponies in the company, and for most of its length the noise of the trees was cut off, but as they neared the gate the creaks and groans could be heard again, louder than ever. Sam swallowed, for even from here he could see there was no open dell on the other side, as there had been, only crowded trunks, green with moss, and trailing vines. Branches lay among leaf mould and winter flowers. Master Saradoc unlocked the gate and swung it wide, but went only two more steps forward, raising his voice over the din.

"It's not safe to go further. And I don't think they're in a listening mood, even if you shouted."

Sam agreed, but as he came up beside Master Saradoc, with Merry beside him and Pippin just behind, the noise abruptly stopped and the air seemed to thicken. As surely as if he'd been told it in words, Sam knew the trees knew he was there, and were waiting. But they were angry and hungry, and somehow impatient as well, in a way strange to trees, and deep among them there was black malice as well as all the other feelings. The hymn to Yavanna he'd taught the Maggots came to his mind, and he sang it, feeling surprise added to the swirls of threat and desire. His Sindarin wasn't up to eloquence, but it would do for a simple tale.

"Trees of this place, can you understand me?" The silence deepened and he ploughed on, speaking as loudly and clearly as he could and feeling the formality of the elven tongue grip him. "I am named Perhael and I can feel your anger at the killing of your brothers and sisters. Can you feel mine? And my sorrow? It was not Periannath who felled trees in our land, but men sent by the Istar Saruman because he hated and feared the Onodrim and sought revenge on them. We fought them and stopped them. And now we labour to heal the hurts they inflicted, planting where they felled. Why then do you attack us?"

A surge of creaks and rustles accompanied a sense of pressure and a new swirl of feelings — surprise and doubt, intense curiosity laced with excitement, renewed demand, a sense of entreaty and fear, and behind them all that pulse of malice that he knew must be Old Man Willow, wide awake and hating. He also knew he had been right, and carefully took the Lady's gift from the special pocket Rosie had sewn for it in his coat, holding it up, and silence abruptly returned, as if the Forest were holding its breath.

"This box contains earth from the garden of the Lady Galadriel Artanis, in the Golden Wood they call the Dreamflower. She foresaw that our land would be damaged, and gave it to me to aid in healing those wounds that so anger and sadden all of us. I have placed one grain among the roots of every sapling I have planted, and all that is left is precious, for my work is far from done. Yet I will spare you a very little if you will then cease to threaten us."

Branches and trailing creepers swayed towards the box but did not touch it, and he waited, opening his heart and his mind as best he could. Slowly he became sure some trees accepted offer and condition, while others pulsed malice, and others still both yearned and feared. How he knew it he couldn't say, but he realised that distinct things had wound together — that the malice did seek to invade, to punish and avenge and expand, but the fearful yearning sought to flee, to find refuge against the malice. And knowing it he knew also that the Lady's gift could not solve this problem, but might buy time needed to seek the proper aid.

"You who fear and flee the darkness of the Willow, I will give you this gift now, in earnest, and we will seek aid for you against him. We will ask the Onodrim for help, I promise, in the name of Lady Yavanna. But they dwell many leagues from here, and to go there will take a month at least of travel. Do you withdraw a little and grant us six moons' grace, holding back the malice you would flee, and we will make all haste."

Deeper in the Forest there were more groans and cracks, and a wave of hatred, but nearer trees were still and silent. After a moment a single leaf, summer-green despite the season, floated down to land in front of Sam, who nodded and carefully opened the wooden box, wetting a fingertip to pick up five grains of the precious dust. Closing the box again he held up his finger and a trailing vine swayed to brush against it and cling for a moment. He felt a single shivering beat, as if the tree's heart pulsed, and a great sigh, before the vine swung away again and a different kind of creaking began to spread among the trees. Letting his arm drop with a sigh of relief he turned to find the others wide-eyed, even Merry and Pippin.

"We should go back now."

Master Saradoc closed the gate, making sure it locked, and they returned through the tunnel in silence. Emerging into daylight again the creaking could still be heard, but when Sam looked up he could see that some branches that had overhung the hay had already withdrawn, and others were quivering. He shivered, only a little from the cold, and Merry slung an arm around him, pulling him close for a moment.

"They're going, Sam?"

"For now." He looked at Master Saradoc. "It's not over, Master Saradoc, sir, not by a long count. And I've just made them a promise on your behalf we'll have to honour, though you'll not like it one bit, so I owe you an explanation. But can we get back in the warm first?"

They wound up back at Crickhollow, in the friendly kitchen, where Merry and Pippin bustled about making tea and buttering hastily warmed scones while Merimac built up the fire and Master Saradoc sat carefully opposite Sam at the table.

"Mr Gamgee, I saw in Hobbiton that you have become a hobbit of parts, many parts, wise beyond any standards of the Shire. The Lord Steward set me on the road to understanding, and my son and nephew have explained what more I can take in. And word has lately come to me of what you did in Stock, to aid the Oldburrows in their grief, and for that you have my thanks, and renewed respect. But this … I am amazed. I did not even know you could speak the Elvish tongue — Merry is forever telling me it's hard to learn, though he has become quite fluent in Rohirric, talking to the Rohirrim who come to the Bridge Inn as they circle our bounds."

Sam grunted, cradling his tea. "It's not so hard, Master Saradoc, and I had a grounding from old Mr Bilbo." His head swung. "But Sindarin's the least of what you two are forgetting. You tell me, Merry or Pippin, what's the name for those trees in the Old Forest? You taught it to me."

"We did?" Merry and Pippin stared at one another, then looked at him. "Their name?"

"Trees that aren't Ents not aren't yet just trees? And went twenty leagues or more to crush and bury ten thousand Uruk-hai?"

"Huorns?"

"Of course they're Huorns. What else could they be? The trees I plant don't move about, nor rustle when there's no wind, nor yet drop branches and leaves as they choose. And what do you suppose that Old Man Willow might be but a black-hearted Ent?" He shook his head. "You're not thinking, either of you. They did feel all the tree-felling those Ruffians did, and the Lady's gift, but there's some driven on by that Willow, wanting revenge, and others wanting away from all that, and space to grow and fruit." He looked back at Master Saradoc, wide-eyed as he listened. "So we have to stop that Willow — from all I've ever heard an angry ent's nothing you want to be dealing with. But Lady Yavanna knows we've a powerful need of trees — I've been shedding tears every day for what I can't replace because I haven't the saplings, and won't have for another year at least. And here's full-grown trees wanting in? It's an answer to my prayers I didn't ever hope for. But we need to sort white from black, and that means we need an ent, which is what I promised them we'd ask for and what you won't like, Master Saradoc, sir, because it means Merry and Pippin going away again for a bit. I'm sorry, but I can't see no help for it."

The Master stared at Sam, then his brother and son, and after a moment Merimac cleared his throat.

"Going away where, Mr Gamgee? That Fangorn Forest they've told us about?"

Merry sat forward, frowning. "I don't think so, Uncle Mac. Treebeard's who we need, and if he isn't at Orthanc they'll know how to find him."

Pippin nodded. "So … three or four weeks' ride south of Bree, maybe. But what are we supposed to tell him, Sam?"

"Everything. Did you tell him before about Old Man Willow?"

"Not so much. Talking about black-hearted trees didn't seem like such a good move, you know?"

"Then you tell him now — everything. Old Man Willow, and the Bonfire Glade, and Saruman and what his Ruffians did, and your cousin Ilberic, and what I learned today. Everything. And you ask him what we can do, pulling ever string you can. It was him what let Saruman go, when Mr Gandalf wanted him locked up tight, and it's us that are facing those angry huorns as a result. Do you think we'll fare better than the orcs did if they come through the Hay?"

There was a silence broken by Master Saradoc's sigh.

"You're right I don't like it, Mr Gamgee, not one bit, but if there's the possibility of a real answer to the threat of those trees, I can't refuse, can I? Or even real advice — from all Merry's said I can't believe ents would travel so readily, just because we ask them. But I see that asking them is a sensible step." He took a breath. "If you think it's right to go, Merry mine, I won't gainsay you, though your mother will have fifty fits at the idea. But that won't be the problem — you won't want to go without Pippin, and Pal won't agree in a year of Highdays."

"He can like it or lump it, Uncle Sara." Pippin's voice was full of pain, and Merry put a hand out to him. "It's not being irresponsible, or gallivanting, and I'm very tired of him disbelieving or just ignoring everything I say. Sam's quite right we need to ask the ents, at least, even if we're told there's no easy answer, and as Thain Da's responsible for Buckland too in dealing with outside."

"That's not how he'll see it, Pippin." Master Saradoc rubbed his forehead, looking tired. "And much as I don't like saying it, I'm getting quite cross with him myself. But you can't go off without telling him, Pippin, and oaks to acorns he'll make a row."

Pippin nodded. "It won't be the first. He's coming to Stock on business later this week and we offered him tea, so I can tell him then. It'll take us a bit to put supplies together anyway."

Sam shook his head. "Hang on a bit, Pippin — there's need for haste, yes, but there's other things too. I reckon someone needs to talk to Mr Bombadil, to see if he can do anything himself, and ask if he minds us wanting to land an ent on his doorstep."

Pippin and Merry both stared and then chuckled.

"You're right about that, Sam, though I'd think he and Treebeard would get on famously."

"Let's hope so. But we've also to ask Mr Halladan, I reckon, before we set about something like this. And to ask him for an escort — you can't go all that way alone, that's for sure."

"We've got our armour, Sam."

"And a fat lot of good it'll do you if you run into a pack of wargs, Pippin, or a band of hungry orcs. Come to that, you should ask Mr Halladan for the loan of some horses, too — you're big enough to ride them, and they'll be a lot faster than ponies with that far to go."

Master Saradoc nodded sharply. "Yes indeed. No wonder these two addlepates say they'd have been lost without you, Mr Gamgee."

"Oy!" Merry looked indignant and Sam grinned.

"And properly speaking," Master Saradoc went on, "that letter to the Lord Steward should come from the Thain, but it won't. I can write it, I suppose, but as most of it would be about you, maybe you should write it yourself." His face took on that Brandybuck look. "Besides, I think a letter from the Ringbearer will carry more weight."

"Especially if it's in Sindarin." Merry's eyes gleamed and Sam glared.

"I'll write it in Sindarin if you write to Mr Déorwine in Rohirric. It's his horses you'll be using, I expect, and your escort ought to number some Rohirrim given where you're going."

"Done." Merry grinned. "Though my spelling's still horrible, I'm sorry to say. I never remember the right accents."

"Try Sindarin." Sam shook his head gloomily, sighing. He was going to be at least a week late back to Hobbiton, and Rosie would not be happy with him at all.

---

Halladan was sitting in the parlour of the Prancing Pony, which had become an office of sorts when he wasn't at Amon Sûl or Fornost or Annúminas, or somewhere on the long miles between. He tried to be in Bree one week in each month, so people who wanted him could find him, and letters might be left with some surety they'd reach him without too much delay. And the Breelanders, after their first astonishment at the notion that scruffy Rangers were really King's Men, and always had been, had become very welcoming and rather proud of being the biggest settlement of men in Arnor, as well as the only place where men and hobbits coexisted. Arriving with a bunch of captive ruffians sentenced to hard labour hadn't hurt either, especially as three had turned out to be wanted for crimes in Bree, and after a hearing had had their sentences appropriately lengthened. The presence of captive hobbits had been a less pleasant surprise, but after explanations had been digested it seemed to be agreed that all had been done fairly, by old as well as new authority, while the Breelands certainly didn't want any hobbits who'd managed to get themselves banished from the Shire. And, Halladan thought with only a touch of irony, it helped that the food needed at Amon Sûl largely came from Bree, and that some enterprising Breelanders, big and little, had already taken steps both to re-open the Forsaken Inn, renaming it the Rangers' Rest, and to start building another, the Weathertop Wayhouse, a further day's journey east.

The rebuilding of the tower at Amon Sûl was also making better progress than he'd expected. Some dwarves had already come from the Ered Luin, and a letter from King Thorin in Erebor had promised more in the spring. Not a stone had yet been laid, but the work of quarrying and dressing was well underway, and the dwarves had done wonders in preparing the site, checking the old foundations, which won their rumbling approval, and digging out surviving cellarage. Cleared of earth and tumbled stones it had proven surprisingly extensive, and though the armour and weapons the store-rooms had once contained were long rusted to dust and shards, other things had come to light. The most pleasing, to Halladan's mind, were some beautiful stoneware and clay vessels, in a deep room that had withstood the tower's collapse, but the most important were undoubtedly the documents, preserved in stoppered and wax-sealed urns. Much was just administrative — lists of the garrison with dates and terms of service, disciplinary and supply records, and treasury tallies — but for someone in his position those were invaluable, and there had also been plans of the lost tower, on which the dwarves had fallen with gleeful reverence, as well as scouting and other reports from the years before it had been razed, covering the Rhudaurian wars. Halladan didn't think there was much that wasn't in the archives preserved at Fornost and Annúminas, but it was certainly a different view and copies were being made to send south.

At Aragorn's command he had also set a small marker in the dell on the western flank where the Ringbearer had been stabbed with a Morgul knife. The dwarf Deróin, who claimed distant kinship with Lord Gimli, had carved it for him, a plain statement of fact in Westron and Sindarin but surrounded with a delicate tracery of athelas leaves, and travellers had already begun going to see it as they descended from inspecting the work on the foundations. What Frodo Baggins would think when — if — he learned of it was another matter, but as very few had ever survived a Morgul wound, and the King's orders were the King's orders, Halladan would cross that bridge only as he had to. And other markers were being placed elsewhere, at Parth Galen, Henneth Annûn, and the crossroads below what had been Minas Morgul, so it might be news of one of those would reach the Ringbearer first and leave his very likely objections as Aragorn's problem.

Halladan's wandering thoughts were called back to the present by what sounded like elven horses, and a moment later unmistakeable voices explaining that the animals would make their own way to the stable and had no tack to remove but would be glad of a rub-down, with which they would co-operate. Hobbits and men alike rose to peer through the window, exclaiming, as well they might. What Lords Elladan and Elrohir were doing here was a puzzle, but a moment later Halladan was astonished to see not only the King's brothers but Lord Glorfindel enter, bringing utter silence to the parlour. All three bore full weapons and he rose and bowed with worry starting in his heart.

"My lords. What brings you here?"

"Lord Steward." Glorfindel's gaze took in the room and the staring customers, as well as an open-mouthed Barliman Butterbur standing behind his counter. "Gentlemen, gentlehobbits." His eyes came back to Halladan. "Perhaps we might withdraw somewhere?"

"Of course. Mr Butterbur, would you bring some fresh water and ale to my room? With light food? Thank you."

The refreshments came quickly, brought by Butterbur himself — rolls still steaming hot from the oven, a crock of smooth butter, cold cuts, pickles, a wedge of cheese, and a few wrinkled winter apples. The old innkeep beamed at the elves' thanks, but as the door closed behind him Halladan felt his stomach tighten.

"Trouble, my lord?"

Glorfindel shrugged elegantly. "Maybe, maybe not. Many years ago I had a fragment of vision — two images with no obvious connection. I saw an owl strike at a mouse, and I saw myself fighting with others — Eldar, Edain, two children of Aulë, and some periain seen only in outline — against an unusual breed of orc, larger and stronger than most, and undaunted by Anor. It was an early spring day and I stood in a narrow pass hemmed by rock walls, but where it might be I could not tell. And some months back when Elrond told me of the Uruk-hai of cursed Curunír's making, I wondered if it could be they against whom we fought, though it seemed the time for fulfilment might have passed and the vision proven astray." The ancient eyes deepened. "I should not have been so swift to think so. A month past I walked at night in the woods of Rivendell and saw that owl take that mouse. I sent scouts north but neither they nor the Dúnedain of the Angle had any sense of orcs stirring there and my heart told me my way lay west and south. So I have brought twenty from Rivendell and some Dúnedain who were willing and could be spared. All wait at the camp west of the Chetwood."

Halladan digested this, frowning. "How may I help, my lord?"

"I am not sure. Nor do I know what path I should pursue. But if the threat is indeed from some surviving Uruk-hai of Curunír it seems likely to fall closer to Angrenost than Fornost."

"Indeed. I have heard nothing of any orc-band in Minhiriath or Enedwaith from the new garrison at Tharbad, but they are engineers charged with rebuilding the bridge rather than warriors, save a guard detachment, and do not patrol widely. Nor have Uruk-hai been seen anywhere since the Onodrim rose against Curunír, so far as I know, and Lord Mithrandir said he believed most if not all had been slain in battle. But as Lords Elladan and Elrohir and I have cause to know, they were fell opponents, and I will assemble what men I can to ride with you. Some of Déorwine's Rohirrim will be glad enough to head south for Nínui and Gwaeron — mild as the winter has been, they have found it colder than they expected."

Glorfindel nodded, eyes glinting, and Halladan wondered if some of those unknown men in his vision had had the look of Rohan.

Elrohir sat forward. "Fell opponents, indeed. We have spoken to Glorfindel of Helm's Deep, and Mithrandir wrote of what he had learned in the Shire of cursed Curunír's evil. We also saw the half-breeds among the prisoners at Amon Sûl. And if Curunír had not died in the Shire he would be hunted to the bounds of Arda for that corruption."

Halladan knew why the King's brothers so loathed orc-kind and dimly sensed the rage in them, unassuaged even now and no doubt rekindled by what Mithrandir had learned. He nodded carefully.

"The Cormacolindor, who saw Curunír's death, were both very clear that his spirit looked to the West, and was rejected, dissolved even as Sauron's into nothing. Mithrandir judged their belief true."

"So he wrote to us, knowing we would not share his sorrow." Elladan's hands opened eloquently and Elrohir rested a hand on his shoulder. "But the strange thing is Glorfindel's belief that periain and dwarves will be among those fighting with us. Children of Aulë might well be found upon the North–South Road, and even before Legolas named the first Elf-friend among them since the days of Celebrimbor we would not have hesitated to help against orcs. But periain? Surely some among them have done great things of late, and it seems they rise in the world, but have they taken to travelling?"

Halladan smiled. "Not yet, save those four, and the four who serve at Amon Sûl — who do not care for foreign parts at all. One is in Minas Tirith also, sent under guard to tell what he knew of Curunír's dealings here. But all reports speak of the Shire as bustling throughout the winter with labours of demolishing and rebuilding and redigging, and they have sought the aid of dwarves passing east and south with metal- and stonework, so the thought of a party abroad is not so strange as once it might have been. I was astonished to encounter Iarwain Ben-adar and eleven periain at the southern end of the Andrath, not only because they came through Tyrn Gorthad, but I should not be so surprised a second time."

All the elves looked interested.

"That is a new tale to us. This was when the Cormacolindo sent for you to come to the Shire?"

As he recounted the sudden irruption of song that had halted his cavalcade they ate, the elves drinking only water until Halladan, who allowed himself a small mug of ale, remarked on its excellence and Mithrandir's blessing on it. A King's Messenger had reached Rivendell shortly before they had left, so they also had news from Gondor, another hive of rebuilding and repairing, with many dwarves and elves labouring beside men. The levelling of what had been Minas Morgul had begun, and Halladan learned interesting things about the precautions Aragorn was taking, giving those who entered it masks steeped in athelas and leather gloves and boots into which the oils of the plant had been rubbed. Even so he had had to treat some men afterwards for effects like those of the Black Breath, and had written partly to seek Lord Elrond's advice on better prevention. That sent conversation to Angmar's fate, with a fascinating diversion to Glorfindel's better-known prophecy of his end and — amused was the only word — satisfaction at what it had eventually proven to mean. He was absolute it had been the perian's blow that had slain the Ringwraith.

"The Lady Éowyn's deed was of the greatest valour, and will live in song, but on its own it would have been in vain. Her sword had no virtue against the spells of his undeath. But the blade of Westernesse that Meriadoc wielded — that was made with just such virtues."

"Yet her sword did pierce him, for it shattered and withered away."

"Truly — for Meriadoc struck first, and his spell-flesh was already cloven." Glorfindel laughed, melodious and delighted. "To be undone by a perian to the knee, and skewered clean through by a woman, neither of whom was supposed to be present at all! Oh, Angmar's surprise in that moment would have been a thing to see! And the laughter there must be in Valinor."

The invitation was irresistible, and Halladan asked about the humour of Eru that Mithrandir had found in repeated events in Mordor.

"Yes, parts of the same design, I deem."

Elladan grinned. "Our Adar is still indignant, despite Mithrandir's scolding and our advice." The grin faded. "And truly he and Master Samwise both had hope unquenchable, however different their natures and scales."

Halladan nodded. "That thought came to me also. Forgive me, but you did not think it a rebuke of sorts as well, as Mithrandir thought Gollum a rebuke to Isildur?"

Glorfindel smiled austerely. "A little, perhaps. But unless Elrond had bodily carried Isildur to the Sammath Naur and given him to the fire there was no more he could have done. He talked himself hoarse, but fresh cut from Sauron's hand the Ring had taken Isildur even ere he touched it, through his grief for father and brother. And all were Elrond's kin — he could not have acted against Isildur."

"I did not know you were there, my lord."

"I rode with Gil-galad, as Elrond did. And a little indignation is a jesting price for what Eru has wrought, as Elrond well knows."

"Indeed. But it has not been so small a price for the Cormacolindo, and I confess it is that I find most troubling."

"Ah yes." Yet Glorfindel still smiled, though it did not seem a smile of mirth. "Frodo Baggins pays for us all, and grievously. We can only trust to Eru's hand over him and the grace of Aman he has been offered. Yet though I regret his pain, I cannot regret the indignation Sauron must have felt in his last awareness, even as fear choked him. Had he learned it was a perian who had slain Angmar ere he knew another had slain him? I find I hope so."

Halladan added that strange and vengeful thought to the rest whirling in his head, in the gap between the Sauron who had issued from Barad-dûr to slay Gil-galad and Elendil and the Frodo Baggins who had stumbled and been carried to the Sammath Naur, but anything he might have said was lost in a brisk rap on the door and the entry of Gilbarad, eyes widening at the sight of Glorfindel.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, my lords, but one of the Rohirrim has arrived from the Bridge Inn with a letter for the Lord Steward he was told is urgent."

He offered Halladan a sealed packet and Elladan laughed.

"Speak of the Periannath, and lo! an urgent letter from the Shire. The odds are shortening, brother."

Elrohir nodded. "They are. Come in, Gilbarad — Glorfindel won't bite you, and I expect Halladan may shortly have things for you to do."

Halladan only half-heard the banter. The packet contained several sheets closely written in Sindarin, but not in the Ringbearer's easy hand, and a further enclosure addressed to Déorwine in Rohirric. The writing was somewhat crabbed and the constructions unusual. Half-way down the first page he stopped, mouthing a word and searching his memory before looking up to find everyone looking at him.

"Ah, forgive my ignorance, but might you tell me what this means?" He spelt out the odd word and Glorfindel's eyebrows rose.

"It means nothing, for it does not exist."

"Um, and if it did, what might it mean? Troubled? Assailed?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "Maybe. The prefixed repetition is meant as an intensifier, I would think."

"Mmm." Halladan's eyes had drifted on and stopped again. "And this?"

"What?"

He spelt out the phrase he had unwisely tried to pronounce, and Glorfindel … snorted.

"More nonsense. No thing other in all creation than a bird of innocence? Who wrote that letter?"

He seemed quite affronted by the writer's strange Sindarin but the brothers simultaneously pealed silver laughter and Elladan spoke.

"Might your correspondent be Master Samwise?"

Halladan turned to the last page and his eyebrows rose. "Indeed. It is signed Perhael Cormacolindo."

"Then I believe the Westron terms you want would be bebothered …"

"And nowt but a ninnyhammer." Laughter rang out again. "Adar's indignation will redouble."

"But they are such splendid additions to Sindarin."

Halladan went back to the letter, and with occasional vivid memories of the other Ringbearer's turns of speech made his way through it, astonishment unfolding in his heart. Finishing, he set it down and found Glorfindel's gaze on him.

"Our travelling Periannath?"

"Yes, but much more also." He took a breath. "The short version is that the trees of the Old Forest, whom Perhael calls huorns, are assailing the High Hay, the hedge that protects Buckland from them. Which I can well believe — I have never felt such malice from trees as I did from those, riding along their eaves. In any case, they crowded up against the Hay and leaned over it, making great noise even when there was no wind, and causing all periain much alarm. So at the request of Meriadoc and Peregrin, Perhael spoke to them, in Sindarin, and by using some small portion of a gift he says was given him by the Lady Galadriel but does not otherwise explain, he has, um, struck a bargain."

The brothers exchanged glances. "Daernaneth gave him some earth from her garden and a mallorn nut. Her last letter said she had sensed it being well used."

"Ah. Well, he tells me the trees had sensed the wide felling of their kindred by Curunír's creatures, and so were angry but that they had also sensed his use of this gift, and were eager to share in it. Further, that some were driven in malice and desire of revenge by an ancient willow he says lies at the heart of that forest, while others wish to flee its dominion, desiring entry to the Shire only that they might have space to grow and fruit. Where they would be most welcome, he adds, given the great loss of trees. And that by using the Lady Galadriel's gift he agreed with those who fear the willow that they will hold the line of the High Hay against its malice for six moons while an answer is sought." He took a breath. "Therefore the Periannath determine that Meriadoc and Peregrin, already having his acquaintance, should travel with all haste to Angrenost to lay the matter before Fangorn of the Onodrim and seek his aid. To which endeavour he hopes I have no objection, assuring me they also seek the leave of Iarwain Ben-adar, in case an onod should agree to come, and asks if I might provide the travellers with an escort. There is a counter-signature from the Master of Buckland. The enclosure is for Déorwine, from Meriadoc, and apparently explains that for the sake of speed they would be glad to use horses, begging their loan, and that he forward a further letter to King Éomer."

Glorfindel nodded, eyes gleaming. "A most logical perian, Perhael Cormacolindo, despite his liberties with Sindarin. That he should speak to trees and seek aid of the Onodrim is a new turn in the song, and one to be welcomed. And for all its surprise, this fits what I feel. Only the Children of Aulë remain, and as Elladan said it will be no surprise to find such on the road."

The brothers were looking at one another again. "Hobbits!"

"You can learn all there is to know about them in an afternoon …"

"And still be surprised by one after a hundred years."

"As fierce as a dragon, in a pinch …"

"And much wiser than two foolish elves of Mithrandir's acquaintance."

Heads turned towards him. "When are Merry and Pippin expected?"

Halladan sighed. "Before the week is out." Life remained so very full of surprises.

---

Tea with the Thain was not going well. Though he had been taken to see the trees, now densely lined ten yards from the Hay, he had not seemed to sense the pressure that still came from them in waves, nor to hear the urgency in Master Saradoc's explanation of his alarm. And he was accompanied not only by a weary-looking Ferdinand but by Mistress Eglantine, by birth a Banks of a most respectable branch and plainly no more inclined than he to heed anything not long familiar. Sam had been worried by Merry's request that he cull and prepare some leaves of athelas from the plants he had started at Crickhollow, to use as a tea when the dreams were bad, but it looked as if the talk would never get to anything that might warrant their use. Every attempt to keep to the problem of the trees was ignored in favour of local, mostly Tuckborough, affairs, and the idea of having to fight trees produced only a blank look. When Pippin finally said flatly that something had to be done, and that he and Merry would be leaving for Fangorn in two days to ask for Treebeard's help, the predicted explosion was immediate.

"No, no, and no again. I will not have it, Peregrin Took, and you must have taken leave of what little sense you have to say such a thing. There are no such things as talking trees, you cannot even now control your night terrors better than a faunt, and it is out of the question. Never mention this again. Come, Eglantine, I'll stand no more of this absurdity."

He had taken two steps towards the door, his distressed wife still struggling to rise from the settle, when Merry's arms closed round him, picked him up, and deposited him back where he had started. His face paled with rage and his mouth opened but he made the mistake of looking up to meet Merry's eyes and stepped back, falling into his seat.

"Better, Uncle Pal." Merry's voice was as hard and flat as Sam had ever heard it. "I'm sorry to lay hands on you, but you are for once in your life going to knock the dottle of rage from your ears and listen. What you have just said was foolish, cruel, and derelict in your duty as Thain, and it won't do. Oh yes it was, and I will prove each term to you. Pip, the map-board please, Shire uppermost. And Sam, we'll need that athelas by the by — set water to boil?"

Mistress Eglantine was squeaking surprise but no-one else was saying anything — not Ferdinand or Master Saradoc, nor Mistress Esmeralda, Thain's sister or no — so Sam busied himself swinging the cauldron over the fire and adding wood, as an unhappy Pippin brought in the map-board Merry had made, arms fully extended to grasp it, and deposit it straddling both his parents' legs. Spots of rage like Frodo's had been building on the Thain's cheeks but confronted with the map he blinked and focused more closely.

"I've never seen this map of the Shire." His tone was accusing.

"I know you haven't, Uncle Pal. You'll get a copy when I've made one. The librarian at Rivendell compiled it for me from the old surveys of Cardolan, updated with Bilbo's knowledge, and some from Frodo, Sam, Pip, and me. From High Hay to Far Downs, and Sarn Ford to Oatbarton and Long Cleeve. What is it you always say about the North Tooks?"

The Thain snorted, eyes on the map. "Too far from anything sensible to know their toes from their fingers."

"That's the one." Merry's voice was very gentle and the Thain's head snapped up as his nephew's large hand spread against the scale and walked up the map. "Not twenty leagues from Tuckborough but beyond all hope of sense or wit. So what of the rest of the world, Uncle Pal, beyond our bounds?"

Merry slid the map from the leather corners that held it flat and rolled it carefully, revealing the second map underneath. The Thain stared and frowned.

"What is this?"

"The world we live in, Uncle Pal. The Shire is here, see — the Brandywine Bridge and Hobbiton are marked, with Michel Delving and Sarn Ford, but everything else is too small for this scale. Those are the Misty Mountains, that's Mirkwood — Greenwood again, now — and Erebor, where Bilbo went. Would you like to know where we went?"

The Thain's eyes were darting about the map, but he nodded jerkily.

"One thing first, please. Feel my right hand." Merry extended it. "You too, Aunt Tina. Just do it, please. Warm and normal, yes? Well, remember that." Sam sighed to himself, understanding, and rose to get a suitable bowl as Merry's finger began tracing their route. "Now, when we left we went through the Old Forest and across the Barrow Downs to Bree. That's where we met Aragorn, who guided us through the Midgewater Marshes and onto Weathertop, where Frodo was hurt" — Merry's voice hitched slightly — "and then on to Rivendell, here. When we were fit to travel again we went south through Eregion, tried the Redhorn Pass but had to turn back, and went under the mountains instead, through Moria. The gates are marked with these arrows, so you can see we went in here and came out there, in the Dimrill Dale. Then Lothlórien to recover again, and by boat down the Anduin to Parth Galen. That's not marked but it's just above the great waterfall that is, Rauros, on the west shore of the lake. And that's where we all got separated. Pip and I were captured and taken through Rohan to Fangorn, where we escaped, then went to Isengard with the ents, and at different times on to Minas Tirith, here at the end of the White Mountains. I was injured and had to stay there" — another hitch — "but Pip went on when he had to, across the Anduin to Ithilien and up to the Black Gate of Mordor. And meantime Frodo and Sam went through the Emyn Muil, and the Dead Marshes, the other way down through Ithilien, over the mountains into Mordor through this pass, and then north again and finally east, to Mount Doom. After it was all over we were in Minas Tirith and then came back through the Gap of Rohan, up to Rivendell to see Bilbo, and back again the way we'd come, but this time on the Road."

Merry's voice had been quiet, drawing his aunt and uncle to follow his finger around the map, but now he straightened and the flatness returned to his tone.

"Big, isn't it, Uncle Pal? Three hundred leagues and more each way, yet there's more than even this map shows — these eastern countries beyond Rhovanion are cut off and I've no idea what's beyond them. To the south as well, the Sunlands — some of the men who fought for Sauron came from there, I believe. A lot of land. And a lot of creatures in it. Yet you, Uncle Pal, who have never been further from the Shire than Bree, barely the width of my finger on this map, think you know enough to say what does and doesn't exist in places you've barely heard of? There are no such things as talking trees. Just listen to yourself, Uncle Pal. Have you ever heard so foolish a hobbit?"

There was a nasty silence and the Thain slowly flushed a deep red.

Merry nodded. "So, my first term. The second was cruel. Your words to Pip were you cannot even now control your night terrors better than a faunt. And setting aside that neither can I, nor Frodo, nor Sam, you lash out at Pip because only if his terrors are those of a faunt can you continue to deny your own. But that ends now, Uncle Pal. Let's see how you think you'd do. Just imagine you had to leave the Shire, and found yourself having to go through the Old Forest."

The Thain's mouth opened but Merry overrode him.

"Yes I know you never would, but you do. In the Forest you're grabbed by an evil tree, but a friend saves you, and then you're nabbed by a Barrow-wight, and you're sure you're about to die, but your friends save you again and you make it Bree. After a night when those black figures who killed Tom Heathertoes at the Bridge break into the Prancing Pony looking for you, you get away and make it to Weathertop. And there" — that hitch again — "there you discover that the black figures are the Witch-King of Angmar and his fellow Ringwraiths, and he stabs one of your friends — your beloved older cousin. It looks like it's only a little wound, but there's a bit of the blade broken off inside, and when it's dawn you see the knife that gave it melt in the sunlight. You've never seen or felt anything so vile as the hilt, and you realise that little as that wound is it might yet kill your friend, but there's no time to think because you're fleeing again, with the Ringwraiths pursuing."

Sam had seen the appreciation in Master Saradoc's eyes for the way Merry's telling and the repeated journey of his finger around the map was anchoring both the Thain's and Mistress Eglantine's increasingly horrified gazes. But Merry's voice was hoarser and his right arm was now cradled in his lap as the left moved from place to place. The water had boiled and he prepared to fill the bowl but Merry looked round.

"Not just yet, Sam. Wait until the Pelennor. Now, Uncle Pal, you get lucky again. You make it to Rivendell and Lord Elrond can save your friend. Not heal him completely, mind — the knife was bespelled — but he's up and about again. So on you go, feeling a bit better because you've got Gandalf with you now, and surely a wizard can cope with anything. And he does cope with great wolves when a pack of them attack at night. But you have to go through Moria. A water-monster nearly gets you at the gate, a great thing with dozens of clutching arms, but you get past. And now you have to go forty miles underground, in the dark, and you do. Trolls and orcs attack, but you get away and keep going. But there's worse, because there's another monster to get past, one of the great monsters — a fire-giant. A balrog. There's a great chasm and a thin bridge, and Gandalf manages to make it fall in, but it takes him with it, and he's gone. You see it all, Uncle Pal, and you think he's gone for good — you don't know he'll be sent back by the Valar, so you're weeping for him, terrified and grieving, but you run and run and get out of Moria, and you can rest for a bit in Lothlórien. But not long, and you go on down the river until everything goes wrong and you're taken prisoner by orcs. You see another friend die there too, trying to protect you but shot down with great black arrows, and you've no time to grieve because the orcs have you and they're carrying you away, you and one friend, and you've no idea what happened to the others."

Merry shivered and his left hand lifted from the map to rub his right arm, but he again shook his head at the increasingly concerned looks of Sam and his parents and went on.

"You already know the sort of things you hear the orcs say, Uncle Pal, about wanting to eat you, and you're terrified all the time, but you keep your wits about you, and manage to cut your bonds and help your friend to escape too when men attack the orcs. You don't know where you are, but there's a forest so you run in and hide, and when you climb a hill to try and see how to get out again you meet a creature you didn't even know existed, but he's good-hearted and he helps you. But his own kind are being attacked by orcs and worse things, and they're about ready to go to war over it so you get caught up in it, and you see a lot more deaths. But things look up for a bit. The battle's won and you find out Gandalf's still alive, or alive again, and you're reunited with some — some, not all — of the friends you'd been separated from. But then something else happens, and you're exposed for a moment to the full malice of Sauron's mind and you fight it, amazingly, and break away, but it's as bad as anything could be, vile beyond belief and inside your head, and you can't shake the memory, especially when you have to go off alone, leaving all your friends behind again."

Mistress Eglantine had tears on her cheeks. Pippin was shaking and Master Saradoc and Mistress Esmeralda both had arms round him. Dipping a cup of hot water Sam added some of the athelas he'd prepared for tea. Master Saradoc reached to take it, nodding silent thanks, and held it for Pippin. Merry's hand was rubbing his arm again, harder, but his voice forced its way on.

"So you end up in Minas Tirith just as it's being besieged by orcs and trolls and men, not thousands of them or even tens of thousands, but hundreds of thousands. And guess who's leading them, Uncle Pal? It's the Witch-King, the chief Ringwraith, and he's not on a horse anymore — he's on a great flying beast, like a bat but as big as that eagle Gandalf showed us, and as vile as the eagle was good. And almost the first thing all those orcs do is use great catapults to throw into the city the heads of everyone they've already killed. Branded with the eye and thrown in, by the thousand. And you know what's still worse than that, Uncle Pal, worse than seeing men's heads landing like leaves in a Blotmath storm? It's seeing someone you're next to recognise one of those heads, and you see that too, and your heart's breaking. The lower city's burning and its leader has gone mad with fear and despair, but you keep on doing all you can. You save a man from fire, and you keep on hoping, and you're right to do so because when the gates finally burst, and the Ringwraith tries to ride in, Gandalf stops him. And the allies of the city finally arrive, and the battle turns. And the Witch-King is killed."

Merry's voice had become steadily harsher and more grating and now he stopped, working his mouth and swallowing before using his left hand to lift his right and with a shudder let it flop across the map.

"Feel it again, Uncle Pal, Aunt Tina."

The Thain was grey-faced and just stared until his wife hesitantly reached out a hand.

"Merry! It's freezing!"

She automatically began to chafe at the inert hand. Sam had already poured steaming water into the bowl he'd fetched and was quietly singing the hymn to Yavanna as he cradled athelas. He didn't usually get anything like the response Strider could call from the leaves, though the tea and infusions he made seemed to help a bit, but this time they felt warm in his hands and when he cast them into the water the clean fragrance came at once. He heard Merry breathe deeply with a sigh and carried the bowl to hold it before his face.

"Get his sleeve rolled right up."

Sam barely noticed he'd given the Thain and his wife an order but they obeyed it, and after a moment he went round to Merry's other side, set the bowl down, and lifted his cold arm to rest in his own lap. Carefully he laved it with the warm water and felt the shaking start and after a moment fade again.

"Athelas tea all round, Pippin, if you're up to it."

"Ferdi and I will do it. Just as you did before, Samwise?"

"Yes, Missus Esmeralda." His eyes didn't leave Merry's arm, to which colour was slowly returning. "Thank you."

"What … what is that herb?"

Sam glanced up for a second. "Athelas, Missus Eglantine. Kingsfoil we call it."

"Kingsfoil? But … I thought it a weed. I had no idea it was so … so strong. Such a clean smell."

"It depends who uses it, Aunt Tina." Merry's voice was a whisper. "Life to the dying, in the King's hand lying. Usually you need royal blood but Sam seems to have the knack. Or we're being blessed today."

Sam grunted. "Lady Yavanna, I think. I called on her. Water's cool enough now for you to soak the hand, Merry."

"Thank you, Sam."

"Yes indeed." Mistress Esmeralda's hand rested on his shoulder for a moment as she gave a steaming cup to Merry, who took it carefully with his good hand, breathing deeply before sipping. A moment later, as Ferdinand gave cups to the Thain and his wife, she gave Sam one too, and he smiled surprised thanks. "You must need it as much as any of us, Samwise, for all you've stayed calmer."

"Oh I drink plenty, Missus Esmeralda. We all do, I'm afraid, and poor Mr Frodo most of all. It soothes the heart and the mind." Ferdinand was lighting the lamp and some candles against the growing dusk, and Sam nodded thanks. "Light helps as well."

"It does seem to help. My breathing's eased." The Thain's voice was strained. "Merry, why did your arm get like that? It's uncanny."

Merry shook his head before drinking more tea, and Sam sighed.

"It's because he stabbed the Ringwraith, Thain Paladin, sir, so yes it is uncanny. Just being close to one of them horrors you can get what's called the Black Breath, like all the life's sucked out of you. It kills. Athelas is the only remedy. And if you're close enough to stick one with a sword, well, your arm don't ever forget it. The talking stirred it up."

The hand in the basin lifted a little to clutch his own and Merry set down his empty cup.

"It's warming up again, Uncle Pal. But I hadn't quite finished. You get through the siege, but the war's not won. And you have to go on, not alone but without your friends, all the way to the gate of Mordor. It's desperate but you have hope still, until you get there and there's the worst moment of all because Sauron's messenger comes out and he's got things that seem to prove your friends were captured and are dead, or worse, and that means everything's over and Sauron's won. And so when you fight you do it in despair, just to do what you can before you die. And you almost do die — you're badly wounded and knocked out and all but suffocated and crushed, but even then you hang on to life and in the end, amazingly, it is all right because it was a trick. Your friends aren't dead, and they do what they had to do, and Sauron's dead instead, at last, and his evil fails and his creatures run away. And you're so relieved, so happy to see your friends again, and everyone's rejoicing even though they're weeping too for all who were killed. Only, you have all these terrifying memories that get into your dreams and wake you up sweating and gasping. Everyone does, but yours are bad because you saw a lot more than most, and did a lot more than most, and you endure it without complaining and heal as best you can and do your duty and care for your friends. And when everything's settled down a bit you can finally go home and you do, only to find the place being run by Ruffians and half-orcs and a fallen wizard, but you see them off too, and work hard to set things to rights. And you go on dealing with your dreams and memories as best you can, never complaining, and then Great-Uncle Adalgrim ups and says …"

It was the Thain whose halting voice broke the curdling silence. "Oh! I … Pippin … I …"

Merry stretched his left arm and let his hand rest on his uncle's shoulder a minute.

"Cruel, I said, Uncle Pal, and I meant it. It's only the cruelty of foolishness and ignorance, and Pip knows that, but it's hard all the same and you owe him more than one apology. Still, that's private business between you and him. But the third thing I said was derelict in your duty as Thain, and that's everyone's business. We told you a dozen times that the trees in the Old Forest are a real danger to the Shire, not just to Buckland, though the blow would fall here first. Trees just like them killed about ten thousand orcs in one night, at Helm's Deep, because the orcs had been chopping ordinary trees down. And the ones here felt our trees being felled by Ruffians and they are angry, with us or anyone they can get at. Sam's managed to win us some time, though I'm not at all sure how he did it, and he's given us a hope of actually being able to get the problem fixed. Pip and I just have to go and ask. It'll take us only two or three months. But you, as Thain, decide in the blink of an eye and a roar of fury that it is out of the question and Pip must never mention this again. And that is derelict. Utterly so."

The Thain had gone very white. Stiffly Merry levered himself to his feet, leaning a little on Sam.

"Yes, you had a bad scare when we all had to go away like that, and yes, Pip's still a tween, but he owes the King duty too, when there's a clear danger to all, just as you do, and I do, and he will fulfil it. We will be leaving, and though we've sent to the Lord Steward to ask for an escort, some other Tooks and Brandybucks from the Muster would be a welcome help — the biggest hobbits who are free, so we can ride horses and make better time." He took a long deep breath. "I'm going to sit outside for a bit and have a pipe with Sam."

Still supporting Merry, Sam saw the concern on Master Saradoc's and Mistress Esmeralda's faces and caught their eyes, shaking his head fractionally and glancing towards the shaking Thain and weeping Mistress Eglantine. Master Saradoc reluctantly nodded, and Sam let Merry go ahead through the kitchen to the back door, took their Lórien cloaks from their pegs, and closed it behind them. There was a long bench beyond a couple of pear-trees, against a wall, and Sam draped Merry's cloak round him and put on his own before they sat and began filling their pipes. Merry's arm was still shaky but the business of tamping down the pipeweed and striking a spark seemed to steady him, and they sat back, leaning against each other.

"Well, that was a rare old potherhouse and no mistake. You must've had all that running in your head awhile."

Potherhouse won him a faint smile.

"It's driven me to distraction, Sam, seeing Pip try and try and Uncle Pal brush him off. I've always known Ma got the Took brains, not Uncle Pal, but it's never mattered before. Not like this."

"Ah." Sam drew on his pipe. "It's like my Gaffer, I suppose. Very good on his own patch but he don't like changes."

"He doesn't pretend they haven't happened, though. And he doesn't put you down in front of other people."

"Had some things to say in private, though, and not holding with ironmongery nor hobnobbing with the gentry wasn't the half of it."

Merry's smile was brighter. "Better not tell him you gave the Thain an order, then, nor that he obeyed as fast as he could."

"I didn't!"

"You certainly did, Sam — get his sleeve rolled right up."

"Glory, I did too. Noodles and nodcocks!" Sam shook his head. "I'd never hear the end of it."

"I doubt it'll be the last time, Sam. And you'd better warn him Ma's using your bare name. That means you can drop the Missus, you know."

Sam shook his head. "That wouldn't sound right at all, Merry. It's bad enough you and Pippin made me drop the Mister. The Gaffer didn't like that neither, but I told him that was what you wanted and did he think it proper I should tell you no?"

Merry laughed softly. "Good for you. And?"

"He's been chewing on it ever since. May and Marigold were grinning for a week."

"Wish I'd seen it. Well, is it proper for you to tell Ma no, then, when she's asking?"

Sam groaned. "Isn't nothing staying the same? One day I'm teaching the Maggots hymns in Sindarin and the next I'm supposed to be calling the Mistress of Buckland by bare name. It's not right."

"You taught the Maggots hymns in Sindarin?" Merry's laugh was full this time, with joy in it. "Whatever brought that on?"

"It was an eye-opener alright. I was meaning to tell you and then all this tree-stuff came up. Anyway, besides knowing Mr Bombadil, turns out old Maggot sometimes meets elves using that Hall of theirs in the Woody End, and fancied being able to say thank you properly. His missus and children too. So I taught them some basics and then when they wanted some more it was the hymns that came to mind. You were right about him — he's got his feet planted but he knows more than most as well. Good family. Good cooking, too."

"Bless me sideways. Maggot knows elves?"

"And two hymns in Sindarin."

"Well, we can't have Buckland falling behind The Marish. I'll really have to work on my Sindarin. If there are Rangers among the escort perhaps I can practice. None of the Rohirrim except Déorwine speaks it any better than I do. Worse, mostly."

"Take some doing."

"Cheek!"

"Simple fact." Sam looked up. "Someone coming."

It was Ferdinand, who paused to fill and light his own pipe, and came over. They straightened and Sam felt the tension return to Merry's body, but Ferdinand gave them a deep nod, almost a bow.

"Thank you, Merry, and you too, Mr Gamgee. That was needful, and well done."

"I'm sorry to have used strength, though, Uncle Ferdi. It's not right."

"Nonsense." The older hobbit sat on Merry's other side. "It was no different from restraining a hobbit who's had too much ale. And you've got through to him and Tina at last, which is more than anyone else has managed."

"You didn't know what needed saying, Uncle Ferdi."

"Not like you do, no. But Pal saw how it was in Hobbiton, as we all did, and instead of trying to understand he went into a mighty sulk. And he's heard more than enough one way or another to have known he was being a fool twice over." He drew on his pipe. "Still, it's done and he'll come right again. He's making a start on those apologies he owes and we'll rustle you up the biggest Tooks we can find. Not that they'll like having to go so very far. How long will the journey take? If that map of yours is accurate it looks to be most of two hundred leagues."

Merry briefly laid a hand on his uncle's arm, then shrugged slightly. "About that. But the horses of Rohan are good for forty or fifty miles a day in open country, resting one in ten. Say three weeks each way, at least. But it might take a while for the ents to decide what they'll do, if anything. They don't like being what they call hasty, and their speech among themselves is very slow and thorough."

"So you'll be gone eight or ten weeks, maybe."

Sam sat up. "Here, Merry, you'd better hurry those ents along if you have to, and you'd best be back by the first of Thrimmidge. I've a promise to Rosie to keep, and you've one to me."

Merry stared, then laughed. "So I have, Sam, and I will. Treebeard will understand that and a week or two should be enough even for him to make up his mind."

"Well, you see he does."

"I will."

The back-door opened again and Master Saradoc and his wife came out. Merry stood and went to them, leaning into their embrace, and Sam looked away to give them time together. Ferdinand slid towards him and spoke softly.

"I'm thinking I missed a trick or two as well, Mr Gamgee. I heard Sara in Hobbiton, about rings and all, and I heard Frodo and you, but I hadn't understood. You and Frodo were on your own all that way, after you got separated at that place by the big falls? I'm sorry, I don't recall the name."

"Parth Galen. It just means greensward. And yes, we were alone, save for Gollum, and the time we met Mr Faramir and Damrod and their friends. And orcs. Plenty of them about."

"And you were captured?"

Sam shook his head. "I wasn't. Mr Frodo was, after the spider bit him, but we got away. We did fall in with some orcs after that, but we fell out again soon enough."

"And went to the mountain."

"Yes. That's what Mr Frodo had to do."

The Took looked at him for a long moment. "Mr Gamgee, I may have been what your Gaffer would call a ninnyhammer, but I'm not being one anymore. It's very plain you're owed a powerful debt of thanks, and likely to be owed more. Pal knows it too, and Tina. Perhaps you'd stop by the Great Smials on your way back to Hobbiton. I'd be glad of a longer chat."

He rose, nodded deeply again, and went back towards the door, clapping Merry softly on the shoulder as he passed. Sam stared after him, gloomily aware he was going to be later back to Hobbiton than ever.

---

Déorwine had rightly insisted that Rohirrim and their horses were best suited to a long ride in haste, and had ensured that the King's Messenger bearing reports for Aragorn of all that was afoot would make certain Meriadoc's letter reached Éomer King as soon as maybe, whether at Helm's Deep or Edoras or elsewhere. His éored would therefore provide the bulk of the needed escort and he was going himself, leaving his junior to command the remainder and taking a half-dozen Ithiliens who could scout and track, and had faced the cunning orcs of Minas Morgul, if not the Uruk-hai. A further brief letter from Meriadoc, counter-signed by the Thain, had informed him that a hobbit escort would also be coming, and would want horses if that were possible, and had been acted upon. Glorfindel and the King's brothers, who had withdrawn to the camp by the Chetwood where the other elves were waiting, had watched arrangements with interest and, Halladan hoped, satisfaction. Glorfindel also explained privately to Déorwine what he believed from his vision, while gravely warning him that to rely on such inferences was unwise.

It had all made for quite a bustle to and fro, and Mr Butterbur had asked him directly what was up, promptly relaying a cautious but not untrue answer to his patrons, big and little. The idea of trees that could move was a hard one to grasp, making for much scratching of heads, but a threat from the Old Forest made unpleasantly familiar sense, and to Halladan's fascination the idea that the Travellers had met someone away down south who might help was also accepted. Folk had also been sharply taken by the idea that those faced with a journey might ask King's Men for aid, so Halladan spent several hours explaining that while his resources were limited, and few could hope to keep up with the King's Messengers, travellers were always welcome to join soldiers going more slowly about regular business. And in the case of trade, with slow-moving wagons to consider, Gondorian practice was that soldiers could be provided but merchants were expected to defray the cost. That led to interested questions about the sums involved and the price various goods might be expected to fetch in Rohan and Gondor, followed by much argument and calculation. The figuring-out was still going on, but the Breelanders were not unduly surprised when a mid-evening clatter of ponies' hooves announced the arrival of a party of Shire hobbits.

The group that entered, however, produced silence. Meriadoc and Peregrin were both armoured and surcoated, bearing swords as well as full quivers, and the eight hobbits who followed them, wearing stout leather jerkins, also bore swords that had Halladan staring, as well as quivers. They were all some inches shorter than the two Travellers, but still as formidable a group of hobbits as Halladan had ever seen, and the Breelanders, big and little, hastily cleared their path to him.

"Lord Steward."

"Meriadoc, Peregrin. It is a pleasure to see you again, though I could wish the circumstances were less serious."

"Couldn't we all?" Meriadoc named his companions, and his clear statement that they came from the Buckland and Tookland musters and had been selected for size, so they could ride horses, produced a buzz of relieved Breeland conversation. "You had our letters?"

"I did, and all has been made ready. You can ride the day after tomorrow, but there are some who will ride with you you must meet." A glance at Gilbarad had him striding out. "My rooms will not be large enough, I fear, so I shall bespeak the use of the back parlour from Mr Butterbur. I imagine you will be glad to eat in the meanwhile?"

Hobbit grins answered him, and Merry took his people to the counter. The hearty stew on offer with potatoes and greens met with universal approval, as did the famously blessed ale, and Halladan left them to it. By the time he and Butterbur had apologetically ejected the few Breelanders using the back parlour, and set out appropriate chairs — though truth to tell Halladan thought most of these hobbits could use men's chairs without problem — all plates had been cleared once, some twice, and he invited them to come through, bringing their mugs. Meriadoc and Peregrin were at ease, but the others were clearly nervous at finding themselves outside the Shire and he sought to reassure them.

"Well, you are all most welcome." His curiosity won out. "And I see you all have swords, which I had not expected."

"No more did we." Meriadoc gave him a grin. "We left Buckland before dawn and detoured to see Tom Bombadil, who agrees the Forest is in a taking and says Old Man Willow has been very wide awake for some while. He's delighted at the idea ents might come, and wished us well. And while he was leading us across the Barrow Downs he took us to one he said he'd had to deal with recently. The weapons and treasures were still there, and he picked out these for us. But we'll have to practise — no-one but Pip and I has much experience of long blades."

"Ah. May I see them?" One by one the hobbits produced their swords, and Halladan examined them reverently. "They are the work of my distant ancestors. Most come from Cardolan, for Tyrn Gorthad, the Barrow Downs, was the royal burial ground of that kingdom. But that one is certainly from Rhudaur, further east, and those two from Arthedain, I believe, north and west of the Shire. I do not think they have the potency of the one you once bore, Meriadoc, but they were made with spells of constancy and protection, and I am glad you bear them now."

"Well, I don't suppose we'll be meeting any more Ringwraiths, so that's alright." Meriadoc shifted one arm to his lap, rubbing at it. "I'm sorry, it's been giving me some trouble lately."

Peregrin took his cousin's hand, chafing it lightly. "What he means is he used the way it gets cold when he has to remember what he did to beat some sense into my Da, finally."

Halladan blinked. "He did?"

"Yes, he did, silly great Brandybuck that he is. He talked it as cold as ice. But it's mostly better now."

Things clicked in Halladan's mind and he sat up, worry blooming in his heart. "The Black Breath? We have no … yes, we do, but whether any athelas is available I am not—"

"Oh it's alright — Sam took care of it. And he's given us some leaves for if we need them."

Halladan blinked. "Samwise can call forth its virtue?"

"Not always, but he did this time. The fragrance was almost as strong as when Strider does it." That was news, for Halladan had never known any but elves and those in the direct line of royal blood who could use the plant fully, and more than Aragorn would wonder at it. "He says it was Lady Yavanna helping us out, and as he's been teaching all sorts of people hymns to her in Sindarin I expect it was."

Halladan blinked again as Meriadoc looked indignantly at his cousin.

"Old Maggot's not all sorts."

"He had your Ma singing them to her winter roses before he went."

"Ma's not all sorts either."

"And half the gardeners at Brandy Hall."

"Well, who knows with gardeners? Look at Sam."

"True."

The quick exchange had other hobbits grinning, and a deeply startled Halladan swallowed curiosity and gentled them into conversation, drawing from Bucklanders accounts of the worrying behaviour of the trees, from Tooklanders a tale of sudden summons for hobbits large enough to ride a horse, with scrambled explanations from Mr Ferdinand and a strangely subdued Thain, and from both wondering accounts of Master Bombadil and the provision of swords. He was listening with quiet amusement to a lively discussion of why anyone would want to live in so isolated a spot when Gilbarad's rap announced his further guests. Déorwine was warmly greeted but when the elves entered Halladan was surprised to see Meriadoc and Pippin shoot to their feet, and entirely astonished when Glorfindel knelt to receive and return embraces — as were the other hobbits, who stared with wide eyes. Elrohir wagged an elegant finger.

"You should not be so surprised, Halladan. Glorfindel met them as they fled from Amon Sûl, and they faced the Nine together at the Ford of Bruinen. He thinks very well of Merry and Pippin."

Halladan remembered Glorfindel's delighted laughter at Angmar's fate and was struck by the thought that both prophecy and vision had concerned Meriadoc. The elf was holding the hobbit's arm, feeling carefully and being told Samwise had treated it. He nodded and rose.

"I will sing over it tonight, Merry, before you sleep, but only a little cold remains. Sam did well, very well. But come, there are things you and these with you need to know."

Déorwine and the elves took seats and Halladan made introductions, but when he described Lord Elladan and Elrohir as the King's brothers there were startled looks from the hobbits and Elladan laughed.

"Aragorn grew up in our Adar's house, and brother is a courtesy title, for so we think of him. In truth we are his first cousins."

"Sixty-three times removed."

"And his brothers-in-law"

"Merry and Pippin can explain."

Even Glorfindel smiled at the hobbits' expressions, but only for a moment. "And now you two have astonished periain with some genealogy, no easy feat, perhaps we might deal with what matters?"

He didn't recount his vision, only that there was reason to believe some of Curunír's creatures might be gathered somewhere, and when the possibility of meeting Uruk-hai was explained all the hobbits' faces grew grim. As he concluded, Meriadoc and Pippin looked at one another.

"Not creatures I'd ever hoped to meet again."

"No, but at least we won't be alone this time, Merry."

"Far from it, but though forewarned is forearmed there are preparations we must make." Halladan leaned forward. "That is why I said you could ride in two days. Tomorrow will be spent getting used to the horses Déorwine has chosen for you, and you must indeed all practise with your blades. The Dúnedain and members of the White Company riding with you will scout, so you should have some warning at least, but sudden encounters are always possible, especially in the broken lands beyond Tharbad, and you may have to fight on horseback as well as on foot."

Meriadoc nodded. "The Bullroarer did it, so we can too. It's a good thing we do have those blades, though. I wonder if Tom knew."

The weapons were brought out again to show the elves, and the story of Tom Bombadil's unexpected gift retold. Returning the last Glorfindel smiled.

"They are good blades, blessed in their making, and it is right they be used again. Why the Dúnedain of old should have interred them I never understood." His eyes glinted at the strange customs of the Secondborn. "And Iarwain Ben-adar may well have foresight of his own, Merry. I wonder, though, why that barrow needed dealing with now, and why he has not himself calmed the trees. From all I have ever heard he is master of his own domain."

Peregrin shrugged. "Master of, yes, but he doesn't order things about. He got us out of Old Man Willow and told it to go to sleep, though I don't think it did. And he did something lasting to the barrow-wight. But he wouldn't hurt a tree, I don't think, and certainly not kill it. That's not his way. And he said it was very wide awake just now."

"Iarwain got you out of a tree, Pippin? How did you get in? The barrow-wight I knew about, but I do not recall hearing that part of your adventures before. At the Council of Elrond Frodo said only that Iarwain had rescued you when you became lost and trapped in the Old Forest. I had not realised he meant trapped so literally."

"Well, it was horrid at the time but after everything else that happened it didn't seem so important."

"But perhaps it matters now. Tell me the tale, please."

Reluctantly Meriadoc and Peregrin did so, and as they unfolded the story of the paths that shifted to bring them to the Withywindle, the strange sleepiness that overcame them, and the experience of waking to find themselves trapped in darkness with what felt like roots and feelers squirming over them, Halladan wondered anew at all they had endured and survived. The tale was clearly new to the other hobbits also, though the Bucklanders clearly knew something of the terrible willow at the heart of the Old Forest. But Glorfindel's brows drew down as he listened.

"You were even luckier than Aragorn realised, and I wonder at Iarwain happening along just at that moment. But I do not like the sound of that willow at all."

He fell silent with a distant look, clearly remembering something, and for once Halladan blessed Peregrin's unquenchable curiosity.

"Why not? It's certainly a very horrid tree, but you look as if you're thinking of something in particular."

"Do I? Perhaps because I am. This tale puts me in mind of something I once heard, long ago. But I do not know if it would mean much to you and I cannot explain all the history involved tonight."

"An outline, then? If it's First Age stuff, Merry and I know a bit, from Bilbo."

Halladan had not supposed it possible to wheedle anything out of Glorfindel and he could see the amusement of the King's brothers.

"Very well, Pippin. And yes, it is a matter of the First Age, late on. There was in Beleriand a great willow-mead, at the confluence of Sirion and Narog."

"Nan-tasarion?"

Golden eyebrows lifted. "Indeed."

"Treebeard mentioned it in a song, and I asked Bilbo. It sounded very beautiful."

"So it was, and beloved of the Onodrim, for we had wakened many trees there. But after Nirnaeth Arnoediad, where Morgoth triumphed and the Eldar and Edain were sundered, his creatures roamed all Beleriand, even to Ossiriand and Nan-tasarion. There was power there to resist his lesser servants, yet after the sack of Nargothrond his darkness fell heavily upon its lands. Many perished at that time, but some who fled to Gondolin spoke of an evil that haunted the northern eaves of Nan-tasarion, and whispered Morgoth had set in some of the Onodrim there a hunger for living flesh."

"Ugh! That's awful."

"Yes, a perversion of their nature in which Morgoth would have delighted. But I heard no more than rumour before the fall of Gondolin, and later thought that all such, if they had truly existed, must have perished in the War of Wrath, when Beleriand was drowned and Nan-tasarion lost beneath the waves. Yet hearing now your tale I wonder if one perhaps escaped in time over the Ered Luin. And I think I must go to see Iarwain Ben-adar and this willow."

"Oh. Well, if you must. Take care, though, Glorfindel — neither the barrow-wights nor Old Man Willow are any kind of joke."

"Perhaps not." Glorfindel smiled. "But neither has any terror for me, Pippin, nor power to harm me as I am now. And if an evil of Morgoth remains in Eriador, it should be known."

And it might, Halladan thought, be an explanation of sorts for the strangeness of events, for with Sauron's fall other ancient evils were at last being rooted out. Even before the destruction of the Ring had slain all the Ringwraiths Meriadoc had felled Angmar, while Mithrandir had slain both the balrog that had fled Angband to hide beneath the roots of Hithaeglir, and the great spider of Cirith Ungol he had deemed the direct get of Ungoliant.

Glorfindel rose. "I will see to Merry's arm, Halladan, and then ride. Depart as planned in two dawns, and I will meet you on the Andrath. In matters of safety the elves of Rivendell will accept your and Déorwine's commands."

The gathering broke up, returning the back parlour to its rightful users. Déorwine returned to the camp and Glorfindel vanished with Merry, but Halladan saw Peregrin linger as the other hobbits were shown to their rooms and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Is there something else?"

"Not really. I'm just feeling bad because Merry talked his arm cold on my behalf. And I know Glorfindel's a great warrior but the thought of crossing the Barrow Downs at night is enough to give anyone shivers."

"We ride with him, Pippin." Elladan smiled. "Adar would be very cross if we did not. And he will be interested to hear of Sam and athelas. He has prepared starts and gathered seed, as he was asked. Gildor will deliver them soon."

"Oh good. Sam was wondering about that when he wasn't fretting about being late back to Hobbiton and upsetting Rosie."

"Rosie?" Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances.

"Rose Cotton. They've set a date at last."

Halladan blinked. "Samwise and Miss Rose are to wed? He has said nothing of it. Does the King know?"

Peregrin shrugged. "I've no idea if Sam's mentioned it to him, though he and Frodo both write sometimes. Should he have done?"

"Certainly. All else aside, if I failed to send a proper present the King Elessar would be most distressed. And there will be others who would honour the Ringbearer on such a day. When is it to be?"

"First of Thrimmidge, in the Party Field." Peregrin grinned. "Merry's standing up with Sam, and we have strict instructions to hurry the ents up if they're taking too long to make up their minds, though that'll take some doing. And if anyone's coming from outside you'd better let Frodo know or there won't be enough food."

Halladan promised he would, and as Peregrin left to find Merry he gazed after him a moment.

"You are concerned?" Elrohir's voice was soft.

"No more than usual. I was struck anew by how much all four endured, and by how young Peregrin is."

"To us he is only an eyeblink younger than you or Estel."

"What are thirty years to three thousand, after all?"

Halladan did not feel only an eyeblink older but the days of the Eldar were long indeed. "Did you know of these rumours of horror from Nan-tasarion?"

"We did not. It was interesting to see Pippin coax Glorfindel into memory, for he speaks very little of those last years of Gondolin."

"Even Adar may not know, for Gondolin fell ere he was born, and he did not meet Glorfindel until after Sauron was revealed to Celebrimbor."

"Daernaneth or Daeradar might have heard such tales. Doriath fell after Nargothrond."

"But if so they have never spoken of them that we have heard." Elladan shrugged. "Not that they ever speak much of aught before the War of Wrath, nor any of those who yet remain in Arda. We should see to the horses."

Before he sought the comfort of his own bed Halladan wrote to Aragorn, reporting what Samwise had achieved with athelas and his forthcoming marriage. With apologies for its darker note he also relayed Glorfindel's suspicions about the black-hearted willow, and his own that a greater design was yet unfolding.

That Lord Glorfindel should so long ago twice have had premonitions that prove to involve Meriadoc, and on this occasion with a means of warning that a fulfilment was soon to come, must command attention. And though he was less pointed about it than your brothers, he too called Curunír the cursed for his sorcerous melding of orcs and men, and harbours as great a hatred as they of that evil, I deem. It comes to me also that this creature of Morgoth, if such it is, is another perversion of what is proper to its kind, and a great affront to the Lady Yavanna, who would seem twice now at least to have given grace to the Periannath as her children. I shall join my hymns to those of Lord Samwise, and though events may offer some further insight I would be glad to know your thoughts on these matters, and those of the Lady Arwen our Queen.

More pleasingly, if you have any notion of what I may properly give Lord Samwise and Miss Rose as a wedding-gift, please advise me in all haste, for while he deserves no less than treasures what he would enjoy receiving and accept without embarrassment is a pretty puzzle!

It was, too, and Halladan knew he should heed Peregrin's warning and write to Frodo Baggins about any necessary arrangements, but that was a cheerful thought to chase into sleep.

The day spent training the hobbits proved unexpectedly reassuring. Though unused to the great horses of Rohan and obliged to sit right forward in their saddles, all were well-trained and experienced riders and won swift approval from the Rohirrim. Swordplay was another matter, and the blades they had been gifted were at first held very awkwardly, but Meriadoc and Peregrin showed themselves more skilled than Halladan had realised, and sharply aware of ways in which the seeming disadvantage of hobbit stature could become instead a means of surprise. When it came to how a blade might be used on horseback they cheerfully enlisted several of the watching elves, many of whom they seemed to have spent time with during their sojourns in Rivendell, and Halladan was interested to see that while the necessary moves were entirely unfamiliar, the hobbits' natural sense of balance and economy of movement served them well. By sunset he was feeling considerably less concerned about their safety, even in a mêlée — where, as he knew all too well, even the best fighter could be surprised.

He saw them all off at dawn, with Mr Butterbur and a small party of Breelanders — including, he noted, most of the town's Council — who had risen early to wish the Shire hobbits luck in their quest, hope for everyone's safety, and express their approval of anything that might make the Old Forest a less dangerous place. As the rearguard dwindled and were lost to view Halladan turned back towards the town gates with a sigh, and accepted Mr Butterbur's invitation to breakfast.

---

Merry was surprised to find that despite his fear of meeting more Uruk-hai, and the strain of long days in the saddle, he was quite enjoying travelling once more. The state in which they had found the Shire on their return, with all that had followed, had allowed little chance for minds or hearts to settle, and in a strange way time on the road, their speed too great for easy conversation, offered opportunity to set his thoughts in order. The marvel that was Sam Gamgee was high among them, and he had taken Sam's jibe about his Sindarin to heart — his copy of Bilbo's grammar and lexicon was the one luxury in his saddle-bags, and from their first night's camp he and Pip solicited the help of delighted elves and approving Dúnedain in bettering their grasp of the tongue. But as he rode next morning he also realised, with a sense of shock, that a part of his relief was in no longer being always the largest and strongest person in any gathering. The necessary action against Ruffians had masked it with the command that had come readily to him, as to Pip, but he had been more uneasy than he had realised with the dominance he could now exert as he chose, and the way others automatically made way for him, not just as the heir to Buckland but as one it would be foolish to cross. His easy resort to brute strength in facing Uncle Pal's truculence had deeply disturbed him, whatever Uncle Ferdi said, and when they stopped to water the horses and eat a brief lunch he said as much to Pip.

"I've been feeling that way too. It's nice not to be worrying that you might knock over anyone you accidentally bump into, isn't it? At Yule I came round that corner by Da's study and sent cousin Everard flying, and ever since he's all but leaped aside whenever he sees me."

"Aunt Tina told me. It was the other way round for me — I stopped to let Aunt Hilda pass and Merimas ran right into me and fell flat on his back. He said it was like hitting a wall."

"Did he? He's got a cheek given the weight he carries. I'm surprised you weren't bruised."

"I was, a bit, but that didn't seem to occur to anyone."

"I know." Pippin sighed. "Quite the pair, aren't we, Merry? No more ent-draughts for us."

Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir joined them late in the afternoon, as the road began to descend. From this point the country was new to Merry, but in winter drab did not seem very interesting. There were scattered stands of trees and pleasant enough streams that flowed west towards the Brandywine, but what was lacking was more obvious — neither forest nor tillage, with few beasts and no people. The southern slopes of the Downs were heathland, tough grasses mixed with ling and heather and a few patches of brambles, and the lowlands they reached as dusk drew on seemed little different save for some softening and greening of the grasses. To the east a distant line of clouds indicated rain, but none threatened them and the little copse surrounding a sluggish stream where they made camp for the night offered plentiful deadwood for cooking and a cheerful fire around which to sit.

The Dúnedain had ready rations, balls of dried herbs and pulses that made quick soup and smoked meats to be stewed. The hobbits instinctively set to foraging for whatever might be found, and Merry realised the land was richer than it seemed — mushrooms, wild onions, some small potatoes, and a celery root triumphantly spotted and dug out by Pip joined both soup and stew. Both men and elves were pleased as well as amused by the hobbits' quick eye for the edible and as he ate, sitting next to one of the Dúnedain, Firhael, Merry asked why no-one lived or farmed in these lands.

"Only because there are none to do so," was the reply. "In the days of Cardolan Minhiriath was a full land with many farmsteads, and fallow tracts between for hunting. But the plagues and wars that ended the north kingdoms killed many and many, and it became a desert place. Orcs infesting the mountain passes and the Gap of Rohan ensured none could enter Eriador, and only the Dunlendings of Enedwaith expanded, but they clung ever to the spurs of Hithaeglir, moving north rather than west. And little more than a century past, following what you call the Fell Winter, there were great floods to the south that ruined Tharbad and much besides."

"Will it now be resettled?"

"So Aragorn hopes. Halladan has told us it is partly for that purpose that he has ordered swift reconstruction of the bridge at Tharbad." Firhael gave him a sidelong glance, eyes glinting. "Yet not all settlers need come from the south. We are no more than seventeen leagues from Sarn Ford and the Southfarthing — a perian who wished could farm well here, or run a welcome hostelry. Have you heard of the new inns the Breelanders are establishing on the East Road to serve those going to and from Amon Sûl and the High Pass?"

Merry had, but only in some overheard talk in Bree, and listened with interest as Firhael described them, wondering if Shire hobbits would become so intrepid as they grew more used to men, and realised the forces and fears that had kept them confined for so long were no longer potent. Most would be loath to cross the Brandywine, but there were Bucklanders and Southfarthing river-hobbits he could think of who might not be unwilling, especially if the Quick Post were extended beyond Sarn Ford to allow easy communication with family left behind. Storing that thought away he thanked Firhael and rose, catching Pip's eye and moving to join Glorfindel and Aragorn's brothers, who sat with Déorwine and Sam's friend Damrod, the senior man among the Dúnedain and Ithiliens. He was unsure whether a direct question or a subtler appeal would work best but Pip as often saved him any agonising, and Glorfindel gave that austere smile.

"What can I tell you, Pippin? Any number of things — enough even to satisfy your absurd curiosity, if I had an age to spare."

"Don't tease, or I'll take you up on it. You know what I meant."

Glorfindel's smile transformed into a laugh. "Yes, oddly I do. And after Mithrandir's warnings I do not take Took curiosity so lightly as to risk it. But there is little to enjoy in what I may report, save the fascination that is Iarwain Ben-adar. It is many years since I have seen him, and we have never spoken before at any length, but he has seen the ages of Arda pass even as I, and himself once walked in Nan-tasarion, ere any darkness fell on it. He tells me that when he wedded the River-woman's daughter, while Gil-galad lived yet in Arda, the one you call Old Man Willow had already rooted himself where he stands, and of his origins Iarwain could tell me nothing. Nor can I be certain, for though such as he can offer me no harm, his malice was palpable and I had no cause to use power sufficient to compel from him any answer. Yet I do not discount what I suspected. Far from it. Certainly he is of the Onodrim, however deeply rooted he has become, and all the malice he has woven through the forest is of catching and consuming. Those animals that survive along the Withywindle fear his call and shun his branches, and if Morgoth did not corrupt him, someone or something did, for neither Eru nor any of the Eldar made him as he is now."

Elrohir stirred. "He reminded me strangely of the cursed souls who dwelt around Erech, ere Estel released them. I know Fangorn but little, yet I will not be surprised if he tells us that one was shunned and cast out by his own kind."

Déorwine shivered. "The Dwimorberg was ever a foul sense in the mind."

"We agree, brother." Elladan's hands gripped one another. "Yet me he also reminded of trees near to Dol Guldur, that welcomed the great spiders among their branches, and though it prove he wrought evil in Nan-tasarion I believe it will prove also that he once dwelt in Taur-na-fuin, and there came under the shadow of Gorthaur."

Glorfindel gave the younger elf a sharp glance. "That may well be, Elladan, and it is error too much to distinguish the evils of Morgoth and Gorthaur, for they were ever of one mind. Elrond will insist Gorthaur was not always so, but neither he nor I remembers such a time."

"Gorthaur is another name of Sauron?"

Glorfindel nodded. "It is indeed, Merry. His names were legion, but Gorthaur, the cruel, was that most used by the Sindar. Sauron, the detestable, was used more among Calaquendi, and the Noldor brought that custom to Arda. But names matter little — however he is called, that one was second only to Morgoth in malice, and perverting Onodrim would have pleased each alike."

"So does any of this help us in appealing to Treebeard?"

"It may or may not, Pippin. I have not spoken with he who is now Fangorn since I dwelt in Beleriand, but no onod could be indifferent to such as that willow has become. Yet concerned as he must be at such a tale as we have to tell him, our problems are neither of his making nor of the land he calls his own."

"But you'll speak to him with us of what you've learned and suspect?"

"I will, and if he can offer no aid I may yet take more on myself. My time in Arda draws towards its end, and for all his compassion, Turgon, who was once my liege lord and whom I yet revere, would not have let such as that willow live in his domain."

Merry was surprised to find himself speaking. "Does he still rest in the Halls of Mandos?"

Glorfindel's expression softened. "No. He returned to Aman ere I departed again for Arda, but he thinks no longer of Gondolin and forgets what lies at this end of the straight road." A strange look came to his face. "When Artanis returns he may be wakened, for they were close cousins before Fëanor's madness at Alqualondë. Or he may not."

He lapsed into silence, and after a while Merry tapped Pip's shoulder and they withdrew to bedrolls that each knew reminded the other of their first weeks after leaving Rivendell, travelling down the skirts of the Misty Mountains towards Eregion. The next day dawned dull and grey, but stayed dry, and towards evening the Greenway was joined by the road from Sarn Ford and broadened, though it remained in obvious disrepair, with crumbled paving and choked culverts. The day after showers and a heavier storm caught up with them, and their camp in the corner of a mead just off the road, plainly often used by travellers, was cold and dull, for even the small cooking fires smoked unpleasantly, and all the men and hobbits retired early, leaving the elves to talk among themselves and regret the lack of trees and stars.

For the next three days they played tag with stormclouds, avoiding some and enduring others as the land rose and fell again, and Merry noticed the streams now flowed east rather than west. Bilbo's book of Sindarin told him by firelight that Minhiriath meant the land between two rivers, the Brandywine, or properly Baranduin, and the Greyflood or Gwathló, towards which they were now gradually descending. Almost imperceptibly the chill eased from the air, even when it rained, and the plants the hobbits found when foraging expanded in kind to include peppers and a few hardy wild tomatoes, as well as more green herbs and fruits that could only be grown under glass in the Shire. Tooklanders and Bucklanders, equally subdued as the leagues fell away behind them, became more interested and alert as climate and landscape subtly shifted, and foraging became an entertainment for all the hobbits, as well as a valuable service given how swiftly such a large party consumed the food they carried. Scouts had some luck with game, bringing in rabbits and once a small boar, and where there were squirrels the hobbits demonstrated their skill with stones. But Merry and Pippin did not let them skimp on sword-practice, rotating opponents among Rohirrim, Dúnedain and Ithiliens, and elves, and insisting the tempo push always at the limits with which the hobbits were comfortable.

"An uruk won't care if you're tired or hungry," Pippin observed with some asperity one night, "nor what you're used to. I know it comes hard, but even more than with the Ruffians you all fought, you need to kill as swiftly as you can. The gut below any breastplate and the great vessels of the thigh are your best targets. Or the throat, if you fight on a slope and can gain the height advantage. And keep light on your feet — moving fast is your best defence. Shire custom says to stand square to any opponent, but that's for fisticuffs. With orcs it's slash, duck, and weave, always. And though we don't expect any, with trolls it's darting behind and hamstringing and stabbing upward as they fall. Just don't let them fall on you, or you won't like the results. I can promise you that."

It was the first joke Merry had heard Pip make about his experience before the Morannon, and he saw those who had been there and knew — Elladan and Elrohir, Déorwine, Damrod, and others among the Rohirrim and Ithiliens — nod and exchange glances as they listened with interest. The hobbits were less than happy with the ruthlessness required, but Merry joined Pip in describing in greater detail than before the great uruks Saruman had bred, with their speed and stamina, skill with their bows, and short, broad-bladed swords.

"In some ways they really were more like men." Merry shuddered, remembering. "The Mordor orcs weren't only weaker and smaller, they were less disciplined and seemed to live for the moment. Uglúk had to kill some to enforce his orders about leaving us unharmed, but even then he had to watch them all the time. And though I hate to admit it, the uruks had a kind of nasty humour and a loyalty to one another I didn't see in other orcs. Remember that talk about Mauhúr and his lads, Pip?"

"Yes I do. Ugh. But Merry's right — they had a plan and they stuck to it. Éomer only just caught them in time."

"What was this?"

Déorwine and other Rohirrim were interested, and between them Merry and Pippin recounted what they knew of the second band of Uruk-hai that Uglúk and his troop had hoped to meet.

"From what we gathered they'd been told to travel just within the forest, to avoid being seen, and were supposed to reinforce Uglúk's lot if they were being pursued. But if it was them who turned up they were driven off, I'm glad to say, and Éomer got between Uglúk and the eaves, and that was that."

"We were never sure, but from something Treebeard said we thought huorns had killed quite a lot of them while they were in the forest."

Déorwine shrugged. "If so, it was well they did. By the time we brought that band to bay we outnumbered them, and they could not easily fight riders with spears, but had the others who attacked the éored been a larger group things might have gone hard with us."

When practice was over and all had eaten, the hobbits gathered quietly round Pip and asked what he had meant about trolls. Merry could see he didn't much like it but he did slowly recount something of his experience in the battle before the Morannon, shuddering as he described the great beasts that had fought there — their size and scaly hides, the bucklers and hammers they wielded, and the way they seized up and bit the throats of those they felled.

"And you killed one of these things?"

"Yes I did. It was going to bite a friend of mine who'd been overborne, and it hadn't seen me, I don't think. So I nipped behind to chop at its ankles, and then stabbed it as it stumbled and got something vital. Its blood just poured out, black and hot and stinking, and there was so much of it. My feet slipped in it and I couldn't get clear as it fell. The next thing I knew it was a day later and the world had changed."

There were looks of puzzlement but Pip had fallen silent.

"Because Sauron was gone." Merry rested an arm round Pip's shoulders. "The Ring went into the fire just about the same time Pippin was knocked out, as far as I could work it out, and the battle ended. He was all but buried under the troll he'd killed, but Gimli found him — the dwarf we'd travelled with — and got him to the healers' tents."

"Ah. That's good. But we're not going to face any of these things?"

"No — they were a special breed, I think, and they all died at the Morannon. If they survived the fighting the sun got them as soon as the cloud was blown away. I didn't see it but Gimli told me there were quite a few dotted about the field."

That led to some reminders of basic truths about trolls, just as in Bilbo's story, and the plain fact that one didn't have to worry about trolls by sunlight, nor this far from any caves or deep woods where they might hide from it by day. If still muttering among themselves and looking uneasily into the night the hobbits were somewhat reassured, but Merry deliberately took a place on the first watch, and was unsurprised when after only an hour's sleep Pip began to shake. He woke him before he could cry out and held him as the nightmare faded, finding Elrohir kneeling at his side.

"Ill memories?"

"Trolls. The others were asking about the Morannon."

"Ah. Let me hold him, Merry."

Pip seemed to take groggy comfort from the elf's sure grasp, and Merry went to heat some water at the watchfire, just enough for a small cup of athelas tea and to fill an eating bowl. Returning he gave Pip the cup, Elrohir steadying it, and fished in his bags for the packet Sam had given him. As he carefully broke off a small portion of one dried leaf Elrohir looked up, and as the fragrance rose and he held the bowl for Pip the elf breathed too, one eyebrow rising, then set down the half-drunk cup as Pip's arm drooped. In a few moments Pip slept again, face peaceful, and Elrohir laid him back in his bedroll before guiding Merry back towards the watchfire.

"That was a leaf Sam prepared?" Merry nodded, drinking the last of the athelas tea himself. "Then truly he did well. It took Estel some decades to become so proficient and he has royal blood to draw on."

"Sam's results vary. He thought Lady Yavanna helped this time."

"That may be, but athelas tea is all his own, Merry, and of great interest."

"You don't make it?"

"Why would an elf make tea at all, let alone with athelas?" Elrohir smiled. "Bilbo was quite scandalised at our drinking habits, and we could not understand why he did not float away on all the tea he drank."

Merry managed a weak grin. "I can imagine. But good for Sam, then — the tea's very helpful and we all use it for getting back to sleep."

"Your nights are often disturbed?"

"Often enough. From what Sam says Frodo has the worst of it, but we all have memory dreams. For me it's the Pelennor or the Uruk-hai, usually. Pip gets those ones too, and the siege, but most often the Morannon and the troll. After tonight I was expecting this."

"So I saw." Unexpectedly Elrohir laid a warm hand on Merry's shoulder. "But come, the watch is changing, and I will make sure your own sleep is undisturbed this night."

It was, and he felt much better in the morning. Pip had only a faint memory of having woken and Merry took care not to remind him. During the day the scattered clumps of trees became less and less common, and by afternoon as the road began to descend more steeply none could be seen at all. Towards dusk it levelled again and was built up several feet above ground that was obviously boggy. They rode for longer after dusk, stopping for the night only when they reached a little knoll of raised earth beside the road that Firhael told him was the work of men. It was at least dry, and there was a small shelter with some stacked wood, as well as hay for the horses, but there were also swarms of midges until smoke from the cooking-fires drove them off. After they had sparred briefly and all had eaten, Déorwine called the hobbits together.

"Tomorrow we will reach Tharbad, where we cross the Greyflood. Have a care as you ride, for the land here is more water than earth, and treacherous underfoot. The road rises on a causeway, but unless those assigned to rebuild the bridge have made more progress than I expect that will still be in poor repair, with places where we must reduce to single file. At the river we must pick our way down the embankment to the ford, but that may by now be safer than it was when we rode north."

"How big is the river?" Merry knew the Greyflood carried the waters of the Bruinen and Hoarwell, which rose as far north as the Ettenmoors. "Most of us have never seen anything bigger than the Brandywine."

"It is not deep, fortunately, but it is very wide — more than a mile at the ford and far wider upstream."

"A mile!" Tooklanders exchanged horrified looks and Bucklanders scratched their heads. "How can it be wider up-stream, Mr Déorwine?"

"It is joined there by the Swanfleet, which has no true course in the plains but forms a wide marsh into which the Greyflood also spreads. And though they are much crumbled and overgrown there are great dikes and earthworks north of Tharbad that rechannel the stream and protect the land on either side of where the bridge once stood."

That made sense of a sort, Merry supposed, but the hobbits were still puzzled.

"Why did anyone bother, out here in the middle of nowhere?"

Déorwine shrugged. "Save that the bridge was necessary for the North Road I cannot say. Hunting parties from the Westfold come this far north sometimes, for the water-fowl that teem in the Swanfleet, but the history of this land I do not know."

Glorfindel was listening and shook his head. "And yet it is little more than a century since Tharbad was abandoned, after floods that followed the Fell Winter, though it was by then much reduced. In the days when the north kingdoms yet stood it was a great port, and a busy place."

"A port?" Merry was genuinely puzzled. "But we must be eighty or ninety leagues from the sea."

"So we are, but the Gwathló is wide and deep enough for ships. The swiftest route from Osgiliath to Annúminas was to sail down Anduin, round Andrast to Lond Daer, and then in river-craft up Gwathló to Tharbad, before riding the way we have come. And not so long ago, by my reckoning, Periannath who may number among your ancestors, Merry, dwelt between Mitheithel and Glanduin, fishing and hunting in the wetlands of Nîn-in-Eliph."

"Really? Must have been Stoors. How long ago in our reckoning would this be?"

"The centuries just before the Shire was founded and you ceased to venture any further than the Breelands."

For the next while Glorfindel discovered just how curious Tooks and Brandybucks really could be when hobbit matters caught their interest. Some Rohirrim also became involved, intrigued to understand that their fireside tales of holbytlan must date from a time of coexistence far north and east, long before Eorl led them south to the Mark. Eventually Glorfindel shook himself free, saying they should sleep, and took himself off with Déorwine, but the discussion continued quietly for a while ruminating on the history of hobbits before the Shire was founded. The notion that Glorfindel had witnessed such things had also surprised everyone except Merry and Pippin, who shook their heads.

"Sam Gamgee would call you all ninnyhammers. Glorfindel's an elf, remember, and the oldest one here, I'm pretty sure. You heard him mention Gondolin that first night we were in Bree — he was a captain of its guard when it fell to Morgoth, and that was" — Merry calculated — "at least six and a half thousand years ago. And he lived in Aman, in the Uttermost West, for ages before Gondolin was even thought of, in the Time of the Trees. He's older than the sun, literally. And the moon."

He sent them off to their bedrolls with very wide eyes, and sought his own, falling into dreams of hobbits hunting and fishing close to a great settlement of men, then of scratching his way through the Midgewater Marshes. That proved all too accurate when he woke with the sun to an itching nose and hand that had escaped his blanket, and the midges accompanied them as they rode. The road was not as bad as Déorwine had feared, some of the worst bits having clearly received recent attention. Late in the morning it became a true causeway, rising slowly but steadily on revetted banks above water meadows and great stands of reeds, and soon after they saw the first people, a party of twenty soldiers working to shore up a weak section. The number of riders and the presence of elves and hobbits caused a stir, and the grizzled captain directing work climbed to the road, holding up a hand.

"Single-file, dismounted, on the far side and treading as softly as you may, please, good sirs."

They did as they were bid, but there were startled looks among the hobbits when the captain saw Merry and Pippin in their surcoats, and realising who they must be bowed to them, hand over heart. They offered him thanks, but he shook his head, asking only that they give his respects to the Ringbearers when they might and wishing them safe journey. Remounting further on, Merry's ears burned at the muttered exchanges he could half-hear, but they fell away as the roadway rose still further and the Greyflood came in sight — a great sheet of water, looking as much like a lake as a river. On the far side a tumbled hill of stone might once have been town or fortress, or both, and on either side of them on the near bank were the remains of the river-port. There were scores of men with the looks and tabards of Gondor and Rohan, most working on the base of a great pillar a hundred yards out into the river, and a number of buildings had obviously been cleaned and repaired. Where the causeway ended the roadway simply stopped, sheared clean away, and a steep ramp had been dug into its side, requiring them to dismount and lead horses carefully down. Reaching the bottom with Pip, Merry saw Déorwine with Glorfindel beside him, speaking to an officer in Gondorian uniform to congratulate him on how much had been done and ask about the state of the ford.

"Not bad at all, Captain Déorwine, though I say so myself. We've done a lot of work on it, for it'll be another two years at least before we can hope to have the bridge rebuilt, and that only if the King can persuade dwarves to help, as he told us he would. We did have a party come through about ten days back, but they were headed for Helm's Deep."

Déorwine and Glorfindel exchanged a glance that puzzled Merry.

"How large a party?"

"Three, with a wagon they unloaded and rafted across."

There might have been more but the officer caught sight of Pippin's surcoat and surprised introductions led to a welcome lunch in the soldiers' mess before they packed fresh supplies and tackled the ford. The sheer width of the river was fearsome, but much to the hobbits' relief there was a fairly smooth stone path only about four feet below the water, made of blocks from the fallen bridge, the tumbled remains of which provided a breakwater of sorts on the upstream side. Although their feet got wet the hobbits actually had it easier than the men, who had removed boots but were still left with soaked leggings, while the elves simply smiled and drew up their feet to rest lightly on their horses' withers. On the far side another ramp let them climb back to the road and follow the causeway again as its height slowly diminished and the land became drier. By sunset they had crossed a slight ridge and left the valley of the Greyflood behind, entering a rolling land still without trees and in places bearing what Merry thought were the scars of old war — lumps and hollows, and once a mound of broken and jagged rock that the road skirted. Déorwine again kept them riding well after dark, and again they came to a camping-place with a stack of wood, though not this time any hay, the grassland being dry enough for the horses to feed themselves. After eating Merry took Pip and sought out Glorfindel, sitting with Elladan and Elrohir.

"Is there something particular about dwarves? I was wondering because you seemed startled by news of the party ahead of us, but Pip or I could have told you they were there. The three are Skirfir, his brother Virfir, and their nephew Fjalar."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "And you know this because …?"

"They came through the Shire not long after Yule, and Frodo commissioned them, gritting his teeth, to carve the, well, gravestone I suppose, for the Ruffians who were executed down at Sarn Ford." Merry shook his head. "Horrid business, however necessary."

"Wasn't it just?" Pip sighed. "We rode down to meet them, though, and they did a good job. Skirfir knows Gimli from somewhere, and they are answering his call for dwarves to come to those caves of his at Helm's Deep. Does it matter?"

"It may. Can you tell me the colour of their hair, and describe any braiding, seen from behind?"

Mystified, they did so. Glorfindel sighed, glancing at Elladan and Elrohir, who were grinning, and shook his head ruefully before explaining why news of Children of Aulë on the road ahead of them interested him.

"I did not tell you, nor Déorwine his men, because such things can easily mislead and betray. One might think we could not come upon the Uruk-hai before we had met with a Child of Aulë, say, and so fail of proper care. I believe that my vision will prove true and accurate, but I do not know how it will come to pass, and nothing precludes a previous encounter with orcs or any other hazard. These greenlings laugh because my caution prevented me from learning what you knew, yet such caution was not wrong."

Merry thought it through, and nodded. "Yes, I can see that. Sam spoke about that sort of thing once, going down the Anduin."

"That's right." Pippin frowned. "Lady Galadriel had shown him something — a great bowl to look in, I think — and he'd seen Bagshot Row all dug up and his Gaffer turned out. He wanted to go back, but she warned him it might only come true if he turned aside."

Merry shook his head gloomily. "I remember. She said it might be past, present, or future. Turned out to be present, though, pretty much."

Belatedly he realised that Elladan and Elrohir were no longer smiling but intent.

"Daernaneth showed you her mirror?"

"She did not tell us that."

"She showed Frodo and Sam, not us."

The brothers looked at one another. "And what did Frodo see?"

"If you know."

"I don't. He never said, only that he'd offered her the Ring and she'd stood very tall and white for a moment, and then refused it utterly."

Merry didn't think he'd ever seen an elf speechless before, but now saw two. Glorfindel gave a rich laugh that had the brothers staring at him indignantly.

"And swiftly I am avenged. What did you suppose your Daernaneth had done that would lead the Valar to end her exile? The ban punished her share in Fëanor's madness and revolt, which was for desire of his Silmarils. Nothing less than such a refusal, of a gift freely offered, would have ended it. And now you know why she agreed to make the petition on behalf of Frodo."

Merry had been trying to remember what he knew about Fëanor and his revolt, a part of the story that seemed always to have been skimmed very lightly, but stiffened, feeling Pip do so as well.

"What petition about Frodo?"

"He has not told you? Ah, that is awkward." Glorfindel hesitated, then shrugged slightly. "And yet it is no secret among elves. At the request of Artanis and Undómiel the Valar have agreed Frodo might take the place Undómiel will not now use, on the next ship to depart Mithlond. And the Valar extended greater bounty, for Artanis and all the Ringbearers may go, and Gimli, if they so desire."

Merry and Pippin stared at one another. "On a ship?"

"To Aman, you mean? But …"

"The next ship? Isn't that leaving soon?"

Glorfindel sighed. "Yes, quite soon. Elrond and Artanis will leave, though Celeborn and I will stay a while. And these two, as that is also now permitted. The Ringbearers and Gimli may travel on any ship, and I do not think Sam will leave the Shire for many years, if ever. But Bilbo is already beyond the natural span of your kind and cannot endure in Arda much longer, while Frodo … I am sorry, but have you not seen? He is fading, Merry, and cannot be healed, even by Elrond. Not within Arda. If he stays he will accept the Gift of Ilúvatar within five years at most."

"No!"

"It's not right."

Merry and Pippin were clutching one another, tears in their eyes, and Glorfindel sighed again.

"I am sorry for your distress, but it is what is. And it is not wrong. Frodo bore the Ring for eighteen years, and in the last it was full awake — as if he had Sauron's own mind hanging about his neck. There is not enough of him left to heal. But in Tol Eressëa the Valar may come to him directly. The healing of Aman is offered that he may know joy and fullness again ere he accepts the Gift."

Elladan's voice was very gentle. "Bilbo is excited by the idea — one more great journey he may undertake. I aver he was near to asking Adar if he might meet Daeradar Eärendil. And he very much hopes Frodo will accompany him, though he does not altogether understand that for Frodo as much as for himself the next ship is their only chance."

Much of the pain was because Merry had seen, but not understood. Frodo had always been private and for a hobbit quite austere, but from his awakening in Cormallen he had also been less than well, eating far too little and giving up the pipe he had once enjoyed. He rubbed at his shoulder and neck much more often than Merry at his arm, and often hid his maimed hand, clutching the jewel Arwen had given him with the other. All of them had been horrified by what they had found on their return to the Shire, but Frodo's responses had been strangest, repelled even by the most necessary violence in defeating Ruffians, and he had been the least willing or able to envisage hobbits learning to deal with the world beyond their borders, rather than shunning it. But to know they must lose him, one way or another, and soon, was a great misery, and though they spoke no word as they left the elves, he and Pippin set their bedrolls together and at last slept with wet faces, hands entwined.

---

Sam wasn't at all sure what to think. The mild winter had presaged a very early spring, and on the road to Tuckborough, then cutting across country back to Hobbiton, he'd been astonished by the growth of all he'd planted. Absence of frost might allow early leaves but did not explain saplings leaping up a foot or more in a week, nor lush grass surrounding every place he'd used the Lady's gift. He had hoped for an elven blessing but the scale of what was happening alarmed, and though after his travels he knew many strange things were possible, he also knew viscerally that too rapid growth was weakening to a plant and could not help worrying he'd done something wrong.

His reception at the Great Smials had also been deeply disconcerting. The Tooks were in any case all abuzz, what with the surge of growth in saplings, the sudden call for large hobbits to accompany Pippin and Merry south on an urgent errand, and the oddly subdued behaviour of the Thain since his return from Stock, and so inclined to be at once highly respectful and intensely curious. Sam's immediate reception by Ferdinand and unexpected place of honour at the Thain's table had redoubled both, and though he hadn't minded either Ferdinand's sensible desire to get his facts straight or Mistress Eglantine's wondering questions about kingsfoil, the massed pressure for explanations when he'd been foolish enough to seek a retreat from gentry formalities in the parlour of the Stamping Hedgehog had been unnerving. The beer had been quite good, and he'd not been allowed to pay for a single drink, but had had to say a deal more than he wanted about the Lady's gift and the problem that was sending hobbits out of the Shire. Faced with what the saplings were doing folk pretty much had to accept there was magic at work, and elven was as good a name for it as any, but for all they'd been mentioned before talking trees were still a long step for a hobbit mind and Sam hadn't had Merry's map to help him out. In the end he'd made his escape only by saying flatly that he'd seen what he'd seen, and talking trees the least of it, as Mr Peregrin could assure them, but they must please themselves, before taking advantage of the momentary silence to offer thanks for some fine beer and walk out.

Nor had Hobbiton offered any relief. He had naturally paid it and Bywater the most attention in his labours of restoration, and either concentration of the Lady's gift or the blessing of Lady Yavanna had produced absurd growth in almost everything. Even the weeds in Bywater Pool were rampant, to the consternation of those who liked to fish there, and his Gaffer had looked at him with something between wonder and reproach as he had silently showed him what was happening in the half-restored gardens of Bagshot Row and Bag End. The unspoken unnatural and not proper had hung in the air between them, and though Sam tried to explain there hadn't been much point. May and Marigold had told him not to fret, but he did anyway. And then there was Frodo, who was spending much of each week in Michel Delving trying to sort out the wrecked muddle to which the Ruffians had reduced the Town Hole and its records, and who was to Sam's experienced eye very clearly not flourishing at all. With Bag End restored to habitability he had moved back in, but the place was still woefully underfurnished, the smells of whitewash and wax polish had yet to fade, and Frodo seemed no easier in his own home than he had as a guest of the Cottons.

The one great calm in Sam's heart was Rosie, who though less than pleased with his late return from The Marish had wanted an explanation before offering any scold and straightforwardly accepted what he told her, saying Tom and Jolly had been clear they'd never felt anything half so menacing as the Old Forest and it was fortunate he'd met someone on his travels who might be able to help. He'd called in at the Cottons the moment he was back, and after he'd finished explaining as best he could where Merry and Pippin were off to, she had solemnly taken his hand. walked with him to Hobbiton, and led him to the Party Field, where other hobbits were standing and staring. They'd made way and Sam had walked forward in something of a daze before going to his knees and reaching out a trembling hand.

"What is it, Sam?" Rosie's voice was very soft. "It's been growing faster than anything."

Where he had planted the silver nut from the Lady's gift there was now a sturdy sapling already as tall as he was, with a shining silver-grey trunk and curving branches covered with long, deep green leaves that were silver underneath and shivered at his caress.

"It's a mallorn, Rosie, the tree of Lothlórien. I hoped it might be but I'd no idea it would grow like this."

"It's very beautiful."

"Oh yes, and it will become beautifuller. The flowers are golden yellow, and it doesn't shed in autumn, only in spring, and then the leaves turn gold before they fall. It was just starting in Lothlórien when we left there, in … Solmath, it must have been. A glory of silver and gold. This one has no old leaves to turn, of course, but we'll see it next year." There had been tears in his eyes. "We'll have a Party Tree again."

Rosie had also accompanied him and her brothers to the Green Dragon that evening where he'd had to explain the Lady's gift, the mallorn, and why hobbits were going south all over again. Faced with the evidence of absurd growth and silver sapling they hadn't had any more choice than Tuckborough hobbits in accepting elven magic was at work, but ents had once again stretched credulity until Rosie had stepped forward and rapped sharply on the chief heckler's head.

"What have you got in there, Rollo Goodbody? Solid wood? You've seen with your own eyes creatures with claws and blood more like oakgall ink than anything red, a horse that understood whatever was said, a great light out of nowhere on a cloudy day, and a sapling that's gone from nut to over four feet in less than two months. And after the Thain's sent his own son and others to travel miles and miles as fast as ever they can, you still think my Sam is telling tall tales? Shame on you for a ninnyhammer."

Sam had felt like cheering but only nodded solemnly. Even Rollo, who wasn't much for being corrected by anyone, couldn't deny a word of it, and brief consideration had persuaded the listeners that Rosie had made a strong and sensible case, however unlikely talking trees seemed.

"Not just a ninnyhammer, neither," Jolly had observed judiciously after a moment. "A noodle, too."

"And a nodcock."

"Numbskull."

"Noddlepate."

"Naplack."

"Nafflewit."

The game had gone on for some while and Rollo had retired from the fray as swiftly as he could, and sulked for a week. It hadn't stopped folk looking dubious at any mention of things outside their own experience, but it had, glory be, persuaded them waiting and seeing what happened was a better idea than digging themselves into a ditch, which was just fine by Sam. He was still asked to explain things he couldn't (or wouldn't) whenever he went to the Green Dragon, as well as about his work and errands, but as it became clear what he said was consistent, and that he didn't claim to understand, only to have seen or heard tell from people he trusted, things settled down a bit.

He would have gone on planting saplings if he could, but there were no more available, and the burgeoning growth everywhere demanded attention, so he'd settled to his proper job in the gardens of Bag End and Bagshot Row. The smaller Bagshot Row plots had of necessity been given over to vegetables, and except for weeding and a bit of general care they were looking after themselves handsomely under the stern eye of his Gaffer. So were the kitchen and herb gardens at Bag End, but replanning and replanting the flower gardens would take time. The bits he'd managed to get done over Yule were growing like everything else and needed tending, and he now set about some of the rest. Seeds he'd set in trays had become starts, and he planted them in their proper beds — roses, lilies, nasturtians, violets, pansies, daffadowndillies, bluebells, and more. But he left careful gaps he hoped to fill with elven lilies, elanor, niphredil, athelas, evermind, and the others he'd begged of Mr Elrond, trying to imagine how they might look and shaping curving beds that were not the usual style but felt right.

Then he tackled the lawns, which really shouldn't need cutting before Astron but were growing as exuberantly as everything else, and certainly did. Coarser grasses, dandelions, wood-clover, and burdock had been allowed to seed themselves, with other interlopers, so he was weeding as well as cutting, and had to sharpen the scythe several times. To his pleasure several of the garden's hedgehogs, as early awake as the plants, were sufficiently interested in rooting through freshly cut areas to risk daylight and his company, and after a while the resident toad, a great old beast he'd not seen since his return that was more than large enough to stand up to hedgehogs, slid out from somewhere and joined in. He was just about done with the raking, pleased with the return of something resembling proper order, when he heard the back-door open and Frodo came out, looking worn but smiling as he saw the work Sam had done.

"Oh that's looking so much better, Sam. And the hedgehogs are back, I see — excellent."

"So's the toad." Sam pointed.

"Better still."

Frodo wandered round inspecting while Sam cleaned the scythe, rake, and weeding kit, and went to the rebuilt shed to put them away. When he came back Frodo was sitting on the bench by the door, head back and eyes closed in the last of the sunlight, and Sam sat down beside him.

"Just tired? Or troubles?"

"A bit of both, Sam." Blue eyes looked at him and he could see the strain in them. "Sorting out the property Lotho wrongly acquired is next to impossible. By the end he was just stealing, as far as I can tell, but before it reached that point there were forced sales at absurdly low prices. There'll have to be another meeting of the family heads to declare all those contracts void, I'm sorry to say. And the records that were destroyed seem to have included at least two filed wills of hobbits who were killed, and as their smials were collapsed as well it's anyone's guess as to whether copies can still be found. The family heads will have to decide about that too."

"Nice bit of bother that'll be."

"Tell me."

"And in yourself?"

"Oh, not so bad."

"But not so good neither."

"No, not so good." Frodo rubbed his forehead. "It'll be a year since the Breaking of the Fellowship tomorrow, and then a whole lot of anniversaries in Rethe. I can't say I'm looking forward to them much."

Sam nodded, remembering Frodo's illness on the anniversary of his stabbing at Weathertop. "I've plenty of athelas, Mr Frodo. We'll get through it."

"Will we, Sam? And next year, and the year after?"

"It might ease with time."

"And it might not. Or it might get worse." Frodo shook his head wearily. "But there's no point dwelling on it before it happens. Anyway, come on inside and have some tea." A spark returned to his eyes. "There's something I need to ask you about."

"Is there, now? What sort of something?"

"A wedding sort of something."

"Rosie's making the decisions about that."

"Not this one, Sam, believe me."

"Sounds serious. But some tea will go down well."

They went in through the garden-room to the kitchen and Sam lit the lamps and made tea, both ordinary and a cup of athelas tea for Frodo, who took it gratefully. He also fired up the oven, and put the shepherd's pie he'd made at lunchtime to heat before sitting opposite Frodo at the scarred but still sturdy table.

"So what's this wedding business, then?"

Frodo smiled. "You dropped a brick, Sam."

"I did?"

"You did. You didn't let Halladan know you and Rosie had set a date."

Sam scratched his head. "No more I did. But why should I?"

"Did you tell Aragorn?"

"Yes. In the letter I sent him and Lady Arwen at Yule."

"Well, there's a relief. Halladan hoped you had, but sent a messenger at the gallop just in case."

"Eh? What's it to him?"

"Sam, Sam, you're forgetting again. Ringbearer, remember? Prince of the West. Eglerio and all that stuff." Sam stared and Frodo reached for his satchel and produced a large letter with a great wax seal. "Merry and Pippin told all, which was only to be expected, and poor Halladan's having kittens. He writes to ask, let me see" — Frodo counted on his good hand — "what you and Rosie would find acceptable as a wedding-gift, whether he might come himself, as he feels he should, and what arrangements should be made for others who ought to attend."

Sam stared some more. "Mr Halladan wants to come?"

"He says he must at least send a representative, and would far rather come himself."

"He would? Glory and trumpets, I never thought such a thing." What else Frodo had said caught up with him. "And what others?"

"Damrod, for one, for himself and representing Faramir. Déorwine to represent Éomer. Some man from Gondor who says you were very gracious to him while he was recovering in the Houses of Healing and asks if he might have the honour. And, assuming they're all back in time, because they've apparently gone south with Merry and Pippin, though I can't imagine why, Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir."

Sam was all out of staring but flapped a hand weakly. "Elves want to come?"

"According to Halladan they say they wouldn't miss it for the world. He also says that while the notice is too short for any dwarves of the Ered Luin, one called Deróin, who's working on the tower at Amon Sûl, happened to come to Bree on some errand while he was writing to me, and promptly said that if Gimli couldn't come himself he'd be happy to represent him."

"He who what?" Sam felt entirely bewildered. "Mr Gimli?"

"Did you tell him?"

"Um … yes, actually. I sent a Yule letter to him and Mr Legolas both, saying as how happy Rosie had made me. But I haven't heard nothing back from either of them."

"There's hardly been time, Sam, but if you told them we'd better assume they'll be here. And to cap it all, Halladan also says Barliman Butterbur approached him to ask if it was true you were to marry, and when told it was informed him that the Breeland council would wish to send one of their own to the wedding of so famous a Shire hobbit."

Sam's mouth hung open and Frodo laughed.

"Which means we're going to have at least five men, and whatever escort Halladan brings, perhaps a Breeland hobbit, and a dwarf or two, plus … well, any number of elves so far as I can see. And you know, Sam, it makes me wonder a bit. Did you tell Gandalf?"

"And where would I address a letter?"

"Fair point. But I think we might assume he has his own ways of knowing, and I wouldn't be in the least surprised if he turned up. But I wonder — with that many already, why not go the whole hog?"

Sam looked at Frodo with the deepest suspicion. "And what parts of that hog aren't already spoken for?"

Frodo laughed again, a sound that in itself brought balm to Sam's heart, though his mind was no less bewildered. "Not many, I admit, and we'll certainly have to go all out on the food. At least the first spring crops should be in by Thrimmidge, or sooner, given all you've been doing. But I was wondering — Tom Bombadil and Goldberry? We might have ents among us by then, if all you've set in motion works out, though they won't need food. And within the Shire … well, I'd be surprised if Sara and Esme didn't intend to come, and from what you told me Paladin and Eglantine as well. Have you invited them?"

Sam sat upright, stung. "No, of course I haven't. Presume on the Thain and Master and their wives? My Gaffer would have a fit!"

"Won't he just?" Frodo grinned. "But you leave the Gaffer to me. And you're not thinking gentry, Sam, though I can't blame you for that. If you don't invite Sara and Paladin, they'll feel faintly insulted, but if you do they'll feel properly respected, even if they decline. But I'll bet they'll be glad to accept."

Somewhat desperately Sam pulled thoughts together. "If you say so, Mr Frodo. Only in that case Mr Ferdinand and Mr Merimac should be invited too. They were both right kind. But there's one thing I know for sure."

After a moment Frodo rose to the bait, smiling. "And what's that?"

"You're explaining all this to Rosie and Missus Lily, not me. I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Gladly, Sam. At least they're not Bracegirdle lawyers. And do you really think Rose or Lily will object to the Thain, Master, and Lord Steward of Arnor attending?"

Sam wasn't so sure. "Rosie liked Mr Halladan well enough, I admit, and Damrod, but she's not at ease with the gentry, no more than I am saving I've got used to it. And for all the Thain was polite when I was at the Great Smials, he can't be happy I heard Merry telling him off like that."

Frodo shrugged. "Paladin won't bear a grudge on that account, Sam. He was being foolish, but he's not mean. And from all you said he accepted he'd been in the wrong. It's not for blabbing, but he's used to having precious little privacy. You can't get any in the Great Smials anyway, nor Brandy Hall."

"There's that, I suppose, and no avoiding it seemingly." His poor head began to catch up with itself. "And where will Mr Halladan and whoever sleep with the sheds all gone?"

"Now there's a question. We'll have to get Bilbo's great pavilion, that he had made for his farewell party. I put it into store at Brandy Hall when we cleared out the cellars here. Though as this is one problem that's likely to recur perhaps we should fix it more permanently."

"How d'you mean, Mr Frodo?"

"Is poor Waldo Brownlock's smial still vacant?"

Waldo was one of the Bywater hobbits who'd been killed, for no reason anyone understood, and as he'd been a widower and his daughters had moved away years back when they married the smial stood empty, though it had been properly repaired as a matter of principle.

"It was yesterday."

"Then perhaps I should buy it from the family. There's more than enough room there to lower the floors a few feet, and make it a guesting-smial for men. One or two private bedrooms, and turn the parlour and that big storage-room into dormitories."

Sam whistled. "That'll set tongues wagging, right enough. But we can't hardly have Mr Halladan with nowhere dry to lay down."

Frodo smiled. "He's still a Ranger, Sam, for all he's Lord Steward, but no, we can't. The dwarves can stay here, and elves won't want beds. In any case we need to go and see Rose and Lily tomorrow to let them know what's up."

"And my Gaffer."

"Oh yes. Don't worry about it, Sam. When he gets over the shock and thinks about it he'll find he's very proud of you, you wait and see."

Sam took leave to doubt it, but Frodo had what looked very dull papers to sort through, so he busied himself with cooking. The pie would last a few days, given how little Frodo was eating, but first servings were always best, and he rubbed butter into the potato crust so it would brown properly before tackling vegetables. Choice was still more limited than anyone liked, but his Gaffer had managed to produce some decent spinach and (despite being offended by their coming in so early) some tasty spring cabbages. The spinach he chopped very finely to serve with butter, as Frodo liked, and the cabbage more coarsely, before slicing apples to make a tart. He was just done spicing and glazing with a little honey when the doorbell rang and Frodo pushed his paperwork aside.

"I'll get it, Sam. I've had enough of lawyers' nonsense anyway."

Putting the honey-pot back in the pantry Sam hoped it wasn't some further problem falling into the Deputy Mayor's lap and was reassured by the sound of Frodo's delighted laugh and voice urging someone to come in. But the next audible words had him bolt upright with surprise.

"Bring them through, Gildor. They'll have to go in the garden-room overnight. See who's come, Sam, and what they've brought you?" Frodo led in not one but three stooping elves, each bearing several stacked trays. "You asked Elrond for plant-starts and you've got them."

The next few moments were a whirl, but eventually introductions had been made — the other elves being Alvagor and Hiriath, also of the House of Finrod — and the trays were safely set in the garden-room and judiciously watered as a smiling Gildor directed, promising he would go through all Sam needed to know on the morrow.

"Though there is little enough I can tell you about plants, Perhael Cormacolindo, to judge from the growth we have seen all around. That young mallorn is singing its joy. You have used the gift of Artanis wisely and well, and the trees rejoice to grow for you."

By the time they were seated at the table, extra greens hastily chopped and set to cook, Sam was both elated and reassured. Gildor had acknowledged his worry about rapid growth but promised the virtue of the Lady's gift would allow no harm, and he had everything he'd asked from Elrond and more, including a wide range of culinary and medicinal herbs as well as cultivars of an athelas promised to be more potent than the wild strains he's been using. Even the evermind of Rohan, which he'd feared might not be available in the north, was there, and had, Gildor laughingly assured him, grown in the gardens of Imladris for many yéni. The only worry was the explanation of why Glorfindel and the King's brothers had been on hand to travel south with Merry and Pippin but, as Gildor observed, though there was surely a threat, no yrch could withstand Glorfindel whatever their numbers and however sorcerous a hand cursed Curunír might have had in their breeding.

"Truth to tell, Glorfindel was quite looking forward to it all. The unfulfilled vision was for him an annoyance, and after the fall of Angmar he was intrigued that it too should concern Master Meriadoc."

Frodo nodded thoughtfully. "Yes indeed. Did this vision come close to the Battle of Fornost?"

"Only a löa or two after, I believe. Certainly Glorfindel deemed them connected." Gildor's voice became more sombre. "And the Lord Steward told me he had been struck also by the fact that Iarwain Ben-adar had had to deal with a wraith of Tyrn Gorthad just in time to provide the periain who rode south with weapons, for those wraiths are also of Angmar's making. It is a pretty puzzle for the lore-masters to ponder."

"The hand of Eru, you think?"

Gildor frowned. "That may be, Iorhael Cormacolindo, yet it is not for Perian or Elda to say. And you sound more concerned than pleased at the notion it may be so."

"As well I might, Gildor. My own experience is that Eru has an advanced sense of irony."

"Ah. That I can understand." Gildor's voice filled with compassion. "His ways are strange indeed, but never cruel, however it may seem."

"Aren't they? It depends where you stand under them, I suppose."

"No, no." Alvagor leaned forward, eyes intent on Frodo. "It does not, Cormacolindo, truly. Cruelty seeks pain as an end, but the pain of Eru is always a means, as we Noldor have learned over three ages of the world. I cannot suppose I know what you have endured, and yet endure, but its purpose was deliverance of all from the hatred of Sauron. And so we are delivered, by your strength and that of Perhael, counting you both with the great Elf-friends of old who strove with us against Melkor. Speak not in Eru's despight. And have the Valar not opened the way for you?"

"To leave all I love and want for the chance of healing elsewhere?"

"For the certainty of healing, and light beyond imagining."

Sam didn't care for any of the swirling implications and would have liked to pursue the conversation, but the greens and pie were ready, and though the elves demurred, saying they had no need of food, the smells had them accepting firsts and even seconds, with warm compliments on his cooking. The apple tart was reduced to a solitary slice in the dish before they all sat back, sipping wine from a bottle Frodo had insisted on opening and idly investigating the cheese-board Sam had put together for filling up corners. The conversation ranged, ending with some elven song in praise of Varda and Yavanna that had Sam's eyes shining, but when the elves stood to leave, saying the young mallorn would be admirable company for the night, Sam rose with them. Swiftly taking the brick he'd put in the cooling oven through to warm Frodo's bed, he followed them out and down the hill to the gate into the party field before facing Gildor, the other elves looking on in curiosity.

"He's fading, isn't he, Mr Gildor?"

The elf sank into a graceful crouch. "He is, Perhael, as you know full well."

"So it's leave on the ship, as he's offered, or die?"

"Grace awaits him on either course."

"So he'll go. He's too stubborn a Baggins to up and die." There were tears on Sam's face. "But I can't leave Rosie so soon. It's not right. But I can't leave him neither. So what am I to do? I can't go and I can't stay."

"The grace is offered for any ship leaving the Havens, Perhael, and there will be many in the next yén. He must go soon or accept the Gift here, but if he does go you may linger here for your natural span and yet join him in Tol Eressëa, I deem."

"And when's the next ship going?"

"I cannot know, but ere the leaves fall twice more, I guess."

"Will you be going?"

"No. I will linger until Glorfindel goes. But many will leave when Elrond and Artanis depart. Already Imladris and Lothlórien begin to fade also, and Undómiel has passed from us. Mithrandir too has indicated he will depart, believing his purpose fulfilled."

"There won't be nothing left."

"But there will, Perhael. You will remain, and Estel who is now Elessar, as was foretold, with Undómiel and her brothers, and all but a handful of the Moriquendi. The time of the Firstborn is over, but the Secondborn will flourish, and the Periannath among them, of a surety."

And with that Sam had to be content, though it was a long while before he slept.

---

Enedwaith was not, Merry found, a happy or welcoming land. The road was in very poor repair, fading for long stretches to little more than a track, but kept to higher ground, skirting long slopes that fell away to the south-west. Of inhabitants there had been no sign, though occasional scars of war were still evident in unnaturally tumbled stone and marks of old blasting ; when Merry asked, Glorfindel told him Sauron's army had once been driven back over this terrain, after the fall of Eregion, but he had himself been fighting further north and had never travelled here before. Bilbo's Sindarin lexicon explained in a spidery marginal note that the land between Gwathló and Angren had been neither of Gondor nor Arnor and so neglected by both, which Merry could well believe. Without firewood for cooking they ate only dried meats and fruits, much to the hobbits' disgust, but without much to look forward to save sleep they had ridden steadily each day from before dawn to after dusk, save only the restday on which Déorwine insisted for the sake of the horses. A week out from Tharbad the great spurs of the Misty Mountains that were at the heart of Dunland could be glimpsed in the east, and two days later they had had the first sight of the lesser spurs that defined the Gap of Rohan. But of Skirfir, Virfir, and Fjalar there had been no sign save the trace of recent campsites that might be the work of King's Messengers.

Both he and Pippin were struggling to come to terms with the elves' sure knowledge that Frodo would not recover from the effects of Morgul knife, spider-bite, Gollum's tooth, and above all long exposure to the Ring. It seemed bitterly unfair, and to think of what Sam must be feeling tore at their hearts, but they had not understood before quite how stark was the choice that had lain before Elladan and Elrohir, and the brothers' rejoicing at the relaxation that allowed them to stay in Arda at least until Arwen died was enough to bring anyone up short. Pippin had put it clearly a few nights back, as they talked before sleeping.

"You know, Merry, it gives me shivers. They thought they'd have to leave her to die alone or choose to die themselves, and now they're happy they can stay to help her die and still go on. I used to think I'd like to be an elf, but now? Not for anything."

Merry had turned on his side to look at him. "But Frodo's going to go with them, and we'll never see him again."

"Yes we will, Merry. Just not in Arda. They get to stay a while, and he gets to go a while, with Bilbo, whom he loves so much. The whole thing's horrid, but there's a weird kindness in there too."

And so there was, if you squinted a bit — as much kindness as there could be, perhaps, cold comfort though it was. And however that might be, riding demanded an alertness beyond silent brooding, as did sparring by moonlight. At Glorfindel's suggestion archery practice had joined the routines whenever they stopped in daylight to eat and rest the horses, and his approval of hobbit accuracy led to a brief reminiscence of the periain who answered the summons of Círdan and joined the Host of the West at the Battle of Fornost, confirming a very old and vague Shire tale. The hobbits had been intrigued, pressing for names he had known and noting them carefully, but he had refused to give any details of the battle, saying only it had been an evil day and the victory hollow. Later, though, he had spoken to Merry privately.

"I have of late thought much on that time, for the periain stood firm even when Angmar took the field, though others fled his presence, and it cost them dearly. Those few who survived were near when vision came to me and I restrained Eärnur from vain pursuit, speaking the prophecy of Angmar's doom you fulfilled. The pattern eludes me, for there is no link of which I am aware between Angmar and the uruks of cursed Curunír, though Mithrandir believes the Nine must have come by Angrenost as they rode north. Yet some pattern there must be."

"Tom Bombadil said Old Man Willow had been wide awake before the fall of Sauron, and he was certainly awake when he trapped us. Could that have been because of … of Angmar?"

Glorfindel had frowned. "Perhaps so. Certainly his presence stirred the wights of Tyrn Gorthad. But that willow is far older than he ever was, and Iarwain would have known had any of the Úlairi entered the Forest. I feel there must be some other concern involved, and counsel you especially to be alert for any sign."

Merry thought about it but it wasn't as if there were anything much he could do, and as the spurs of the Misty Mountains grew to the east the land became broken and riding reclaimed his attention. However faint in the grasslands, the road had run straight and flat but now began to rise and fall over folds and gullies, and with steeper ridges to switch back and forth as it climbed and descended. In deeper vales streams flowing south to the Isen, some fierce and cold with snowmelt, had to be forded with care, but with stands of trees reappearing wood was again available, and stewed or roasted rabbits made a welcome return to the menu. On the tenth night from Tharbad they found another camping-place with wood and hay neatly stacked, which Déorwine said was the work of the garrison at the Fords of Isen, and there were horse-droppings he judged only a day old.

Glorfindel seemed uneasy, and insisted on an early start next day, sending scouts ahead before dawn and setting a faster pace as the road descended into a further stretch of grassy plain. Ahead the horizon was blocked by the dark line of a high, thickly wooded ridge, and while they were resting briefly at lunchtime a scout returned, reporting that they had found the dwarves, and the dwarves had found trouble. In the haste of their return to the saddle Merry had no chance to learn any details, but as they went on and the ridge loomed before them he could see the road switched back sharply many times as it climbed to pass through a cutting. And at the base of the ridge they found two more scouts with the three dwarves and their wagon, drawn just off the road into a mead where a small stream tumbled into a pool, horses loosely tethered beside it. Skirfir and Virfir, both in heavy chainmail, stared in astonishment at the riders who approached, but Fjalar was unconscious and from his look fevered, one arm bound with bloodstained cloth. Even as he dismounted Glorfindel was snapping orders that had five elves heading swiftly on up the ridge, but Merry's attention was on Skirfir, whom he had rather liked and greeted warmly. Amazed to see hobbits riding with men and elves, and greatly relieved despite wariness of the Firstborn, Skirfir told his tale as Elladan and Elrohir tended to Fjalar.

"We stopped early yesterday, to rest the horses before tackling that ridge, and all was quiet until near dawn. Fjalar had the watch, and we were wakened by his cry, finding him fighting three orcs and already wounded. We slew two orcs, the third fled, and as we washed and bound his arm he told us they had sprung on him from the darkness, without warning or any of their usual noise. But he soon lapsed into fever, and so you find us now, grateful for your company, for surely where there are three orcs there will be more. But what can bring so strange a group to our aid when most we need it?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "A long tale that must wait, Master Skirfir. Where are the orcs' bodies?"

"Yonder." Skirfir gestured. "We have not had time to burn them."

"Merry, Pippin?"

They went to the longer grass by the treeline beyond the wagon and found the bodies, deeply hewn by axes but all too familiar. Merry reluctantly knelt to pull aside a filthy jerkin, shuddered, and returned to Glorfindel with his heart pounding, knowing Pippin felt the same.

"Uruk-hai for sure, and with Saruman's sign of the White Hand."

"So." Glorfindel glanced up at the sun, then drew a knife from his belt, its edges glittering blue. "And little time before their fellows arrive. Quickly now, tether the horses along the treeline, and let us gain the advantage of height. Bring every weapon — you also, Masters Skirfir and Virfir, if you will. Our scouts will stay with your kinsman. No, Elladan, unless it is life or death further care must wait."

His urgency drove all, and after a steep, direct climb cutting across the loops of the road that left Merry's legs aching they reached the cutting he had seen. The ridge was crowned with a great outcrop of dark rock through which the road passed in a long defile, sheer-sided for much of its length but more open at this nearer end, and as they came to it one of the elves Glorfindel had sent ahead came down from the heights, reporting in rapid Sindarin. Glorfindel nodded, and made swift dispositions, setting men and hobbits along the rising sides of the cutting and bidding them conceal themselves from the road.

"There are perhaps seventy orcs just beginning to climb the road on the far side of the ridge. Masters Skirfir and Virfir, stand square in the road. The orcs will see you, dwarves of whom their scout will have told them, but none other, and if you challenge them, as if you had decided to die fighting, they should come through. Once they do I and others will join you. Archers, keep hidden until you hear a horn-call, then rise and fire as fast and well as ever you can. Volleyed arrows from above will thin them, and those I have sent to the far end will close it against their retreat. " His smile was bright, eyes glittering fiercely. "No plan lasts once fighting begins, but this ground offers advantage it would be foolish not to use."

A few more breathless moments of stiff climbing later Merry found himself crouched between one of the Tookland archers and a Rohir, an arrow nocked and his heart loud in his ears. Pippin was a few yards higher, with other hobbits and Rohirrim above him ; Dúnedain and Ithiliens had the other side. For what seemed an eternity there was no sound, then Skirfir's shout echoed in the cutting, with words in Khuzdul and then Westron.

"Khazâd ai-mênu! Come to our axes, spawn of Sauron, for my kinsman lies dead at your hands and I will hew you down."

A burst of harsh jeering echoed back, then the thunder of running feet in heavy boots. The tension was unbearable and Merry rested a comforting hand for a second on the arm of the trembling Tooklander, before a clear horn-call came from beyond the ridge and they were all on their feet, seeing the road thick with running orcs and beginning to fire. Orcish jeers turned to shouts of anger and dismay but these were indeed Uruk-hai, well armed and disciplined ; orders were shouted and while their charge did not falter they began to return fire upwards, cries of pain telling Merry that some arrows were finding marks. But so were his own and those of other hobbits, while the more powerful bows of the men were striking orcs down even if they found armour rather than hide. And as the leaders of the charge neared Skirfir and Virfir, who advanced with axes high, Glorfindel ran past them, Elladan and Elrohir behind him with the rest of the elves, and the glittering blue light of his sword gleamed on the rock of the cutting.

Merry had sensed the elf-lord's true power at the Ford Of Bruinen and kept firing, but had to snap orders to the Tooklander and Rohir to do so as well. He couldn't blame them, for Glorfindel was a terrifying and amazing sight, wielding sword and long knife with deadly speed and force to drive a great wedge into the uruks while elves spread out behind him on either side, blades flashing too fast to follow. Uruk-hai or no the orcs were swept aside and cut down, and those at the rear turned to run back only to fall to arrows that must come from elves at the far end. More than half of them were down, but the very might of Glorfindel's attack had so terrified the remainder that as the elves clove into their centre those at the sides leaped scrambling at the rocky walls of the cutting, and abruptly Merry realised that a half-dozen at least had reached the slope just below him and were climbing fast. He shot one with an arrow that took it in the eye, and saw a second pierced through the neck, while the Tooklander hit a third, who fell with a cry, but others were still climbing fast and as Merry shot another he saw the Tooklander's aim fail, arrow glancing off a helm, and his attempt to renock thwarted by shaking hands.

"Sword, now."

He drew his own, but there was no time to see if the hobbit obeyed for the surviving orcs were only feet below them and he leaped forward to the edge of the slope to swing his sword across one's throat. The Tooklander's wavering sword just blocked a thrust from another and the orc's foot slipped at the impact ; as it slid down a little Merry lifted one foot and slammed it into the creature's face as hard as he could, knocking it back to tumble down to the road again. A glance showed him that the other climbers had been killed also, though one at least of the Rohirrim was down and Pippin's blade gleamed at wetly as his own. And the slaughter went on below, as arrows struck home, elven blades flickered, and the axes of Skirfir and Virfir whirled and fell. To his credit the Tooklander had dropped his sword and picked up his bow again, trying with unsteady hands to nock an arrow.

"Don't fire unless more try to climb. You'd be as likely to hit an elf as an orc."

The hobbit nodded jerkily. "They were so fast."

"Orcs are."

Then suddenly it was over, Glorfindel spinning to a halt, clothing thickly spattered with black blood, and other elves swiftly checking the fallen orcs, with quick death-strokes where necessary. Gathering himself, realising his own clothes were stained from the orc whose throat he had cut, Merry scrambled up to where a Rohir was cursing as he clutched a gashed forearm and an equally stained Pip was holding Menlo Oldbanks, whose shoulder had been sliced open by an arrow that had nicked his collarbone. Another Rohir's height had made him less fortunate, the arrow protruding from his arm ; Déorwine had cut away the sleeve and was feeling the lie of the arrow.

"Leave it for Elladan and Elrohir, Déorwine — they'll be able to remove it with less damage. Just cut the shaft off and give him some water. We should carry the wounded down."

The Rohir stared a moment, then abruptly nodded. "Wisdom, Holdwine. I am not used to having elven healers available."

Merry drank from his water-bottle, making sure other hobbits did the same, and Pippin gave Menlo a drink from his own. As quickly as they could they made rough stretchers from sheathed swords with cut branches laid across them and lashed in place. It was an awkward business even for Rohirrim to carry them down the slope, and inevitably painful, but they made it without inducing more than whimpers. One of the Dúnedain who had been on the far side had also taken an arrow in one arm, and an Ithilien one in the shoulder ; two elves had deep cuts, one on an arm, the other on a leg, and after brief inspections and some temporary binding, Elladan and Elrohir, each as blood-spattered as Glorfindel, gave orders for all to be carried down to the mead where the dwarves had camped.

"We will need hot water, and to be clean ourselves. Men, carry them with all care. Hobbits, head down swiftly, and get two fires going with water set to boil. Dwarves, with them, if you will, for you will have better cauldrons in your wagon than we who have ridden more swiftly."

Despite the abrupt weariness and trembling in his legs Merry nodded, but before he could move Glorfindel's gaze rested on him.

"Merry, Pippin, stay please. Others go as directed."

He added some swift Sindarin and four elves went to help carry their injured brethren as hobbits hurried off with Skirfir and Virfir, while Merry and Pippin spoke briefly to Menlo before the Rohirrim hoisted his stretcher and started down. Turning back they found Glorfindel waiting, and saw other elves had begun dragging dead orcs apart to search them.

"I know it is a grim task but it would be worse left for the morrow, and there is no point getting clean if we must return to this. I want your eyes on these we have slain, for none here but you and Elrond's sons have experience of this kind of uruk." Glorfindel looked around. "They fought more like men than orcs, indeed, supporting one another as they could, yet with orc speed, and I thank you for your warnings on that account. Those two who were cut had not heeded you as they should." He frowned. "And it is well we were here, not only for those Children of Aulë. If these had made it to Tharbad they would have done great harm, and would not have been here if their destination lay towards Dunland."

It was not just grim but unspeakably vile. Arrow wounds were clean enough in themselves, but recovering arrows that were unbroken was not, and elven swords as much as dwarf axes had hewn limbs away and all but divided some bodies, slicing through bossed wooden shields and even light mail as if they had been paper. Flies were already gathering. All of the orcs were much like those Merry remembered from Rohan, swart and broad, with the same bows and swords. Their clothing was filthier, boots scarred and worn as if they had been living rough, but their arms had been cared for and many bore roughly sewn packs elves emptied to reveal foul-looking food, spare water-bottles and clothing, and loot from banditry. This alone the elves gathered — coins, trinkets, rings, and bracelets, small items of silverware that looked like Rohirric work, and in the pack of one great brute whose almost severed arm bore a black band, perhaps a token of authority, two small ingots of gold and a gleaming chain with a ruby pendant.

"The garrison at Athrad Angren may know whence these came, and they should in any case be returned to Rohan, if only to be sent to Gondor." Glorfindel shook his head. "The chain and pendant are work of some value, but not out of the ordinary. These things offer no answer."

The clop of hooves interrupted him and Merry turned to see the four elves who had carried their wounded down riding into the cutting, with six Dúnedain and Ithiliens. Horses snorted at the blood, picking their way carefully, and Glorfindel spoke briefly in Sindarin as they passed, the leading elf nodding. When they had reached the far end and vanished, the echoes dying away, he looked at Merry and Pip.

"They will backtrack to see if they can learn where these have been. But I have told them not to pursue any trail far off the road. With so many it will remain clear enough for some weeks."

Reluctantly they went back to the grisly task, working down the cutting. Merry saw with a shudder the orc he had kicked, its neck broken in its fall, and was reminded bodies still lay on the slope. He spoke to Glorfindel and elves climbed to cast them down, but their packs were equally disappointing, though one had another necklace in silver that might be dwarf-work. Pippin had gone down the cutting, towards the last pile of bodies, most arrow-shot, and suddenly gave a shout.

"Hoy, Merry, come look at this one."

He picked his way through the blood, Glorfindel following, and saw at once what Pip had seen.

"Remember Grishnákh?"

"Don't I just, Pip. Could be his twin."

"Who was Grishnákh?"

"Leader of the Mordor orcs with the Uruk-hai who captured us. Different breed — see those longer arms? Spoke about the Nazgûl a lot, with a sort of shivering pleasure."

"Yes, he did, didn't he. And see here, Merry?" Pippin had knelt to cut away the coarse shirt around the broken arrow that pinned it. "The Eye, not the Hand." He gasped. "And another brand — that's the disfigured moon the Morgul orcs at the siege all had on their shields."

"A Morgul orc?" Glorfindel's voice held a note of surprise. "That is unexpected. Let us see what its pack holds."

He knelt to turn the body, Pippin helping push it over, and cut the pack free, upending it. The usual clothes and food tumbled out, with a bag of coin, and Glorfindel stared in disappointment but then frowned and hefted the pack.

"This has not emptied." He stood and turned it inside out, revealing nothing, then felt the bottom. "Something is stitched in here."

His knife sliced into the cloth and a sealed package fell loose, Pippin shooting out a hand to catch it and holding it up for the elf.

"Thank you. Now …"

He split the dirty outer binding and cut away another layer of cleaner cloth within, revealing two circlets of mithril set with clear white gems, and gave a great shout of laughter, impossibly at odds with the gore in which he and everything were still covered.

"Yé! Utúvienyes! Though we exchange one mystery for another." The other elves were gathering round, staring, and Glorfindel looked down as Pippin stood, Merry resting an arm around him. "How they came here only the Valar know, but these were the royal circlets of Rhudaur and Cardolan, while those kingdoms endured, and are properly now Estel's." His eyes were distant with thought. "That Angmar should have had them in Minas Morgul is no surprise, for he conquered both kingdoms, but how this one should have taken possession of them and come hither from the Morgul vale is beyond answering. Unless … perhaps they were sent to Angrenost for cursed Curunír but did not arrive before the Onodrim forestalled their delivery. I cannot imagine why — they have no power, but Sauron would therefore have been willing to order his servant to surrender them if he saw some advantage in doing so. And Curunír had a love of such things even before he fell into darkness."

"But it comes full circle and explains your vision, doesn't it?"

"It does, Merry, praise the Valar, for they must be the last surviving regalia of the north kingdoms save the Sceptre of Annúminas, which was never lost. The circlet of Arthedain was drowned with Arvedui, but these Angmar must have had with him when he fled me at Fornost, or recovered them ere he returned to Mordor. Or mayhap they had already been sent to Sauron in Dol Guldur and he collected them there. No matter — we have them now, and can be done here."

The last few packs were searched, revealing a few more coins and trinkets, and some elves began piling bodies against one side of the cutting while others went to gather deadwood to stack round them. Merry and Pippin helped as best they could, doubting so many bodies could burn, but at least fire would cleanse. At last it was done, the kindling took sparks gladly, flames spreading swiftly to deadwood and clothing, and they could turn their backs on the pyre and trudge down towards wagon and wounded, desperately eager to be clean again.

There was nearly a mutiny when Elladan and Elrohir, stripped to clean singlets and still stitching wounds, forbade them to use the falls and pool, pointing out that clean water would still be needed. But fortunately another small stream tumbled down the ridge only about half-a-mile further away, beyond a copse, and having carefully extracted clean clothes from their packs Merry and Pippin followed the elves through the trees. The water was cold but not unbearable, and once they had washed and dressed again, they did their best to clean the black blood from their discarded clothes, half-amused and half-shocked to see Glorfindel doing the same thing with a look of dismay at the state of his tunic. Others joined them, and one elf had brought Elladan's and Elrohir's badly stained clothes, but after a while sat back, shrugging.

"I doubt these can be saved here."

"Nor mine, I fear. But there will be a laundry at Athrad Angren, and boiling will clean most such stains."

Abruptly the contrast was too much and Merry found himself crying and shaking, Pippin clutching at him as he too wept, and strong arms held them until the fit passed.

"I'm sorry. It's just …"

"No, the fault is mine." Glorfindel looked quite remorseful. "It was a foul task and you have both done so well I forgot your inexperience. And many memories must have been stirred. Come now, drink this."

The fragrant smell and warm burn of miruvor left them feeling both calmer and stronger, and they walked back with lighter hearts. From their looks other hobbits were also feeling the after-effects of tension and battle, and Merry and Pippin made athelas tea for them all, though it depleted their supply. All the wounded were resting more easily, comforted by their companions, though Elladan was still singing softly over Fjalar, hands resting on the dwarf's bandaged arm. Skirfir and Virfir watched, concern mixing with wonder on their faces, until Elrohir reassured them.

"He will be alright. It is only that the infection from the orc blade had set in, and must be chased out again. But his fever has broken and my brother will leave him to sleep naturally soon enough."

The dwarves both bowed low, and Elrohir nodded gracefully.

"We would aid any against orcs, and are glad to lessen the distrust between our kinds." Suddenly he grinned. "Besides, Prince Legolas Greenleaf as well as Lord Gimli and our Adar would be most severe otherwise."

He went to check on others and after a few moments the dwarves came to join the circle of hobbits, asking politely about Menlo but really in quest of information about this so oddly mixed party and what brought hobbits so far from home. The answers raised their eyebrows high, but Glorfindel's display was on their minds, as on the other hobbits', and Merry and Pippin explained what little they could. Both remembered Gandalf's brief explanations in Rivendell after the first time they had seen Glorfindel reveal what he truly was, or could be, but words about dwelling in both realms at once did not seem likely to satisfy anyone, so they said simply he was a Noldorin warrior of great age, with powers others did not possess, before passing to the tale of his long connection with the war against Angmar and the discovery of the ancient regalia.

Skirfir whistled softly. "He is the one who prophesied the doom of the Witch-King you brought about, Meriadoc? And one among those orcs carried somewhat that one had stolen more than a thousand years past? Well, there is a tale and a half. We stumble into great events, brother."

Virfir nodded, beard wagging. "So we do. And yet we will come to Aglarond bearing an unexpected debt to the sons of Elrond for their care of Fjalar."

"Oh they won't expect more than thanks, Virfir." Pippin grinned. "And don't forget Gimli is now an Elf-friend. He'll probably be delighted you accepted the aid of elves, not upset. Ways are changing."

The dwarves looked dubious, but a growl from Merry's stomach reminded all they had done much, light was beginning to fail, and supper was very much in order. As the aftershock of fighting died away others were feeling the same, and a bustle developed as fires were built up and food prepared, bolstered by supplies the dwarves provided as well as some results of hasty foraging on the wooded slopes.

It was a strange evening, at once companionable and haunted by memories of the day, punctuated by need to help the wounded. After they had eaten singing began, by turns in Rohirric, Westron, and Sindarin, and when Merry and Pippin eventually found their bedrolls they talked quietly for a bit while elves sang softly on, glad the complications besetting their journey should now be over and that their destination was only another day or two away.

---

In the event it was three days before they reached the Isen. They had woken to low cloud with the first raindrops spattering down, and Elladan and Elrohir decreed a wet day in the saddle was not what the wounded needed, so the dwarves set up a cunning awning with sides that attached to their wagon, and the wounded sheltered there while others sat under the trees until the squalls passed and sun peeped through again. All were recovering, though the Rohir struck in the arm had a broken bone and the hobbits had been badly shaken by their experience.

"How ever can we speak of such a thing when we're asked?" one had complained. "All the noise and blood, and the terrible speed of Mr Glorfindel cutting right through them all like that. Who could believe it?"

Pippin had given a sharp smile. "So now you know how we feel. At the Pelennor there weren't seventy orcs, but a hundred thousand, and trolls and wargs besides. And even we can't imagine what Frodo Baggins and Sam Gamgee went through, alone in a land filled with orcs."

When they did set off the following dawn their pace had been reduced to spare the injured as much as possible, and to allow the dwarves to keep up in their wagon. To Merry's and Pippin's surprise the pyre had burned cleanly and well, and after the squalls little remained save wet ash, scorched fragments of bone, and weapons and armour the elves had cast aside. At Déorwine's request the dwarves took up swords and bows, which he said should not be left lying for any to take, and stowed them in their wagon, but disdained the rest, proclaiming it not worth melting down.

In mid-morning they passed a wide path angling off to the north that Merry and Pippin recognised as the way they'd taken coming back to the Shire, and after lunch met the elves and others who'd gone ahead where the orcs' trail descended from high spurs to the road. There was apparently a deserted camp a few miles into the higher land that the Dúnedain judged had been used for a few months, until the local game had been hunted out, and a fainter trail beyond that angling towards Isengard they had not followed. No more orcs had been seen, and having marked the place they went on until they met a group of Rohirrim, ordered to investigate the smoke from the pyre. They were aware from the message Déorwine had sent that a party was due and greeted him and Merry with warm respect, though they were astonished by the mixed riding as a whole and the more so to learn the source of the smoke. From exchanges in Rohirric Merry gathered several small parties of travellers had vanished in the last few months, including a King's Messenger, but searches had found nothing ; now they promised to make their way to the abandoned camp and follow the old trail onwards, asking Déorwine to report to their commander at the garrison by the Fords and thanking all for their service in killing the orcs.

There was one more steep ridge to climb, where they camped for the night, and on the third day the road dropped down into grassy lowlands and their pace picked up. Merry and Pippin rode with the other hobbits, telling them about the importance of the gap between the White and Misty Mountains, visible on either side, until in early afternoon they came at last to the Fords and splashed across the Isen, pausing briefly for the Rohirrim, with Merry and Pippin, to pay respects to the mound on the eyot where Théodred was buried. At the rebuilt fort there was a warm if astonished reception, and the wounded were found comfortable beds with the exception of the two elves, who seemed to have recovered faster than was reasonable, and Menlo, who said he hadn't come all this way to stop short, however his shoulder ached and itched. Others would also stay — most of the Rohirrim, Dúnedain, and Ithiliens, though Déorwine and Damrod insisted on accompanying the hobbits, while elves were interested to see what the Onodrim had made of Angrenost ; and while Virfir would stay with Fjalar, who if improved was not himself, Skirfir would come with them on a borrowed pony, leaving his axe behind, having learned to his surprise that Lord Gimli was at Isengard.

"There's others there too you'll be glad to see, Holdwine." The garrison commander had a grin that made Merry quite suspicious, despite fulsome praise for his improved Rohirric. "We've been told to say nothing, so nothing will we say, save that you are expected. I'd not have mentioned Lord Gimli but that the dwarf needed to be told."

Even riding late it took the rest of that day to reach Isengard, and while still five miles short they met an ent standing by the roadway, who solemnly greeted Merry and Pippin by name, and welcomed the elves, before looking gravely at the others and turning to give a great hooming call with hands cupping mouth and gesturing them on. The hobbits had eyes as big as saucers while Skirfir's and even Déorwine's and Damrod's were not much smaller, and Pippin guided his horse closer to Merry's, pitching his voice to carry.

"There's no such thing as talking trees, you know."

Merry grinned. "Pull the other one, Pip."

To their mutual surprise Glorfindel laughed aloud. "A fine reversal. The frustration you have felt at being disbelieved is one all Calaquendi have known, speaking to Moriquendi."

That was food for thought, but a little later another ent came striding towards them and in a moment they were both off their horses and running to greet Quickbeam, who caught them up in his great hands, laughing.

"So you return, as hasty as ever, and to seek our advice, I am told? It is likely to be long!"

"We do, but ours is a long tale too and Glorfindel's longer, even by ent standards. So we will tell it only the once, if you don't mind."

"Perhaps not so hasty, then." He peered at Glorfindel, who gave a graceful nod returned with a swaying bend. "And worth the hearing, no doubt."

"We hope so. But tell us how you are, and Treebeard. And what you've been doing with the Treegarth."

"Hoom! We have done much. Let me carry you, and we can talk as we go, for you are awaited."

So to the continued, jaw-dropping astonishment of hobbits and amusement of elves, Merry and Pippin completed their journey on Quickbeam's shoulders, hearing of new groves of rowans seeded at Éomer's invitation along Entwash and Limlight and throughout the north of West Emnet and the Wold, and of the ease that had come even to the dark depths of Fangorn Forest with the lifting of the great shadow and the absence of orcs. In return they told of the Scouring of the Shire, and of the great trial Halladan had held, and of Sam's engagement and their strict orders to be back in time for his wedding ; but though they skirted it they could not conceal the part Saruman had played, nor the great destruction of trees, and Quickbeam sighed.

"Mithrandir brought us word of these things, and Treebeard was greatly distressed at the harm done by one he had let go. Yet I cannot fault him — we were all weary of killing and mercy should bear better fruit. Your news will reawaken his sorrow and remorse."

"It wasn't his fault, Quickbeam." Pippin's voice was sad but had a hardness in it Merry didn't often hear. "He's kindness itself, and a wizard should have known better. The Valar rejected Saruman after he died, and that says it all."

"What is this? Mithrandir did not tell us that."

So they told him about it, Merry observing it had been rather like what he had seen over the Ephel Duath from the walls of Minas Tirith when Sauron fell, and the tale brought them to the Treegarth. There even the elves exclaimed at the beauty Onodrim had wrought, for the orchards and groves that studded the greensward and ringed the central pool had been joined by a great carpet of woodland flowers, and the path to the tower was edged in creeping ivy and a wealth of tiny blossoms. They left the horses picketed outside the ring, with a guard in the livery of the White Tree whose captain, despite saluting Pippin, politely but firmly wanted to know who each and every one of them was, making a list and carefully inspecting a commission from Halladan that Déorwine produced. All the elves save Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir asked leave to wander the Treegarth, which Quickbeam happily granted before telling them he would see them again on the morrow with Treebeard and striding away, so the hobbits walked down the path with only the commanders of their escort and Skirfir, whose beard was bristling with surprise as he took it all in.

"That was the livery of the Citadel, Pip."

"Yes it jolly well was. You don't suppose …"

"I don't know what to suppose, except those two are looking very perky."

"Perky?" Elladan's eyebrows rose in indignation. "The Firstborn do not look perky, Master Perian."

"That depends on their age and wisdom, youngling." Glorfindel's voice was threaded with laughter. "It seems an apt description to me. Perhaps I shall ask Master Samwise for a Sindarin translation."

The cheerful banter carried them to the slender stone bridge that now spanned the pool to the steps of Orthanc, and as they set foot on it the doors were thrown wide to reveal not only the suspected Aragorn but Arwen, with Gimli and Legolas beside them. Greetings were joyous, and Merry and Pippin took great pleasure in introducing dumbstruck hobbits to their king and queen before Arwen spoke with her brothers, Legolas with Glorfindel in swift Sindarin, and Gimli in Khuzdul with a poleaxed Skirfir, finally clapping him hard on the shoulder, embracing him, and accepting a promise of fealty.

"Thrice welcome, kinsman. The sight of Aglarond will curl your beard, I avow, yet there is much to be done there, tending the rock. We will hold a formal swearing there, when we may. And have no concern about this debt of healing for young Fjalar — from the sound of it the service of your axes has settled it already, and if he feels the debt he can help me with some things I'm crafting for those two."

Elrohir spun. "Gifts for us, Master Caveman?"

"Commemorations of our ride together, Master Treehugger."

Elladan laughed. "That will be interesting, but there is no need for gifts between us."

"Maybe not, but I like making things and you like receiving them." Gimli sighed, turning to Skirfir. "Vain as cats, the pair of them, but altogether splendid in a fight."

"So I have seen, lord. And yet I am astonished. Truly you are named Elf-friend."

Gimli nodded gravely. "The world has changed, kinsman. And you should know that with my lordship of Aglarond confirmed by King Thorin I have named Legolas Thranduilion here a Friend of the Khazâd, sending notice to Erebor and the Ered Luin."

Merry would have sworn Skirfir's beard actually lifted from his chest in his surprise, and again when a smiling Legolas spoke some words in Khuzdul. But after mutual bows Aragorn took charge, receiving Déorwine's and Damrod's summary reports with a few sharp questions about orcs before thanking and politely dismissing them, with Skirfir, to a meal he said the outer guard would have waiting. Then the hobbits were escorted up winding stairs to a chamber with laden tables, and after the serious business of their first proper meal in weeks had been addressed he and Arwen wanted accounts of the Shire, of Saruman's and Halladan's actions, and of what had brought them south. All were coaxed into contributing as they could, though a greater burden inevitably fell on Merry and Pippin, and when they related what Sam had done in striking a holding bargain with the huorns even Aragorn's eyebrows rose high.

"Sam dealt with them in Sindarin, and felt their response? Bless the hobbit! He is full of surprises."

"So is his Sindarin, Estel." Glorfindel's voice was dry. "But to this mix I will add two things. I went to see Iarwain Ben-adar and the willow Merry and Pippin describe, and I tell you the evil of both Morgoth and Gorthaur lies upon it. Once it dwelt in Nan-tasarion, and your brothers believe it also knew Taur-na-fuin. I have thought on these things, and believe one reason I was prompted to come south is to bear witness to Fangorn that a Black Onod dwells in Arda. My voice will join those of these periain in asking advice, and that the onodrim send some of their kind north to end its evil one way or another."

"A Black Onod that dwelt in Nan-tasarion? This is no tale I have ever heard, Glorfindel."

"Nor I, even from Daernaneth." Arwen too was frowning.

"It is not a tale I have cared to tell, nor one I much remembered until now."

Glorfindel glanced around at the hobbits, then told his story in Westron, though without any greater explanation than he had given Merry and Pippin. Aragorn and Arwen listened intently, faces grave ; Legolas too was deeply struck, shaking his head at the perversion Morgoth had forced on trees.

"Even the corrupted trees near Dol Guldur were not thus, Glorfindel. Sauron had taught them to welcome spiders among their branches but could not make them desire the spiders' prey."

"He was but the shadow of Morgoth, and such perversions were ever Morgoth's way. That willow is more twisted inside than out, limited only by how deep it has sunk its roots." Glorfindel's face was drawn. "Like many Noldorin princes, Turgon believed the first orcs were fashioned through ages of torment in the pit of Utumno from those of the Eldar who never had the chance to leave Cuiviénen ere they were taken by Morgoth. I was sceptical, uncertain Eru would allow such a fate, yet what I believe must have been done to that willow would have echoed such a thing."

Aragorn grimaced. "That is an evil thought. But you said you would add two things — is the other as grim?"

"No, Estel. Rather it is a wonder. You know of my vision?"

"I do. Adar wrote to me after you saw the owl."

"It has been fulfilled. The narrow place was a cutting two days out from Athrad Angren, the great orcs cursed Curunír's Uruk-hai, and thanks to the eyes and endurance of Merry and Pippin an interloper was discovered — a Morgul orc, sewn into whose pack were these."

Reaching into his tunic he brought out the circlets, wrapped in clean elven cloth, and laid them bare. Aragorn stared for a long moment, and raised questioning eyes.

"Rhudaur and Cardolan?"

"Held in Minas Morgul by Angmar, I deem, and for some reason sent to cursed Curunír on orc-back, but never delivered and held as booty."

Aragorn threw back his head and laughed, and Arwen with him. "Truly the Valar are at work, Glorfindel, unless it be Eru. I came here because when I learned of what Saruman had done in the Shire I felt a search of his dwelling-place urgent. Arriving, I encountered Mithrandir, who gave me rings taken from his corpse and counselled me wergild was owed in the north as well as Rohan, ere he departed to search the archives of Minas Tirith for some last detail that was on his mind. And treasures indeed we have found in Orthanc — heirlooms of Eorl stolen from Edoras, great stores of coin that ease the losses of the Westfold and will come to ease the Shire, and works in mithril, gold, and silver, pilfered far and wide."

"A dragon's hoard." Gimli's voice was a growl.

"Say rather a jackdaw's. And yet I had a sense of something undone, unfound, and so I sent for Gimli, who after some days of tapping and prodding and hemming and hawing led me to a blank wall and by some wonder of dwarven craft revealed to me a hidden door. Inside it, a bare room with a steel closet. And inside the closet, these."

Reaching inside his own tunic he produced a chain with a golden locket and a far greater circlet than the two already on the table, the mithril band heavier and the inset gem glittering light and power. This time everyone stared, even Glorfindel, though it was he who first spoke.

"The original Elendilmir. I remember it on his brow. And" — his hand reached out and recoiled — "the locket in which Isildur bore the One."

"Just so. Much becomes clearer about the course of Saruman's corruption. The Elendilmir is mine alone, but the locket I had thought to send to Frodo."

"No! Don't!" Merry's voice burst from him. "Nothing to remind him of that thing, and surely nothing tainted by it. He cannot forget it, and Glorfindel tells us he is fading anyway."

At Aragorn's look Glorfindel nodded. "I have not seen him since he left Imladris, Estel, but it was then clear to see and Elrond acknowledged it. If he does not accept the grace Artanis and Undómiel have won for him he will perforce soon accept the Gift. He has been exposed to evil more than any, and though there is to his great glory no taint of corruption in him nor is there enough left to heal within Arda."

Aragorn bowed his head, tears in his eyes. "I knew it and did not want to know it. He is shrouded in the Palantír."

"You've been looking in that thing?" Pippin's voice was sharp and Aragorn looked at him with a touch of asperity, despite his tears.

"Of course I have, Peregrin Took. How else am I to rule two realms with capitals a thousand miles apart? The Anor stone I have reclaimed to my will, and the Orthanc stone travels with me, though it must soon go to Halladan that the Kingdoms be truly united once more." His voice softened. "There is no danger in the Palantíri themselves, Pippin. Your experience was only because Sauron held the Ithil stone. But he is gone, and so is that stone — in the lost stones of Annúminas and Amon Sûl, and the lost Master Stone of Osgiliath, I see the darkness of the sea deeps where they rest, but from the Ithil stone nothing at all. No mortal force could destroy a Palantír, but in the destruction of Barad-dûr it must have been shattered."

Pippin shuddered. "Rather you than me, Strider. I can see the need, but have a care of it — even what it won't show you speaks of grief."

"I will, Pippin, but in it I see joy also — Sam's face as he walks with Rose, or looks at the mallorn shooting up in a field below Bag End."

"A mallorn?"

"Yes. Would you see? It might cleanse your mind of the taint your last look in a Palantír left. It is night in the Shire as it is here, so we may see only what darkness allows."

Pippin was doubtful but Merry was intrigued, and Aragorn led them all up spiralling stairs to the high chamber where the Palantír stood on a plinth. All the hobbits were uneasy at a building that climbed so, but once Aragorn, taking a deep breath and placing both hands on the stone, brought into focus a strange view of Hobbiton and the Hill, with the lit windows of Bagshot Row and Bag End, fascination took over. The young mallorn gleamed silver in the darkness, surprising everyone, and Sam was walking with Rose and Jolly back from the Green Dragon. Aragorn said dryly that requests were tiring, but did show them views of the Great Smials and Brandy Hall, lights twinkling and all calm.

"You see, Pippin? Not all Fëanor wrought has fallen to ill. Eärendil rides above us yet with the Silmaril on his brow, and the Palantíri will again bind two realms."

"I suppose." Pippin frowned. "Can you see Eärendil?"

Aragorn stared, then laughed. "I have no idea. Trust a Took." He turned back to the Palantír, resting hands on it, and concentrated. For a moment there was nothing, and then a brief flash of glorious light, making even Arwen cry out, before the stone went dark and cleared to show nothing more than the cloudy night sky. Aragorn rubbed his brow, then shook out his hands, smiling ruefully. "I am given to understand that was a gift — a blessing, if you will — mostly to you, my heart, from the Daeradar you never knew. But vision beyond Arda is not permitted."

His gaze at Arwen brought a lump to Merry's throat, and he and Pippin hastily ushered chattering hobbits back down the winding stairs. Gimli and Legolas showed them a room set with bedrolls that had been prepared for them, and lingered to ask about Frodo and Sam, and the fight with orcs. Legolas also felt Menlo's shoulder, frowned, and went to fetch Elladan, whose soft singing followed them all into sleep.

The next morning the hobbits found Quickbeam and Treebeard waiting by the bridge, and after emotional greetings were bidden to follow. Aragorn, Arwen, and the high elves came with them to what seemed another grove until they drew close, and saw it was a circle of perhaps thirty ents, with many kinds of tree represented — including on the further side three who made them think of willows.

"Hrrum! These are all that were available just now." Treebeard peered at them. "Much is going on, and after all our doings some have retired to deep glades, and would not come forth again. But all who are willing to be asked for advice are here, and wait to hear your tale."

For Merry and Pippin there was a strange familiarity in walking into the circle, bowing low, and seeing flickering amusement in ancient eyes at flexibility. For once they had the advantage of Aragorn and the children of Elrond, even perhaps of Glorfindel, and after swift glances at one another did not hesitate to name them to the ents, with their own kind, before Merry stepped forward.

"Oh earthborn, old as mountains, we whom you name the laughing folk and little people come now asking your advice, and if you are willing your aid. For we have a problem with huorns, kind-hearted and black-hearted, and with the one who controls those given to evil."

Merry took a deep breath and launched into his long tale of the Old Forest and the Shire, Buckland and the High Hay, and mindful of Sam's advice did not omit the tale of the Bonfire Glade, which produced some hooming and booming around the circle.

"I am sorry we did not tell you before, but after all that had happened to us when we met Treebeard last year old history was far from our minds, and this was many lives ago."

Treebeard swayed a little. "Some three hundred years past, you said? And this hedge was then well established?"

"In Shire Reckoning the present year is 1420. Buckland was founded in 740, and the High Hay seeded in 768. The attack of the trees began in 1146, and the Bonfire Glade was made in 1151, after several hobbits had been injured by falling boughs, and two killed."

"The trees began hostilities, then, and you endured it some while in your own terms." Treebeard swayed again.

Aragorn stepped forward. "I had not heard this tale before, Fangorn, but 1146 in Shire Reckoning was 2746 in ours, and that decade is marked in our annals as a time when orcs began renewed attacks in Eriador. Attacks here in Rohan and in Gondor followed in 2758."

Pippin nodded. "Orcs came to the Shire then also — Bandobras the Bullroarer fought them in the Northfarthing in 1147."

"So some evil of the shadow was at work. Hoom! Black-bellied and claw-fingered orcs were ever the carriers of it. But such history is no deed of any hobbit here now. We may regret what happened but we cannot condemn. Go on, Merry."

So on Merry went, describing the present assault on the Hay, with testimony from other Bucklanders, before speaking of what Sam had achieved and drawing in Pippin again. Sam's experience with the trees led sideways to what Saruman had done, and Sam's labours of restoration with Lady Galadriel's gift, explained by Elladan and Elrohir, and there was interested hooming at the idea that some attacking trees were filled with malice but others desired to share in the elven gift. The malice meant going back to their passage of the Old Forest and Old Man Willow. Their description of being swallowed by the tree produced a great rumble of ent voices, rising and falling until Treebeard gave a severe, silencing hoom!

"Have you all become as hasty as Bregalad that you interrupt?"

In the silence that followed Glorfindel stepped forward, gracefully bowing, and began to speak in Quenya. Merry understood nothing but what he thought were the names of Nan-tasarion and Taur-na-fuin, and after the latter Elladan and Elrohir spoke briefly, also in Quenya. Then there was a great deal more hooming until Treebeard peered down at them again, his eyes looking deeper and sadder than ever.

"So, your tale is told, and these Firstborn support it with thoughts of a great terror long past. What advice or aid is it that you ask of us?"

Merry took another deep breath. "Guided by Sam, we ask your help with three things. First, how may we peacefully deter the assault of huorns? Second, having lost so many trees to Saruman's malice, how may we admit to our land trees who are good-hearted and true, to flower and fruit in the places where we mourn what was wantonly felled? And third, is there any way we may end the malice of Old Man Willow, releasing huorns and hobbits alike from his assaults? All Bucklanders respect the Old Forest, and cut no living bough — but safely to collect fallen deadwood is important to us, for northern winters are cold. And there is much we would forage from forest earth if we might do so safely — mushrooms, truffles, wood-cabbage, acorns, chestnuts, and in season mistletoe and ivy. Iarwain Ben-adar spoke with us, saying that though he may save victims of Old Man Willow if he happens on them in time, it is ever waking and filled with hatred for all that lives."

Bowing again, Glorfindel spoke in Westron. "My asking is added to these, for though such as that willow are within my power to vanquish at need, never yet have I slain an onod, and would not begin. Yet that one is an evil who should not be at large in Arda."

Aragorn too bowed, Arwen curtseying beside him. "My Lord Steward of Arnor, who has seen much, tells me he has never felt such malice from the Old Forest as when he rode along its eaves a few months ago. And I am grieved that the Periannath, to whom so much is owed, should face such difficulties. If it is in your power to aid them I ask you do so."

Treebeard looked down at the hobbits, then at the elves and Aragorn and Arwen. "We will speak of what we have heard, and what we may do, but it will take some days at least." He smiled at Merry and Pippin. "Once again you have presented us with a bundle of news we must digest, my friends, and some hard decisions to make. I will call for you when we have something to say."

They bowed and withdrew, the great voices of the ents already rising and falling in the strange, overlapping way Merry and Pippin recalled. The elves of Rivendell, wandering the Treegarth, had been attracted by the noise and were sitting in a group, smiling at the sheer sound if not with understanding, and Arwen went to them with her brothers and Glorfindel. Aragorn shook his head as if to clear it and gazed at the hobbits.

"Most extraordinary. I've spoken to ents while I've been here but to stand amid an Entmoot was humbling. It seems kings as much as wizards may benefit from having a hobbit or two in their care."

"How was Gandalf?"

"Distressed by Saruman's fate, Merry, but pleased with the way you dealt with his creatures. He had searched Saruman's papers, finding much about his dealings with the Shire but not what he was looking for, and so went on to Minas Tirith. And I alas must go back to those same papers."

The hobbits were left at a loose end, and strange days followed as the entmoot boomed on. They spent time with Legolas and Gimli, hearing about plans for Aglarond and Ithilien and the work dwarves and elves were undertaking at Minas Tirith. Sam's wedding also came up, and Merry and Pippin were delighted that both planned to attend.

"Aragorn would dearly love to come but cannot be so long away." Legolas smiled. "His counsellors did not want him to come here but he insisted Orthanc must be investigated. When he returns with the lost Elendilmir there will much clucking."

Pippin grinned. "Are they all still so stuffy about everything?"

"They're still reeling." Gimli chuckled. "He and Lady Arwen have blown through that citadel like a wind. Oh the wailings about protocol there have been. But the people are entranced, and the city hums with life."

It was good to see their friends again but elf and dwarf still had work within the tower, Legolas among the records and Gimli cataloguing things that had been found, so other days passed with only the elves who still listened to the entmoot, or some of Aragorn's guard for company. Merry and Pippin insisted on continuing weapons practice, to some hobbity demur and strong non-hobbit approval, and sessions with Glorfindel and other elves drew in off-duty Gondorians, as fascinated by pheriannath as the hobbits were intrigued by the way they treated Pippin. Most were men of Minas Tirith or Anórien, but a few came from Lebennin and Belfalas, so the hobbits heard tales of the sea and the trade that with the destruction or capture of so many ships of Umbar's corsairs was again beginning to flow freely along Gondor's coastline. But they also spent time sitting together in one or another pleasant spot among the groves — those who had never travelled before needed to sort through their glut of strange experiences, and attitudes to Merry and Pippin shifted as not only the truth of their tall tales but what that truth meant in reality sank home. There were still things both shied from speaking about — Merry had no wish to find his arm again so chilled and useless, nor Pippin to recall his first experience of a Palantír — but they did describe more fully than before meeting Treebeard and the march of the ents. That recitation drew elvish ears as well, and smiling promises that it should be made into a lay of the Onodrim.

They ate each evening with Aragorn and Arwen, learning with real surprise of how long Saruman had been buying pipeweed and foodstuffs from the Shire, dealing anonymously with hobbits long before Lotho, and of the steady increase in quantities shipped south.

"I knew there was some trade going on," Pippin said, shaking his head, "but I'd no idea it was on that scale. Da didn't know either, I'm sure. He'll be horrified to learn we were feeding Saruman's armies."

"He had no way of knowing, and there was nothing illegal until the men and half-orcs were sent to plunder all." Aragorn sighed. "But you are right about Saruman's needs. Had he sought to purchase such quantities of food in Rohan or Gondor questions would have been asked he did not want asking. And it makes me wonder about the Fell Winter and the great floods that forced abandonment of Tharbad in 2912, for had that garrison remained, reduced as it was, it would have seen and given warning. Saruman must have sent many creatures to pack all that came south safely across the ford. Gandalf thought he could not have been in league with Sauron before his open return to Mordor and rebuilding of Barad-dûr, seventy years past, but I am becoming less sure for I suspect orcs from Moria must have been involved."

He promised to have papers directly concerning the Shire copied, and spent some time discussing the wergild he and Éomer planned to send once all had been reckoned up. To his slight surprise and Gimli's snorted amusement none of the hobbits was especially interested in the idea of a wagonload of treasure arriving.

"Oh some extra coin going round would be good, I suppose, for the things we have to buy from outside the Shire, and Saruman's lot stole a great deal of jewellery, so there's a shortage of that for wedding and coming-of-age gifts and the like. But all of us deal more in barter than in coin, you know." Pippin shrugged. "I don't know how it would work but most folk would be better pleased with foods we can't grow in the north than gold, unless we could use it to buy them. These sweet fruits from Lebennin would go down a treat, and some of the grains too. Very tasty."

There were nods of agreement and Aragorn laughed.

"Trust hobbits! What Éomer will make of wergild paid in food I have no idea, but I can see no reason some should not be paid so, when we have a surplus. But I hope that will happen with regular trade, Pippin. Once the bridge at Tharbad is rebuilt and the road open to wagons again merchant trains will travel both ways, and ships on the sea-route to Mithlond." He looked satisfied at the idea, then more serious. "And there is another thing, for now the Shire is so widely known there are those who wish to see it, and elsewhere in the long forgotten north. Most will be honest, but some rogues, or foolish, and I would not have you troubled by such. So sooner rather than later I will be sending a long letter to the Thain, asking what measures are needed, up to and including a ban on all Men entering the Shire."

Merry and Pippin stared at one another.

"No, that won't do, Strider."

"What would Halladan have done if he was forbidden from entering?"

"That was in sudden need. It is ordinary travellers I have in mind."

"Even so, Pip's right. Now they know about them, folk quite like seeing Rangers come through on the Road, and we've always been glad of the odd minstrel or tinker. And some Breeland men come with hobbit partners to the Midsummer Fair on the White Downs."

"Mmm. Well, there is time to think on it. You may change your minds when you have smug Gondorian lords bringing families to Tuckborough or Buckland to stare at your doors and expect hospitality. And Hobbiton — I certainly do not want Frodo and Sam troubled, as they will be."

That was an uncomfortable thought, and their talk the next day dwelt on the question, eliciting from Merry and Pippin an account of the problems all the Travellers had had in Minas Tirith with both the simple curiosity strange halflings aroused and the intent, unnerving regard that developed as the story of the Witch-King's end had spread and the reasons for Frodo's role in Aragorn's coronation been understood. Merry sighed, remembering.

"The ordinary city-folk were — I don't know, moonstruck, I suppose, but polite enough. Like Halladan's men were when they came, but without the military discipline. The nobles were the worst, though, I think because they saw us as a way of getting to the new king."

"No thinking about it, Merry — the Guard was aware of it, and quite cross though not surprised." Pippin grinned. "Sam took to playing the simple servant with a vengeance whenever he got cornered, and became more rustic than ever, which put them off beautifully. But Frodo hated it, except for children, and they were more interested in staring at his feet and asking for stories."

It gave them much to ponder, but as the entmoot dragged on they became increasingly anxious and impatient, especially after Arwen said she and Aragorn would soon have to return to the city. Sam's exhortations were also strongly in Merry's and Pippin's minds, for the first week of Rethe was past, but when it came to it chivvying an entmoot was not an easy task. Merry had decided that in another two days he would interrupt to tell Treebeard they needed to set out north again by mid-month at latest when the moot finally ended and Treebeard came to find them with six other ents, including two resembling willows. Aragorn, Arwen, and the high elves also appeared, summoned by Quickbeam, who joined them.

"I am sorry we have been so long about it, my friends, but there was much in your tale to trouble us. Still, we have agreed we dwell in Arda, not just in this forest, and that your request is well made, for your troubles are in large part of our making." He sighed, a great gusty sound. "Gandalf was right that I succumbed to Saruman's voice, and though I deemed it mercy to one of high kind, that fruit fell on barren ground, to the harm of hobbits and trees. And though only two among those here ever walked in Beleriand or saw what befell Nan-tasarion under the shadow, I have made sure down the seasons that the tale of our darkest history is known." He looked at Glorfindel "Alas, the rumours that came to Gondolin were true, though like you I believed all who had been corrupted of Morgoth had perished under the waves. I had not thought to hear of such again. So it is fitting we make such amends as we may. I cannot leave this forest now, but these will travel north with you. Quickbeam you know, and he is willing in his hasty way to see new lands. The others are Whiteleaf, Longbranch, Greenbole, Widefork, Silverbole, and Slowroot." Longbranch and Greenbole were the two willows. Treebeard held up a great hand. "What they may do is uncertain, but Whiteleaf has not many fewer seasons than I, and together they will have power over any of our kind. Just as the draught I gave you kept you green and growing, so other draughts call the healing sleep—and if that may be got into his roots his malice will fail. At any rate, we will try, and if his power may be stilled much might become possible." He looked at Glorfindel again. "And if it may not, these seven being agreed it is so, you have our leave and urging to do whatever you can and may. For you are right that none of Morgoth's twisting should be let live to do as they will. I walked often in Nan-tasarion, and in Taur-na-fuin, ere the shadow fell on them, and though none can know the torments those trees endured, none can allow what they became. On this all are agreed."

Glorfindel bowed, face austere. "I hear your words, Fangorn, and will hope sleep may be enough."

"As do I." Treebeard's gaze went to Aragorn. "Are you content, Elessar?"

Aragorn too bowed. "I am, Fangorn, and thank you all for your care of this ill that lingers in Arnor. I understand Ents will rarely travel, but I say that any of you are welcome anywhere within my realms, providing only you come and go in peace."

Treebeard acknowledged the decree, and it was over. Merry's and Pippin's farewells were emotional, for both saw Treebeard's sadness and urged him not to blame himself, speaking of Frodo's insistence that Saruman not be killed even after attempting to stab him, and of the wind that had blown his shadow into nothing, and he listened, thanking them, but they felt the old ent was withdrawing all the same. Elladan and Elrohir also said they would not be returning just yet, having another task, but within two hours the rest found themselves back in the saddle, riding towards the Fords with seven ents striding beside them. Merry and Pippin were elated at achieving their highest hopes, but also felt a profound and not altogether easy curiosity. Ents would come to the Old Forest — and what then?

---

Sam had an increasing sense that things were running out of control and there was very little he could do about it. To his surprise the conversion of Waldo Brownlock's smial had, after some sharp discussion, met with strong approval among the local hobbitry — partly, Rosie observed with some asperity, because they had decided that if they were indeed to have a Lord Steward, to whom even the Thain answered in outside matters, it was clearly proper his regular quarters should be in Bywater. But whatever the reasoning, the idea of Halladan and others they'd met attending a wedding everyone was looking forward to caught imaginations, and the old smial was being transformed accordingly.

And then there were the hobbit acceptances that had poured in, even when neither Sam nor Rosie had any memory of sending an invitation, quite flooding the Hobbiton and Bywater post-offices. Thain Paladin and Mistress Eglantine, Master Saradoc and Mistress Esmeralda, Ferdinand and Merimac, old Flourdumpling, Farmer Maggot, Daisy Oldburrow's parents, all were coming with their families, and to Sam's complete astonishment most family heads had sent congratulations and clearly expected to attend. Capping it all had been the letter from Gimli and Legolas promising to be there, and to bear Aragorn's and Arwen's gifts with their apologies for not being able to leave Minas Tirith for so long a journey at present. Missus Lily was a sensible and capable hobbit, but even she had gone into something of what Sam called a tizzy and Rosie didn't disagree.

Nor had Frodo's long illness helped. He had collapsed at Michel Delving on the 13th, and Sam had had to borrow Mr Tolman's smaller cart and fetch him home, almost as pale as if he'd been bitten again. Athelas helped, and his hand always clutched the gem Arwen had given him, but he could eat only broth and sops, and his sleep was beset with dreams that made him cry out or start wildly, trying to run and tangling himself in sweat-soaked sheets. There was much concern in the village and many questions, but Sam said only it was the anniversary of their time in Mordor when Frodo had been badly wounded, and he expected he'd be better after the 25th — which he was, thankfully, falling into a dreamless sleep that night and waking clear-headed and calm, though dreadfully thin and still with little colour in his cheeks. Sam brought him breakfast and he ate a little before sitting back, eyes haunted.

"Well, Sam, that was even worse than I'd feared."

"It wasn't good and that's a fact." Sam took a deep breath. "But the ship'll be sailing next year, Mr Gildor thought."

"Did he? Elrond said the same. And I begin to think I shall have to go, Sam, for all I don't want to. Not one bit. But I can't take many more days like these last few. And I hate being such a burden."

Sam stoutly denied it and Frodo let himself be lulled, but they both knew the truth. May and Marigold had helped with the nursing when they could, but like everyone they were busy with the continuing riot of growth, which was more than welcome but had everyone feeling as if they needed more hours in the day. Enough early vegetables had already come in that shortage of food could be considered over, but between picking or digging, preserving, replanting, and wedding preparations, Rosie had had no more free time than he. So with Frodo at last well enough to be left sitting by the fire with pen and paper Sam headed to the Cottons with a sore heart, bearing a tray with some of the elanor and elven lilies Rosie had admired when she'd brought over fresh bread and they'd taken the chance to sit in the gardens for a few minutes. All the Cottons were happy to hear Frodo was on the mend at last, and struck by the delicate beauty of the flowers. When Sam went to plant them where Rose wanted Missus Lily pushed her out the door as well.

"Go on, lass, sit in the sun a bit. You've been run off your feet these last few weeks."

It was true that Rose looked tired but Sam thought there was more to it, and as she knelt beside him he asked her what was wrong.

"Nothing's wrong, Sam. It's only … well, you were in Mordor too."

He didn't pretend not to understand. "That I was, Rosie, and as bad a time as I've ever had. But I wasn't bitten by that spider nor by old Gollum, though he tried, and I wasn't carrying it. I have bad dreams sometimes, like I told you — we all do. But I won't get sick the way Mr Frodo does."

She was relieved but still frowning. "Well, that's good to hear. I did worry, because folk were wondering. But I don't understand how wounds can come back like that, just because of an anniversary."

"No more do I, Rosie, but it seems to be how it is. It was the same a year after the day he was stabbed, just not as bad. And I don't think it is the wounds themselves, really. It's the Ring. It scoured him right out, down where he lives, and he doesn't have enough left to come back, like a plant that's too far gone to save. He's fading, Rosie."

Suddenly there were tears on his cheeks and the pain of knowing that Frodo would soon have to leave the Shire again, one way or another, poured out of him. "I can't leave you, Rosie, and I don't want to leave him but I'm going to have to. Two years at most, Mr Gildor thought, before an elven ship sails, and he'll have to be on it or he'll die."

"He's going to go with the elves?" She was bewildered. "Wherever to?"

"Over the sea, Rosie, to the Undying Lands. To Aman. Mr Elrond said the Valar will be able to heal him there, but he won't never come back."

"He'll be all on his own!"

"No he won't — old Mr Bilbo's going too, if he can hold on that long and beat the Old Took. All the Ringbearers were given the right to go. And from what Mr Gildor said, Mr Elrond and Lady Galadriel will be on that ship too, and Mr Gandalf."

"All the Ringbearers? But that's you too, isn't it, Sam, for all you say it was only a short while you carried it. You're not going?"

Her voice was sharp with fear and he took her hands. "No, I'm not. I couldn't leave you, Rosie, and I won't. Not for anything."

"But you could go, Sam? They'd let you?"

"So I'm told, but it makes no odds."

"You're giving that up for me?"

"I'm not giving anything up. I'm gaining the world, Rosie. Only it won't be a world with Mr Frodo in it for too much longer."

To share his tears was a relief, and a wondering Rose agreed to say nothing, leaving Frodo his privacy, but when she came next day, bringing fresh greens and a tin of her ginger biscuits for the convalescent, his blue eyes somehow saw her knowledge. To Sam's surprise he seemed relieved, assured her he didn't mind though he'd be grateful if she'd keep it to herself, and then shocked them both speechless by inviting them to make Bag End their home, saying he would welcome the company and if he did have to leave he'd be giving it to Sam anyway, adding wistfully that it would be nice to think of the place filled with a family again. Recovering their wits they protested but Frodo shook his head.

"You are my heir, Sam, and you'll make a better Master of the Hill than I've ever been. It needs a Mistress too, Rose. There hasn't been one since Belladonna died, more than eighty years ago, so it's high time."

Sam did insist on taking Rosie for a turn round the gardens to talk it over and make sure she really didn't mind the idea of such a large smial, but the problem of where to live had been on both their minds, and much as she respected him Rosie really didn't want to move in with the Gaffer. That had been another worry, for Marigold's and Tom's wedding was now set too, for the late summer, and though she'd be living near enough, at the Cottons' farm, it would necessarily fall to Sam to care for the old hobbit. Residence at Bag End would solve both problems.

"There's one thing, though, Sam, if Mr Frodo does as he says he will."

"I've never known him not."

"Then what are you going to do? You can't hardly be your own gardener."

"No more I can't. I've no idea, Rosie."

But Frodo had only smiled, saying Sam would be able to do whatever he liked and would, he was very sure, have more than enough to keep him busy, and so it was settled. The news that they'd be living at Bag End caused less surprise than either Sam or Rose expected, most just nodding, saying it made solid hobbit sense all things considered, with Frodo and the Gaffer to be seen to and gossip soon had something else to feed on, for on the last day of Rethe word came from Hardbottle that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had died, leaving all her and Lotho's remaining money and property to Frodo to use helping those who'd suffered in the Troubles.

Frodo was as astonished as anyone, and deeply moved. Though still far from recovered he insisted on going to her funeral, and while Sam didn't much want to go himself he had little choice. It was a good six-hour ride to Hardbottle, even going cross-country from Hobbiton to the Oatbarton road, so it meant a two-day trip ; worse still, Sam had nothing suitable to wear except the mourning finery Aragorn had given him and Frodo in Minas Tirith for Théoden King's formal obsequies. It was at least in hobbit fashion but made him feel absurd, though an amused Frodo reluctantly agreed to wear his own set.

"A proper pair we'll make, Sam. But it's the thought that counts."

And so it proved. Their appearance on the funeral morning from Hardbottle's one inn, with which Sam was less than impressed, brought a silence he quickly realised was wondering rather than censorious, and after Frodo's brief but heartfelt speech at the graveside welcoming the ending of an old feud, however sad the circumstances, the luncheon was quite interesting. Everyone harboured deep unease about the disgrace Lotho had brought on his name, and some younger Bracegirdles clearly resented the loss of property they might have hoped to inherit, but the family head, now the bookish Hugo, dealt with both cleanly and well.

"It's a hard time for us, and we're all still shocked at the dreadful things Lotho did. But though it sees us diminished in wealth, Lobelia's remorse and her practical way of making up for the mistakes she knew she'd made means we can hold up our heads again, and that's worth any money. And quite apart from the stories we've all heard of what he did while he was away, we owe our Deputy Mayor and cousin Frodo Baggins warm thanks for taking on the task of seeing wrongs righted."

That Sam could agree with whole-heartedly, but as things wound up he found himself politely cornered by Hugo and others and asked about trees. The North Farthing had suffered far less than the West and East Farthings, but there had been losses all the same. Bindbole Wood was too large for Ruffians to have done more than some idle chopping at its eaves, but as everywhere trees lining the roads had been felled far and wide, and it was true Sam had not been up that way at all until now. Honesty was the only answer and he told them flatly that saplings were simply not available yet, but as soon as they were he'd do all he could. Hugo was intrigued by the little he said about the Lady's gift, and unexpectedly turned out to know the names of Galadriel and Lothlórien from a history Bilbo had once given him.

"Well, tickle my toes — earth from the garden of en elven queen! No wonder everything's thriving, Mr Gamgee. It's very good of you to share your gift. And this strange tree I've heard about is a mallorn, you say? I shall look forward to seeing it when I see you wed Miss Cotton."

Sam's and Frodo's mutual surprise that Hugo Bracegirdle had had it in him carried them most of the way home, though Frodo paid for the exertion with another day of enforced idleness, dozing on the sofa between spells sitting up with a writing-board on his knee, pen in hand and an abstracted look on his face. But the day after Sam had no hesitation in waking him only a few moments past dawn and dragging him down to the Party Field, where others whose routines had them up early were beginning to gather, for the mallorn was coming into flower. It was already far taller than any hobbit, and even as they watched more buds unfurled, covering the tree in a deep golden yellow. Before second breakfast Sam trotted to Bywater and came back with Rosie, who smiled and let him lead her up to it, curtseying when he bowed and laughing in surprised delight as a petal drifted down to settle in her hair.

For the next few days hobbits came from far around to see the wondrous tree, and as Frodo strengthened again and the weather warmed he took to sitting against the bole, welcoming children with stories of Lothlórien and — with a complexity of emotion only Sam and Rose heard — the Uttermost West, where the first mellyrn had grown. When he spoke of Tol Eressëa and the light that was said to shine in all Aman his voice had a wistful note that tore at Sam's heart, but his more immediate worry as the days passed was that there was still no word from Merry or Pippin. He had quietly broached with Rose what might have to happen if Merry were not back in time, and was girding himself to speak to Tom when, a week after the mallorn had flowered, his afternoon in the gardens of Bagshot Row under his Gaffer's querulous direction was interrupted by a breathless Nibs.

"There's folk coming asking for you, Sam."

"What folk? And what do they want with my Sam? He's busy."

"Captain Meriadoc and Captain Peregrin, Gaffer, sir, with some Bucklanders and Mr Déorwine and a walking tree."

That left even the Gaffer gaping, and by the time he'd recovered his jaw Sam was trotting towards the road and turning down into the village, only to be confronted at the first bend by an exuberant Merry and Pippin, accompanied by the Buckland hobbits they'd travelled with, Déorwine, and an ent he recognised as Quickbeam. But introductions had to wait as he found himself engulfed by and returning hobbit hugs.

"Oh Sam, it's good to be back."

"You'll never guess all that happened."

"We had to fight Uruk-hai again."

"And found some lost treasures from the north kingdoms."

"And Aragorn and Arwen were at Orthanc.

"And Legolas and Gimli, who are coming to your wedding."

"And the ents agreed."

"They were very impressed with your deal with the huorns."

"But Old Man Willow's even worse than we thought, if you can believe it."

"So what they can do will depend."

"Whoa! One at a time. I don't like the sound of fighting, but it's good to see you're back safe. And depend on what?"

"No-one knows, Sam." Pippin nodded solemnly at his look. "Seven ents came back north with us, and the other six went with Glorfindel straight up the Greenway to the Old Forest to see what's what while we went on to Sarn Ford. Whiteleaf, who's the oldest of them, wants to see us at the Brandywine Bridge in four days' time, to tell us what they've found."

"Us?"

"Yes, you and Frodo." Merry gave him a Brandybuck grin. "Don't worry. We told them about your wedding and they know you have to be back in Hobbiton quick as you can."

"Da's coming as well. We called in at the Great Smials on our way, to reassure him we were safe and introduce him to Quickbeam." Pippin was grinning too. "And you know what, Sam? Turns out there are such things as talking trees after all. I thought for a moment he was going to faint clean away, but he pulled himself together and promises to be there."

Sam rather wished he'd seen that particular meeting and wanted a fuller account, but others were waiting and he was forgetting his manners. By the time he'd been properly reintroduced to Quickbeam, whose voice had all the watching hobbits' ears popping out to join their eyes, and the horses had been unsaddled and put in the common grazing to browse, Frodo had come down from Bag End and there were more hugs. But as Frodo turned Deputy Mayoral to speak with Déorwine and Quickbeam, Merry and Pippin took Sam aside, speaking low.

"He's so thin, Sam."

"Tell me, Merry. He was that ill in Rethe I wasn't sure he'd make it."

"Anniversaries?"

"Yes. He collapsed on the 13th and didn't recover until the 25th. It was bad."

"Glorfindel told us about … what he's been offered. You think he'll go?"

"I don't think he's got much choice, Pippin. He's fading away."

"That's what Glorfindel said."

"He's right. But listen, you two — Rosie knows, but no-one else, and that's how Mr Frodo wants it." They didn't like it but nodded. "Oh, and old Lobelia died. He insisted on going up to Hardbottle for the funeral."

It turned out they knew of the death, the Thain having told them of the unexpected will, and there was no time for more because Frodo had invited everyone to the privacy of Bag End's garden, but as they climbed the hill Quickbeam saw the mallorn and immediately strode towards it, hooming. The tree shivered in welcome, setting a few golden petals adrift on the breeze. Merry and Pippin were staring as much as Déorwine, and Merry laughed.

"Sam, it's gorgeous. A real party tree again! But they'll be at it a while, I expect. You go on and I'll guide Quickbeam round The Hill when he's ready."

Déorwine had to duck to make his way through Bag End, exclaiming at the smial's restoration, and by the time Sam had made tea, set out plates of cakes and biscuits, and carried them all out to the garden Quickbeam had arrived, stepping over the boundary hedge with ease.

"Hoom, hom. You have used the elven gift well, Samwise. I mourn all the trees felled by that black-hearted renegade Saruman, but this is a pleasing land and rejoices in your care, as does that young mallorn."

Déorwine nodded. "I can well believe it. I am astonished by all that has been achieved, Ringbearer, and could scarce believe the growth everywhere. Lord Halladan and the King will be delighted to hear of it."

"Fangorn also. He was much distressed to learn of what had happened and felt himself to blame."

Sam had mixed feelings on that head but knew better than to voice them to Frodo, so he nodded to Quickbeam, thanking him for coming.

"It is our duty, I deem. And it may be we can indeed guide some of the huorns to stand where trees have been lost, but I will need you to show me the places you have in mind. But now Merry and Pippin wish to tell you of all they have done and seen, so I will look at this fine garden, if I may, and take a drink."

He strode off towards the spring that burbled in the lower part of the garden, and Sam and Frodo listened as Merry and Pippin launched into their adventures, with some help from the Bucklanders and Déorwine. Both were horrified to hear of the scale of the fight the hobbits had found themselves involved in, and of Menlo Oldbanks's injury, however well it had healed ; but the tale of the royal circlets and the discoveries at Orthanc was fascinating, as was the dark history of which Old Man Willow was suspected, however chilling to the heart. Pippin then sent Merry to talk to Quickbeam for a bit and added Glorfindel's and Aragorn's thoughts about the strange links between the prophecy about Angmar and the vision now fulfilled, with what they'd also learned about hobbits fighting at the Battle of Fornost.

"So they think it all connects, Frodo, and our going south when Sam insisted we had to was all a part of some great pattern that involved what Merry and Éowyn did, as well as you and Sam. It might just be the regalia from Rhudaur and Cardolan, and restoring all the Witch-King destroyed, but Strider wondered if Merry and me being captured and getting away and running right into Treebeard might be part of it all too, and said he'd be asking Gandalf when he got back to Minas Tirith."

Frodo's look was unreadable. "Well, that's food for thought. And I don't know that anything much about Eru's designs would surprise me any more." He gave a small smile. "But it sounds as if you were exactly right, Sam, about what needed to be done."

Déorwine agreed emphatically. "So I believe too, Ringbearers, though I was at first doubtful of this errand. Your decisions have once again set all Arnor by the ears, one way or another, as well as elves." He grinned at Sam's look. "Besides, I shall long treasure the surprise of the garrison at Tharbad when they saw the ents with us, and it has been much the same since we crossed Sarn Ford."

Sam imagined it had, and would be so yet a while, but practicalities were pressing. After some discussion he left Merry and Pippin to cook for Frodo and the Bucklanders, saw Quickbeam back to stand by the mallorn again, where he said he would be quite happy for the night, and himself took Déorwine to check on the horses before showing him to the converted smial in Bywater, much to his amazement, and taking him to the Green Dragon for some food at a table where the tall Rohir didn't have to crouch. It had actually been made for the wedding, so Mr Halladan and his escort would have somewhere to eat, but it was good to give it a trial run and Déorwine was again impressed, offering sincere thanks. He was also very happy with the food on offer, a fry-up of bacon, potatoes, and mushrooms with fresh bread, as well as the ale, and even more so when the Cottons arrived and joined them, full of curiosity, wonder, and laughter.

"We just passed Rollo Goodbody," Rose explained, cheeks dimpling, "coming back from Hobbiton as white as a sheet. He even offered me an apology, which is a first, but I told him he should make it to you."

Déorwine grinned. "Another disbeliever in talking trees, Miss Rose?"

The number of alliterating words hobbits had for a ninnyhammer amused the Rohir greatly, but satisfying the Cottons' wider curiosity was a more serious business. The whole room was listening to him avidly, of course, gasping at the encounter with the Uruk-hai and hearing both Déorwine's matter-of-factness about orcs and his profound wonder at Lord Glorfindel. When he wound up with news of the other ents who had gone straight to the Old Forest and the meeting at the Brandywine Bridge with Thain, Master, and Deputy Mayor in four days, there were relieved nods that all the strangeness was being handled properly, and some bolder hobbits came to thank him for his tale before returning to their friends and contributing to the great buzz that broke out. Rosie was indignant they didn't thank Sam too, but Sam was content.

"I can't hardly blame them, Rosie, when I didn't really believe it myself before I saw ents, large as life. Or larger. And I'd seen a lot of strange things by then."

"I bet you didn't go round saying it wasn't possible, though, which more than Rollo Goodbody have done."

"No more did I, Rose-lass, but Sam's got a point all the same." Mr Tolman raised his glass to Sam, echoed by Missus Lily. "It's not for nothing we say seeing is believing, and we're learning. Sam said King's Men would come, and they did, and he said he hoped ents would come, and they have. I don't know what all might be coming next" — he smiled a trifle warily — "but whatever it is there'll be fewer not believing."

"It's only doing what's needed, Mr Tolman." Sam shrugged uneasily. "Ruffians needed King's Justice, and what's going on with the Old Forest needs ents."

"Oh I'm not doubting it, Sam. But I had occasion to talk to Bosco Maggot not so long ago, and if I've ever heard him sing a hobbit's praises as he sang yours, I don't remember it. And I never said my Rose was wrong, only that you weren't neither."

Sam retired from the argument in some confusion, Rose holding his hand with a smile, but Mr Tolman's words were in his ears the next day as he found himself picked up to sit on Quickbeam's shoulders and carried at an amazing pace about a fair range of the Shire. The ent had seen some of the South Farthing and would see the East when they headed for the Brandywine Bridge, so they went west, then north, passing Bindbole Wood and circled Hardbottle (where Sam greeted an entirely astonished Hugo Bracegirdle). Sam had very soon grown tired of calling out slight variants on 'Don't fret. This is Mr Quickbeam, who's come to see about all the trees we're missing, and we're meeting Thain, Master, and Deputy Mayor to talk it over in a few days', and thought Quickbeam must be equally tired of hooming greetings, but as they finally headed back to Hobbiton, ent-strides eating up the miles, Quickbeam declared himself quite impressed with the hobbitry of the Shire.

"We have seen in the soldiers of Rohan and Gondor how men have come to be ignorant of us, Samwise, and to fear us when they find we exist after all. And we ourselves were most surprised when Merry and Pippin rose out of the grass to confound our belief that we knew the lore of Living Creatures. Your fellows do not so badly."

Sam didn't disagree, and said so, but the matter was driven from his mind by Quickbeam's next words.

"If it proves possible to shepherd some huorns hither, I do not think they will be happy to stand alone, as your lost trees did. They have been of the forest for long, and however much they desire room to grow and fruit, standing far apart would be against their nature. But groves at intervals might be acceptable to them."

As it might to hobbits, Sam thought, and the discussion carried them back to Hobbiton in the dusk, where almost everyone came out to see them pass. Almost as many were out next morning when the Thain arrived, and in the afternoon when they all set off for the Brandywine Bridge, though in deference to Frodo's obvious lack of stamina they went no further than Frogmorton that night. Sam had to swallow a degree of impatience, for Rose's admonitions to hurry back were in his ears, and a sense of guilt at having to be away when there was so much still to be done in his heart, but it was interesting to see how subdued the Thain still was, and hear Quickbeam's account of first meeting Merry and Pippin and showing them a little of Fangorn Forest while they waited for the entmoot to end. The frequent sound of his laughter overcame the wariness of some of the younger children in the staring crowd that surrounded them, and the sight of him swaying forward a little and extending long fingers so little ones could reach up curious hands eased hobbit nerves at having such a large being about. Sam also noticed that Déorwine's presence was acting to reassure as much as the Thain's and Deputy Mayor's — he was sharply remembered from his capture of the small band of Ruffians, and had been warmly welcomed.

Word must have spread fast, for the next day, as they went on, the hobbits who came out to see them pass were more cheerful and excited than nervous. At Whitfurrows Vigo Boffin and his family had come from the Yale, and Freddy Bolger, with his parents and sister Estella, from Budgeford. They were all pleased to see Freddy, still much thinner than he had once been but no longer the skeletal figure they'd carried out of the Lockholes, and made a special point of introducing him to Quickbeam and Déorwine with accounts of his bravery at Crickhollow. Sam privately thought that Merry seemed more interested in Estella than her brother and saw a speculative look come to Frodo's eye as well.

They reached the Bridge Inn late in the day and were joined for supper by Master Saradoc and his wife, and Mr Merimac. Though clearly fascinated by Quickbeam and eager to speak to him, the Buckland hobbits were first warmly welcomed back and congratulated, and their tale heard with rather more detail about Merry's and Pippin's valour than either was comfortable with. But late into the evening and throughout the next morning the Master and Merimac did sit and talk of trees with the ent, conversation ranging back into Buckland's history and uneasy relations with the Forest and the threat it posed. Many hobbits were listening, and confirmation that the malign presence in the valley of the Withywindle was a black-hearted and deeply rooted ent was received with shock. Quickbeam declined to speak of one he had not himself met, or of Beleriand, destroyed before he was an enting, and Frodo said he had no more wish to speak of Morgoth than of Sauron, so it was left to Merry, Pippin, and Sam to relate what little they knew of Nan-tasarion and the dreadful years after the crushing defeat of elves and men at Nirnaeth Arnoediad. This was a tale unknown to any hobbits save themselves, and was heard with shivering interest, but when they were done Sam found himself issuing a warning to all.

"So that's the tale as best we know it, and for us it's so long ago hobbits didn't even exist, or if we did no-one remembers it. But from what I understand, at least one of the other ents who are coming to meet us, Mr Whiteleaf, was alive back then, and so was Mr Glorfindel, the elf who'll likely be with him. Think about it. They were there, and they do remember it, as they mourn it and all the friends they had who died there, so have a care what you say in their hearing, eh? You wouldn't want strangers tromping their big feet all over your griefs, and neither will they."

When he sat again amid a buzz of conversation he found Thain and Master had looks he couldn't identify but turned out to be approval.

"Now that was well said, Mr Gamgee." Master Saradoc nodded sharply. "It's hard to understand beings living so very long but well to remember their griefs live on with them. And rather a dreadful thought that they have no release from them."

"Oh yes. It's one reason elves are as chary about us as we are about them, I've come to understand."

"How d'you mean?"

"Well, Thain Paladin, sir, think of Mr Elrond and that great list of kings Mr Halladan recited for us that day. Mr Elrond lost his brother about six thousand years ago, and he's seen more than sixty generations of his nephews die while he endures. I don't mean no offence by it, but for them knowing us is like us knowing, oh, butterflies, say — we'll all be gone in an eyeblink. Whatever else they might be, to any of the Firstborn a mortal friend is a grief in store."

"Alas, that is true, Samwise." Quickbeam swayed. "Hrrm, hom. It was not a thought that had troubled us, for we have had little dealing with mortals, but it is one reason elder ents other than Fangorn are so withdrawn, for they knew many Eldar and Edain who perished untimely in Beleriand. Yet all kinds have their destiny in the music, and to withdraw is also to diminish. Had Merry and Pippin not come among us with all their news and haste we might not have been roused in time, to our great harm and the grief of all trees. So do not be sad on our account. And strange as it has been to walk the wider world again, I rejoice to do so, and in your friendships."

The ideas involved left everyone thoughtful, and lunch was a sober affair for hobbits, but there was also considerable anticipation. The promised meeting-time was afternoon, and it wasn't more than an hour after they'd finished eating that a distant call had Quickbeam putting hands to mouth and calling back, a noise that had the assembled hobbits putting hands to ears. But there was complete silence as two obviously older ents appeared, striding over the grasslands north of the Forest eaves, with Glorfindel on his magnificent white horse and a bright-eyed, laughing Tom Bombadil on Fatty Lumpkin. Merry's introductions were confined to Thain, Master, Frodo, and Sam, and Sam was uncomfortably aware of the gazes that rested on him, but Whiteleaf was speaking.

"Little people, the new line in our lore tells us you are hungry folk, and I have seen for myself that you are hasty also, so I shall be as brief as I can. Yet there is much and much that should be told." Ancient eyes considered Frodo and moved to Sam. "You are the one the Eldar name a Ringbearer who spoke with the huorns?"

Sam nodded, and bowed, but Whiteleaf held up a great hand.

"No, no, you owe me no honour, Master Hobbit. Quite the reverse. The huorns by that tunnel under the great hedge speak of you with pleasure in your understanding of their plight and wonder at the elven gift you shared with them. And you were right to think there are among those about them some whose hearts are black and rotten, as Glorfindel was right that the one you know as Old Man Willow is of our kind, old and strong and filled with the malice of the Great Enemy." Whiteleaf seemed to bristle, as did Longbranch beside him. "I walked the worldwood even then, and never have I encountered so foul a creature as he has become. But we have taken the measure of him, root and bole and bough, and he cannot resist us together. The others of our kind hold him now in their circle, and when we have brewed it to the full he shall drink the draught of sleep, and trouble neither the huorns nor you more."

There was a long, wondering pause before Longbranch spoke. "I am sorely grieved to find one of my own kind so turned and twisted against all that is right. If any among you who have suffered from his malice would see it ended, come to the house of Iarwain when next the moon is full and we will take you to bear witness to what we do. Thereafter the Forest will be free of him, and we may speak of what the huorns desire."

At that Quickbeam strode forward and as a booming ent conversation began Glorfindel came to the Travellers, Tom Bombadil behind him, and knelt to embrace Sam and Frodo.

"Ringbearers." He looked into Frodo's eyes for a moment before placing his hands on his shoulders and singing a short phrase in Quenya. "Hold on yet a short while, Iorhael, and all shall be well, whatever your choice. I understand better than Gildor the words you spoke to him, and yet I tell you he was right."

Sam was trying to work out how Glorfindel could know what had been said to Gildor when eyes even older than an ent's rested on him.

"And though I will not tell you to set aside your grief, Perhael, I will say, be content. The design that unfolds encompasses all, you not least. Artanis chose well with her gifts, and they have been used wisely." A smile touched his face and he switched to Sindarin. "Many other things in all creation but an innocent bird I deem you, Master Perhael."

Sam started to blush but Frodo gave a shout of laughter and indignation joined his embarrassment.

"Sam, you didn't! Oh, that's priceless." He rolled the Sindarin phrase on his tongue and laughed again before looking at Glorfindel. "It even alliterates. What did Elrond say?"

"He has not heard it yet." Glorfindel's smile became wider. "But he will, if only because his sons have taken to it with the relish of the young. Undómiel and Estel found it a fine phrase also."

Frodo laughed again and Sam stared reproachfully.

"I can't help not thinking in Sindarin, Mr Frodo, and that letter was writ as fast as I could. And I had been a ninnyhammer, not realising that horrid old willow had to be an ent and the rest of them trees huorns."

"We were all ninnyhammers then, Sam." Frodo grinned. "And Sindarin is the richer for it."

Sam knew when it was pointless to argue and gathered what dignity he could. "Mr Glorfindel, sir, Mr Halladan wrote to say you and Mr Elladan and Mr Elrohir was wanting to come to Rosie's and my wedding, and you'll be right welcome. I'm sorry we didn't send no invitation, but it never crossed my mind to presume on you for such a reason."

"Did it not, Perhael? And yet you as much as Iorhael are an Elf-friend, one we honour and love, and it will be my pleasure to meet your bride and see you wed. Elladan and Elrohir are yet about an errand but they too will be here, on their own and Estel's behalves."

Sam's emotions were tangled and tears threatened, but he took a deep breath. "Thank you, Mr Glorfindel. The honour's all mine and Rosie's, I reckon. And if you and Missus Goldberry would come, Mr Bombadil, we'd be right pleased to see you. It's the first day of Thrimmidge, in Hobbiton, by the mallorn that's shooting up there, and vittles after. Mr Maggot's coming with his family."

Tom beamed down at him. "Old Tom will be delighted, and the river-daughter. Weddings are a joyous time, and hobbit food a pleasure." His face grew more serious. "And you are owed our thanks besides, with all the forest creatures'. To kill has never been Tom's way, save wights long dead already, but ever since he hither came that willow has been trouble, a sorrow to my lady's heart in darkening her valley. To have him truly deep asleep will set us all rejoicing." He shook his head, eyes twinkling. "The little folk prove wise indeed. Tom should have thought of ents himself but it is long and longer since last he saw them walk the worldwood shepherding their charges. To speak with elder trees again is joy beyond all measure."

"Oh, well." Sam wasn't sure where to look. "It just seemed right, what with Merry and Pippin meeting Mr Treebeard and all."

"And so it was." Glorfindel was smiling again. "Great good has come of it already, and more will come when that Black Onod sleeps. But come now, for I think your Thain wishes speech with me."

He did, and Master Saradoc, mostly to offer painfully sincere thanks for protecting Merry and Pippin, and to ask him to pass on their thanks to Elladan and Elrohir for healing Menlo Oldbanks.

"Merry and Pippin defended themselves, as did all the periain, finding themselves valiant when roused. It was my honour to fight yrch beside them. And certainly I will convey your words to the sons of Elrond, but you may tell them yourselves at the wedding of Perhael Cormacolindo if you wish, for we will all be there."

Master Saradoc blinked. "Excuse me, but whose wedding, did you say?"

"He means mine and Rosie's, Master Saradoc, sir. Perhael' is what Samwise comes to, in Sindarin."

The Thain's mouth opened and closed again.

"And cormacolindo is Ringbearer, Paladin." Frodo shook his head slightly. "I'm sure I've told you that before."

"There are elves coming?"

"And men and dwarves."

"And old Tom with Goldberry, who are none of those yet listed." Tom laughed merrily. "It will be a famous day, so many kinds together rejoicing with the happy pair in fine and sunny weather."

Sam didn't know if he could take that as a promise but stored the words away to share with Rosie. He'd have to warn her about elves calling him Perhael as well. But he didn't think he'd be able to describe the look on Thain Paladin's face at all.

---

Getting everything ready in time was a near run thing, but they made it, with a little unexpected help. The wagonload of foodstuffs and ales that Frodo had ordered from Bree before the year's bounty became apparent arrived with four days to spare, accompanied by Déorwine with a small escort drawn from both Rohirrim and Gondorians, and the men's height and strength proved a great help in getting the great pavilion set up. The flowering mallorn startled them, despite Déorwine's warnings, as did the still riotous growth of almost everything, and they shook their heads wonderingly at the sheer quantities of food being prepared. But they also appreciated the hobbit cooking they were offered, making for lively evenings at the Green Dragon and Ivy Bush, and willingly helped with the thousand things that always seemed still to need doing, fetching, carrying, and running errands as one or another minor crisis threatened. Merry and Pippin were also rocks on whom Sam leaned heavily as his nervous excitement rose.

The Gaffer had, to his relief, passed from bemused disapproval through growing disbelief at the sheer scale of things to a dumbstruck pride. Uncle Andy had been a real help, saying roundly that even in Tighfield they'd heard of all Sam had done, it was plain to any nodcock he'd gone up in the world, and wasn't it proper for them as had reason to be thankful to him to come to his wedding? Even Uncle Andy's calm was tested, though, when on the wedding-eve Legolas and Gimli arrived with a laden wagon, and Elladan and Elrohir. Seeing his uncle's jaw drop Sam made a low-voiced comment about Rollo Goodbody, catching flies in the crowd that had trailed elves, dwarf, and wagon from Bywater, and with a sharp glance under lowered brows Andy took a breath and swallowed his astonishment, even letting himself be drawn with the Cottons into Bag End for the tea Sam had put together. But when a determined if very pink Rose wanted to know more about Gimli's cheerful statement that of course the marriage would also be celebrated at Aragorn's court, Sam escaped to the garden and a thoughtful Andy followed him out. They smoked pipes together in silence for a few minutes before Andy spoke.

"You know, Sam, I meant what I said to Ham — he's always been a stickler for knowing your place and not presuming none, the old coot — but I don't reckon I'd quite taken it all in. Them elves and Mr Gimli aren't just pleased to see you, politely like — they're happy to be here, and don't care who knows it. And the King and Queen sending you and Rose congratulations like that!" He shook his head. "I don't rightly understand what all you did out there in the world, but I'd be a fool not to realise it's won you love and liking a long way past my ken. And there's not a hobbit from West or East Farthing I've spoken to these last few months who's not wanted to sing your praises for all you've done replanting what them Ruffians laid waste, though how you done it's a mystery to me, whatever you say about some great Lady's gift. But I've been thinking, Sam, and I hope you won't take it amiss."

After a brief silence Sam gave in. "Take what amiss, Uncle Andy?"

"I'm only three years short of my hundred, you know."

"You're hale yet."

"That I am, and thankful for it, but it comes to us all. Anson's agreed, and Hamson and Halfred — you should be family head after me. No, listen a minute, Sam. Anson'll have the ropewalk, with Hamson, and they're happy with that. Nor Anson wouldn't mind dealing with whatever little stuff came up, like I have. But he don't want to deal with Thain and Master, like I hear you do, and he wouldn't know where to start with no elves or dwarves, nor your brothers — but you speak with them in that liquid tongue of theirs, and make jokes about the King and all. And never mind Anson and your brothers couldn't do it, Sam — I can't do it neither, the way things have changed. Mr Frodo sent me a letter about what the family heads will have to decide at the Midsummer Fair — them contracts that old stinker Lotho wrote, and the lost wills and all — and I plain don't know what I think should be done. It's not like anything we've faced before, not to my knowing, leastwise. But I'd trust your judgement, and I'd like you by me in that meeting, if you're willing."

That wasn't an appeal Sam could refuse, and when he cautiously reserved the right to speak to cousin Anson himself, and to Hamson and Halfred, Andy only nodded.

"Acourse you should." A shrewd gaze rested on him. "But if things was the other way about Anson wouldn't of thought to say that. I'm making the right decision, Sam, and you know it — or you would if Ham hadn't stuffed all that rubbish in your ears about what's proper."

To his surprise Sam found himself in rueful agreement, and gave a short laugh. "Alright, Uncle Andy, so long as cousin Anson really don't mind, nor Hamson nor Half. I've come to realise how much I changed while I was away, and the Shire too, with all that happened. Couldn't none of us help it. But there's one thing." He relit his pipe, and was pleased to produce a perfect smoke-ring. "When I found out all these elves and Mr Halladan and the Thain and all were coming, from Mr Frodo, I told him he was telling Rosie and Missus Lily, cause I weren't. And you're telling the Gaffer what you've decided about this, cause I'm not, not for no money."

Andy chuckled. "Fair enough, Sam. I'll lay down family law to Ham, and ride his protesting. It'll only be for show anyway — he sees as well as I do what's right and needful, and never mind proper. Now tell me, who else are you expecting? Thain and all covers a mort of folks."

Andy's question was soon answered, when in swift succession Thain and Master with their families, Farmer Maggot with his and the Oldburrows, and most of the family heads who lived further off arrived, filling every spare room in both villages, smial, house, and inns alike, followed in early evening by Halladan and what could only be called a cavalcade. Glorfindel rode Asfaloth beside Tom Bombadil on Fatty Lumpkin and Goldberry on a mare just as round-bodied, Damrod led Halladan's escort, all in new surcoats showing the emblem of Arnor, and there were two hobbits who sat on the Bree Council, as well as a dwarf Gimli embraced with words in Khuzdul before introducing as Deróin, his fifth cousin once removed on his father's side, and roaring laughter at the impressed hobbit nods this news received.

"I wouldn't dare introduce a kinsman to a hobbit and not know the exact degree. I can still see the look Merry gave me when I didn't know straight off what number cousin my father was to Thorin Oakenshield."

Frodo smiled. "Well, if we've finally taught a hard-headed dwarf the value of some proper genealogy it's not before time. Poor old Bilbo got terribly frustrated before he worked out how it all went back to Dain I and his brother. And he never did know how Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur fitted in."

Not even Bag End could seat that many, so tables had been set up in the Party Field, and with the weather not only set fair but warm with the first real breath of summer the late supper was long and merry. Sam and Rose were strictly forbidden by Frodo, Merry, and Pippin to do anything but eat, drink, talk, and enjoy themselves, to which even the Gaffer couldn't object on this night — and he was happy enough anyway, talking of the year's remarkable vegetables with one of the Breeland hobbits who had his own reputation as a kitchen gardener. Andy, Anson, and Hamson, to their complete astonishment and growing pleasure, found rope-making a skill elves admired, and one Elladan and Elrohir had both learned while living in Lothlórien, while Farmer Maggot was delighted to try out his Sindarin phrases on Glorfindel, and introduce his good friends Tolman Cotton and Tom Bombadil. Halladan spoke to Thain and Master, drawing in Frodo as well as Merry and Pippin on Shire affairs, and Sam spent a while catching up properly with Legolas and Gimli, pleased to hear of the work being done in Ithilien and Minas Tirith but better pleased to see Rose relaxing in their company as she got over the shock of meeting elves for the first time.

There was one difficult moment, though, when one of the Gondorians in Halladan's escort, Cirion, diffidently approached to offer Sam thanks for visits he'd made to the Houses of Healing, bringing plants and comfort foodstuffs for those whose injuries at Pelennor or Morannon still kept them abed. Sam vaguely recalled his face, one among several hundred he'd seen there, but to Cirion — and, he said, many others — the visits of the Lord Perhael had been a great wonder, not only in his strangeness and for the wild tales of his actions as a Ringbearer, but for his kindness and concern for men he'd never met.

"It's our new king's way too, of course, setting aside all ceremony when his healing powers are needed. And when he just can't stand any more of it, from what Lord Steward Halladan has to say." Cirion grinned at the thought. "But the thing is, my lord, it wasn't that way under our late Lord Steward, not by a long reach, and we were taken all aback that you should come once, never mind as often as you did. I was up and about before you left, and in the crowd at the gate when you all saw King Théoden off to his rest, but I never had the chance to thank you for your cheer and your care, so I'm glad to do so now."

Sam knew he was flushing but Rosie's eyes were shining. "That's right kind of you, Mr Cirion, but it seems to me any who were wounded deserve all our care and honour. And there's no call to go my-lording me. We don't use no titles like that in the Shire."

Cirion shrugged apologetically. "The Lord Steward told us you didn't use your title, my lord, but it's what comes naturally to me. I was in the healer's tents at the Field of Celebrant but I heard the song you were greeted with. Conin en Annûn, it said, and so you are to me, my saving the King and Lords Steward Faramir and Halladan, I know of no-one more deserving honour than yourself and Lord Iorhael. So I wish you and your lady long life and all joy, my lord."

He bowed before he left, both to Sam and Rose and to Legolas and Gimli, calling Legolas his Lord Prince and Gimli his Lord of Aglarond, and Rosie's eyes grew wide.

"You're a prince, Mr Legolas?"

A slightly dazed Sam wasn't sure he'd ever seen an elf simultaneously suppress a smile and shuffle his feet before.

"As my father is Thranduil Oropherion, King of Eryn Lasgalen, I suppose I am, Miss Rose. But so is Sam."

"He is?"

"Conin en Annûn means 'Princes of the West', and so Gwaihir declared both Frodo and Sam, however little they relish it."

Gimli smiled behind his beard. "Whereas I am only fourth cousin to a king."

Legolas arched an eyebrow. "And third cousin once removed to a ruling lord, as well as Lord of Aglarond by that king's decree, besides being the first dwarf to recommend yourself to sensible people since Narvi."

Gimli sighed mightily. "By sensible people he means elves, you realise. It's the kind of nonsense you get from princes, Sam and Frodo excepted."

Rose's eyes were still wider. "I knew about you being a Ringbearer, Sam, but you didn't tell me about no other titles. Does it mean I'll be something other than Missus Gamgee come tomorrow?"

That thought had never crossed Sam's mind, as his face must have showed because Legolas and Gimli both grinned.

"Were I presenting you to my father, Miss Rose, as I hope I may do, one day, it would certainly be as Rose, Lady Perhael."

"And to King Thorin Stonehelm you would be Rose, Lady Gamgee, as well as several things in Khuzdul. Lord Mahal alone knows what Aragorn and Arwen will come up with if ever you visit Minas Tirith."

Sam glared at the pair of them, without noticeable effect. "They better hadn't is all I can say, and you tell them so. It's bad enough saying I was a Ringbearer when I didn't carry it but for two days, and half of that out cold." He sought distraction. "And you never told me you and Mr Gandalf went and killed that spider. I only found out from Damrod."

But his ploy backfired, for both grew serious and Legolas something more. "Aragorn asked us to say nothing while you and Frodo were recovering, Sam, for Mithrandir said your memories were evil, as I can well believe. But I for one account your defeat of that creature among the greatest of all deeds. And the elves of Eryn Lasgalen already sing of the perian who with naked valour drove the get of Ungoliant from the fallen Lord Iorhael."

"I join the elf in admiration, Sam. That creature was the worst thing I've ever laid eyes on, saving only Durin's Bane. And we had only to contain it, while Gandalf did the work, yet you fought it alone and won, even as you stood against all Nine together at the Ford of Bruinen." He shook his head, "As fierce as a dragon in a pinch, Gandalf always says of hobbits, and though we knew Bilbo bearded Smaug in his lair and pulled his clever and timely trick with the Arkenstone, it has taken you to teach dwarves what he truly means."

Sam was scarlet. "I couldn't let it take Mr Frodo. And it was Lady Galadriel's glass that did the trick, when Lady Varda sent me the words."

Legolas nodded gravely. "So I understand from Gandalf, Sam. But do you think Beren Erchamion had less aid when he fought his way south to Dorthonion, or Tinúviel when she forbade Sauron to slay Beren and drove his wolf-form howling away?"

Sam had never been so grateful for an interruption by Missus Lily, wanting to be sure Rose was alright, and briskly telling him his ideas about trees were wanted by Mr Halladan and that funny Mr Bombadil, who had a message from Mr Quickbeam. But the thoughts Legolas and Gimli had stirred stayed with him even after he finally slept, chasing through dreams in which Lord Perhael couldn't hope to fulfil his responsibilities.

By hobbit tradition gifts were received on the wedding-morning, and with so many guests Sam and Rosie had to make an early start. Given how much of Bag End's contents had been destroyed sensible domestic items were doubly welcome, and there were furniture (including several cots), linens, lamps and candlesticks, plates, cups, mugs, and other tableware, wall-hangings, rugs, vases, and ornaments, as well as gardening tools, flower-pots and window-boxes, and a wide assortment of plants. The Breelanders had brought two barrels of Mr Butterbur's blessed ale, the Thain added half-a-dozen cases of wine, and many of the family heads single or half-cases, so the cellar was restocked, as was the pantry with honey, jams, pickles and chutneys, rounds of cheese, packets of dried herbs, and a great bounty of fresh mushrooms from the Maggots. But there were also unexpected things. Master Saradoc had brought a fine, gently-mannered Buckland mare with a saddle and set of tack, for Rose, saying he very much hoped to see her as well as Sam at Brandy Hall, and when Bill had to retire Sam had only to ask for a replacement. Tom Bombadil and Goldberry had wreathes for them, of forest and riverbank flowers, and a bowl of water-lilies to set at their feet. Gimli had a bag of gold from Smaug's hoard, from King Thorin on behalf of all dwarves, and had made a wonderful set of cookware — skillets, pans, and pots in many sizes, with cake-tins, and baking-trays, all ornamented with finely drawn designs. Legolas presented a pair of beautiful silver brooches set with emerald, as well as an exquisite wooden tray with inlaid designs from his father, and Halladan silver goblets engraved with their names in Westron and Sindarin. Déorwine on his own behalf gave a set of embroidered horse-blankets, and on Éomer King's a golden bracelet for Sam and a delicate gold necklace for Rose, while Damrod produced two staves of lebethron he had made himself, like those Frodo and Sam had been given before but lost in Cirith Ungol. Glorfindel had an elvish herbal from Elrond, and smilingly promised a Sindarin lexicon rather larger than Bilbo's when it had been copied ; his own gift was a painting of Rivendell that glowed with colour and light.

Elladan and Elrohir solemnly gave a book, of Quenya hymns, but they too were representing others. They had brought a Lórien cloak for Rose and a fine pair of gloves for Sam, both from Galadriel and Celeborn, with a further small box of garden-earth to aid in dealing with the huorns. And on behalf of Aragorn and Arwen they presented several things — a mantle and dress Arwen had sewn, a crate of southern fruits on which Merry and Pippin cast greedy eyes, and a pair of rings, wrought in mithril and chased with Sam's and Rose's names and an image of clasped hands. Few of the rings stolen by Ruffians had ever been recovered, so Sam and Rose had intended to make do with simple bands Sam had carved, but he was thrilled to exchange those for ones that would neither tarnish nor break. By that stage they were both feeling so overwhelmed it was a relief when Merry insisted it was time they withdrew to change for the ceremony, Rose into a dress she and her mother had worked on all winter, and Sam into his suit of Gondorian finery, to which Merry insisted on adding the new mantle, despite Sam's protests that he was overdressed already, observing that it matched perfectly.

When they emerged to walk down to the mallorn the crowd fell silent for a long moment before beginning a great cheer, shot through with clear elvish cries of eglerio and something rumbling in Khuzdul. Sam knew that Rosie looked more beautiful than ever but had no notion that he looked not only fine and fair but what anyone other than hobbits would have called noble — wise, strong, kind, and enduring, his native dignity enhanced by the finery and transformed by the subtly cut and gorgeous mantle into a princely bearing. Will Whitfoot, still hobbling and a fraction of his former self but beaming fit to burst, conducted the ceremony under the golden boughs of the mallorn, which showered Sam and Rose with petals when they kissed, the rings fitted perfectly, and the seven hobbit witnesses who signed the contract in red ink after Sam and Rosie included Thain and Master as well as Frodo, Merry, Tolman and Lily, and the Gaffer, looking as happy as he did bemused.

Then Frodo, standing beside Will, invited the Lord Steward and all those representing others to sign as well — Gimli for King Thorin III Stonehelm of Erebor and the Iron Hills, Legolas for King Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen, Glorfindel for Lord Elrond of Rivendell, Elrohir for Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, Déorwine for Éomer King of Rohan, Damrod for Prince Faramir of Ithilien, Lord Steward of Gondor, with his wife, the Lady Éowyn, and Elladan for Aragorn, the King Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar of the United Realms of Gondor and Arnor, with his Queen Arwen Undómiel. However unusual and unexpected it was unquestionably proper, appealing to hobbits' sense of legalities, and informed all present, including those who had come only for the day and were still pop-eyed at what they'd found, of who was who among the strange guests ; but as Frodo had intended it also made it crystal clear to even the dimmest hobbit, without ever using the titles that made Sam squirm, that he was held in the highest esteem far and wide outside the Shire as well as within it. Sam himself was still in too happy a daze quite to notice, but though the names meant little to most of the listeners the show impressed everyone, especially as these special guests were all in exotic finery themselves, from Gimli's rich woollens and gold chain to Déorwine's embroidered surcoat, shimmering elven silks, and Halladan's decorated tunic and rod of Lord Stewardship.

And finally it was time for food, and plenty of it. Thanks to the stores recovered from the lockholes and elsewhere no-one had starved over the winter, but that was a far cry from not going hungry so far as hobbits were concerned ; and if the early greens had helped, adding some much missed variety, things were only just easing. But it was a long time since anyone had had a real feast, or an occasion to celebrate, and this was very clearly the time to set that right, so Frodo, Merry, and Pippin had done so with a passion. Teams from both the Green Dragon and the Ivy Bush had been hard at work, with more cooks from Buckland and Tuckborough, but they had also tapped in to everyone's astonished gratitude for Sam's labours of replanting, and the special receipts of many hobbits were on offer among the more regular fare. Wise by now in the ways of the Periannath, the men took only tiny portions of each dish, as did the elves, but Gimli tucked in happily and hobbits stuffed themselves until even they were declaring corners entirely filled and asking one another how long it had been since anyone could say that?

Inevitably, there were speeches. Mr Tolman was mercifully brief, though clear he was as pleased for his Rose-lass as any father could be, Merry was restrained (Sam having made him promise he would be), and Sam kept his own words short and sweet: he was glad to thank everyone for coming, especially those who'd travelled far, and for their overwhelming gifts, and to pay tribute to all who'd worked so hard to make the day possible, but all he really wanted to say was how happy he was, and did, to cheers. Even the Thain wasn't letting him get away with that, though, and rose to speak of his labours of restoration, producing heartfelt applause ; Master Saradoc also spoke of Buckland's gratitude for a different but no less important dealing with trees. Frodo said only that he knew no hobbit and precious few of any race had ever had a better or braver friend, but Halladan, without any dark details, said rather more, affirming the high honour in which all the Travellers were held, and especially Frodo and Samwise ; astounded all the hobbits by informing them that in the reckoning of the United Realms the new year now began on the 25th day of Gwaeron, or Rethe, to commemorate the deed of the Ringbearers ; and proposed the toast both in the names of Aragorn and Arwen and on behalf of all the Free Peoples. If Rose's eyes hadn't been so bright Sam might have given in and run out, but they were so he endured it, though becoming very red, and after the toast even managed the necessary thanks without making a fool of himself.

Then the singing started, and the music and dancing for those who could still move. The hobbit passion for surprisingly vigorous dances was a revelation to some of the men, but they approved, and Tom Bombadil and Goldberry joined in immediately, showing a skill that was much admired. The elves joined the more dignified ones too, before lifting their voices in songs of joy and the Blessed Realm that were heard in amazement and much applauded. With energy expended and some corners vacant again many hobbits returned to the tables in new groupings, catching up with friends and kin they hadn't seen in a while, but party pieces were also deemed in order. Quite a few of Bilbo's poems featured, and Pippin had a fine drinking-song he'd learned in Minas Tirith. Gimli, very content and patting his belly with satisfaction, was urged to chant the song about Durin that Sam had liked, but stopped short at "the trumpets rang", frowned, smiled broadly, and said there was another verse but it wasn't true anymore, thanks to Gandalf, Frodo, and Sam, and would have to be rewritten. Halladan, inevitably, found himself begged for his recitation of the King's descent, agreed with a sigh, then glanced slightly anxiously at Elladan and Elrohir only to find them stifling laughter at the idea of genealogy as a party piece, and reeled off the list to enthusiastic hobbit attention.

Talking with Rose Sam didn't notice the two elves slip out a few minutes later, but he and everyone noticed when Elladan returned and gave a piercing whistle before bowing and saying there was one more event, courtesy of Gandalf, who was sorry not to have been able to attend but had sent a surprise, and would they all be so good as to step out into the Party Field. They did, and Elrohir, at the top of the slope lit a single firework that shot out a tower of gleaming light that grew into a great silver bole with outswept branches and deep green leaves that shaded into wondrous gold as new growth came through and bright blossoms appeared. Then the mallorn shed its golden leaves but they did not float to the ground, instead outlining portraits on either side that as the cycle repeated and they were joined by blossoms and more leaves took on detail until Aragorn and Arwen hung before them and the tree stopped in its full glory of gold. In the deep silence Sam heard his own voice call out.

"Behold our King and Queen."

And by some marvel of Gandalf's art the King and Queen smiled before they and the mallorn slowly faded to reveal Eärendil shining brightly in the sky behind.

---

Most of the hobbits who didn't stagger home very late that night left early next morning, for there was a great deal of farm-work to be done, and Tom Bombadil said he and Goldberry must be getting back to help the ents. Halladan too had other duties waiting, and Déorwine and his men stayed only long enough to help with taking down the pavilion, but once Legolas, Elladan, and Elrohir had learned of Whiteleaf's offer to take witnesses to the silencing of Old Man Willow nothing could have dragged them away ; even Gimli, if still distinctly dubious about forests in general, was intrigued. Merry and Pippin also stayed, of course, and helped with the clearing up.

Sam was glad, for it meant Rose could get to know Legolas and Gimli better, without pre-wedding nerves or wedding crowds. With six of the Fellowship present all their memories were stirred, including things they avoided speaking of, but there was much happier and easier stuff that gave her a sense of how the experience of travelling together to places new to all of them, if not to Gandalf and Aragorn, as well as mutual reliance in danger, had forged unbreakable bonds and simple pleasure in one another's companionship. There were also Gimli's and Legolas's experiences in searching Orthanc, with the discovery of the Elendilmir, its nature and history, and an interesting digression from Gimli about hidden doors, as well as copies of the correspondence Aragorn had found, which if full of unhappy revelations about Saruman's long battening on the Shire interested them all.

In some ways Sam felt quite uneasy just sitting and talking, with so much to be done, but to be married at last to Rose was a wonder and an ease that held him still, and the Bag End gardens were right there when he had to be about something useful. Glorfindel spent long hours wandering the central Shire, and Elladan and Elrohir had become deeply intrigued both by the mallorn, which they said was already growing into quite a different tree than its parent in Lothlórien, and by the brick on which Gandalf had destroyed Saruman's ring, set by Sam into a small pillar to mark the place, but all three sometimes joined the talk. And all were happy to help when Merry and Pippin conceived the idea of making a small memorial garden to Boromir. Sam chose the spot where the spring bubbled out, low on the north side of The Hill, and they fashioned it as a miniature valley with the rill burbling through sloped banks studded with plants the elves assured them grew in Anorien as well as Arnor. When it was done Merry and Pippin were delighted, but Sam had mixed emotions and an idea coiling in his mind, and the next morning, when he woke well before dawn, he eased out of bed without disturbing Rose.

He hadn't been working long when the elves came to see what he was about, silently observing for a few moments before joining him. It took a swift trip to Bywater Pool on Asfaloth to collect the final touch, but by the time Frodo and the others were sufficiently awake and breakfasted to wander out into the sunshine and come to see, the rill fell from Boromir's valley into a small, shaded pool surrounded by ferns in which little fish circled, nibbling at pondweed, and the water-lilies Tom Bombadil and Goldberry had brought floated. When Sam saw Frodo looking down on them with a puzzled expression he stood nervously from where he'd been rooting another fern.

"It's for Stinker rather than Slinker, Mr Frodo. For what was lost, not what he came to. He'd just eat the fish, of course, but I reckon he'd be pleased to see the pool." There was what seemed to Sam a long pause, while doubts sprouted in his head. "I hope you don't mind, Mr Frodo, but it seemed right."

"Mind? Anything but, Sam."

But there were tears in Frodo's eyes that gathered into a storm of weeping. The elves and Gimli were taken aback but Sam, Merry, and Pippin, and after a second's hesitation Rose, just gathered him into a hobbit hug and rode it out with murmurs. When the fit passed and Frodo had been eased to a sitting position, supported by Pippin, Merry went to make athelas tea and Frodo looked up at Glorfindel, speaking Sindarin.

"You have seen the pattern that has me as the echo of Sauron and Gollum as that of Isildur?"

Glorfindel nodded gravely. "I have, Iorhael. Mithrandir, Elrond, and I were all struck by it."

"And do you think Gollum a rebuke to Isildur?"

"More often than not. Yet I cannot in my heart blame Isildur. He was deeply griefstricken, and you of all beings know the Ring's power."

"Oh yes." Frodo's expression was unreadable. "But say rather that Isildur was a compliment to Gollum, as Elrond to Perhael."

Glorfindel stared before giving a wide smile. "Wisdom enough to daunt the sages of the Noldor." His face stilled. "But tell me how you think of your own echo?"

Frodo's face was equally still but for once he held out his injured hand, spreading the remaining fingers. "I am rebuked in my foolish pride and left almost as diminished in my nature. So the echo is true, as my maiming attests." He tucked the hand away again. "But I try to rejoice in what little light I can see and he hates both light and the darkness into which what remains of him is driven."

"You sense him?"

"Only in dreams, craving it still as he does, gnawing himself and cursing Ilúvatar's design." Frodo's voice was a whisper. "And behind his darkness, from beyond the Gates of Night, ever the echo of Morgoth."

"Then you sense further than I, Iorhael Cormacolindo. But I have known the light of the Trees and the light of Aman, as well as the single light that burns in the Halls of Mandos, and I say to you that on Tol Eressëa even your dreams would be free of shadow, as of needless guilt." Glorfindel switched to Westron. "For whatever the truth of your thought about compliments, do you not see how great a rebuke Frodo Baggins is to him? You and Bilbo and Samwise, and even Sméagol?"

"I see. I just don't feel." Frodo frowned. "How do you count poor Sméagol a rebuke to him?"

"Have you never tallied the löar of the Ring? Sauron held it a little more than eighteen hundred years, destroying Eregion and Númenor. Isildur held it less than two, Anduin for perhaps two-and-a-half-thousand. So far as Mithrandir could learn, the first finder held it but a moment, and Sméagol perhaps five hundred years, but though he used it for evil his deeds were slight by Sauron's measure and many against orcs, turning evil against evil. In carrying it under Hithaeglir Sméagol also kept it from recovery as Sauron grew powerful again. Bilbo held it for sixty years, all but harmlessly. Last, you held it for eighteen years, and Sam for two days, neither using it for any evil though it was full awake and ever more powerful as it neared the place of its making. And with the aid of Sam and Sméagol you bore it to its destruction." Glorfindel smiled again. "For nearly five thousand years it was the bane and great fear of the Wise, and Sauron rejoiced that it was so. Then hobbits find it, prevent its use for evil, and once it comes to you in little more than an eyeblink it is gone for ever. How chagrined he must be!"

"Chagrined?" Frodo shrugged slightly. "In the moment I wore it I knew only the force of his gaze and his rage that another claimed what was his. Then I was struggling with Sméagol." He frowned. "I don't think he had any ordinary feelings left."

"Oh yes he did, Frodo." Pippin was pale but definite. "I felt them through the Palantír. Puzzlement at what I was and an awful gloating satisfaction when he learned I was a hobbit."

"More fool him, then." Sam shook his head. "I don't rightly know what to think about all these echoes and rebukes, but I do see as he didn't take no account of hobbits, not when he made it, and it showed. I know it didn't have much time to work on me, Mr Frodo, not like it did on you, but I know it didn't understand me. Couldn't think hobbit-sized at all."

Frodo's smile was ghostly, but it was a smile. "That's true enough, Sam. It always wanted more of me than there ever was."

"I know. But the thing is, Mr Frodo, despite everything, it just didn't work, not like he meant it to. It hurt you something cruel, and wore you down to next to nothing, but it couldn't rule you."

Frodo dropped his gaze. "It did at the end, Sam. And once, even less forgiveably, at Cirith Ungol."

"No, it didn't." Sam spoke flatly and Frodo looked up again. "In that tower you were ill and injured, and you thought it was gone. And at the end it just tried to save itself, pulling at everything." Sam shivered despite the warmth of the day and Rosie took his hand, gripping fiercely. "I felt it right enough, and poor old Stinker ran right over me to get to it. It was stronger than you for a moment, stronger than anyone in its fear, but it didn't ever rule you, nor me, nor Mr Bilbo. Not with a witch-knife in you, not with nine Nazgûl shouting at you, and not at the end neither."

But he could see Frodo did not, perhaps could not, accept it, and sighed. Baggins stubbornness remained, whatever else was gone.

"Are you still thinking Stinker's on your conscience as well?"

Frodo nodded tiredly. "He is, Sam. But this place lightens the load."

"Why does Sméagol burden you, Frodo?" Glorfindel was frowning. "His path was set long before you were born."

"He saved me, and everything, but I couldn't save him." His voice dropped. "And I cursed him to his fate."

"No you didn't." Sam shook his head. "You told him in a voice that wasn't your own that if he touched you again he'd be cast into the fire himself. And he did touch you, but he wasn't cast, or not by you. He fell."

Glorfindel sighed. "Even to prophesy is not to make happen, Iorhael. A debt of gratitude I can see, and regret for Sméagol's fate, to which Sam gives living form and grace, honouring what he once was and might have been. But no burden of conscience for you."

"For whom if not for me?"

"For Eru alone, for this was his design to achieve what Gil-galad and Elendil could not. Sméagol's strength and endurance were used, even as yours and Sam's were. And if he did not pass directly to Eru, I think Mandos will have received him gently."

This time Frodo's smile was stronger and he clasped Glorfindel's hand. "Oh I hope so."

Merry returned with the tea, and Frodo seemed eased, but soon said he thought he'd lie down for a bit and try to sleep. He refused company and went back to the smial, and the others moved away from the memorial garden to the dappled shade under an apple-tree.

"What did I miss?"

"Plenty, Merry, but I'll tell you later." Pippin's gaze went to Sam. "Though you'll have to ask Sam about the bit in Sindarin. Something about Isildur and Gollum, though putting those two together just makes my head hurt. And what was that stuff about the tower, Sam?"

Sam shrugged uncomfortably. "When I found him he was still feverish from the bite, as well as all bruised and beaten, and he thought the orcs had found it. Then when I told him I had it he got upset and said something as he shouldn't, but he wasn't himself and I knew it, so I paid it no never mind."

"Huh. Poor you. And poor Frodo. When you say at the end you mean in the Sammath Naur? When he put it on and claimed it?"

"Yes. But he couldn't no more have resisted it then than I could stop a tree falling on me, or one of us that balrog. He don't see it like that, though, stubborn Baggins as he is. Thinks he should of saved the world all alone and been home in time for tea. But that's it talking too, not hobbit sense."

Elladan laughed softly. "You have the right of it, I think, Sam. So our Adar thinks, anyway. He believes Frodo's will and conscience were both expanded by the Ring's unceasing pull, and that he actually used the Ring's own power to fuel his determination to destroy it."

"But he is left with both ravaged, yet overgrown, claiming guilt where there is neither responsibility nor need."

Sam nodded gloomily. "That sounds about right. It kept on getting bigger and heavier, and leaving less and less of him. And he knew it had been working on us all, or trying to. He's never said anything about it but I think Mr Boromir tried to take it from him, to use, like he wanted at Mr Elrond's council, and that's why he ran when he did."

"Is that what happened?" Legolas sat up. "Aragorn would never say what Boromir had told him ere he died. But I had wondered — certainly the Ring reached out to assail us all."

Gimli growled agreement. "That it did, filth that it was. As if I'd wish to displace Durin."

Sam found himself grinning, however blackly. "Told me I could make all Mordor a garden and be Head Gardener. I said it couldn't think hobbit-size, nor dwarf-size neither seemingly."

Merry frowned. "I can't say I felt much."

"Nor me." Pippin shrugged. "But maybe Sam's right and it just bounced off hobbits except Frodo, because he was carrying it."

"But why didn't it work on hobbits?" Rose was still holding Sam's hand tightly. "There's so much I don't understand, except to know it was awful, but that's a puzzle to me."

"When Sauron made it, Rose, either hobbits had not yet woken under the sun, or were keeping themselves to themselves, so he knew nothing of them and could give them no thought in its making." Glorfindel's eyes had stars somewhere deep in them. "The Nine worked best for him, though his victims among Men could not hold their kingdoms, save Angmar. The Seven he had to seek out, painfully, to wrest from the Children of Aulë. The Three he never sullied, though resisting the One sapped their power. Hobbits were beyond him, for you are the children of Lady Yavanna, but he was of Aulë and Morgoth. The love of growing things was ever a mystery to him."

"No Ring for the Hobbit Thain, in his field of green, And the One Ring could not rule all while they were yet unseen." Sam grinned again, more lightly, at their startled looks. "I thought of that one in Mordor, trying to keep going across Gorgoroth. I had some other verses too — he didn't make no rings for rabbits or frogs or taters, and none of them took a blind bit of notice of anything he did or said."

Merry and Pippin spluttered, but all the elves and Gimli gave full-throated laughs, and so did Rosie.

"Rings for taters, Sam? That's a good one."

Elladan and Elrohir looked at one another before looking at Sam and Rose. "Indeed it is, and a marvellous game. There are so many more things for which he had never a thought, and all shall have their verse."

"We shall rival even Halladan's recitals of ancestry."

Amid laughter and suggested couplets the mood eased, conversation drifting to happier things. Frodo rejoined them after lunch, apologising for his earlier gloom, and in the afternoon they walked to the Cottons' before going to the Green Dragon for a memorable evening of song. But as the moon waxed and the time neared to leave for the Brandywine Bridge Frodo decided he should be back at work in the Town Hole.

"There's a lot that still needs doing before I can hand it all back to Will at the Midsummer Fair. And I've no strength to ride so far, nor desire to see that willow again. You can tell me anything I need to know, and give my regards to Quickbeam and the others."

He wouldn't be budged, and on Sam's advice no-one tried too hard. But the night before they were due to leave Sam found himself turning to face Rose as they lay in bed.

"Do you want to come with us, love?"

"Me? To the Old Forest and all?"

"Yes, you. It won't be nice, I don't suppose, but it should be safe enough, else I wouldn't be going. You've had to put up with a lot of talk about odd things and I wondered if seeing one would help."

"I don't know, Sam. I've seen some odd things already and there's a lot to do."

"So there is, but it can wait a week, and this will only happen once."

It took some more persuading but Rose wanted to understand as well as she could the wider world that had so affected Sam, so there were nine of them on the road early next morning. Rose's new mare, Blossom, was as easy-gaited as she was well-mannered, and with food to eat on the move and only a brief stop at Frogmorton for lunch they made it to the Bridge Inn as the sun was setting. Master Saradoc and Mr Merimac were waiting and joined them for a very welcome supper. If they were surprised to see Rose they didn't say so, and Sam saw with pleasure that she was much more at ease than she had been when she had first found herself meeting gentry.

She was more nervous next morning, leaving the Shire for the first time, but there was nothing to alarm on road or grasslands until they came to the forest eaves. Glorfindel was interested, saying the malice was already sapped, but the hobbits could all feel it still, though mixed with other things — a brooding suspense and excitement flickering within it, as well as creaks and groans as if the trees were jostling to see them pass. It grew steadily stronger as they went south, leaving everyone but elves uneasy and drawing dark glances from Gimli, and they were glad to reach Tom Bombadil's house — quite visible but with no sign of its master until they heard him singing in the distance and he came stamping and smiling up the path that followed the Withywindle.

"Be welcome friends, though naught's prepared, for we have all been working, and Goldberry yet helps the ents so you must bide my cooking."

The hobbits didn't think the threat was very serious but they were glad to help in the kitchen, while Gimli and the elves laid the table, and soon all sat to a simple but satisfying feast.

"The threat from the trees seems much worse on this side than by the Hay, Mr Bombadil." Master Saradoc spoke as eating ebbed. "I don't know how you stand it."

"Old Tom fears no willowman, though he is mighty angry. You feel it as you near his bole, and will feel it more tomorrow, but nothing ill can pass my door so heed no nightly noises."

He woke them at dawn, and over a hasty breakfast Legolas told them the other elves had gone ahead and teased Gimli about not leaving him to face a forest alone. But as they rode down the Withy path and entered the trees even he became silent, and for the others the sense of pressure and anger became almost tangible. Had it not been for Tom trotting ahead of them, waving his arms and singing in snatches, they would have turned back, and Sam rode close beside Rose when the path allowed. As the river widened and slowed its colour darkened and it seemed higher than the hobbits remembered, lapping at the path, and Tom fell silent though he seemed as unperturbed as ever. Rounding a bend they came to the first grove of willows, and pressure became still more intense. Asfaloth and the other elven horses were grazing in a mead, and they dismounted, unsaddling the ponies.

All was still but it was the stillness of great strain, not ease, and Sam held Rose's hand tightly as Tom led them on. Much of their way, travelled only once in the other direction and in no state to observe anything, had seemed new, but when they came to it he recognised the stretch where he'd found the strayed ponies. Yet after another bend or two they came out into a space he didn't remember at all. Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir stood together and as they came up beside them Sam could see Old Man Willow now stood isolated. Six ents, including Quickbeam, surrounded him, and Longbranch with another that Merry whispered was Slowroot stood in the river itself — or where the river should have been, for against all nature the waters curved away from the bank there, rising on the further side so high that the narrow mead beyond was flooded. But the ground all around Old Man Willow was bone dry, flowers withered and the grass sere ; drooping leaves were lank and discoloured, moss on the cracked bole browned, and roots projecting from the bank shrivelled and cracked. Unassuageable malice thickened the air and Rosie was not the only one to gasp. Glorfindel looked down.

"Fear not. They have him fast."

"I'd forgotten he was so big." Sam shook his head. "If I'd remembered I'd have thought he couldn't be no ent."

"Your instinct was sound, Samwise, though it is true waking onodrim are rarely of this stature. But this one traded mobility for size and strength, growing fat on his prey, and cannot now flee the judgement of his peers."

Sam knelt to feel the dusty earth. "They're starving him of water?"

"Indeed. It weakens and keeps him still, nor could he otherwise be forced to drink the draft Whiteleaf is preparing. It will be ready quite soon now, I believe."

Rosie was staring. "How can the river do that?"

"It must be Missus Goldberry, Rosie, though I've never seen nothing like it."

Tom smiled. "Not for nothing is Tom's love the Withy-woman's daughter."

"Those of Lord Ulmo command water as those of Lord Aulë command fire. But I have not seen such as this before either, in all my years." A sudden grin lit Glorfindel's face. "And I owe you thanks, Perhael, for that is not a thing I can often say, yet here is more than one new sight. Truly the Periannath have become an astonishment to Arda."

Sam didn't know what to say to that and was saved the trouble as an ent's Hoom! sounded from somewhere and the four on the riverbank began a low rumbling sound, deeper than their usual voices, thrumming in the stomach as much as the ears. Tremors ran through the great tree and dry leaves rattled but for long minutes nothing seemed to happen ; then gradually earth began to move, dust rising as it piled into a ring and a hollow developed, deepening to expose a great tangle of roots that flinched and quivered as sunlight reached them. Gradually the noise died away and moments later Whiteleaf came into view, walking with slow care, carrying a great clay bowl. As he stood above the roots and began to trickle out its contents all the ents began to chant in their tongue, not with the overlapping rise and fall of conversation at the entmoot but in concerted command, a long phrase repeated over and over.

Old Man Willow shook again, leaves falling as cracks appeared in the great bole, and the air seemed to surge, but the chant was relentless, vivid with power, and Whiteleaf increased the flow. The draft looked like ordinary water, but the smell that rose had more than parched earth and rain in it, and as the clay bowl was emptied Sam could feel something stretching and stretching until with the last drops there was a single humming moment when all the Forest held its breath. And then, almost audibly, it snapped, ent voices dropped at once to a murmur and then silence, and the sense of malice faded swiftly away, dwindling into nothing. A great sigh ran through the trees and suddenly the sunlight seemed brighter and the air fresher, and they were all smiling, elves and hobbits and dwarf and whatever Tom Bombadil was. Sam breathed deeply and looked at Rosie before raising his voice in the hymn to Yavanna ; he had taught it to her and she joined him with the elves and Merry and Pippin. As the last note faded Whiteleaf came across to them, and after Tom had reached up to take the bowl from him and set it carefully down he looked at the hobbits.

"That was well sung. Hoom! So it is done, and with that one's malice sleeping at last a great wrong can begin to mend. Let us but wash and drink ourselves, and we shall speak of what may happen now."

The other ents were stretching out hands and fingers, and turning their heads as if to remove stiffness as Whiteleaf went back to join them, and he with the four on the bank climbed down into the river-bed. Water flowed back from its unnatural wall to lap their feet and then rise to their knees and waists, and for a moment Sam thought he saw faces shimmering in the water before the river flowed again as it should, slow and brown, the flooded mead on the opposite bank draining to reveal flattened grasses that began to steam as sunlight found them. Merimac was the first to shake himself, embracing the Master and then Merry and Pippin, before they all came to Sam and Master Saradoc offered a hand.

"Samwise. What an astonishing thing. Buckland owes you another debt beyond counting."

Sam had taken his hand but almost dropped it as he flushed. "There's no debt, Mas—"

"Oh yes there is. And don't you Master or sir me again, please. Sara's what friends call me." He grinned. "Merry tells me you can be trained out of it with some effort, so I'm glad to start."

"And Mac, by the same token."

Elladan and Elrohir laughed. "We wish you luck with that."

"And if you succeed, ask that you teach us and Halladan the way."

"If it works for any who are not hobbits. Only Estel has avoided being mistered."

"And that by being Strider."

Sam thought about glaring but Rosie was dimpling at him so he drew on his dignity. "Strider don't need it. And Mr Glorfindel's right — you two can seem like tweens for all you're pushing three thousand."

They only laughed, and Glorfindel and Legolas grinned. Then everyone was laughing, even Sam, and Tom Bombadil was capering and throwing his hat up for the pleasure of catching it. The air was a thrill to breathe and the sheer sense of rightness a delightful, bursting roil in Sam's chest. When the fit passed they sat in companionable silence, waiting on the ents who still stood in the river, swaying slightly and sometimes stretching their arms, until Sam remembered a question that had puzzled him and gave the twins a calculating look.

"So, if I drop the misters will you two give a straight question a straight answer?"

They looked at one another. "If you drop them permanently, Sam, we will answer two."

"If we can, and may."

"Right then. I'll ask one now, and this ain't it. Book I read said you were born in 130, Third Age, and your sister in 241. Is that right?"

Both nodded.

"So you're eleventy-one years older than her."

"To the day. Adar has never told us why he or Nana planned it so."

"Our belief is that he wanted only one birthday to be bothered with."

Sam waved this away, taking a breath, though others smiled. "Here's the question, then, Elladan and Elrohir. Is it the same eleventy-one as Mr Bilbo was when he gave up the Ring and left for Rivendell? There's been a lot of talk about echoes and suchlike, but not that one, so I've wondered."

They had grinned at their bare names but now frowned, as did Glorfindel, each searching memory for other like intervals. Their discussion rapidly lapsed into Sindarin, drawing in Legolas, then Quenya, and the hobbits pulled away, forming their own circle with Tom Bombadil and Gimli, and fetching food and ale from their saddlebags as talk ranged freely, circling what they had witnessed. The Master spoke of his introduction to the Old Forest by his father Rorimac, and Merry and Pippin of first entering Fangorn Forest, making Gimli nod.

"Aye, I felt that too, when the elf took me in there. I'd left my axe with Arod at the eaves, and bowed deeply to the trees before I went in, but I knew I was there on sufferance, for his sake." His hands stroked his beard. "I wouldn't call it fear, not as I felt entering the darkness under the Dwimorberg, but an oppression, a pressure of being watched. It made my back itch, as stone never does unless it is so weak it may fall at any moment. And I felt it again yesterday and today, until it was gone in an eyeblink."

"I think that's how we felt in Moria." Merry glanced at Pippin and Sam, who both nodded. "We're used to smials and earth, but not stone. And in Fangorn at least there was sunlight. You ought to get some in to Aglarond, somehow, you know. It was beautiful in the torchlight, but it would be even better by sunlight."

Gimli nodded again. "So I have thought. Moria had shafts bringing true light even to the deepest halls, and so shall Aglarond, though it will be no easy delving."

"Will Moria be inhabited again?"

Gimli shook his head. "I do not think so. We are too few, and there must still be many orcs and trolls. But knowing Durin's Bane is no more, thought is being given to an expedition to recover what we can from the deeps. Some mithril was found at Dol Guldur, and more at Orthanc — enough for the new gates of Minas Tirith but little more, and what Sauron stole must for the most part have been swallowed with Barad-dûr." He looked at Sam and Rose with a smile. "Your rings came from a single ingot in the treasury of the Stewards."

Explanations of mithril and its uses to Saradoc and Merimac were interrupted by the ents, who climbed out of the river, shaking water from long fingers and striding across. All the hobbits offered thanks but Whiteleaf held up a great hand.

"You are fair-spoken people, and that is good, but we act for our own reasons. Nor is our work finished. That one will drink many drafts yet ere I am done with him, and they will need to be renewed from time to time. Some of us at least will stay and see to it."

That was cheering news to digest, but after a moment Sam frowned. "Will he heal, in his sleep?"

"Hoom! That is more than I can say. That one is deep in shadow. But he will no longer be able to brood on his malice, and free of it the forest will begin to heal."

Quickbeam swayed. "The huorns will calm, and be able to think more clearly and for themselves again. Those that desire the dark of the deep wood and have been forced thence against their will can return, and those that desire otherwise may express it freely. It will take some time, and I would counsel you not to venture far from the tunnel-mouth for the next moon at least. If there is aught you need that lies deeper, sound the horn of which you told me, Merry, and one of us will come." His green-flecked gaze rested on Sam. "Whether any will wish to leave the forest for the Shire we cannot yet say, Samwise. Those that had thought so may still think it, but I have yet to describe to them the places they might sink new roots, while they have no experience of the forest without that one's webs of malice. And though you were right to think the gift of Lothlórien attracted them, they understand it is precious and agree saplings have first claim. Will there be enough to spare them a little?"

Sam nodded and caught himself just in time. "M— Elladan and Elrohir were good enough to bring a bit more, just for that." He glanced up at the smiling twins. "Did the Lady see that it would be needed?"

"We do not know. She rarely speaks of what she may see in her mirror."

"Yet we deem it likely. And she is deeply attuned to trees."

Quickbeard swayed again. "It may be her gift will fulfil itself, for there are some, I deem, whose longing will bring them forth."

The ents spoke among themselves for some minutes before Quickbeam turned back to Sam.

"Come to the Brandywine Bridge again at the full moon after next, and we will bring those who have decided."

Then he and the other ents made their farewells and disappeared into the trees, Whiteleaf again bearing the bowl, and there was only a golden Thrimmidge noon, sunlight pouring down onto the lazy windings of the river and harmless groves of willows, and a faint, clean breeze stirring the trailing branches and the leaves of the taller trees beyond. Sam saw that Glorfindel was breathing deeply, smiling.

"Almost I might believe myself again in Nan-tasarion, ere the shadow fell on it." He sighed. "Almost. The years lie long between. Yet again today periain have brought about a lifting of darkness, and you especially, Perhael. Cormacolindo is no more than fact, and Elvellon a title shared. Harthad Uluithiad, Mithrandir named you, Hope Unquenchable, and I will add Leithor i-Guruthos, Raiser of Shadow, here as elsewhere."

Sam was far too surprised to say anything as Glorfindel walked away, singing, but Merry clapped him on the back.

"He has that right."

Elladan and Elrohir smiled. "He does. But come now, your ponies grow restless. He will rejoin us in the evening. And as we go, Samwise of many names, we and Legolas will tell you what little answer we have to your question."

---

In the event the coming of the huorns was almost an anti-climax, for they would travel only by night, and even then, as Merry and Pippin had seen in Rohan, were wrapped in a gloom that defied the sharpest eyes. But during the short Afterlithe and Wedmath nights groves of trees reappeared one by one along the East Road, on the west bank of the Brandywine, and then through the worst affected parts of all four Farthings. It took each grove a few days to settle and the ents had help from wonderstruck hobbits bringing barrels and barrels of water while roots were sunk ; then each began to put forth new leaves, and in the case of fruiting trees to flower with late blossom.

"You may take what falls, and in season fruit may fall if you ask, but you must neither climb nor pick."

Sam had given the ents the extra box of earth the Lady had sent, and made sure the warning was made known to all. Signs were placed on each side of every grove to inform travellers that these were huorns, glad to offer shade but living things to whom all respect should be shown and who would at need defend themselves. Truth to tell, he didn't really think it necessary — the groves had nothing of the Old Forest's gloom or menace, but they were very treeish places indeed, their shade deeper than the spread of bough and leaves quite accounted for, and soon given to rustles of welcome when anyone entered. With amused permission from the ents, Sam also gave each a name — Quickbeam's Grove, Slowroot's, Whiteleaf's, commemorating the ents' aid and asking for more entish names. Hobbits approved, liking the simplicity as well as the meanings, but in more than one place it was common just to call the nearest one Sam's Grove, and that was their general name everywhere.

In Hobbiton the thick stand of chestnuts that had stood just upstream from the mill, running along the road to the Old (or now New) Grange, whose loss had affected Sam more than any save the Party Tree, reappeared. When he woke to see them he all but ran out of the door in his nightshirt, and as he found Quickbeam and Silverbole sluicing them with barrels dipped from the Water, and promptly joined them with his biggest watering-cans, it was a long time before he got breakfast. When at last the ents were satisfied their charges were comfortable for the time being Quickbeam produced the box, depleted but not yet empty, and Sam dug a grain into the damp earth by each one, feeling the shiver of pleasure in the trees and a sense of gratitude. Afterwards the ents went to stand by the mallorn, and once he'd grabbed some food Sam went down to them with Rose.

"I can't rightly say what this means to me, Mr Quickbeam. I was born here, and I played under those trees we lost as a faunt. First time Rosie and me ever kissed was there too." They both blushed but only a little. "But we didn't think our children would ever have the chance."

Quickbeam laughed. "Ah, Samwise, it is well. Very well. Some of these were among those who first heard you and knew the truth of your words, and they are glad to be here. You will have many chestnuts in autumn. What will you call this grove?"

Sam thought for a moment. "Something different, I reckon. Eryn Edlothiad."

Both ents laughed. "Flowering, certainly, but hardly a wood, Samwise."

"It was to me as a faunt, and it will be to others."

"Then that is well too."

And it was, though as Rose predicted, shaking her head, the local hobbitry looked hard at the sign saying Eryn Edlothiad, asked what it meant, and without further ado took to calling it Sam's Wood. Almost the only person who didn't besides Sam and an amused Frodo was Hugo Bracegirdle, so enchanted to meet elves at Sam's and Rose's wedding that he was trying to teach himself Sindarin, and moved to tears by the groves that settled themselves along the Oatbarton road and round Hardbottle.

It was all a great wonder, and the hobbits knew it, but the whole of 1420 was a wonder, a golden summer and autumn floating in verdure and plenty after a silver spring, with more food grown (and eaten), more merriment, more weddings, and from Wedmath more births than anyone could remember. It was mostly relief from the year of Troubles with the great stir of events that had followed, but even the hardest-headed hobbit had to admit elven magic was also at work and, as Sam insisted, Lady Yavanna's blessing also. Privately he rather thought the unexpectedly fair-haired newborns who began to accumulate as the year wore on suggested Galadriel's influence, and a wondering Gildor, who visited Bag End again to deliver some books and papers to Frodo, agreed it was probable and the ways of the Vanyar often strange ; though as Frodo pointed out, so far as he knew no-one in Arda had any idea what colour Lady Yavanna's hair might be, and it didn't do to presume.

Marigold and Tom Cotton made their vows under the mallorn at the end of Wedmath, and if the guest-list was rather smaller than for Sam and Rose, the tables were even more laden and the laughter freer. Quickbeam, on his way back from the North Farthing, had been entreated to attend, and gave the couple a long and rumbling blessing in entish as well as brewing a draft that he laughingly assured them would not make them grow like Merry and Pippin but would bring health and strength to endure wind and weather. He was also fascinated and amused to see hobbits dancing, saying that even for so hasty an ent as he such intricate movement was bewildering, but the hobbits laughed, insisted slow and stately dances were possible too, and had the musicians play one to show him. And long after the festivities had ended and everyone else was abed, the Travellers with Rose beside Sam sat on the bench outside the front door of Bag End watching him gently and joyfully step and sway around the mallorn, every now and again holding out long-fingered hands to stroke its starlit green and gold.