Clarity of Purpose, Chapter 18
Title: Clarity of Purpose, Chap. 18
Chapter Summary: Wandlimb takes Thorin and Bilbo to the Entmoot, where they are reunited with some of the missing members of the fellowship.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Wandlimb, Denethor, Gimli, Dis, Arwen, Aragorn
Fandom: Hobbit/Lord of the Rings. Begins in 2968, twenty-six years after the events of "Clarity of Vision" and fifty years before the canonical events of "Lord of the Rings." Thus, characters' ages and the geopolitical situation will be different than LoTR canon!
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3100
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins have been parted for many years now, despite the love they bear each other. Now Thorin's research has uncovered a dire threat to Middle Earth--the Ring he carried a little while and then gave to Bilbo. Together with a group of companions composed of the different Free Peoples of Middle Earth, they must attempt to destroy the artifact before its Dark Lord can re-capture it.
Bilbo put a steadying hand on Thorin's shoulder as the gardens of the Ents rushed by them in a blur of greens and golds. Thorin looked at him and swallowed hard, and Bilbo had the distinct impression that of all the terrifying moments in his long life, riding on the shoulders of an Ent ranked near the top.
For Bilbo's part, he was finding it rather exhilarating. The scenery flashing by was beautiful: sometimes elaborate geometric patterns of crocuses and tulips, sometimes a more wild and unkempt look with bluebells blooming in shady dells, but all of them gardens; well-tended and well-loved. Sometimes he could catch a glimpse of another tree-like being hurrying across the fields: a birch with white papery skin, a cherry-tree leaving a trail of petals in her wake. Wandlimb called to them sometimes, a long deep call like a great bassoon, and their responses rang back to her.
They traveled through the twilight, and the gardens slowly dimmed into dusk until Bilbo could see them no more. Yet on Wandlimb strode, never tiring, while Bilbo fell into an uneasy doze.
He was caught in a fitful dream--in which he was a fauntling once more and attempting to explain to an angry apple-tree why he had been stealing its fruit--when he heard Wandlimb’s voice calling his name and felt Thorin’s hand shaking his shoulder. ”Hurm, hm!” boomed Wandlimb. “We are at the Entmoot, Master Baggins. Rouse yourself and look around!”
Bilbo blinked, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of a vast body of water, much larger than anything he had sean besides the western sea, stretching out to the West. They were on a promontory that jutted out into the sea--for the Sea of Rhûn it had to be, after all--a green finger reaching into an expanse of blue water. The sea was calm and flat, with nary a ripple marring its surface: a mirror reflecting the sky and the clouds.
Bilbo looked out at the sea and felt the breath catch in his throat. “I’ve seen this before,” he murmured. “In Galadriel’s Mirror.”
Thorin gave him a quick, sidelong glance, but then his eyes went beyond Bilbo and widened. He made a small sound in his throat, like a cat warning off unwelcome attention, and went very still.
Bilbo turned to follow his gaze and realized that the small grove of trees on the promontory were not trees at all, but Ents, each one studying he and Thorin intently: hawthorns and poplars, laurels and dogwoods. There was a light in their eyes which was not altogether friendly, and Bilbo stepped between them and Thorin without thinking.
Wandlimb addressed the assembly in a language Bilbo didn’t understand, something long and slow and rolling as wind in branches, and the Ents’ attention shifted slowly to her, leaving Bilbo limp with relief. He and Thorin stood and waited as she spoke...and waited...and then waited some more. It eventually became clear that there was going to be no quick conclusion, so Bilbo slowly edged backwards until he and Thorin were out of range.
They walked together to the edge of the water, where the green grass fell away into smooth rocks and then the glassy sea. Behind them they could still hear Wandlimb's booming voice, interrupted now and then by other Entish voices. They sat down on the rocks, looking at the water, and Bilbo pointed and exclaimed in wonder, for wading in the water were two of the strangest birds he had ever seen: bright pink, with long knobby legs, slender curved necks, and upturned beaks that gave them a lopsided jolly look.
“We call them flammin-kûn,” Thorin said in a low rumble. “‘Carnelian-wader,’ in Khuzdul. The folk of Erebor know of them, but I have never seen one before.”
“I wonder if any hobbit in the world has seen them before,” Bilbo wondered out loud. “The world is so large! To think I once felt an excursion to Bree was an adventure.”
A great boom of sound reached them, causing the birds to startle and take flight, their pink wings caught in the ripples that spread out from the place they once were. “Master Thorin! Master Bilbo!” came Wandlimb’s voice. “Your companions are on their way!”
Wandlimb turned her gold-green eyes on them as they hurried back, satisfaction clear on her stoic features. “The voices of Mossback and Rosebriar have been heard--even now they approach with the members of your party for whom you search. All five of them, alive and unhurt--though I fear your kinspeople are somewhat…” She paused to choose her words, “...ruffled, Master Thorin.”
Bilbo could practically feel the surge of relief from Thorin; he practically sagged as Wandlimb finished speaking. “Our thanks--” he started to say hoarsely, but broke off as a new Ent strode into view.
She was holding a dwarf in each hand, clutching their collars, leaving them dangling from her grip. In her right hand, Dís had her arms crossed and seemed sullenly resigned to her situation, but in her left hand Gimli was struggling wildly, lashing out vainly with fists that could never quite reach the Ent’s trunk.
“Put me down, you overgrown log! Just let me get at my axe, you walking piece of kindling, you leaf-covered menace, you--” He broke off when he spotted Thorin. “Your majesty! Thank the Seven we’ve found you!”
Wandlimb turned to Thorin. “Mossback says she will not release your kin until she has their word they will not harm her.” There was a glint of something like humor in her eyes.
“These beings are not our enemies, Gimli,” Thorin called up to him. “As long as we do not harm their gardens. And I need you to promise you will do them no harm.”
“I’ve just been plucked off the ground by a giant tree with not so much as an if-you-please; why should I make such a promise?”
“Because we are surrounded by them, perhaps?” suggested Dís from the other side of the Ent.
“They have helped us,” said Thorin. “She brought you here because we asked her to.”
“She?” Gimli twisted to glare at the gnarled face of the moss-covered Ent. “Well, she could have asked politely.”
“I for one promise to do no harm to this place or the beings within it,” Dís said. “Seeing as I have little choice.”
After a moment, Gimli grudgingly muttered that he supposed he promised as well. Wandlimb looked questioningly at Thorin, and he nodded.
Wandlimb rumbled something, and Mossback extended her branches to put the two dwarves down as far away from her as possible. Then she scurried backwards with surprising haste, and Bilbo suspected that she had been unnerved by Gimli’s threats. But Gimli had no time to make good on them, because Thorin and Bilbo were coming forward to hug both him and Dís, and for a time happy reunions were the only thing anyone was worried about.
“The others will be here soon,” said Wandlimb. “But I believe we may have time to finish our opening statements before they arrive.”
“Opening statements?” Bilbo stammered. “But you’ve been talking for an hour at least!”
“Hrm, indeed,” agreed Wandlimb. “It is important to establish everything clearly and correctly, you know. No need to rush too much.”
Bilbo sighed. “Do either of you have any food in your packs?” he asked Dís and Gimli.
“I still say we can creep away while they are talking and get a good head start--”
Thorin shook his head at Gimli. “They are bringing Estel, Arwen, and Denethor to us, Gimli. I will not leave without the rest of the party.”
“And what about the other members?” Gimli demanded. “Shouldn’t we go looking for Gandalf and Théoden? And that confounded elf-princeling?” he added rather grudgingly.
“That ‘confounded elf-princeling,’ as you call him, can track us across any distance--though if that means they will enter Taur-nu-Eleni in search of us, I am not sure they will be grateful for the ability,” said Thorin.
Bilbo remembered the flickering voices and humming lights of the forest and shivered, and Gimli and Dís both looked grave. “But they shall have Gandalf with them,” said Bilbo, “And that will count for a lot, won’t it?”
“Of course it will,” said Thorin, but his face remained clouded, and for a time none of them spoke, and the only sounds were the light plashing of the sea and the deep woodwind concerto of the Entmoot. Bilbo wandered up and down the verge of the water, while Dís lay down and closed her eyes. Gimli started to sharpen his axe, but at a look from Thorin he put it away with a sigh.
When a familiar voice broke the silence, Bilbo leaped from the rock he was on to hurry toward it. “Hail and well met!” called Estel, and everyone turned to see him, Arwen, and Denethor hurrying toward them, guided by an Ent not much taller than Estel, slender and thorny, with a diadem of rosebuds just starting to blossom on her brow.
“I see they are to be escorted, and not carried by the scruff of their necks like so many kittens,” grumbled Gimli, but he caught Thorin’s eye and fell silent again.
“Brightbriar here told us that she was bringing us to you, but it seemed almost too much to hope for,” Estel said as the two groups came together in delighted reunion. “The Ringwraiths ignored us and pursued you into the wood, and we feared we had failed you completely.”
“Yet you gave them pause,” said Thorin, “and that bought us the time we needed to escape them.”
“And the inhabitants of the wood dealt with the Black Riders,” added Bilbo, describing what he had seen.
“We did not meet with the Avari,” said Arwen, “but we felt them everywhere. Watching.” She shivered, her eyes far away at the memory.
Denethor shook his head ruefully. “And when we finally got out, I promptly fell into a thorn bush. My chagrin was matched only by my surprise when it asked me my name!”
Brightbriar bowed to him. “I must join the Entmoot,” she fluted, patting his head affectionately with one thorny hand.
“Ow,” he said, but only after she was out of earshot.
“We have told the Ents were are traveling to Saynshar,” said Thorin when he and Bilbo had finished telling of all that had befallen them. “And indeed, it seems as good a place to go as any to wait for the rest of the party to catch up with us.”
“Saynshar,” mused Estel. “It lies to the East, on the far side of the great Plains of the Wainriders.”
“Wainriders?” Bilbo asked. “What is a wain? Some kind of animal?”
Estel shook his head. “A wain is like a wagon, or a chariot. The wainriders are nomads that live from their wains--and go to battle from them as well. If Mordor is gathering support from the East, we may have a hard journey of it. It may be good to visit the city and find out what motivates the Easterlings to march to war under the banner of the Eye.”
Denethor frowned. “Wiser yet to avoid the city entirely, if it will be crawling with enemies.”
“Do you think Sauron will be content with assaulting Erebor?” Estel asked, and Bilbo shuddered, remembering that great army creeping north toward the Lonely Mountain. “If he has allies among the humans of the East, surely it will not be long until he turns his full attention to Gondor.”
“We have been fighting the minions of Sauron for decades now without your help!” retorted Denethor, bristling, but Estel looked only grave and worried.
“Raiding parties and sorties are something very different from a full army. I know, Denethor, that it would grieve us both to see the white walls of Minas Tirith thrown down.” He looked at Thorin. “If Saynshar is on our way, I would very much like to investigate the situation there and see why they are throwing their lot in with Mordor.”
Thorin nodded. “We will need provisions--and information. It will be a good place to wait for Gandalf and the others to catch up. We shall rest here today and spend the night, then leave in the morning, striking south-east across the plains to Saynshar.”
Denethor scowled as the others nodded, but he complained no further. Arwen pulled out her embroidery--there were three intricate stars picked out on the cloth now, forming an arc above an as-yet-invisible object--and she and Dís began to talk about the Ents and their gardens as she sewed. Thorin and Estel decided to spar on the smooth grass, and soon the sound of their swords prompted Brightbriar to hurry over and make sure she wasn’t hearing axes before returning to the Entmoot. Gimli sat down and watched Thorin and Estel--though that he sat so that he could keep an eye on the Ents gathered in the distance did not seem a coincidence to Bilbo.
The Entmoot went on and on, a rising and falling sound in the distance like wind in trees, or a distant orchestra. It made Bilbo feel sleepy, so eventually he rose from listening to Dís and Arwen and excused himself to walk along the seashore and skip rocks.
“Oh! I do beg your pardon,” he said as he realized he had splashed Denethor, sitting motionless on a rock with his dark green cloak wrapped around him.
Denethor smiled, one of his rare genuine smiles. “I should be the one begging your pardon, Mr. Baggins, for being so lost in thought I did not notice you.” He bent to pick up a flat stone, then expertly skipped it along the water--five, six, seven skips. "I hope we do not stay here much longer," he added, staring out at the water. "I am a man of action, and too much contemplation..." He shrugged, looking uneasy. "It does not bring out the best in me."
His face was forbidding, but Bilbo was in no mood to be forbidden: he sat down on a rock, wrapping his cloak around himself against the cool wind off the water. "So what are you contemplating?"
Denethor didn't answer for a long moment. Then he said, "He stayed by my side."
Bilbo raised his eyebrows politely and waited.
"Thorongil," Denethor explained with a touch of annoyance, and it took Bilbo a moment to remember that was the name Estel was going by in Gondor. "When you and Oakenshield fled into the wood, he stayed to hold off the Ringwraith. He let you go with no hesitation."
Bilbo shifted his seat a bit on the cold rock. "Doesn't quite fit your image of him, does it?"
"I know he seeks power." Denethor's voice was low; he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Bilbo. "So why would he let such awesome power pass beyond his grasp?"
"Maybe he's a better man than you think. I don't know what you've got against him--"
"--You're right," said Denethor. "You do not." His voice was cold and regal once more. With a nod, he swept past Bilbo, but then paused. "My thanks," he said without looking back, "For listening to me."
Bilbo sat for a while longer, looking out at the calm water and whistling a small tune to himself: a Shire ditty about a cat with too much pride, stuck in a tree.
When he returned to the group, he found Wandlimb deep in conversation with Thorin and the others. Bilbo could see a flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she said, with the air of one who has explained something many times: “An Entmoot is not something to be rushed, Master Dwarf. It may be days or weeks until we reach a decision on something as momentous as whether to abandon our long work here.” She threw back her branches with an rustle. “And with all respect, this is not a decision that has a bearing on your lives. We have given you food and rest, and if you must go, then go with our blessings. But I cannot give you a set time that our deliberations will be done.”
“Very well, Lady.” Thorin bowed deeply. “We are forever in your debt, and we hope that your affairs are brought to a satisfactory conclusion for all.” He turned back to the party. “Are we in agreement that we can stay here no longer? We must travel further east, across the plains, and hope to meet our companions in Saynshar.”
Everyone nodded, although Arwen looked faintly disappointed. “I had rather hoped that we would find out what your decision was,” she said to Wandlimb.
Wandlimb smiled at her. “I know not what the others will decide, but I at least shall travel west. I believe we are likely to split--some of us staying here to tend our gardens, others venturing away. And this is well with me, for I would be sad to know my gardens were falling into ruin.”
They passed the night at the shore, with the booming of the Entmoot lulling them to sleep (in Bilbo’s case) or keeping them awake (in Gimli’s). And in the morning, as the first rays of sunlight touched the lapping waters of the Sea of Rhûn, they bid farewell to the Ents.
“May your travels be smooth and your burdens light!” Wandlimb said. Brightbriar stood by her side, Mossback lurking safely behind her, and all the other Ents waved and bowed like a great wind traveling through a forest. “And as for you, Mr. Baggins--” She leaned over him. “Put out your hand.”
He did, and she dropped something smooth and heavy and hard into it: a beech nut.
“Take this with you,” she said, “A small thank you, for reminding us that time and distance are no impediment to a true heart. Plant it in your Shire, and may you and your sweetheart enjoy many years beneath its branches.”
Bilbo felt himself flushing at the word “sweetheart,” and dared not look at Thorin, but he bowed low. “Many thanks, Lady Wandlimb,” he said, “And may your journeys lead to happy endings.”
And so the Ents went back to their Entmoot; and of their journey west, and its unexpected detour that changed the course of history, more is written in the Red Book of Westmarch. But here they pass from Bilbo and Thorin’s story as the Fellowship turns East once more to cross the Plains of the Wainriders and make its way to Saynshar, capital of the Easterlings.
Chapter Summary: Wandlimb takes Thorin and Bilbo to the Entmoot, where they are reunited with some of the missing members of the fellowship.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Wandlimb, Denethor, Gimli, Dis, Arwen, Aragorn
Fandom: Hobbit/Lord of the Rings. Begins in 2968, twenty-six years after the events of "Clarity of Vision" and fifty years before the canonical events of "Lord of the Rings." Thus, characters' ages and the geopolitical situation will be different than LoTR canon!
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3100
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins have been parted for many years now, despite the love they bear each other. Now Thorin's research has uncovered a dire threat to Middle Earth--the Ring he carried a little while and then gave to Bilbo. Together with a group of companions composed of the different Free Peoples of Middle Earth, they must attempt to destroy the artifact before its Dark Lord can re-capture it.
Bilbo put a steadying hand on Thorin's shoulder as the gardens of the Ents rushed by them in a blur of greens and golds. Thorin looked at him and swallowed hard, and Bilbo had the distinct impression that of all the terrifying moments in his long life, riding on the shoulders of an Ent ranked near the top.
For Bilbo's part, he was finding it rather exhilarating. The scenery flashing by was beautiful: sometimes elaborate geometric patterns of crocuses and tulips, sometimes a more wild and unkempt look with bluebells blooming in shady dells, but all of them gardens; well-tended and well-loved. Sometimes he could catch a glimpse of another tree-like being hurrying across the fields: a birch with white papery skin, a cherry-tree leaving a trail of petals in her wake. Wandlimb called to them sometimes, a long deep call like a great bassoon, and their responses rang back to her.
They traveled through the twilight, and the gardens slowly dimmed into dusk until Bilbo could see them no more. Yet on Wandlimb strode, never tiring, while Bilbo fell into an uneasy doze.
He was caught in a fitful dream--in which he was a fauntling once more and attempting to explain to an angry apple-tree why he had been stealing its fruit--when he heard Wandlimb’s voice calling his name and felt Thorin’s hand shaking his shoulder. ”Hurm, hm!” boomed Wandlimb. “We are at the Entmoot, Master Baggins. Rouse yourself and look around!”
Bilbo blinked, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight of a vast body of water, much larger than anything he had sean besides the western sea, stretching out to the West. They were on a promontory that jutted out into the sea--for the Sea of Rhûn it had to be, after all--a green finger reaching into an expanse of blue water. The sea was calm and flat, with nary a ripple marring its surface: a mirror reflecting the sky and the clouds.
Bilbo looked out at the sea and felt the breath catch in his throat. “I’ve seen this before,” he murmured. “In Galadriel’s Mirror.”
Thorin gave him a quick, sidelong glance, but then his eyes went beyond Bilbo and widened. He made a small sound in his throat, like a cat warning off unwelcome attention, and went very still.
Bilbo turned to follow his gaze and realized that the small grove of trees on the promontory were not trees at all, but Ents, each one studying he and Thorin intently: hawthorns and poplars, laurels and dogwoods. There was a light in their eyes which was not altogether friendly, and Bilbo stepped between them and Thorin without thinking.
Wandlimb addressed the assembly in a language Bilbo didn’t understand, something long and slow and rolling as wind in branches, and the Ents’ attention shifted slowly to her, leaving Bilbo limp with relief. He and Thorin stood and waited as she spoke...and waited...and then waited some more. It eventually became clear that there was going to be no quick conclusion, so Bilbo slowly edged backwards until he and Thorin were out of range.
They walked together to the edge of the water, where the green grass fell away into smooth rocks and then the glassy sea. Behind them they could still hear Wandlimb's booming voice, interrupted now and then by other Entish voices. They sat down on the rocks, looking at the water, and Bilbo pointed and exclaimed in wonder, for wading in the water were two of the strangest birds he had ever seen: bright pink, with long knobby legs, slender curved necks, and upturned beaks that gave them a lopsided jolly look.
“We call them flammin-kûn,” Thorin said in a low rumble. “‘Carnelian-wader,’ in Khuzdul. The folk of Erebor know of them, but I have never seen one before.”
“I wonder if any hobbit in the world has seen them before,” Bilbo wondered out loud. “The world is so large! To think I once felt an excursion to Bree was an adventure.”
A great boom of sound reached them, causing the birds to startle and take flight, their pink wings caught in the ripples that spread out from the place they once were. “Master Thorin! Master Bilbo!” came Wandlimb’s voice. “Your companions are on their way!”
Wandlimb turned her gold-green eyes on them as they hurried back, satisfaction clear on her stoic features. “The voices of Mossback and Rosebriar have been heard--even now they approach with the members of your party for whom you search. All five of them, alive and unhurt--though I fear your kinspeople are somewhat…” She paused to choose her words, “...ruffled, Master Thorin.”
Bilbo could practically feel the surge of relief from Thorin; he practically sagged as Wandlimb finished speaking. “Our thanks--” he started to say hoarsely, but broke off as a new Ent strode into view.
She was holding a dwarf in each hand, clutching their collars, leaving them dangling from her grip. In her right hand, Dís had her arms crossed and seemed sullenly resigned to her situation, but in her left hand Gimli was struggling wildly, lashing out vainly with fists that could never quite reach the Ent’s trunk.
“Put me down, you overgrown log! Just let me get at my axe, you walking piece of kindling, you leaf-covered menace, you--” He broke off when he spotted Thorin. “Your majesty! Thank the Seven we’ve found you!”
Wandlimb turned to Thorin. “Mossback says she will not release your kin until she has their word they will not harm her.” There was a glint of something like humor in her eyes.
“These beings are not our enemies, Gimli,” Thorin called up to him. “As long as we do not harm their gardens. And I need you to promise you will do them no harm.”
“I’ve just been plucked off the ground by a giant tree with not so much as an if-you-please; why should I make such a promise?”
“Because we are surrounded by them, perhaps?” suggested Dís from the other side of the Ent.
“They have helped us,” said Thorin. “She brought you here because we asked her to.”
“She?” Gimli twisted to glare at the gnarled face of the moss-covered Ent. “Well, she could have asked politely.”
“I for one promise to do no harm to this place or the beings within it,” Dís said. “Seeing as I have little choice.”
After a moment, Gimli grudgingly muttered that he supposed he promised as well. Wandlimb looked questioningly at Thorin, and he nodded.
Wandlimb rumbled something, and Mossback extended her branches to put the two dwarves down as far away from her as possible. Then she scurried backwards with surprising haste, and Bilbo suspected that she had been unnerved by Gimli’s threats. But Gimli had no time to make good on them, because Thorin and Bilbo were coming forward to hug both him and Dís, and for a time happy reunions were the only thing anyone was worried about.
“The others will be here soon,” said Wandlimb. “But I believe we may have time to finish our opening statements before they arrive.”
“Opening statements?” Bilbo stammered. “But you’ve been talking for an hour at least!”
“Hrm, indeed,” agreed Wandlimb. “It is important to establish everything clearly and correctly, you know. No need to rush too much.”
Bilbo sighed. “Do either of you have any food in your packs?” he asked Dís and Gimli.
“I still say we can creep away while they are talking and get a good head start--”
Thorin shook his head at Gimli. “They are bringing Estel, Arwen, and Denethor to us, Gimli. I will not leave without the rest of the party.”
“And what about the other members?” Gimli demanded. “Shouldn’t we go looking for Gandalf and Théoden? And that confounded elf-princeling?” he added rather grudgingly.
“That ‘confounded elf-princeling,’ as you call him, can track us across any distance--though if that means they will enter Taur-nu-Eleni in search of us, I am not sure they will be grateful for the ability,” said Thorin.
Bilbo remembered the flickering voices and humming lights of the forest and shivered, and Gimli and Dís both looked grave. “But they shall have Gandalf with them,” said Bilbo, “And that will count for a lot, won’t it?”
“Of course it will,” said Thorin, but his face remained clouded, and for a time none of them spoke, and the only sounds were the light plashing of the sea and the deep woodwind concerto of the Entmoot. Bilbo wandered up and down the verge of the water, while Dís lay down and closed her eyes. Gimli started to sharpen his axe, but at a look from Thorin he put it away with a sigh.
When a familiar voice broke the silence, Bilbo leaped from the rock he was on to hurry toward it. “Hail and well met!” called Estel, and everyone turned to see him, Arwen, and Denethor hurrying toward them, guided by an Ent not much taller than Estel, slender and thorny, with a diadem of rosebuds just starting to blossom on her brow.
“I see they are to be escorted, and not carried by the scruff of their necks like so many kittens,” grumbled Gimli, but he caught Thorin’s eye and fell silent again.
“Brightbriar here told us that she was bringing us to you, but it seemed almost too much to hope for,” Estel said as the two groups came together in delighted reunion. “The Ringwraiths ignored us and pursued you into the wood, and we feared we had failed you completely.”
“Yet you gave them pause,” said Thorin, “and that bought us the time we needed to escape them.”
“And the inhabitants of the wood dealt with the Black Riders,” added Bilbo, describing what he had seen.
“We did not meet with the Avari,” said Arwen, “but we felt them everywhere. Watching.” She shivered, her eyes far away at the memory.
Denethor shook his head ruefully. “And when we finally got out, I promptly fell into a thorn bush. My chagrin was matched only by my surprise when it asked me my name!”
Brightbriar bowed to him. “I must join the Entmoot,” she fluted, patting his head affectionately with one thorny hand.
“Ow,” he said, but only after she was out of earshot.
“We have told the Ents were are traveling to Saynshar,” said Thorin when he and Bilbo had finished telling of all that had befallen them. “And indeed, it seems as good a place to go as any to wait for the rest of the party to catch up with us.”
“Saynshar,” mused Estel. “It lies to the East, on the far side of the great Plains of the Wainriders.”
“Wainriders?” Bilbo asked. “What is a wain? Some kind of animal?”
Estel shook his head. “A wain is like a wagon, or a chariot. The wainriders are nomads that live from their wains--and go to battle from them as well. If Mordor is gathering support from the East, we may have a hard journey of it. It may be good to visit the city and find out what motivates the Easterlings to march to war under the banner of the Eye.”
Denethor frowned. “Wiser yet to avoid the city entirely, if it will be crawling with enemies.”
“Do you think Sauron will be content with assaulting Erebor?” Estel asked, and Bilbo shuddered, remembering that great army creeping north toward the Lonely Mountain. “If he has allies among the humans of the East, surely it will not be long until he turns his full attention to Gondor.”
“We have been fighting the minions of Sauron for decades now without your help!” retorted Denethor, bristling, but Estel looked only grave and worried.
“Raiding parties and sorties are something very different from a full army. I know, Denethor, that it would grieve us both to see the white walls of Minas Tirith thrown down.” He looked at Thorin. “If Saynshar is on our way, I would very much like to investigate the situation there and see why they are throwing their lot in with Mordor.”
Thorin nodded. “We will need provisions--and information. It will be a good place to wait for Gandalf and the others to catch up. We shall rest here today and spend the night, then leave in the morning, striking south-east across the plains to Saynshar.”
Denethor scowled as the others nodded, but he complained no further. Arwen pulled out her embroidery--there were three intricate stars picked out on the cloth now, forming an arc above an as-yet-invisible object--and she and Dís began to talk about the Ents and their gardens as she sewed. Thorin and Estel decided to spar on the smooth grass, and soon the sound of their swords prompted Brightbriar to hurry over and make sure she wasn’t hearing axes before returning to the Entmoot. Gimli sat down and watched Thorin and Estel--though that he sat so that he could keep an eye on the Ents gathered in the distance did not seem a coincidence to Bilbo.
The Entmoot went on and on, a rising and falling sound in the distance like wind in trees, or a distant orchestra. It made Bilbo feel sleepy, so eventually he rose from listening to Dís and Arwen and excused himself to walk along the seashore and skip rocks.
“Oh! I do beg your pardon,” he said as he realized he had splashed Denethor, sitting motionless on a rock with his dark green cloak wrapped around him.
Denethor smiled, one of his rare genuine smiles. “I should be the one begging your pardon, Mr. Baggins, for being so lost in thought I did not notice you.” He bent to pick up a flat stone, then expertly skipped it along the water--five, six, seven skips. "I hope we do not stay here much longer," he added, staring out at the water. "I am a man of action, and too much contemplation..." He shrugged, looking uneasy. "It does not bring out the best in me."
His face was forbidding, but Bilbo was in no mood to be forbidden: he sat down on a rock, wrapping his cloak around himself against the cool wind off the water. "So what are you contemplating?"
Denethor didn't answer for a long moment. Then he said, "He stayed by my side."
Bilbo raised his eyebrows politely and waited.
"Thorongil," Denethor explained with a touch of annoyance, and it took Bilbo a moment to remember that was the name Estel was going by in Gondor. "When you and Oakenshield fled into the wood, he stayed to hold off the Ringwraith. He let you go with no hesitation."
Bilbo shifted his seat a bit on the cold rock. "Doesn't quite fit your image of him, does it?"
"I know he seeks power." Denethor's voice was low; he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Bilbo. "So why would he let such awesome power pass beyond his grasp?"
"Maybe he's a better man than you think. I don't know what you've got against him--"
"--You're right," said Denethor. "You do not." His voice was cold and regal once more. With a nod, he swept past Bilbo, but then paused. "My thanks," he said without looking back, "For listening to me."
Bilbo sat for a while longer, looking out at the calm water and whistling a small tune to himself: a Shire ditty about a cat with too much pride, stuck in a tree.
When he returned to the group, he found Wandlimb deep in conversation with Thorin and the others. Bilbo could see a flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she said, with the air of one who has explained something many times: “An Entmoot is not something to be rushed, Master Dwarf. It may be days or weeks until we reach a decision on something as momentous as whether to abandon our long work here.” She threw back her branches with an rustle. “And with all respect, this is not a decision that has a bearing on your lives. We have given you food and rest, and if you must go, then go with our blessings. But I cannot give you a set time that our deliberations will be done.”
“Very well, Lady.” Thorin bowed deeply. “We are forever in your debt, and we hope that your affairs are brought to a satisfactory conclusion for all.” He turned back to the party. “Are we in agreement that we can stay here no longer? We must travel further east, across the plains, and hope to meet our companions in Saynshar.”
Everyone nodded, although Arwen looked faintly disappointed. “I had rather hoped that we would find out what your decision was,” she said to Wandlimb.
Wandlimb smiled at her. “I know not what the others will decide, but I at least shall travel west. I believe we are likely to split--some of us staying here to tend our gardens, others venturing away. And this is well with me, for I would be sad to know my gardens were falling into ruin.”
They passed the night at the shore, with the booming of the Entmoot lulling them to sleep (in Bilbo’s case) or keeping them awake (in Gimli’s). And in the morning, as the first rays of sunlight touched the lapping waters of the Sea of Rhûn, they bid farewell to the Ents.
“May your travels be smooth and your burdens light!” Wandlimb said. Brightbriar stood by her side, Mossback lurking safely behind her, and all the other Ents waved and bowed like a great wind traveling through a forest. “And as for you, Mr. Baggins--” She leaned over him. “Put out your hand.”
He did, and she dropped something smooth and heavy and hard into it: a beech nut.
“Take this with you,” she said, “A small thank you, for reminding us that time and distance are no impediment to a true heart. Plant it in your Shire, and may you and your sweetheart enjoy many years beneath its branches.”
Bilbo felt himself flushing at the word “sweetheart,” and dared not look at Thorin, but he bowed low. “Many thanks, Lady Wandlimb,” he said, “And may your journeys lead to happy endings.”
And so the Ents went back to their Entmoot; and of their journey west, and its unexpected detour that changed the course of history, more is written in the Red Book of Westmarch. But here they pass from Bilbo and Thorin’s story as the Fellowship turns East once more to cross the Plains of the Wainriders and make its way to Saynshar, capital of the Easterlings.