As the Years Turn by StarSpray

1

The world was changing once again. The time of the Elves, and of Rings, was ending at last. Treebeard watched Gandalf and Galadriel and young Elrond ride away westward with their folk singing all about them in the sunshine, and watched King Elessar and his retinue gallop back across the plains of Rohan to the south and east. He sighed, and retreated to the hills, where it was quiet and the trees continued on as they always had, and always would.

He had seen the wizards come, one by one as they roamed Middle-earth. Two had passed by Fangorn and promised to send back word from the far eastern lands if any Entwives were to be found, but Treebeard had heard not even a whisper on the eastern winds since then. Saruman had come and gone and then come back to settle at Isengard, until at last he went crawling away—his robes no longer white nor even many colored, only a muddy shade of indeterminate color and reduced to little more than rags, as he himself was reduced to a skinny, sneering beggar. A far fall from the tall and wise and good White Wizard that Treebeard had first encountered on the eaves of his wood near the banks of the Entwash long ago.

And Gandalf too was much changed. Gone were the storm-grey robes, to be replaced with snowy white, and his once-bowed shoulders were straightened, and laughter flowed from him as freely and easily as clear water from the springs on the mountain slopes that spilled down to feed the rivers; and a light seemed to shine from him, bright as spring sunshine on new leaves. He rode away west with Galadriel and Celeborn and with young Elrond, with all their folk singing in the sun about them, bound for the faraway seas and a long and well deserved rest.

Long after Gandalf departed (and after Saruman was slain, as Treebeard heard long after), Radagast came wandering down to Fangorn. His task, he said, had really only begun after Sauron's fall. The earth had suffered as much as the Free Peoples under the Shadow, but under Radagast's care the birds and the beasts and the trees and grasses and flowers were all thriving again, and the darkness was ebbing away from Mirkwood, now called again Greenwood. But in time he too said farewell to Middle-earth and passed on into the west.

It was a quiet afternoon in the autumn, and Treebeard was standing beside the lake in Isengard watching the clouds drift across the skies behind Orthanc, when a pair of old men in robes of blue—one the clear pale shades of a cloudless dawn, the other the deep color of a summer evening—appeared at the worn and broken remnants of the walls. They leaned on their staffs by the water and gazed at the tower in silence. Finally the one in dark robes spoke. "A terrible thing, old Curumo's fall. I did not expect it."

"But great beauty has come out of the ruin he wrought," said his companion, and he turned to bow to Treebeard. "Greetings, Fangorn," he said.

Treebeard peered down at the wizards, the last two remaining in Middle-earth. There were new lines in their faces and their beards were longer and braided in strange and intricate patterns, and delicate patterns of embroidery now lined the hems of their robes and twined around the sleeves. "Well met," Treebeard said at last. "I did not expect to see the pair of you again."

"Our task took us far to the east," said the one in dark robes. "Forgive us, but we saw no Entwives in our travels."

It was a disappointment, but not a surprise. The Entwives were lost, and the Ents would dwindle, as the Elves were dwindling. But Treebeard was pleased that the wizards had not forgotten their promise. "Do you go to the west now?" he asked.

"Yes," they said. "It is time to go home. Farewell, Fangorn! May your forests never fail."

"Farewell," said Treebeard. He watched them leave the lake and pass away down the road as the shadows began to lengthen, and the wind came down off of the mountains, smelling of distant snows and of pine. Treebeard closed his eyes and breathed deep.