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LOTR: TMCP Ch. 381
🕑 Added 2025-12-16 23:36:51 +0000 UTC"Yes, the sun has indeed not yet risen."
Inside Helm's Deep, Théoden placed his helmet upon his head.
"But the light of dawn has arrived first."
Bwooooom!
From the tower above, Gimli blew the Horn of Helm Hammerhand. The Dwarf's bull-like lungs showed their full strength, and the sound of the horn echoed through the entire mountain range, deep, distant, and stirring to the heart.
And from the other side, the horns of the Free Cities answered, their call joining and reverberating together through the valley.
The Uruk-hai and the wild Men were thrown into panic, terror rising in their hearts.
The situation had changed too fast. First the Nazgûl leader had suddenly perished, and then an elite army of unknown number appeared out of nowhere.
And even that wasn't the worst part.
The one who had slain the Nazgûl... The newly bred Uruks of Isengard in recent years might not know what that meant, but the wild Men certainly did.
Fear seized them immediately. They shrank back and broke before the Uruks did. They had nearly broken through the inner gate of the Hornburg, but now they abandoned the siege and turned to flee.
Yet they made a fatal mistake. They should never have shown their backs to the enemy.
When the horn of Helm's Deep sounded, the riders within the fortress were filled with new spirit. They shouted in excitement, as though they beheld the return of the never-fallen King Helm himself.
"Riders of Eorl, ride with me!"
Théoden was the first to mount his horse and charged at the front.
The great gate burst open, and the riders, their armor gleaming with dim golden light, poured out one after another, cutting through the enemy ranks without resistance.
Aragorn rode beside Théoden, side by side at the very front.
At that same moment, another host took position at the mouth of the valley.
Standing atop the mountain, Garrett raised his sword high and shouted, "People of the Free Cities, forward! Charge!"
"Charge!"
A white brilliance pierced the black of night. Gandalf, riding Shadowfax, dashed at the head of the host, fulfilling the duty of a commander as he led the army downhill.
Before them rode the Riders of Rohan, glowing with dim gold. Behind them came the silver-white ranks of the elite army, radiant and resplendent.
The Uruk chieftain looked utterly despairing.
Still, driven by sheer survival instinct, he barked orders to his rear ranks to form up and brace for the impact.
But it was all in vain.
Even without the blinding spell of the White Wizard at the front, whose light alone nearly illuminated the entire valley, their opponents' silver-white armor was terrifying enough. Even their horses were covered head to hoof in solid plate. There was no fear of spears or blades.
Boom!
Two armies, one charging out from the fortress, the other descending from the valley slopes, smashed into the enemy from both sides. Wherever they passed, the foe was utterly routed, unable to reform any line of defense.
The battle was decided.
As the enemy was crushed between the forces of the Hornburg and those descending from the valley, Garrett slid down the hillside himself, crashing straight into the enemy ranks, beginning his own cleansing.
The moment they saw him, the wild Men instantly threw down their weapons, huddling in corners and shouting surrender. The Uruks, not understanding, only grew furious. How could these cowards betray them mid-battle?
But they had no choice left.
The Uruk-hai, unable to resist the crushing charge, broke and fled from the valley, chased down mercilessly, falling one after another until half their number were dead.
Garrett sheathed his greatsword, standing behind his victorious host, watching the brave citizens pursue their fleeing foes with satisfaction.
They had grown strong. He could finally be at ease...
As he reflected thus, the enemy met the doom he himself had brought upon them.
---
Meanwhile, when the great battle began, thunder rolled and rain fell, Pippin and Merry could find no peace in their hearts. They awoke in the night to see Treebeard meeting with a great gathering of Ents.
The two Hobbits looked at each other, thinking of all that had happened, and decided they had to do something.
They told of Isengard's true state, that it was no longer led by the White Wizard, but had been seized by the servants of the Dark Lord, turned into a nest of orcs. If left unchecked, it would soon threaten Fangorn Forest itself.
But the Ents were unmoved.
"To endure and to yield, that has ever been the fate of the Ents, from the Elder Days until now."
Treebeard said this while gently patting the two little Hobbits' heads, so gently that even so, he still managed to muss their hair completely.
Pippin and Merry could only fume silently.
"But your suggestion is worth considering," Treebeard added.
Just as they were thinking of pressing their case further, Treebeard spoke again, stopping them short. "I shall raise this matter in the Entmoot. For now, wait patiently, little ones."
Seeing that their proposal was taken seriously, Pippin and Merry exchanged hopeful smiles.
Yet even after the stars had shifted several degrees across the sky, the Ents' discussion had reached no conclusion.
The two Hobbits were growing impatient.
"Hey, how's the talk going?"
Treebeard replied, "The meeting has made progress. We have discussed a most important topic."
"What? You've decided to go to war?"
"No," Treebeard said, his clear eyes blinking. "We have discussed the new trees growing in the northern vale. Though they are rather square in shape, they are full of life and truly our kin. We have agreed not to discriminate against them."
"...And?"
"And?" Treebeard blinked again, thinking.
"Oh yes, there was another matter."
"What matter?"
"I mentioned you two. We have unanimously agreed that you are not orcs."
"...That's it?"
Treebeard nodded slowly.
The two Hobbits nearly fainted from exasperation.
The Ents had spent all that time debating these two trivial points, enough time, Pippin thought, for them to gossip through every relative in Hobbiton, three generations deep.
The Entish tongue was unique indeed, but its speed was painfully slow.
But despite its slowness, after a long time, they finally reached a conclusion, one that deeply disappointed the two Hobbits.
It was the same as before: to endure, to submit, and to remain hidden deep within the mountains and forests, refusing to meddle in the affairs of the outside world.
But Hobbits always have their own ways.
They pleaded with Treebeard to take them to Isengard, and thus Treebeard witnessed a sight of utter devastation.
"When did the brown lands spread this far?"
In earlier ages, Men had also felled trees recklessly, but at least when they cut down trees, they left the grass beneath untouched.
Mordor was different.
They left not even the grass. After stripping the land of its trees and resources, they would set fire to it all, leaving a barren wasteland, open ground suitable only for war.
At that moment, Treebeard knew he could no longer stay silent.
"I once believed that keeping to ourselves would ensure our people's survival," he said gravely. "But I did not expect the Dark Lord's claws to reach even here. They seek to destroy the last of the Ents upon this earth."
Treebeard fell into old memories.
"Long ago, the armies of a Dark Lord also came against us. We resisted with great difficulty. If not for the hosts of the Valar who destroyed them, I might not even be standing here today. Now the Dark Lord's legions have come again. These mighty foes are before us once more, and this time, there may be no one left to aid us. But we do not fear. If the Dark Lord wishes to annihilate all the Ents, then let it be so, but he must learn this: the Ents will not sit quietly and await their doom, nor will we stand idly by while our kin perish without resistance..."
"Awaken, my brethren! Rise and march against the enemy, even if it leads to our destruction!"
Treebeard and the other Ents began to call upon their ancient magic, awakening the oldest trees of Fangorn Forest, turning them into a lesser race of sentient tree-beings: the Huorns.
"Come then! This shall be the final battle of the Ents, our war of destruction! The flaming axes of Balrogs, the fiery breath of winged dragons, and the endless tide of savage armies. I am ready to face them all. We will inflict as much harm upon the Dark Lord's forces as we can, so that the Free Peoples of Middle-earth may gain a moment's respite."
At that moment, the furious Treebeard had already resolved that his entire race might perish.
Yet as they listened, Pippin and Merry were completely baffled.
"Wait... are there Balrogs in that tower?"
"I don't think so," Merry said. "Didn't Gandalf tell us earlier in the forest that the last Balrog fell into the abyss, and that he killed it himself?"
"Then what's Treebeard talking about? Fire-breathing dragons too? Is he talking about little... Weymir or something?"
"What's going on?"
At that moment, a gap of understanding opened between the ancient Ents, who had lived since before the First Age, and the modern Hobbits.
Because Pippin and Merry had always used vague terms like "the Dark Lord" when explaining the enemy, Treebeard misunderstood. Instinctively, he thought of the Dark Lord most familiar from his own memories: Morgoth.
Thus, a great host of Ents marched forth, smashing open the gates of Isengard and advancing within.
A fierce battle erupted. The orcs and the remaining Uruks fought desperately, but their efforts were useless.
The Ents were among the most powerful beings in Middle-earth. Their bark was harder than iron, their fists struck like hammers, and with a single grasp they could tear boulders from the ground.
The proud Uruk armor and broad shields were crushed to scrap metal in the Ents' giant hands, utterly useless as defense.
At that moment, even Garrett, if he had to face so many Ents, would struggle. Not lose, perhaps... but fight much more slowly.
After all, his flame-wreathed equipment was quite a natural counter to the Ents.
The orcs of Isengard did not hold out for long. Once all the defenders were destroyed, Treebeard lifted his gaze, watchful of the skies and the distant river crossings.
"Their main host hasn't come yet?"
"No," Pippin said uncertainly. "I think... that's all of them."
He wasn't sure what else to say.
Why is this old tree so cautious?
Just as he was wondering that, a commotion rose from afar. A band of Uruks was running toward them at full speed, as though some terrible thing behind them was driving them forward.
"I knew there'd be more," Treebeard rumbled.
Those fleeing remnants met their end.
They ran straight into the moving forest, a forest of Huorns disguised as still trees, and never came out again.
"What are those things?"
Under the dim light of dawn, King Théoden, who had pursued the enemy to this place, turned to ask Garrett.
"The Ents of Fangorn," Garrett explained their origins, then added, "Most likely Saruman's orcs felled their kin, and now they've come seeking vengeance."
"What tremendous power," Théoden murmured, gazing upon the restless forest.
"It seems when I return, I must revise the royal laws, to forbid men from cutting down that ancient wood, or even straying too close to it."
"A wise decision," Garrett said. "The Ents will be pleased to hear it."
"Then let the last ancient forest in this world know peace," Théoden said softly.
