Clarity of Purpose, Chapter 17
Dec. 7th, 2014 11:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mithenTitle: Clarity of Purpose, Chap. 17
Chapter Summary: Thorin and Bilbo meet an Ent and talk about gardens, love, and lost time.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Wandlimb
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: 3000
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.
Note: Well, this is the last update of this story before Battle of the Five Armies comes out and breaks all our hearts, and I feel it's a good time to pause and thank everyone reading this story for coming with me to a place (a small place) where Thorin and Bilbo have something of a life together. Their story will continue here, and in all the stories wonderful people like you spin about them!
“Run, Bilbo!” Thorin could hear his voice quavering, but he pulled his sword from its scabbard and faced down the hulking being, putting himself between it and the hobbit.
“But why?” said Bilbo.
“Wh--this is one of the Matassân! Created in ancient times to hunt my people and--and--” Thorin’s voice trailed off as he had to admit that the tree-like being wasn’t doing anything aggressive, just standing there and blinking at him.
“We protect the green and growing things of this world when it is necessary,” it--she--said, and her voice was like the deep sweet echoes in the heart of the mountain, but as if warmed by the sun. “But we do not attack unprovoked. And we do not call ourselves by your names, little-fierce-one.”
“Then may I ask the proper way to address you?” BIlbo asked, ever-polite.
“Hrm, hoom! The elves call us Ents, and though it is a short and a hasty name, it shall do. I myself am called--” She broke off and her leafy crown rustled as though with laughter. “Well, it is too long a name for such brief beings as yourself, but of old I was called Fimbrethil, or Wandlimb in the tongue you speak. It would please me to be called that once more.”
“Very well, my lady Wandlimb.” Bilbo sketched a small bow in her direction. “I think you can put your sword away, Thorin,” he said quietly.
Thorin did so.
“My name is Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire,” Bilbo said with another bow. “And this is my companion, Thorin Oakenshield.” Wandlimb’s great sunlit eyes widened and Bilbo added hastily, “He got that name when he defeated an orc by using an oaken branch as a shield--an already-fallen branch, that is.”
Wandlimb bent her attention to Thorin, and Thorin tried not to fidget too obviously under her scrutiny. “A dwarf with a tree in his name. That would be oddness enough. A dwarf who speaks of gardens with love in his voice? That is worthy of a day’s worth of song.”
Thorin took his turn to bow. “My lady, I know that my people are not known for our love of that which grows and blooms from the earth. But this hobbit--” He nodded at Bilbo, who bounced on his toes slightly, blushing, “--has taught me to love flower and root; to cherish the fresh growth of spring, to rejoice in the ripening of summer, to grieve for the fallen blossoms of autumn, and then to plan through the winter for the cycle to begin once more. Thanks to him, I can appreciate the wonders of your lovely garden more fully: the gold of the narcissus, the silver of the snowdrops, and the emerald of the rosemary. It is beautiful beyond compare.”
“Hrm! I see you must still use the words of metal and jewels to describe our work!” Wandlimb said, but she was clearly pleased. “You speak fair indeed, Master Thorin, fair indeed. I welcome you both to Sant Enyd, the Garden of the Ents.”
“We traveled here with other companions,” said Bilbo. “An elf, two humans, two more dwarves. Have you seen them?”
“I? I have been sleeping for many a day, resting from the work of this early spring, before your voices awakened me. I have seen none but you. But I shall send out the word.” She closed her eyes and her root-like feet seemed to grip the earth more tightly; a wave of motion rippled across the plants of the garden like a strong wind, although no wind blew. “There,” she said, opening her eyes once more. “If they find their way to our gardens, they shall come to no harm, and shall be brought to you.”
"There are more of you?" Thorin hoped his alarm at the idea of his kinsfolk walking unaware amongst sentient trees didn't show too badly.
"Many and many," said Wandlimb. "Some sleep deeply, while others walk the paths and keep them green and blooming." Her eyes scanned Thorin's face. "Fear not: for the sake of the gardens in the mountain, your people will not be hunted by mine."
Bilbo’s stomach took this moment to gurgle loudly; he looked embarrassed, but Wandlimb rustled her leaves and chuckled.
“Ah, hurm, I forget how often you small and fast-moving beings must eat. Dear me, dear me. Follow me and I shall see what I can do.”
She moved off, striding on her long roots yet somehow managing not to crush the flowerbeds, and Thorin and Bilbo hurried to keep up with her as she moved past fields of brilliant tulips and banks of lilacs, their drooping flowers rich with giddy fragrance. She sang as she walked, and Thorin could feel all the growing things around her seem to unfurl into greener, fuller life as she passed.
Finally they came to a spring that bubbled up from the ground before spilling into a tiny rill that cut a path through the flowers. Around the verge of the spring grew dark, glossy plants, and Wandlimb stopped and picked a few of them to hand to Bilbo.
“Drink and eat your fill,” she said, dipping her toes into the water with a sigh and watching with vivid curiosity as Thorin and Bilbo knelt to drink from their cupped hands.
“Watercress,” said Bilbo after chewing on some of the sprigs. “It’s good. A bit unusual for a breakfast, but good.”
Thorin would never have expected that water and some greens would fill him, but there was something unusual about the water, a sort of richness to it that was strangely invigorating. And as for the watercress--! Well, by the time he was done eating the handful of peppery herb Thorin felt that he could live off it from now on.
“And now that you have broken your fast, I have questions to ask you,” Wandlimb said as Bilbo lay stomach-down on the sunny grass and Thorin sat next to him. “Hurm, hoom! This is a tangled web of questions indeed, and to ask any one is to ignore the others, yet all are connected. Where to begin, where to begin?” She sighed and rumbled to herself for a moment. “I would like to know to where you are bound, you and your companions.”
Thorin felt Bilbo tense slightly, felt one hand almost start to move toward his pocket. “We travel east,” Thorin said.
“Hm! To the lands of your kindred, the Ironfists and the Blacklocks in the Red Mountains?” For the first time, her voice sounded angry. “To those murderers of trees and tramplers of greenery, those--”
“--We do not travel that far east,” Thorin said quickly. He had no desire to see what an Ent was like when truly roused to anger. “We go to Saynshar, capital of the Easterlings.” He was reluctant to lie to Wandlimb, but unwilling to tell the whole truth: for now, a detour to Saynshar might be necessary anyway.
“Saynshar!” Her voice thrummed, and her eyes kindled with a gentle golden light. “Ah, the city of the Easterlings, with its azure roofs. My people worked with them long, long ago, teaching them the ways of the garden, the secrets and leaf and bud, and in Saynshar they wrought hanging gardens of such beauty it would bring you to tears.” The light dimmed and she sighed. “But that was long ago, and the people of that city no longer care for gardens or for the long slow care of living things. There is a darkness in the heart of that city, a canker that eats away at all that is good in its people and turns its loyalty to the Dark Lord of Mordor.” She looked at Thorin. “Yet still I have hope, for once they revered the root and the thorn and not the cycle of blood, and I do not believe that even the fickle hearts of men can be so irrevocably changed.” She sang and hummed to herself for a time, a long slow reverie, and Thorin watched Bilbo’s eyes drift slowly shut. Then she spoke again: “And if you travel to the east, it seems likely that you come from the west. So that is my next question: where have you come from?”
“Indeed, we have come from the west,” said Thorin. “I am from the Lonely Mountain, Erebor, to the north and west, while Bilbo is from the Shire, much further to the west.”
“Ah. Hoom, hrm, hummm.” She whispered and murmured to herself for a time, and Thorin suddenly had the impression that she was trying to nerve herself up to ask something. “And in your travels,” she said at last, “Did you ever visit any of the great forests of the west?”
“We have been through the Greenwood, where Thranduil reigns,” said Thorin. “And in Lothlórien.”
A long slow rustling, like a sigh. “I see. You have not, then, seen Fangorn.”
There was a terrible sadness in her voice, so deep and raw that it hurt Thorin to have to say “I’m sorry, lady Wandlimb. We have not.”
Her branches seemed to trail downward, drooping, and there was a long silence, broken when Bilbo asked sleepily, “What’s so important about this Fangorn place?”
Wandlimb dabbled her roots in the spring, splashing. "Fangorn is not a place. Or rather, not just a place. It is also the name of its chief protector: in your language, you would call him Treebeard. He was one of the Ent-Husbands."
"Ent-Husbands?"
"Yes indeed, we Ents used to dwell with our Ent-Husbands in happiness and harmony, many ages ago. How we danced beneath the new stars, and how our branches mingled in the light of the first sunrise! Those were happy times, such happy times." Her great eyes were faraway. "But we Ents loved above all the fleeting things of the world, the berry and blossom, while the Ent-Husbands valued the long slow lives of the mighty trees. They thought us hasty, and we thought them rather stodgy and dull, and over time our joy in each other lessened, though our love did not. So we left for the east, to build our gardens in peace.
"At first we built near Fangorn Wood, but in the great wars our gardens were destroyed and we were forced to flee further east. And we have not seen the Ent-Husbands since."
Her eyes were dimmed, and Thorin said, "You miss him very much, don't you? This Treebeard. Why don't you go find your Ent-Husbands?"
She tossed her spring-green head, and for a moment Thorin could see the lissom and careless spirit she had been when the world was young. "They did not come to us, they did not seek us," she said. "Most likely they are still debating whether to do so or not, as the long ages pass! Their passion is long withered, their hearts are dry, or we would have seen them." Then she sighed again, and the fierceness went out of her voice, replaced by regret. "And we did not go to them. We were proud and--yes, we were afraid to cross the barren Brown Lands again and risk a cold welcome. And now it is too late. They will not forgive us our long silence, as we do not forgive their long absence. Too many empty ages have passed, too many even for the stalwart hearts of our people. There is no path that can bring our hearts together once more in this world."
"You're wrong!"
Wandlimb's branches rattled in alarm at the strident, fierce voice that filled the glade, and Thorin looked over to see Bilbo on his feet, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with tears.
"It's never too late," Bilbo gasped. "It's never too late to have a life with the ones you love. I believe that--I have to believe that. Your Ent-Husbands love you still, and yearn for you, and no time or distance can break that bond. Please," he said. "Please don't give up on them." He took a deep, gulping breath and nodded. "You should go to them."
Wandlimb bristled: very literally, all her leaves and twigs spiked. "Come as supplicants before them, admitting our error and begging forgiveness?"
"No!" Bilbo stepped forward, the tiny hobbit staring up at the looming Ent, naked pleading on his face. "No one is the supplicant. No one has to apologize. You love each other and you want to be together." He scrubbed a sleeve across his face and turned to look at Thorin; for a long moment their eyes met. He turned back to Wandlimb. "If there is a place in the heart of a mountain for a garden, surely there is room in the heart of a forest as well."
Silence fell, broken only by the gentle gurgling of the spring. Wandlimb seemed to have forgotten to respond, as if lost in her own thoughts. Bilbo did not seem inclined to break the Ent’s reverie, so they sat together next to the spring and waited. Thorin watched a spider spin her web with infinite patience. A falling leaf broke a strand and she started over. The clouds crept across the sun and the sun crept across the sky, and still Wandlimb stood motionless with her eyes half-closed, as if she had all the time in the world. Perhaps she did, but Thorin began to feel distinctly restless.
The sun was high in the sky when Wandlimb spoke again, her voice a low, thoughtful murmur: "I hear your words, small one, and I feel there is wisdom in them. But these things must be discussed: the Ent-Husbands called us hasty, but we are not so hasty as to make such a decision without a discussion!" Yet the way she pulled her roots from the water and showered the glade with droplets seemed close to what Thorin would consider hasty. She raised her voice in a language that Thorin didn't know, long singing syllables that echoed around the glade, and all the bushes and trees rustled in response, a ripple that rushed away from the spring. "There," she hummed with satisfaction, "I have called an Entmoot to discuss this. Hoom, hum." She peered down at Thorin and Bilbo. "You need not come, but if your friends have been found, they shall be taken to the Entmoot, so it may be wise to go there in the hopes of meeting them. Shall we travel together?"
Thorin looked to Bilbo, who nodded. "Very well. We are ready to go."
Wandlimb made her rustling laugh again. "Now now, Master Dwarf, let us not rush! I must prepare for the journey, which shall take us to the shores of the Sea of Rhun and take me far from my gardens. There are lilies of the valley to be sung to and roses to be pruned! We shall leave at twilight and travel through the night."
Thorin hesitated. "Lady Wandlimb, my eyes can adapt to darkness, but Bilbo's--"
"--Seeing or not, you cannot travel at the speed I require," Wandlimb said. "I shall carry you, if you allow it."
Thorin swallowed hard at the idea of being carried on the shoulders of a being created to hunt his kind. "If it is necessary."
Her look at him was understanding. "Stay here and rest for the day," she said. "I have things I must tend to and farewells that must be said."
"You aren't planning on coming back, are you?" said Bilbo. "No matter what this Entmoot of yours decides."
She looked at him a long while, then reached out with one long, twiggy hand and stroked his curly hair. "No, Master Hobbit, I think perhaps I shall not return. I find myself unwilling to be parted from Treebeard for much longer, and I wish to sing the old songs together with him once more." She chuckled, rich and deep as a brook. "And perhaps we shall make new ones together: about a garden in a mountain and a small, true heart."
"I have a feeling not many people have songs made for them by Ents," said Thorin as she strode away, humming to herself.
Bilbo sighed and came into his arms, and they lay together on the mint-scented grass, listening to the gurgle of the water and the breeze in the trees. "I feel so safe here," Bilbo murmured; Thorin wasn't sure if he meant in Sant Enyd or in his arms. "I hope the others are safe too."
Thorin looked up at the dappled sunlight. "Do you remember telling me about that Hobbit custom, long ago? The one where two people pledge their lives to each other in front of the community?"
"You mean a wedding?" Bilbo's voice sounded sleepy. "I remember."
"I would fain wed thee in a garden like this one, one day."
Bilbo's head came up and he blinked at Thorin. "That's quite formal."
Thorin cleared his throat. "It seemed a statement that should be made formally." He met Bilbo's bemused eyes. "If thou wilt have me, my heart's ease."
"Oh, my king," Bilbo said. "I would like nothing better." He let his head drop back to Thorin's chest and idly played with one of the dark braids as Thorin gazed up at the sky in wonder. Surely there had never been any moment in the world so perfect, so purely beautiful. "If we ever make it back to the Shire, I promise we'll do exactly that."
"When," said Thorin. "When we return to your Shire." But Bilbo was silent, and after a time Thorin could feel his chest rising and falling with the deep breaths of sleep.
All through the long spring day he held Bilbo and listened to the sounds of the garden: The wind in the grass and the trill of birdsong; and far off the sound of an Ent singing her farewells.
Chapter Summary: Thorin and Bilbo meet an Ent and talk about gardens, love, and lost time.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield, Wandlimb
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: 3000
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.
Note: Well, this is the last update of this story before Battle of the Five Armies comes out and breaks all our hearts, and I feel it's a good time to pause and thank everyone reading this story for coming with me to a place (a small place) where Thorin and Bilbo have something of a life together. Their story will continue here, and in all the stories wonderful people like you spin about them!
“Run, Bilbo!” Thorin could hear his voice quavering, but he pulled his sword from its scabbard and faced down the hulking being, putting himself between it and the hobbit.
“But why?” said Bilbo.
“Wh--this is one of the Matassân! Created in ancient times to hunt my people and--and--” Thorin’s voice trailed off as he had to admit that the tree-like being wasn’t doing anything aggressive, just standing there and blinking at him.
“We protect the green and growing things of this world when it is necessary,” it--she--said, and her voice was like the deep sweet echoes in the heart of the mountain, but as if warmed by the sun. “But we do not attack unprovoked. And we do not call ourselves by your names, little-fierce-one.”
“Then may I ask the proper way to address you?” BIlbo asked, ever-polite.
“Hrm, hoom! The elves call us Ents, and though it is a short and a hasty name, it shall do. I myself am called--” She broke off and her leafy crown rustled as though with laughter. “Well, it is too long a name for such brief beings as yourself, but of old I was called Fimbrethil, or Wandlimb in the tongue you speak. It would please me to be called that once more.”
“Very well, my lady Wandlimb.” Bilbo sketched a small bow in her direction. “I think you can put your sword away, Thorin,” he said quietly.
Thorin did so.
“My name is Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire,” Bilbo said with another bow. “And this is my companion, Thorin Oakenshield.” Wandlimb’s great sunlit eyes widened and Bilbo added hastily, “He got that name when he defeated an orc by using an oaken branch as a shield--an already-fallen branch, that is.”
Wandlimb bent her attention to Thorin, and Thorin tried not to fidget too obviously under her scrutiny. “A dwarf with a tree in his name. That would be oddness enough. A dwarf who speaks of gardens with love in his voice? That is worthy of a day’s worth of song.”
Thorin took his turn to bow. “My lady, I know that my people are not known for our love of that which grows and blooms from the earth. But this hobbit--” He nodded at Bilbo, who bounced on his toes slightly, blushing, “--has taught me to love flower and root; to cherish the fresh growth of spring, to rejoice in the ripening of summer, to grieve for the fallen blossoms of autumn, and then to plan through the winter for the cycle to begin once more. Thanks to him, I can appreciate the wonders of your lovely garden more fully: the gold of the narcissus, the silver of the snowdrops, and the emerald of the rosemary. It is beautiful beyond compare.”
“Hrm! I see you must still use the words of metal and jewels to describe our work!” Wandlimb said, but she was clearly pleased. “You speak fair indeed, Master Thorin, fair indeed. I welcome you both to Sant Enyd, the Garden of the Ents.”
“We traveled here with other companions,” said Bilbo. “An elf, two humans, two more dwarves. Have you seen them?”
“I? I have been sleeping for many a day, resting from the work of this early spring, before your voices awakened me. I have seen none but you. But I shall send out the word.” She closed her eyes and her root-like feet seemed to grip the earth more tightly; a wave of motion rippled across the plants of the garden like a strong wind, although no wind blew. “There,” she said, opening her eyes once more. “If they find their way to our gardens, they shall come to no harm, and shall be brought to you.”
"There are more of you?" Thorin hoped his alarm at the idea of his kinsfolk walking unaware amongst sentient trees didn't show too badly.
"Many and many," said Wandlimb. "Some sleep deeply, while others walk the paths and keep them green and blooming." Her eyes scanned Thorin's face. "Fear not: for the sake of the gardens in the mountain, your people will not be hunted by mine."
Bilbo’s stomach took this moment to gurgle loudly; he looked embarrassed, but Wandlimb rustled her leaves and chuckled.
“Ah, hurm, I forget how often you small and fast-moving beings must eat. Dear me, dear me. Follow me and I shall see what I can do.”
She moved off, striding on her long roots yet somehow managing not to crush the flowerbeds, and Thorin and Bilbo hurried to keep up with her as she moved past fields of brilliant tulips and banks of lilacs, their drooping flowers rich with giddy fragrance. She sang as she walked, and Thorin could feel all the growing things around her seem to unfurl into greener, fuller life as she passed.
Finally they came to a spring that bubbled up from the ground before spilling into a tiny rill that cut a path through the flowers. Around the verge of the spring grew dark, glossy plants, and Wandlimb stopped and picked a few of them to hand to Bilbo.
“Drink and eat your fill,” she said, dipping her toes into the water with a sigh and watching with vivid curiosity as Thorin and Bilbo knelt to drink from their cupped hands.
“Watercress,” said Bilbo after chewing on some of the sprigs. “It’s good. A bit unusual for a breakfast, but good.”
Thorin would never have expected that water and some greens would fill him, but there was something unusual about the water, a sort of richness to it that was strangely invigorating. And as for the watercress--! Well, by the time he was done eating the handful of peppery herb Thorin felt that he could live off it from now on.
“And now that you have broken your fast, I have questions to ask you,” Wandlimb said as Bilbo lay stomach-down on the sunny grass and Thorin sat next to him. “Hurm, hoom! This is a tangled web of questions indeed, and to ask any one is to ignore the others, yet all are connected. Where to begin, where to begin?” She sighed and rumbled to herself for a moment. “I would like to know to where you are bound, you and your companions.”
Thorin felt Bilbo tense slightly, felt one hand almost start to move toward his pocket. “We travel east,” Thorin said.
“Hm! To the lands of your kindred, the Ironfists and the Blacklocks in the Red Mountains?” For the first time, her voice sounded angry. “To those murderers of trees and tramplers of greenery, those--”
“--We do not travel that far east,” Thorin said quickly. He had no desire to see what an Ent was like when truly roused to anger. “We go to Saynshar, capital of the Easterlings.” He was reluctant to lie to Wandlimb, but unwilling to tell the whole truth: for now, a detour to Saynshar might be necessary anyway.
“Saynshar!” Her voice thrummed, and her eyes kindled with a gentle golden light. “Ah, the city of the Easterlings, with its azure roofs. My people worked with them long, long ago, teaching them the ways of the garden, the secrets and leaf and bud, and in Saynshar they wrought hanging gardens of such beauty it would bring you to tears.” The light dimmed and she sighed. “But that was long ago, and the people of that city no longer care for gardens or for the long slow care of living things. There is a darkness in the heart of that city, a canker that eats away at all that is good in its people and turns its loyalty to the Dark Lord of Mordor.” She looked at Thorin. “Yet still I have hope, for once they revered the root and the thorn and not the cycle of blood, and I do not believe that even the fickle hearts of men can be so irrevocably changed.” She sang and hummed to herself for a time, a long slow reverie, and Thorin watched Bilbo’s eyes drift slowly shut. Then she spoke again: “And if you travel to the east, it seems likely that you come from the west. So that is my next question: where have you come from?”
“Indeed, we have come from the west,” said Thorin. “I am from the Lonely Mountain, Erebor, to the north and west, while Bilbo is from the Shire, much further to the west.”
“Ah. Hoom, hrm, hummm.” She whispered and murmured to herself for a time, and Thorin suddenly had the impression that she was trying to nerve herself up to ask something. “And in your travels,” she said at last, “Did you ever visit any of the great forests of the west?”
“We have been through the Greenwood, where Thranduil reigns,” said Thorin. “And in Lothlórien.”
A long slow rustling, like a sigh. “I see. You have not, then, seen Fangorn.”
There was a terrible sadness in her voice, so deep and raw that it hurt Thorin to have to say “I’m sorry, lady Wandlimb. We have not.”
Her branches seemed to trail downward, drooping, and there was a long silence, broken when Bilbo asked sleepily, “What’s so important about this Fangorn place?”
Wandlimb dabbled her roots in the spring, splashing. "Fangorn is not a place. Or rather, not just a place. It is also the name of its chief protector: in your language, you would call him Treebeard. He was one of the Ent-Husbands."
"Ent-Husbands?"
"Yes indeed, we Ents used to dwell with our Ent-Husbands in happiness and harmony, many ages ago. How we danced beneath the new stars, and how our branches mingled in the light of the first sunrise! Those were happy times, such happy times." Her great eyes were faraway. "But we Ents loved above all the fleeting things of the world, the berry and blossom, while the Ent-Husbands valued the long slow lives of the mighty trees. They thought us hasty, and we thought them rather stodgy and dull, and over time our joy in each other lessened, though our love did not. So we left for the east, to build our gardens in peace.
"At first we built near Fangorn Wood, but in the great wars our gardens were destroyed and we were forced to flee further east. And we have not seen the Ent-Husbands since."
Her eyes were dimmed, and Thorin said, "You miss him very much, don't you? This Treebeard. Why don't you go find your Ent-Husbands?"
She tossed her spring-green head, and for a moment Thorin could see the lissom and careless spirit she had been when the world was young. "They did not come to us, they did not seek us," she said. "Most likely they are still debating whether to do so or not, as the long ages pass! Their passion is long withered, their hearts are dry, or we would have seen them." Then she sighed again, and the fierceness went out of her voice, replaced by regret. "And we did not go to them. We were proud and--yes, we were afraid to cross the barren Brown Lands again and risk a cold welcome. And now it is too late. They will not forgive us our long silence, as we do not forgive their long absence. Too many empty ages have passed, too many even for the stalwart hearts of our people. There is no path that can bring our hearts together once more in this world."
"You're wrong!"
Wandlimb's branches rattled in alarm at the strident, fierce voice that filled the glade, and Thorin looked over to see Bilbo on his feet, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with tears.
"It's never too late," Bilbo gasped. "It's never too late to have a life with the ones you love. I believe that--I have to believe that. Your Ent-Husbands love you still, and yearn for you, and no time or distance can break that bond. Please," he said. "Please don't give up on them." He took a deep, gulping breath and nodded. "You should go to them."
Wandlimb bristled: very literally, all her leaves and twigs spiked. "Come as supplicants before them, admitting our error and begging forgiveness?"
"No!" Bilbo stepped forward, the tiny hobbit staring up at the looming Ent, naked pleading on his face. "No one is the supplicant. No one has to apologize. You love each other and you want to be together." He scrubbed a sleeve across his face and turned to look at Thorin; for a long moment their eyes met. He turned back to Wandlimb. "If there is a place in the heart of a mountain for a garden, surely there is room in the heart of a forest as well."
Silence fell, broken only by the gentle gurgling of the spring. Wandlimb seemed to have forgotten to respond, as if lost in her own thoughts. Bilbo did not seem inclined to break the Ent’s reverie, so they sat together next to the spring and waited. Thorin watched a spider spin her web with infinite patience. A falling leaf broke a strand and she started over. The clouds crept across the sun and the sun crept across the sky, and still Wandlimb stood motionless with her eyes half-closed, as if she had all the time in the world. Perhaps she did, but Thorin began to feel distinctly restless.
The sun was high in the sky when Wandlimb spoke again, her voice a low, thoughtful murmur: "I hear your words, small one, and I feel there is wisdom in them. But these things must be discussed: the Ent-Husbands called us hasty, but we are not so hasty as to make such a decision without a discussion!" Yet the way she pulled her roots from the water and showered the glade with droplets seemed close to what Thorin would consider hasty. She raised her voice in a language that Thorin didn't know, long singing syllables that echoed around the glade, and all the bushes and trees rustled in response, a ripple that rushed away from the spring. "There," she hummed with satisfaction, "I have called an Entmoot to discuss this. Hoom, hum." She peered down at Thorin and Bilbo. "You need not come, but if your friends have been found, they shall be taken to the Entmoot, so it may be wise to go there in the hopes of meeting them. Shall we travel together?"
Thorin looked to Bilbo, who nodded. "Very well. We are ready to go."
Wandlimb made her rustling laugh again. "Now now, Master Dwarf, let us not rush! I must prepare for the journey, which shall take us to the shores of the Sea of Rhun and take me far from my gardens. There are lilies of the valley to be sung to and roses to be pruned! We shall leave at twilight and travel through the night."
Thorin hesitated. "Lady Wandlimb, my eyes can adapt to darkness, but Bilbo's--"
"--Seeing or not, you cannot travel at the speed I require," Wandlimb said. "I shall carry you, if you allow it."
Thorin swallowed hard at the idea of being carried on the shoulders of a being created to hunt his kind. "If it is necessary."
Her look at him was understanding. "Stay here and rest for the day," she said. "I have things I must tend to and farewells that must be said."
"You aren't planning on coming back, are you?" said Bilbo. "No matter what this Entmoot of yours decides."
She looked at him a long while, then reached out with one long, twiggy hand and stroked his curly hair. "No, Master Hobbit, I think perhaps I shall not return. I find myself unwilling to be parted from Treebeard for much longer, and I wish to sing the old songs together with him once more." She chuckled, rich and deep as a brook. "And perhaps we shall make new ones together: about a garden in a mountain and a small, true heart."
"I have a feeling not many people have songs made for them by Ents," said Thorin as she strode away, humming to herself.
Bilbo sighed and came into his arms, and they lay together on the mint-scented grass, listening to the gurgle of the water and the breeze in the trees. "I feel so safe here," Bilbo murmured; Thorin wasn't sure if he meant in Sant Enyd or in his arms. "I hope the others are safe too."
Thorin looked up at the dappled sunlight. "Do you remember telling me about that Hobbit custom, long ago? The one where two people pledge their lives to each other in front of the community?"
"You mean a wedding?" Bilbo's voice sounded sleepy. "I remember."
"I would fain wed thee in a garden like this one, one day."
Bilbo's head came up and he blinked at Thorin. "That's quite formal."
Thorin cleared his throat. "It seemed a statement that should be made formally." He met Bilbo's bemused eyes. "If thou wilt have me, my heart's ease."
"Oh, my king," Bilbo said. "I would like nothing better." He let his head drop back to Thorin's chest and idly played with one of the dark braids as Thorin gazed up at the sky in wonder. Surely there had never been any moment in the world so perfect, so purely beautiful. "If we ever make it back to the Shire, I promise we'll do exactly that."
"When," said Thorin. "When we return to your Shire." But Bilbo was silent, and after a time Thorin could feel his chest rising and falling with the deep breaths of sleep.
All through the long spring day he held Bilbo and listened to the sounds of the garden: The wind in the grass and the trill of birdsong; and far off the sound of an Ent singing her farewells.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-12-07 06:31 pm (UTC)THORIN OH MY GOD. OK, you need to understand, you have hit one of my biggest specific weaknesses hard on the head. When the gruffer of a pair proposes marriage in beautifully formal language and then adds on a wibbly "...if you'll have me" like they somehow fear they won't be good enough for the one they love even after all they've been through...oh. OH. Me = Dead.
Also aaauuughhhh, plot-specific pet names, aaaahhhh. The proposal melted me, but after the exchange of 'heart's-ease' (I LOVE THAT THORIN CALLS HIM THAT SO MUCH) and 'my King' I am now irrevoccably a pile of goo oozing along the keyboard to communicate this to you.
(no subject)
Date: 2014-12-14 10:57 am (UTC)I am tickled beyond delight that the entmoot this time isn't 'should we go to war?' but 'should we go round up our wayward unhasty husbands?' XD
Oddly enough (and this is a bit of a spoiler) they do end up going to war, but it's more of a detour on the way to go deal with their husbands again. :)
I...I might have SUCH A FORMAL LANGUAGE kink, and a formal proposal made me just melt, I'm so glad it worked with you as well!
And plot-specific pet names make me ridiculously happy! I never even saw that one coming, and when I realized how well it worked way back--a year ago? Oh my... I got all swoony. :)
Part 3
Date: 2015-08-07 08:16 am (UTC)Ach, you....*shakes fists* you are making me cry, AGAIN!
swallowed hard at the idea of being carried on the shoulders of a being created to hunt his kind. "If it is necessary."
Oh I had hoped for this. Thorin on an Ent!!!!!!!!!!!
By,nbsdgougefkhvzxjhfhsofih!!!!!!!!! You! And then! Kadbfsouncboufslfkdisdfj
Marriage proposal in a garden! And Bilbo playing with Thorin's hair! It cannot get better than this! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
thank you for this chapter. I have a feeling this is one of the eating points of the story that I have to remember when times get dark again.... Damn you Bilbo for doubting you can ever get back to the Shire again! Thorin will set you straight. Yes he will. *nods*
Re: Part 3
Date: 2015-08-08 07:55 am (UTC)Ach, you....*shakes fists* you are making me cry, AGAIN!
Gardens and mountains make for such a wonderful contrast!
Marriage proposal in a garden! And Bilbo playing with Thorin's hair! It cannot get better than this! aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
I was very surprised at that proposal, but Thorin could not resist! And yes, there are dark times ahead, but they have each other, and that always counts for a lot... *snuggles them both* *snuggles you too*
(no subject)
Date: 2014-12-31 06:47 pm (UTC)Posting this in parts so I don't lose my comment by accident
Date: 2015-08-06 08:13 pm (UTC)Run, Bilbo!
*headdesk* Oooh silly Thorin! I know you only want to protect your beloved but....*sigh* dwarves....anything not made of rock is suspect... Though I believe Thorin has learned more than any dwarf ever before about the green things.
“Then may I ask the proper way to address you?” BIlbo asked, ever-polite.
Oh Bilbo. That's why I love that good ole hobbit common sense. Thorin prepare to be educated! *snorfle* (Is that even a word? You probably know what I mean LOL)
Little-fierce-one is my new favourite nickname for my most beloved of all dwarves!
think you can put your sword away, Thorin,” he said quietly.
Thorin did so.
Gigglesnort I told you so.
an already-fallen branch, that is.”
Oops I had not foreseen that bit of potential awkwardness, well done Bilbo for saving the situation.
dwarf who speaks of gardens with love in his voice? That is worthy of a day’s worth of song.”
Ah no, now you are making me cry. My Thooooooorin. how I have missed him (and included in that of course, how I have missed this fic!)
Re: Posting this in parts so I don't lose my comment by accident
Date: 2015-08-08 07:52 am (UTC)Awwww, that is okay! Trust me, these comments are perfectly timed to lift my spirits. *grin*
dwarves....anything not made of rock is suspect... Though I believe Thorin has learned more than any dwarf ever before about the green things.
He has! He has a certain amount of respect for green growing things--I mean, not as much as any given hobbit, but lots more than any dwarf. :)
Oops I had not foreseen that bit of potential awkwardness, well done Bilbo for saving the situation.
I realized that at exactly the same moment Bilbo did, lol! "Ooops, might want to clarify that..."
Thorin loving gardens makes me want to cry too! He holds them in his heart all the way through Mordor, the dear...
Re: Posting this in parts so I don't lose my comment by accident
Date: 2015-08-08 08:58 pm (UTC)I am so glad to hear you say that!
part 2
Date: 2015-08-06 08:27 pm (UTC)Aww come on Wandlimb, that's just splitting hairs after such a lovely speech. Hmmm hair. oh yes Thorin's hair.... I remember...*dreamy stare into the distance*
Fear not: for the sake of the gardens in the mountain
Ha! I said so, didn't I? *coughcough...mumblemumble sixseven months ago.....*
Thorin felt that he could live off it from now on.
I can just imagine the faces of everyone in Erebor when they hear of his new diet... LOL
Have to sleep now but IWILL BE BACk. Cross my heart!
Re: part 2
Date: 2015-08-08 07:53 am (UTC)Ents! They can be just as closed-minded as dwarves in their way...
Have to sleep now but IWILL BE BACk. Cross my heart!
Sleep well and be refreshed and know you've made my day!