Chapter 6

Gandalf was deep in discussion with some of the Ents when Aragorn looked up from where Merry lay. Gimli was crouched beside them, his hands shaking slightly as he lit the small campfire they were permitted to make. Gandalf had asked permission from the Ents, and they had been that fascinated by the Hobbits that the fire was for that they didn't really think twice about it, once Gandalf had convinced them that they weren't Orcs. Aragorn had settled the two hobbits on a blanket beside the fire, knowing that they would be much more relaxed if they were close to each other. A agreement seemed to have taken place between Gandalf and the Ents, as all but one strode off into the depths of the forest, and the one remaining strode to the edge of the clearing and stood their. Gandalf returned to the rest of the group a small smile on his face.

"Treebeard here," he gestured towards the Ent that stood at the edge of the clearing, "has allowed us to stay at his home for as long as it is required until the hobbits are well enough to travel."

"This is his home?" asked Legolas, who was overawed by the Ents.

Gandalf nodded, "Ent houses never have a roof and walls, they usually are just clearings." Aragorn nodded and returned to his examination of Merry. Legolas had fetched some water, which had been set upon the campfire to boil. Aragorn had a fresh pouch of healing supplies, which he had brought suspecting the hobbits would need. Merry had bad bruising to his chest, abdomen and legs, and deep whip welts on his abdomen and back. There were also less severe burns to his legs. It could've been a lot worse. Aragorn was pulling a little Athelas that he had found in Helms Deep from the pouch when Merry awoke.

"Strider, where are we?" he asked, his voice sounding tired

"In the forest of Fangorn. I'm just treating your wounds. Hold still" Aragorn gently told the hobbit as he bruised the herbs slightly, letting their pungent odor seep through the clearing, before throwing them into the boiling water. He added some of the strips of cloth that he would use as bandages, before wetting some other cloth and cleaning the wounds with the herb infused water. Merry stiffened slightly when the cloth first touched his skin, wincing at the water's sting, before the odor of Athelas relaxed him. Aragorn hummed as he worked, checking and cleaning each wound carefully, before bandaging it carefully. While Aragorn was treating Merry, Legolas and Gandalf sat with Pippin, who was whimpering in his sleep. As Aragorn finished with Merry by handing the Hobbit a change of clothes that Aragorn had thoughtfully grabbed from the hobbit's pack. Théoden had ordered some of his fastest riders to Parth Galen to collect the remaining packs, but they had not due for another day or two when Aragorn had left Helms Deep. Merry smiled drowsily as he returned from changing, already feeling refreshed and much better. He settled down on his blanket, planning to watch Aragorn heal Pippin, but he fell asleep after not long.

Aragorn surveyed Pippin's wounds critically. By all rights, the hobbit should already be dead. He had heard of Elves succumbing to injuries such as the hobbit carried, but yet, somehow he wasn't surprised. Neither, it seemed, was Gandalf.

"Here lies another example of a hobbit's toughness" he commented as he watched Aragorn carefully clean the small Hobbit's wounds. Pippin was covered in scratches, made by orc knives which had been probably been poisoned. He was also covered in whip lashes, many of which were still bleeding or had at some stage, and bruises. Aragorn felt gently at the younger hobbit's ribs, and found that some had broken; he guessed that it had occurred during a beating of some sort. Aragorn carefully treated the hobbit's ribs, before looking him over again for any injuries that the hobbit could have that he had overlooked the first time. He was taken by how skinny and light the hobbit was, especially since he had only been captive for 9 days. Aragorn then poured a cup of the now cooling athelas water and leant Pippin's limp form against him, gently pouring the warm liquid into the hobbits mouth. Pippin commenced coughing weakly, but otherwise remained still. Aragon poured the entire cup of water into Pippin's mouth, before placing the cup down and cradling the sick hobbit in his arms. Legolas chose this time to look upwards at the sky.

"It is getting late. I will stand guard for the first part of the night"

"And I the second" Gimli whispered, his deep voice strangely high pitched as if he was struggling not to cry.

"I will take the third shift, if my king allows it" Eomer said, catching on to Leoglas's idea.

'I do allow it, and I too will retire. I bid you a goodnight' Théoden moved to the other side of the clearing, and Eomer and Gimli followed him, while Legolas strode into the trees, searching for a good watch post. Aragorn smiled at his friend's subtleness.

Gandalf let out a low chuckle, before dropping his gaze to Pippin, cradled in Aragorn's lap.

"Do you think he will live?"

"It's difficult to say. It depends on how long ago he was poisoned. If it was only within the last two or three days, then he might make it, but anything longer than four days, untreated, it's highly unlikely he will survive. I've seen elves die in less than one day after getting poisoned with a poison similar to this, so he's been lucky to make it this far."

"I really hope we don't have to tell Frodo that his cousin is dead after he gets rid of the ring"

"I think there's a high possibly that we'll have to, whether we want to or not" Aragorn muttered, his head bowed. It had been bad enough when Boromir died, but at least it had been reasonably quick. Pippin's death would be slow and painful, and Aragorn, Merry and the others would have to watch as he slowly faded away. Gandalf blinked and felt his eyes fill with tears. Pippin was such a bright light in the darkness that engulfed the world in these dark times; it would be horrible for that light to be put out.

Aragorn sat with Pippin for all of that night, keeping the hobbit warm, and administering the athelas water that seemed to be preserving the small hobbits life. By morning, Pippin's pulse had been a little stronger and the wounds had begun to heal. Merry awoke early, refreshed by his restful slumber, only to find Aragorn grim faced and serious, holding his cousin gently in his arms, singing a slow song in elvish. Merry wished he understood what Aragorn was singing about, and was reminded of their time in Lorien, when the elves had sung their lament for Gandalf. A sudden panic rose in his chest like a dragon rising from his slumber, causing him to gasp. Aragorn looked up, startled by the sudden noise, but relaxed as he saw it was only Merry.

"Merry, what is it? Are you well?" He asked, concerned at the look of pure terror of the Halfling's face.

"How is Pippin, is he alright?" Merry asked, his voice shaking slightly

"As well as can be expected, what is the matter?" Merry bowed his head and blushed, feeling suddenly very foolish.

"I heard you singing in elvish, and it reminded me of what the elves sung in Lorien for Gandalf, and" Merry failed off, unable to finish his sentence

"You though I was singing a lament for Pippin" Aragorn finished the sentence, his head bowed. He didn't blame Merry for panicking. To a being not familiar with the elvish tongue, their was little difference between a song of healing, and a song of lament, especially as Merry had only heard one, obviously assuming the differences were not in the main words, but the achievements of the one who had died. Obviously, the achievements of a young Hobbit from The Shire would be different to the achievements of Gandalf the Grey.

"It was an easy mistake to make. You are unfamiliar with the elvish language. I am sorry; I should not have sung such a tune." Aragorn apologized, but Merry shook it off.

"It is alright, I was just alarmed that is all. Has Pippin made much improvement?"

"He is a little stronger, but the change is rather small. He has a long way to go until he is fully recovered, and he is, by no stretch of the imagination, not out of the woods yet." Aragorn closely surveyed the expression of Merry's face as the hobbit sat a little closer to him. His face still held hope, although his expression was grim. Aragorn rightly guessed that there was quite a bit of thinking going on within the hobbits mind.

"Strider, do you think Pip will survive?" Merry asked after a moments pause. Aragorn gazed for a moment into the hobbits, debating with himself what words he was going to use to describe Pippin's condition.

"I cannot say, for sure. I have known elves that have died mere hours after being injured with a weapon carrying the same poison as Pippin was, and yet I have heard of many elves and other beings who have survived. Tell me, when was Pippin injured?"

Merry paused for a moment, counting the days. They had been fine up until their arrival at Isengard, and that had been where things had got painful, for the hobbits anyway. Merry recalled the days that they had spent captive, recalled each individual beating and torture session, trying to recall Pippin being threatened with a poisoned knife. Drawing blank, Merry recalled the times Pippin had been dragged from the cell alone, and finally narrowed it down to one occasion.

"About five days ago, I think, I can't be too sure though" Merry shook his head. Pippin had carried that wound for a possible four days before it was treated. Aragorn fought to keep his lips together, urging himself not to drop his jaw. He couldn't believe it; the small hobbit had lived with that poison flowing through his veins for that long. He looked down at said hobbit, lying in his arms. Pippin's skin was pale, and their were shadows under his eyes, but otherwise his face was peaceful, and showed no evidence of what his body was going through. Aragorn silently said a prayer for the brave little hobbit. If anything deserved to live after being put through this ordeal, it was Pippin.

A.N. Well, I hope you like it. More is on the way. Please review.