Day Two, March 26
Gimli sighed as he looked upon his small charge. It had been only a little while since he had sent Legolas to bed and already he was growing weary with worry and exhaustion. Pippin remained still as death. Every so often Gimli stretched out his hand to feel the soft breath against his skin to reassure himself that the hobbit still lived. If anything, his appearance was growing worse. The cuts on his face were a livid red and the bruises blossomed into an impressive display of purples and reds. Yet Gimli satisfied himself with noting that the cuts were closing and Pippin's cheeks were warmer and not the dead white they had been when first he was brought in. Gently he brushed calloused fingers over the skin and was rewarded with a sigh that brought a smile to his face.
"It never fails to astonish me how deeply the Shire folk may entwine themselves into the heart," a familiar, deep voice commented from nearby. Gimli turned and beheld Gandalf standing just inside the tent, habitually leaning on his staff. He too looked weary but the countenance he wore was that of compassion.
Gimli sat straighter, unwilling to further betray his affection towards the hobbit and yet not quite willing to deny it. "It is astonishing to me that they command any fondness at all," he said at last. "They are a troublesome race to be sure."
Gandalf merely laughed quietly. "And yet one cannot help but love them more for it." He moved closer to the other side of the pallet on which Pippin lay and knelt next to it. "Especially the wooly footed and wool- pated truants. They do hold a command for fondness that is all their own, do they not?"
The dwarf flushed and cleared his throat in an embarrassed manner. "What of the Ringbearer and Sam? You have not left them alone?"
"No, Legolas came to relieve me of my watch not long ago. He said words to the effect of allowing others to rest so that we might take turns with our exhaustion. He also seemed to think he had been chased away from Pippin by a son of the Mountain and so was forced to seek out other patients."
"I'm sure he exaggerates. It is a trait rampant among the elves."
Gandalf laughed again and laid a hand on Pippin's brow. The smile faded. "What did Aragorn say about his condition?"
"That the worst of his injuries are the broken ribs, and a danger of internal bleeding," said Gimli. He moved closer, liking not Gandalf's grave expression.
"There may also be a chance of disease as there was with Faramir. His body is weakened. It will be harder for him to fight infection. He grows warmer now and yet I am uneasy. It may be his natural heat returning or the flame of fever newly kindled. Keep close watch." Gandalf allowed his hand to linger a moment longer, then rose. "Pippin is dear to us all, Gimli. Do not hesitate to ask for aid should you need it. And do not allow yourself to tire overly much else you find yourself chased away by a son of Mirkwood."
The last comment, Gimli felt as he returned his attention to Pippin, was quite unnecessary.
*************************************************************** Day Three, March 27
"It is all very well for Gandalf to say 'ask for aid,' " Gimli grumbled in a panic. "A pity he did not specify how to ask for aid while not abandoning my post!"
The first full day of Pippin's recovery had passed uneventfully for him. For half the daylight hours Gimli had kept vigil only to find himself bodily removed from the tent by Aragorn, ordering him to rest. Upon awaking in the twilight hours, Gimli found that many of the wounded and the healers had been dispatched to Ithilien to meet healers from Rohan, though those in most peril remained until they were well enough to travel, or until their spirits departed. Gandalf and Legolas too had departed, Frodo and Sam with them.
"They sleep peacefully now," Aragorn had assured him. "There is no danger is moving them, and the cool air of Ithilien is far better for them now that the air here is polluted with the dust and smoke of Mount Doom."
Of Pippin, it was deemed still too risky. Aragorn had been vague as to why but at last, pressed repeated by Gimli, he had explained.
"Pippin has vomited blood."
"He bleeds inside?"
"I fear so, and every bout of it weakens him further."
"So this has happened more than once!" Gimli had exclaimed.
Aragorn reluctantly admitted that twice during Gimli's sleep Pippin had brought up blood. "We have given him infusions and teas to slow the bleeding. There has been some success as the second time was less violent. Even so, danger remains. It is not good for his ribs to be moved thus nor for a form as small as his to lose too much blood, weakened as it is. He grows feverish and still does not wake."
"Gandalf feared that," Gimli said.
"If you take watch over him tonight you would do well to have one of us nearby," Aragorn had warned him.
"I will most certainly call you if I need aid," Gimli had assured him.
But now the dwarf began to regret his confident words. It had begun shortly after dawn, with Pippin's breath coming more rapidly and his face paling. Concerned, Gimli leaned closer in time to see his broken chest hitch and he convulsed in an ominous way. Gimli was nearly too late in realizing what was happening and had just enough time to roll him on his side with a basin close by before the inevitable. As he feared, the contents of the basin were bloody.
His heart pounded. He was about to call for Aragorn when Pippin moaned. It was the first sound he had made since his rescue. Uncertainty took hold of Gimli's mind. Pippin needed care from one more experienced than he and yet it would not do to have him wake while alone.
"Pippin," he whispered, "do you at last wake?"
He drew his hand along Pippin's face, careful not to touch the cuts. He was noticeably warmer than before. It was a low fever then, but a fever at any temperature was unwanted. From the hobbit came the sounds of breath but not of voice. With this assurance of Pippin's deep slumber, Gimli went to fetch Aragorn.
Aragorn sat deep in thought in his tent when the dwarf burst in unannounced. "You have need of assistance?" he inquired.
Gimli bowed his head. "He brings up more blood. I thought he would wake so I tarried but he sleeps again, I think."
Aragorn rose and quickly outpaced Gimli on the way to Pippin's tent. He pulled up the flap with a practiced quickness that did not create a draft nor much noise and strode to Pippin's side. Aragorn drew down the blankets and gently ran his hands along the bruised and tender flesh. "He sleeps more naturally than yesterday," he said. "The blood he vomited is thin and light in color. It shows signs that the bleeding inside has slowed. I will prepare a tea to continue the healing." Aragorn rested a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "Stay with him. I think he shall wake today, perhaps soon, and will wish to see the face of a friend. It will be a while before Merry arrives."
"You sent for Merry?"
Aragorn shook his head. "I sent word to Merry, nothing more. But I know the bond between the halflings. Merry will meet the wounded in Ithilien and when he does not find Pippin among them I have little doubt he will continue here. I will return shortly."
Gimli nodded and replaced the blankets around the hobbit. "You see, little one, the troubles you cause everyone?" he asked, not unkindly. "The least you can do is open your eyes and speak. Too many days have missed your ceaseless chatter." Again he brushed the brown curls from Pippin's eyes, which twitched in response, then parted. His gaze settled on Gimli, unfocused for a moment, then recognition swept over his face.
"Now then, Master Hobbit," the dwarf said gruffly, trying to mask his relief and delight, "have you any words for your rescuer?"
"Am I truly such trouble?" Pippin asked in the hoarsest of whispers.
Gimli grasped his hand carefully. "No, Pippin, of course not. I spoke only in jest. I tell you in truth, my heart is gladdened beyond words to see you alive and awake now."
"Alive," Pippin repeated faintly. "But I thought - "
Pippin's voice trailed off and bewildered gaze wandered from the dwarf to the surrounding tent, and then to Aragorn who entered with a mug of tea in his hands. "Aragorn," he said.
The man's face broke into a smile. "So he does remain with the living after all!"
Pippin's brow furrowed. "So Gimli tells me. Yet I thought I died out there in battle. I would think I was dead now only I did not think it would hurt so to be dead?"
Aragorn knelt by his side. "Your memory does not deceive you, Pippin. You spirit had indeed flown your body when you were found but seemed reluctant to leave for it returned quickly. Know that you live now, and will most likely continue to do so for many years to come. The pain you feel now will pass in time and you shall become whole once again." He gently raised the hobbit to sitting and held the mug to his lips.
"What of Frodo and the Ring? And the war?" Pippin begged before taking a sip of what was offered.
"The war is over, the Ring is destroyed, and Frodo and Sam live. They have been sent to Ithilien where you will go when you are stronger," Aragorn said. He raised the mug yet again.
Pippin drank slowly, his eyes looking about him but not truly seeing. Gimli watched his confusion with growing apprehension, though he held his tongue. At last Pippin's strength flagged and his eyes closed as he turned his head from the drink. Aragorn laid him back down and replaced the blankets around him with a touch as delicate as a mother's.
"What is wrong?" Gimli demanded. "He looks upon the world as if he had never seen it before."
"He looks upon the world as if he sees it after expecting never to do so again," said Aragorn, "which may be closer to the truth than we would care to believe. It was a shock to see Gandalf returned. It can only be more so to find yourself returned. Give him time, Gimli. The air will ring with his laughter again."
"I hope you are right," was all Gimli would say, despite his thoughts to the contrary.
Gimli sighed as he looked upon his small charge. It had been only a little while since he had sent Legolas to bed and already he was growing weary with worry and exhaustion. Pippin remained still as death. Every so often Gimli stretched out his hand to feel the soft breath against his skin to reassure himself that the hobbit still lived. If anything, his appearance was growing worse. The cuts on his face were a livid red and the bruises blossomed into an impressive display of purples and reds. Yet Gimli satisfied himself with noting that the cuts were closing and Pippin's cheeks were warmer and not the dead white they had been when first he was brought in. Gently he brushed calloused fingers over the skin and was rewarded with a sigh that brought a smile to his face.
"It never fails to astonish me how deeply the Shire folk may entwine themselves into the heart," a familiar, deep voice commented from nearby. Gimli turned and beheld Gandalf standing just inside the tent, habitually leaning on his staff. He too looked weary but the countenance he wore was that of compassion.
Gimli sat straighter, unwilling to further betray his affection towards the hobbit and yet not quite willing to deny it. "It is astonishing to me that they command any fondness at all," he said at last. "They are a troublesome race to be sure."
Gandalf merely laughed quietly. "And yet one cannot help but love them more for it." He moved closer to the other side of the pallet on which Pippin lay and knelt next to it. "Especially the wooly footed and wool- pated truants. They do hold a command for fondness that is all their own, do they not?"
The dwarf flushed and cleared his throat in an embarrassed manner. "What of the Ringbearer and Sam? You have not left them alone?"
"No, Legolas came to relieve me of my watch not long ago. He said words to the effect of allowing others to rest so that we might take turns with our exhaustion. He also seemed to think he had been chased away from Pippin by a son of the Mountain and so was forced to seek out other patients."
"I'm sure he exaggerates. It is a trait rampant among the elves."
Gandalf laughed again and laid a hand on Pippin's brow. The smile faded. "What did Aragorn say about his condition?"
"That the worst of his injuries are the broken ribs, and a danger of internal bleeding," said Gimli. He moved closer, liking not Gandalf's grave expression.
"There may also be a chance of disease as there was with Faramir. His body is weakened. It will be harder for him to fight infection. He grows warmer now and yet I am uneasy. It may be his natural heat returning or the flame of fever newly kindled. Keep close watch." Gandalf allowed his hand to linger a moment longer, then rose. "Pippin is dear to us all, Gimli. Do not hesitate to ask for aid should you need it. And do not allow yourself to tire overly much else you find yourself chased away by a son of Mirkwood."
The last comment, Gimli felt as he returned his attention to Pippin, was quite unnecessary.
*************************************************************** Day Three, March 27
"It is all very well for Gandalf to say 'ask for aid,' " Gimli grumbled in a panic. "A pity he did not specify how to ask for aid while not abandoning my post!"
The first full day of Pippin's recovery had passed uneventfully for him. For half the daylight hours Gimli had kept vigil only to find himself bodily removed from the tent by Aragorn, ordering him to rest. Upon awaking in the twilight hours, Gimli found that many of the wounded and the healers had been dispatched to Ithilien to meet healers from Rohan, though those in most peril remained until they were well enough to travel, or until their spirits departed. Gandalf and Legolas too had departed, Frodo and Sam with them.
"They sleep peacefully now," Aragorn had assured him. "There is no danger is moving them, and the cool air of Ithilien is far better for them now that the air here is polluted with the dust and smoke of Mount Doom."
Of Pippin, it was deemed still too risky. Aragorn had been vague as to why but at last, pressed repeated by Gimli, he had explained.
"Pippin has vomited blood."
"He bleeds inside?"
"I fear so, and every bout of it weakens him further."
"So this has happened more than once!" Gimli had exclaimed.
Aragorn reluctantly admitted that twice during Gimli's sleep Pippin had brought up blood. "We have given him infusions and teas to slow the bleeding. There has been some success as the second time was less violent. Even so, danger remains. It is not good for his ribs to be moved thus nor for a form as small as his to lose too much blood, weakened as it is. He grows feverish and still does not wake."
"Gandalf feared that," Gimli said.
"If you take watch over him tonight you would do well to have one of us nearby," Aragorn had warned him.
"I will most certainly call you if I need aid," Gimli had assured him.
But now the dwarf began to regret his confident words. It had begun shortly after dawn, with Pippin's breath coming more rapidly and his face paling. Concerned, Gimli leaned closer in time to see his broken chest hitch and he convulsed in an ominous way. Gimli was nearly too late in realizing what was happening and had just enough time to roll him on his side with a basin close by before the inevitable. As he feared, the contents of the basin were bloody.
His heart pounded. He was about to call for Aragorn when Pippin moaned. It was the first sound he had made since his rescue. Uncertainty took hold of Gimli's mind. Pippin needed care from one more experienced than he and yet it would not do to have him wake while alone.
"Pippin," he whispered, "do you at last wake?"
He drew his hand along Pippin's face, careful not to touch the cuts. He was noticeably warmer than before. It was a low fever then, but a fever at any temperature was unwanted. From the hobbit came the sounds of breath but not of voice. With this assurance of Pippin's deep slumber, Gimli went to fetch Aragorn.
Aragorn sat deep in thought in his tent when the dwarf burst in unannounced. "You have need of assistance?" he inquired.
Gimli bowed his head. "He brings up more blood. I thought he would wake so I tarried but he sleeps again, I think."
Aragorn rose and quickly outpaced Gimli on the way to Pippin's tent. He pulled up the flap with a practiced quickness that did not create a draft nor much noise and strode to Pippin's side. Aragorn drew down the blankets and gently ran his hands along the bruised and tender flesh. "He sleeps more naturally than yesterday," he said. "The blood he vomited is thin and light in color. It shows signs that the bleeding inside has slowed. I will prepare a tea to continue the healing." Aragorn rested a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "Stay with him. I think he shall wake today, perhaps soon, and will wish to see the face of a friend. It will be a while before Merry arrives."
"You sent for Merry?"
Aragorn shook his head. "I sent word to Merry, nothing more. But I know the bond between the halflings. Merry will meet the wounded in Ithilien and when he does not find Pippin among them I have little doubt he will continue here. I will return shortly."
Gimli nodded and replaced the blankets around the hobbit. "You see, little one, the troubles you cause everyone?" he asked, not unkindly. "The least you can do is open your eyes and speak. Too many days have missed your ceaseless chatter." Again he brushed the brown curls from Pippin's eyes, which twitched in response, then parted. His gaze settled on Gimli, unfocused for a moment, then recognition swept over his face.
"Now then, Master Hobbit," the dwarf said gruffly, trying to mask his relief and delight, "have you any words for your rescuer?"
"Am I truly such trouble?" Pippin asked in the hoarsest of whispers.
Gimli grasped his hand carefully. "No, Pippin, of course not. I spoke only in jest. I tell you in truth, my heart is gladdened beyond words to see you alive and awake now."
"Alive," Pippin repeated faintly. "But I thought - "
Pippin's voice trailed off and bewildered gaze wandered from the dwarf to the surrounding tent, and then to Aragorn who entered with a mug of tea in his hands. "Aragorn," he said.
The man's face broke into a smile. "So he does remain with the living after all!"
Pippin's brow furrowed. "So Gimli tells me. Yet I thought I died out there in battle. I would think I was dead now only I did not think it would hurt so to be dead?"
Aragorn knelt by his side. "Your memory does not deceive you, Pippin. You spirit had indeed flown your body when you were found but seemed reluctant to leave for it returned quickly. Know that you live now, and will most likely continue to do so for many years to come. The pain you feel now will pass in time and you shall become whole once again." He gently raised the hobbit to sitting and held the mug to his lips.
"What of Frodo and the Ring? And the war?" Pippin begged before taking a sip of what was offered.
"The war is over, the Ring is destroyed, and Frodo and Sam live. They have been sent to Ithilien where you will go when you are stronger," Aragorn said. He raised the mug yet again.
Pippin drank slowly, his eyes looking about him but not truly seeing. Gimli watched his confusion with growing apprehension, though he held his tongue. At last Pippin's strength flagged and his eyes closed as he turned his head from the drink. Aragorn laid him back down and replaced the blankets around him with a touch as delicate as a mother's.
"What is wrong?" Gimli demanded. "He looks upon the world as if he had never seen it before."
"He looks upon the world as if he sees it after expecting never to do so again," said Aragorn, "which may be closer to the truth than we would care to believe. It was a shock to see Gandalf returned. It can only be more so to find yourself returned. Give him time, Gimli. The air will ring with his laughter again."
"I hope you are right," was all Gimli would say, despite his thoughts to the contrary.
