Disclaimer: None of the original characters belong to me. They were created by J.R.R. Tolkien, and brought to life by New Line Productions, Inc., and probably a bunch of other people also.

Author's note: This took absolutely forever, and I apologize profusely. This chapter was more or less in ruins; I did a lot of work on it. There are still some inconsistencies that I shall have to work out later, but…here, this is up.

And I might as well warn you: I've only one more chapter written. Meaning, after Chapter 6, it might be months, at least, before an update.

Thank you for being so patient with me. :o) I'll try my best not to take so long for the next chapter.

Chapter 5

"Whatever Sam Did"

"I'm hungry." Pippin had been repeating the same phrase like a broken record for the past two days straight.

Sam tried not to sound exasperated. "Quite frankly, Pippin, I wish you'd stop saying that. I'm as hungry as you are! And you don't see me going and saying it, if you follow my point."

Pippin did not seem to follow Sam's point, and he was looking a bit hurt. "You just did!"

"You catch what his meaning was, Pip. And meanwhile, let's look on the happy side of this…situation. At least we've all learned something," said Merry.

"Yeah. Vegetables don't keep well in pockets. Whose lousy idea was it to take veggies, anyway?"

Sam eyed Merry. Merry glanced about offhandedly, beginning to whistle a tune. "Well, it got us this far, didn't it?"

Pippin sighed and munched on a limp carrot. A look of disgust washed across his face as it squished between his teeth. He gagged and spit it out.

Suddenly Merry looked up, ears perked and attentive. Pippin stopped mid-bite and listened also. Sam continued emptying his bag of vegetables onto the ground, mumbling about, "Good fertilizer…."

"Shh!" said Pippin.

"What's that?" Merry whispered reverently.

"What's what?" said Sam.

"Shhh!" The others shushed him.

"That singing," Merry marveled, "It's…."

Now Sam heard it too. "It's beautiful!" he murmured, "Most beautiful singing I ever heard!" Then he reconsidered. "Save the Elves, of course."

He wandered off in the direction of the voices while his friends lingered timidly behind. Sam walked across the field and into the forest. The sun shone vibrantly through the leaves of the towering trees and was dancing off a glistening pond, planted in the center of a ring of odd-looking trees. The sound was much louder here, and it seemed to be all around him, coming from every direction. The music was moderately fast-paced and split into many parts, rising and falling in melancholy chords.

For what seemed like minutes, yet felt like hours, he stood mesmerized, admiring the beauty of the pond, the sunlight, and the trees; hearing the music, and watching the trees.

At long last he came to his senses and realized what he was seeing. The trees were swaying with the rhythm of the music as if blown by an overwhelmingly powerful wind, though Sam's hair was only slightly ruffled. They seemed to be almost…dancing, and…bathing themselves in the pond?

All at once the singing ceased. Sam perceived that they'd become aware of his presence, as eyes popped open from the bark of the trunks. Perhaps they were not trees at all! The creatures were taller than the loftiest Elf, and stouter than the most portly Dwarf. What he had taken for limbs were indeed such, but moved freely and at will…thick bark covered every inch, serving as skin, and leafy, stringy hair fell wildly from its head.

One stepped forward and addressed Sam. Her voice, for it was apparent that the being was female, was chipper and her words rushed. His brain had no time to contemplate what she had said before he screamed and fled.

When he came, panting, back to his friends, they were glaring at him. "What did you do?" Pippin asked angrily.

"Whatever he did, they stopped singing!" Merry's lopsided scowl was directed at Sam, and he looked ready to bite his friend's curly head off.

"I…I…" Sam stuttered, "Well, don't you want to know what I seen?"

"O!" said Merry, and Sam was quickly forgiven.

"Of course!" said Pippin, "Why didn't I think of that? What did you see? Tell us, Sam, now!"

But before Sam could open his mouth wide enough to speak, there came from the wood a tremendous thrashing and pounding that shook the ground and echoed through the hills. The rooted trees quaked, and the three Hobbits cowered, lying undercover in the tall grass.

Out from the wood marched a band of fiery-spirited trees. Each carried a bough of strong wood, positioned menacingly in their great arms, ready to strike at a moment's notice at anything that displeased them.

Just then, Pippin sat up. His mouth formed a perfect O.

"Pippin! Sit down! They're going to see you!" Merry whispered fiercely.

Pippin followed orders, but his eyes remained glued to the ever-advancing band.

Not surprisingly, be as their height surpassed anything the Hobbits had seen before, they spotted the tiny Hobbits, regardless of Pippin's now-hidden advertisement of their hiding spot. When they reached the cowering group, they circled around them and posed their weapons, ready to strike.

Just then, when Merry was saying his last prayers, and Sam's life was beginning to flash before his eyes, Pippin's incredible timing came to the rescue. "Why, they're the…" he snapped his fingers and racked his brain, a perplexed look coming across his face, "…The, the Entwives!"

Merry bolted upright, and Sam stopped hollering. The Entwives hesitated. Then their leader spoke. "We have not been called by that title for centuries," said she, "But yea, so we are."

Sam chewed his cheek uneasily, "Entwives," he muttered, "My, that sounds familiar…."

"Of course it does!" said Pippin exuberantly, "They're the wives of the Ents, naturally!"

At this, the she-Ent roared with rage and stomped her mighty feet, missing the poor Hobbits' heads by a frightfully small degree. "Do not speak of them on this land! They are dull and slow; their bark is dense. They fritter away their lives hooming and humming and singing for days on end. Our historical relation to them is shameful. If you are a friend of the Ents," (this she said with a particularly fearsome sneer), "…Let you be a foe of us! And so may you run swiftly that the crashing of our boughs be at your heels and not your heads!" As she spoke, or hollered, rather, her deep voice resonated, and sap oozed from her barky joints.

Seemingly, Sam had more than half a mind to do so, and he was uneasily shifting to his feet.

Pippin scrambled up and began hurrying away with a wary eye on the advancing Entwives, and tripping repeatedly over anything and everything in his path.

Merry, however, stayed put, and held his ground bravely. "Wait." He ordered. His friends froze in their tracks, as did the now slightly bemused Entwives. His voice had changed tone and was now commanding, as if he were directing an army of a hundred thousand noble creatures. "None of us ever said that we took any sides in your little disagreement. Now give us a moment and hear me out. We have met the Ents, and they were very kind to us. They seemed to be lonely, though, and dissatisfied without your company. Hear me! They wish no conflict between you; they do not loathe you as you do them. They only wish to revive your dying species, to unite your people!"

He had puffed out his chest and was shaking his fist and bellowing as though he had momentarily forgotten that he was a mere Hobbit, and assumed the authority of an ancient god, towering above them all. Unbeknownst to him, the Entwives—as well as his friends—were snickering quietly at his performance, for his appearance was so humorous. Imagine, if you will, a mouse, attempting to intimidate a hawk by trying to reproduce a lion's roar, and the image in your mind should be much like that before the eyes of the towering tree-people.

Finished, Merry unclenched his fist and folded his arms across his chest, a smug look on his face that stated simply, 'Oh boy have I done a good thing, and am I ever pleased with myself.' Then he squared his shoulders and braced himself for their response.

To his surprise, the leader of the Entwives knelt down as far as she could, releasing a series of loud crackling noises from her joints, and placed her old, stiff hand on Merry's shoulder. "You humor me, young Hobbit. But if what you say is true, then we have much to talk about. Tonight, you shall have the privilege of resting with the fabled Entwives."

Her old, wizened eyes met his adventurous, eager ones, and he smiled as his friends offered a light pattering of applause.

"My, if we get any bit taller, we won't be properly recognized as Hobbits!" Sam exclaimed, after accepting an Ent draught from the youngest Entwife—who was still rather ancient, mind you—named Sweetlimb.

Pippin took one, too, and then gulped down a large swallow of it. But then he made a dreadful face, and gagged. Spitting out what remained in his mouth, he clutched his stomach. Never before had he drank something so sour. "O, the Ents' drinks were pleasant, but this is just plain bitter!" He looked as though he was about to upchuck; his face had spanned three shades of green in a matter of seconds.

Sweetlimb frowned. "Perhaps it takes some getting used to."

"There'll be no getting used to that for sure, speaking for myself, if Pip can't handle it. He's maybe got the strongest stomach of all us back in Hobbitton! Save the Proudfoots, though, and…well…I won't be drinking that stuff." Sam pushed away his own drink. Merry nodded in agreement, and did the same.

But Pippin soon had all of their attention. He began to hollar, and they could only stare as the potion began to work its magic.

Pippin was shrinking.