Title: Distance
Author: Ancalime
Rating: G
Characters: Pippin, Gimli, Aragorn (Frodo, Sam, Merry)
Starter: post-Quest, first line: "I don't remember it being this far, do you?"
A/N: written for Marigold's Challenge 7; many thanks to Tangelian for brainstorming assistance, and to Frodo Baggins of Bag End (febobe) for a last-minute beta on this. :)

"I don't remember it being this far, do you?" Pippin asked with a sigh, surveying the slowly moving landscape mournfully.

"The distance has not changed, young hobbit," Gimli grumbled from around the stem of his unlit pipe.

The wain jostled over a bump and Pippin winced, then looked quickly over at the other two blanket-wrapped passengers lying, as he was, on the deep bed of blankets, pillows, and cot mattresses. Frodo and Sam did not stir, the only change being the clump of Frodo's curls that was now in his eyes. Pippin knew how much he hated that, even while sleeping, so he carefully leaned over on one unsteady elbow and gently brushed the lock from the pale forehead.

The hair looked dull and lifeless, much like his cousin, Pippin thought with chagrin. Frodo had not so much as twitched in the entire time since he'd been rescued, at least, not as far as Pippin knew, though he was missing a day or two from his reckoning. They all had hurts that needed to be healed, now, but he wondered if any hobbit could come back from being so cold and still.

He did not like seeing Frodo and Sam thus, did not like seeing all that they bore as told by their countless injuries, did not like seeing them when the question of life or death was undecided. Perhaps it would have been better for them to perish quickly in the ruin of the mountain, than to be rescued and die in prolonged agony... though death by burning was not a fate he would ever choose for anyone.

Another jolt nearly sent him sprawling atop Frodo, something he narrowly avoided, though his arms shook with the effort of keeping himself off his cousin. Then he felt broad, meaty hands on his shoulders and he was being guided back onto his stack of pillows. He relaxed against them with a sigh of relief, giving Gimli a nod of thanks. The dwarf grunted and waved it off.

As he settled back into the comfortable position for all his bumps and bruises, he noticed they had stopped moving. The appearance of Aragorn a few moments later confirmed that it was the hourly stop for medicines and any other necessary adjustments before the train of injured continued on its way. "How are you finding the journey, Master Took?" Aragorn asked teasingly as he leaned over the wagon's side and felt the hobbit's brow.

"Boring... and very slow," Pippin replied with typical candour. "Why are we going so slow?"

"For the sake of the injured, which would include you." Aragorn spoke from further along the wooden side as he checked on first Frodo, then Sam. "So the bumps don't seem as bad."

"They're bad enough," Pippin said sulkily. "Can't we just go fast and get it over with?"

Aragorn had rounded the end of the wagon, now reaching over the other side to feel the other hobbits' feet. "No. Moving slowly gives time to react and absorb the pain caused by the bumps. If we traveled any faster, the bumps would come too often for adjustment, leaving many of the more seriously wounded in a great deal of pain and distress."

"Oh." The explanation made a bit of sense, but he still wanted to be there, and be there yesterday. They'd said they were going to a place in that area of trees and bushes they'd passed on their way north -what was it called again? It would be nice to see something green again after all that dust and ash and smoke. And there wouldn't be any trolls.

Aragorn came back around the wagon, reaching into the baggage next to Gimli on the hard wooden floor, and pulled out a familiar -and much welcomed- bottle. "I believe it's time for your medicine?"

Pippin did not need to take stock of his current complaints to answer. "Yes." Though he was capable of holding the bottle himself, Aragorn held it for him and gently tipped the liquid into his waiting mouth. He gagged and choked but swallowed it down, knowing by now that the taste was more than redeemed by the relief it would bring.

"Better?" Aragorn asked as he put the bottle away.

"I will be. How soon will we get there? We've been traveling for days already."

"Late tonight if we keep going after dark, or by midday tomorrow."

"Will Merry be there?"

Aragorn exchanged a glance with Gimli; they'd had this exact conversation with the tween when he'd been awake that morning. Running a hand soothingly over Pippin's head, both to reassure him and to double-check his temperature, he replied, "Not yet. He'll be coming with the supplies from Minas Tirith."

Pippin continued dreamily as if Aragorn hadn't spoken at all. "He'll want to know about Frodo... and see him..."

"Yes, and I'm certain he'll want to see you as well, you silly Took," he said fondly.

"...and Sam..." his words were little more than a mumble.

Pippin was obviously succumbing to the effects of the painkiller, so the others didn't answer him anymore and watched him drift off to sleep. Then Aragorn turned to Gimli. "How has he been?"

"Restless, as usual."

Aragorn nodded briefly, eyes flickering back over the sleeping forms of the hobbits. "We will likely travel into the night. If he wakes, give him more of the medicine. Have you noticed any movement from Frodo or Sam?"

Gimli shook his head. "Nothing."

Aragorn sighed heavily. "I doubt they can feel anything right now, so it's probably for the best. Keep an eye on them, and if anything should change, have the driver give a shout." Gimli nodded, teeth still clenched on his pipe, and Aragorn smiled. "You're doing well, my friend," he said as he clapped the dwarf on the shoulder before returning to his horse.

The call went up and the creaking line of wains began moving again, slowly and steadily plodding to the promised place of rest and healing.