Gandalf the White led them through the part of Fangorn Forest that had crept closer to the valley when the wizard arrived with Erkenbrand, to deal with any enemy that fled into the woods. The Ents did their job thoroughly, for Rowan didn't see any signs of Uruk-hai or Dunlendings—no scrap of fabric, discarded weapon, or blood. It was a good thing the Ents were friendly to those who did not harm their woods, for the gentle, slow-moving tree-herders could be vicious.

This part of Fangorn Forest seemed darker, more ominous, than the part Rowan had trekked through with Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, and Boro... Boromir. She couldn't do that—be afraid to think of him. Speaking of him would recall his death, but she had to also remember the good memories with him too, especially his laughter.

After reprimanding herself for thinking she could avoid pain by not thinking of the Gondorian captain, she looked from side to side, observing the vastly different trees. Not only were their bark gray and darker—like the dead Ent they had encountered when searching for Merry and Pippin—but shadows lingered, and mist hung about the trunks. Long, gnarled boughs hung down like fingers and roots snaked far from trees, looking like monsters. The air throbbed with wrath. The hair on Rowan's arms stood up. Everything was menacing; she guessed that if they got off the road Gandalf led them on, the darker Ents here wouldn't hesitate in making them disappear.

Legolas and Gimli chatted while they rode through the dark woods, in a steadily moving river of horses. The elf expressed his longing to wander, listening to the sounds of the woods. Other than the occasional creak or groan of trees, there were no animal sounds. Rowan vaguely heard the whisper of a deeper timbre voice in the distance, but she wasn't sure if she had imagined it. The dwarf quickly announced that he would not explore with his friend if he wanted to go, even telling Legolas to let him off before he goes.

"I am grateful for the part they played, but I do not love them," Gimli said, glancing at the trees. "You may think them wonderful, but I have seen a greater wonder in this land, more beautiful than any grove or glade. My heart is still full of it!

"Strange are the ways of men, Legolas. Here they have one of the marvels of the Northern World, and what do they say of it? Caves, they say. Caves! Holes to fly to in times of war, to store fodder in!" He shook his head. "Those caves are vast and beautiful. There would be an endless pilgrimage of dwarves to gaze at them. They would pay gold for just a glimpse!"

"I can attest to what he says," Éomer said—he had taken Aragorn's place riding beside her when the Ranger spurred Hasufel up to speak with Gandalf. "Reverently he spoke of that place when we and elves took shelter. Tears glistened in his eyes as he spoke of the caves."

At the sharp look from Gimli, he corrected himself. "Forgive me, master dwarf. Caverns."

Rowan let out a soft chuckle.

Gimli continued. "Immeasurable halls filled with an everlasting music of water tinkling into pools, as fair as Kheled-zâram in the starlight. And in torchlight—ah!—gems and crystals and veins of precious ore glint in the polished walls; and the light glows through marbles, translucent as Lady Galadriel's hands. There are columns of white and saffron and dawn-rose, fluted and twisted into dreamlike forms, rising from multicolored floors to meet glistening pendants of the roof. Still lakes mirror them, a glimmering city of natural beauty."

The dwarf continued to describe those caverns, weaving poetic words with those beautiful images. Rowan conjured up her own depiction based on his description. It truly was breath-taking and marvelous... but her caverns had more light in them than there actually was, though.

"You move me, Gimli," Legolas began. "I have never heard you speak like this before. Almost you make me regret that I have not seen these caverns." He fell silent for a while, thinking something over. "Come! Let us make this bargain—if we both return from our perils, we will journey awhile together. You shall visit Fangorn with me, and I will come with you to Helm's Deep."

"I will endure Fangorn if I have your promise to come back to the caverns and share their wonder with me," Gimli said.

"You have my promise." The elf looked over at her. "What of you, Rowan? Do you wish to journey with us to see these marvels?"

She had to think about it. Neither place was appealing—with Fangorn's spooky trees and the darkness of the underground caverns—but she could guarantee Legolas and Gimli would bring out their beauty with words. Rowan would only hear them, though, if she didn't die at the Black Gate of Mordor like Lady Galadriel predicted...

"I believe I will," she finally said. "But we must first see ourselves through our upcoming perils. This war is not yet over."

***

When they exited the woods, the sun had set. They didn't stop, continuing toward Isengard at an easy pace, even as the waxing moon rose in the sky, bathing the surrounding landscape in silver light.

Rowan fought to keep her eyes open and from falling off the saddle. Legolas' quick reflexes caught her from toppling off once. She was so tired—she actually considered leaning forward over the pommel to sleep, but knowing the pain doing so would cause in her waist kept her straight.

After four hours of riding away from Fangorn, they came upon the Fords of Isen. This was where Théodred had fallen, and mounds covered the dead. The nearly dry stream stumped the king and Rohirrim. Rowan knew why: Saruman had dammed the river but kept it to herself; they'd eventually find out. She had a feeling Gandalf knew as well.

They rode a bit further after crossing the river. A road ran alongside the river, leading straight to the gates of Isengard. They followed the ancient highway for a while before they halted because the king was weary.

Far before them, a vast spire of smoke rose from the dale. Once it rose high enough, it spread, covering the twinkling stars in a shimmering mixture of black and silver.

"One would say that all the Wizard's Vale is burning," Aragorn said.

"There is ever a fume above the valley these days," Éomer began, "but those are steams rather than smoke." He looked at her. "Is Saruman brewing some devilry to greet us?"

If that was indeed steam...

"No," Rowan said. "You will see with your own eyes what is hard for me to explain."

They made camp beside the road. She nearly fell out of the saddle when Aragorn helped her down, and he practically carried her to a bed roll.

Within seconds of her laying down, Rowan was asleep.

***

A shout woke her.

Rowan jolted awake, then bit back a cry at pulling the stitches as men rose. Gimli grumbled as he fought to stand; Legolas and Aragorn already stood, looking into the dark for the danger. She couldn't hear anything ominous, like growls of Wargs or battle cries of orcs, but she felt something. It wasn't a cold, terror-inducing presence like the Nazgûl, but old, ancient-feeling, and angry.

Gritting her teeth, she rolled over to her side. Rowan just pushed against the ground to sit up when Éomer knelt beside her. He grabbed under her arm to haul her up when something drew his eye before them. He froze as his eyes widened; she looked.

Over the ground, a darkness crept toward them. A slow-moving miasma.

"Stay where you are!" Gandalf ordered. "Draw no weapons! Wait, and it will pass by!"

The mist gradually reached them but split at the beginning of their camp and trailed by on either side. It surrounded them completely—they were in a narrow lane between moving towers of shadows. Voices whispered and groaned; the ground rumbled.

Rowan knew what it was now. She put a hand on Éomer's in hopes of reassuring him.

"It's okay. Their business isn't with us."

"What are they?" he breathed.

"Huorns—Ents that are almost trees. They're dangerous."

Speechless, Legolas only nodded as he watched them go by.

He looked at her. "Truly?"

"Yes," Gandalf answered, walking toward them.

"I have lived to see strange days," King Théoden said, coming near with Gamling beside him, eyes on the shadows surrounding them. "Songs have come down among us."

"You should be glad, Théoden King, for the life of those you have deemed the matter of legend is also endangered, so you are not without allies."

"But I am also sad," he said. "For however the fortune of this war shall go, will that which is fair and wonderful pass forever out of Middle-earth?"

They all looked at the shadows, hiding those gigantic humanoid beings made as trees.

"It may," Gandalf said quietly. "The evil of Sauron cannot be wholly cured, nor made as if it had not been."

***

Sleep didn't come easy for the rest of the night. Nothing else happened other than the river beside them waking. Water rushed through the nearly dry riverbed in a flood, then the Isen flowed gently, bubbling. Come daybreak, the company were back on their horses and riding for Isengard.

The land they passed through was desolate—evidence of Saruman's slaves tilling the once fertile ground for his machinery and forges. No trees grew, only axe-hewn stumps, scorched ground, and gray, dry grass. It was a sad, sullen place.

With no foliage blocking the view, the black tower of Orthanc jutted into the sky. Four sharp spires rose at the top, just like what's in the movie. Tall black walls encircled the tower.

After a few more miles, and passing by trickling streams running by the road, they finally approached the doors of Isengard. Only, there were no gates baring entry into the Wizard's Vale—the black iron doors lay twisted on the ground. All around were large pieces of stone, cracked and jagged. Rowan looked up from the rocks to the gaping holes the Ents tore open to get into Isengard.

Peering through the archway, the ring beyond was a giant lake. Splintered wooden beams stuck out from under water like sharp fingers. Broken gear, dark fabric, and more wood pieces floated in the muddy water. The tower of Orthanc rose in the middle of it and water about two feet deep lapped at its feet.

A familiar smell of pipe-weed made Rowan look over at a pile of rubble. Two tiny figures lounged on the rock—one smoking a pipe with his legs dangling off the edge and the other stretched out on his back, napping.

Rowan smiled at the sight of Merry and Pippin.

Your little ones are safe, Boromir.