Part 2:  Fangorn Forest

The summer heavy air among the hoary trees cloaked them like a blanket, a nearly physical weight of ages which the ancient forest had never shaken but for the short span of Isengard’s treason and downfall.  It was still a place indelibly ruled by the vegetal world, and the creatures that dared its pathless depths did so at their own peril, at the sufferance of the more benign giants that made up the wood.  The sound of their footsteps barely disturbed the silence, and the sounds of their companions, camped near the eaves, were already muffled to inexistence.

“Treebeard!”  Pippin’s shout echoed a little among the branches before it was swallowed up, and there was no reply.

They walked on, trying to follow the meandering path they remembered from so long ago, and hoping that the old Ent was still fond of the sunny step upon the hill where they had met him.  Neither of them could recall much of the way to Wellinghall, save that it was quite far, and they were unlikely to ever find the ent-house on their own.

“We come peaceably, seeking aid!” the tall Took called again, addressing the mute trunks that surrounded them.  “I know you can hear me…  And I know you can speak!  Tell Treebeard…  Tell Treebeard that Peregrin Took begs his aid.  An Enting is fallen…”

“Pippin!” Merry hissed.  “What are you doing?  You cannot tell such a lie and expect his aid!”

“I had to…  We’re running out of time!  And look…” he said, as a shudder of movement seemed to pass through the wood, widening like the ripples in a pool.  “It’s working.  He will come now.”

Merry shook his head and started back towards the forest’s edge.  “You think too lightly of Treebeard’s wrath, Pippin.  He may view fondly your ‘hasty ways’, but he will not like to have his hopes raised so cruelly, even for the sake of your own child.”

“Yet you would do the same in my place, I know it,” Pippin replied, still gazing into the green depths.  “Where are you going?”

“Back to camp.  I’ve no doubt he will find us there when he comes.”

After a few more steps, Merry heard his cousin’s quiet footsteps follow and he slowed to allow him to catch up.  There were many words he wanted to say, words of comfort, of hope…  And yet he could not speak soothing lies to his friend, though there was little balm in truth right now.  Pippin knew that this was the slimmest glimmer of a chance, a miracle, and he was not so foolish as to completely deny, in his heart of hearts, that it was likely a vain hope.  Amber’s path in this life would be short and her joyous spirit would long dance lightly in their memories, after heartbreak took its toll of tears.  But these were not words he would want to hear, not yet.

Struggling with his thoughts, he was surprised by the unexpected feel of a familiar hand in his, a hand long known and well loved, seeking comfort as it had not needed in a long time.  He shot a quick glance towards Pippin’s face, seeing there the unhappiness he hid so well around the others, suddenly naked upon features cast only for joy.  Merry’s fingers tightened gently, willing strength and love into the small gesture, and he felt it returned with bruising force.  Pippin seemed to stagger to a halt, and turning to him with a broken cry, he fell against him, weeping.

The crowded wood huddled wordlessly around them, silent witness to broken dreams and the burden of love helpless before Fate.

~~~~~~~~

In the pale predawn light, the sonorous rumble of Treebeard’s voice startled Merry from the light doze that had taken him as he leaned against his saddle, ostensibly on watch.  Estella’s dark silhouette rose from his lap with a small gasp.

“Merry!” she murmured, understandably alarmed by the towering figure of the Ent.  No amount of description or imagination could entirely encompass the strange being that now loomed above them.

“Meriadoc Brandybuck!” Treebeard’s great voice rolled over them, waking the rest of the camp.  “Where is the Enting you spoke of?” he asked.

“Here…” Pippin’s voice drifted from the darkened tent, and he emerged, carrying Amber’s bundled form.

The Ent’s lambent gaze lit upon the sleeping child and a vast, tense silence chilled the morning air.  Time ticked on, light growing slowly in the east while they waited, still as stones, for Treebeard to speak.

“This is no Enting, Peregrin Took,” he finally rumbled, clearly disturbed.  “Why did you speak this untruth?”

“I am sorry, Treebeard.  It was wrong, but I needed you to come quickly…” Pippin replied.  “This is no Enting, it is true, but she is my child, and you are my only hope.”

“Hasty as always, though by your count, the years should have made you wiser.”

“It is wisdom that bids me make haste.  My daughter…” he hesitated a moment and stepped past the others to stand directly before the old Ent.  “My daughter is ill… even unto death.  I wish your help to save her.”

“Why do you fight her death, if her time has come?”

“Because it is not her time!  She is but a child, and more precious to me than jewels.”

“It is the way of things that not all buds reach their fruiting days.  We all make way for others in time.”

“No.  This is…  This is…  This is different!  Will you not help me?  Help her?”  Tears streaked again down his face, unheeded, to fall upon Amber’s blanketed form.

“Da?” the little lass’s voice rang softly, high and clear, and she reached up to brush his wet cheek.  “Don’t cry…”

“Amber…”  Her murmured name was like a sigh upon the wind, but it might as well have been a scream for the pain it held.  It was a prayer that could not remain unvoiced, though it expected to be unanswered.