The Choices of Mayor Samwise -- II Trees (h)
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.
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.