In the waning days of autumn, beneath a sky pale with dawn, Aragorn rode forth alone from the gates of Tusgar. The morning sun rose above the mist-veiled hills, scattering the fog with golden spears of light. The wind was brisk and cool, and it swept the falling leaves into a whirling dance of crimson and gold — a farewell both splendid and melancholy.
Not long after his departure, Denethor of Gondor and Marshal Wudred of Eastmark likewise led their men homeward. Caden, faithful and resolute, returned to Eowenría with the remnants of the cavalry and the stalwart King's Guard.
Tusgar remained bright and lively, yet to Kaen Eowenríel it felt quieter than before, a stillness lingering where the laughter of companions had once been. Restless in peace, the king gathered a hundred of his King's Guard and took to the river, sailing down the Anduin.
They passed swiftly by the golden spires of Golden Iris City and the tranquil woods of Lothlórien, yet Kaen did not linger long. Only in Lórien did he tarry briefly to send word to Arwen through the Elves, to tell her he was safe, and that soon, very soon, he would come to find her. Then the current bore him onward.
At last they turned westward, steering their vessel into the Limlight River, where it branched from the Anduin. The river's clear waters came down from the northern edge of Fangorn Forest, flowing eastward until they merged again with the Great River.
To the north stretched the green meads of Celebrant, the southern boundary of Lothlórien. Long ago, in the Third Age, the Men of Darkness and Orcs had crossed these very fields to strike Gondor. Gondor had faltered then — until Eorl of the Éothéod, ancestor of the Rohirrim, crossed the Limlight with his riders, struck the invaders from behind, and turned the tide.
That battle had saved Gondor from ruin, and upon the tomb of Elendil, Cirion the Steward and Eorl the Young had sworn the Oath of Eorl, a bond eternal between their realms: that Rohan would ride to Gondor's aid whenever the Red Arrow or the Beacons called. And thus Rohan was born, as Gondor granted them the lands of Calenardhon.
...
For three days Kaen's ship followed the Limlight westward, until before them rose a forest vaster and older even than Lothlórien, the Fangorn Forest, one of the most ancient woods of Middle-earth.
Here dwelt the Ents — the Shepherds of Trees, last of the race made by Yavanna the Earth-Queen. In elder days they had roamed every forest from the Misty Mountains to the Blue, even into Beleriand of old. But in the Second Age, driven by the axes of Númenóreans and the fires of Sauron, they had withdrawn to this final refuge.
Fangorn spread like a green ocean, layered in three vast regions: oak woods along the mountains' skirts, deep beech groves at its heart, and to the south a stretch of tall pines where the Huorns roamed — the silent, half-sleeping kindred of the Ents.
At the forest's center lay the Entwash Valley, home of the Ents' hall of springs — Derndingle, the Hall of Flowing Wells.
Kaen did not venture rashly within. He ordered the ship anchored by the outer eaves and, standing upon the deck, closed his eyes. Reaching forth with his mind, he sent his thought into the forest — gentle, clear, and bright as sunlight through leaves.
I am Kaen Eowenríel, King of Eowenría, he spoke in spirit. I come seeking the eldest, Treebeard of Fangorn, the Shepherd of the Forest. May I be granted passage to your hall, that we may speak as friends.
For a time there was only the sighing of the wind and the rustle of leaves. Then, slowly, the trees began to stir. From the dim wood came a great shape walking, tall as a tower.
A Huorn — the "fading kind," between tree and Ent — emerged into the light. The air grew heavy with the scent of green life and old earth. The creature bowed ponderously, branches creaking, and motioned with a limb like an arm for Kaen to follow.
Kaen gave the signal, and the ship glided silently into Fangorn's shadow.
...
The Ents' dwelling lay deep within the valley, where the Entwash sprang in bright pools from the rocks. The waters shimmered like liquid crystal; where they touched the trees, new shoots sprang from the roots.
As Kaen and his men entered, they beheld countless Ents — tall, ancient beings of bark and limb, walking and speaking in their slow, thunderous way. They paused in their talk, turning their eyes upon the strangers.
From behind a waterfall came forth one greater than all: vast as the hills, with beard of moss and eyes deep as wells of time. Treebeard, Fangorn himself, had come. The forest seemed to hush as he spoke.
"Strange king of Men," he said, his voice deep and measured, echoing like a bell of stone. "I feel no malice in you. Speak, then. Tell me why you have come."
His words were in the ancient tongue of the Wood-elves, for in elder days, before Ents had speech of their own, the Elves of the Anduin had taught them the sylvan tongue. From it had grown Entish, slow and deep as roots through stone.
Kaen bowed low. "O eldest one," he said with reverence, "I come seeking aid, not for myself, but for the Avari Elves of the Far East, guardians of nature who suffer beneath the shadow of men."
"Far East?" Treebeard's brow furrowed like wrinkled bark. "That is a distant land indeed. If you jest, you jest poorly, for we Ents move slowly — slower than the sun's climb. It would take us many years even to reach such a place."
"You misunderstand, wise one," said Kaen gently. And he told of the plight of the Avari by the Sea of Rhûn, their dwindling forests, their wars with the dark tribes, their fading hope. "I do not ask that you march there," Kaen said. "I ask that you grant them sanctuary here, in this forest, a haven among your kindred.
"If you will consent, I shall make you this promise: the forests of Mirkwood and Eowenría's northern realm shall forever be open to your folk. My kingdom does not ravage the woods for greed, but takes and gives in measure. No axe of mine shall ever wound your trees."
Treebeard listened long, saying nothing. Then, slowly, he turned his great head and uttered a sound — low, resonant, like the groaning of the earth itself. Other Ents gathered around, and in their deep, rumbling speech they began to confer.
For though Treebeard was their eldest, Ent-kind ruled by counsel, and their councils were long. Their life was slow as the turning of seasons, and many had grown still for ages, rooted in solitude until they forgot their voices and became Huorns, half-dreaming trees that walked no more.
To live beside the Avari, guardians of nature like themselves, might awaken them anew. Perhaps it would change both their fates.
The council of the Ents lasted three days and nights, the forest murmuring like an ocean of leaves. At last, at midday of the third day, the deep voice of Treebeard rolled once more through the valley:
"The circle of green shall be shared — the Ents and the Avari shall dwell together, and keep watch over the living world."
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