Day Six, March 30
Pippin awoke in the gray dawn. Merry slumbered next to him, forming a comfortable lump of warmth beneath the blankets. All around them the air was filled with clanking and creaking and a general busyness.
"Merry," he whispered, "something's happening. Wake up." But Merry only sighed and rolled over in his sleep.
"Merry," Pippin tried again but he abandoned his effort when someone entered the little tent. At first the light was behind him so Pippin could not see his face but as the figure neared the features became plain.
"Hullo, Aragorn!" Pippin greeted him. "I suppose you've come to tell me what has got the camp in such an uproar. Before you do you ought to wake Merry to avoid telling the tale twice. I tried to wake him myself but the lazybones would have none of it."
Aragorn smiled at this tirade and placed a hand on Pippin's brow. "The fever has left you, for which I am glad." He took Pippin's hands and gently moved the fingers and wrists, checking the healing, noticing the bruises were shrinking. "As for Merry, he was awake long into the night after sleep claimed you, or so Gimli tells me, and so he has been told already."
Pippin frowned. "Why should he do that? And how would Gimli know he was awake?"
"Merry wished to make certain all was well with you," said Aragorn. "And Gimli came in periodically to check on the both of you." The man's eyes crinkled with humor. "He has become quite possessive of you, Pippin. Merry would do well to look out for a usurper."
"Gracious, not Gimli too!" exclaimed Pippin. "Between the two of them I shall be smothered with pillows."
At this Aragorn laughed. "Indeed, if we were to remain among the Slag- hills I fear that might be your fate. As we are not, you need not fear such a demise." He released Pippin's hands and cautiously probed the sword arm. "Tell me if you feel pain."
Pippin nodded, too excited by the sudden revelation to take much heed. "Then we are leaving! But to where?"
"Ithilien, of course, with the rest of the wounded." He turned the elbow slowly and stopped when Pippin gave a sharp intake of breath. "That is not so bad. You have regained a considerably amount of movement, more so than I had hoped. Now the ankle."
Aragorn began by slowly bending and rotating the ankle and found Pippin was unable to move it without wincing. "You must stay off your feet a few days yet. I will leave you to dress and wake Merry. There is breakfast outside when you are ready," he added, thinking to hurry the hobbits.
"Dress?" Pippin asked. As far as he knew the only clothing he still owned was the tunic of the Citadel guards of Minas Tirith, in which he was clad.
"Ah, here it is." Aragorn drew a slightly soiled bundle from beneath the bed. "Merry brought your effects from the White City. These will do until you may be garbed as properly befits one in the service of Gondor."
Pippin's fingers eagerly sought the familiar weave of his elven cloak that Merry had used to wrap the bundle. One phrase struck him. "But I am no longer in the service of Gondor. I was dismissed by Denethor."
"Denethor was steward only and your pledge was to Gondor, of which I am king." Aragorn spoke the last as though he was not yet sure of its truth. "I am loath to lose another of my people so soon after losing many others, so with your indulgence, I shall keep you on a little while yet."
"Thank you," said Pippin though his tone faltered somewhat. "I will be honored to wear the sable and silver again but . . . how long . . . is 'a little while yet'?"
Aragorn smiled, understanding what was unsaid. "Fear not. You shall journey to your beloved Shire unhampered by the world of Men."
"And Merry?" Pippin asked eagerly.
"That is not for me to say for it was to Rohan he pledged himself," replied Aragorn. "But there will be time enough for that later on. I have tarried too long here." He stopped before leaving. "And do not try to walk yet," he ordered, pointing a finger.
Pippin undid the inelegant knot Merry had tied and spread out his old clothes on the coverlet. The white shirt and dark trousers, the jacket dyed a peculiar blue-green from a secret blend of wode known only to a small branch of Tooks, the scarf of gray, brown, and rust that was quite old but dearly loved. Pinned to it was his green leaf brooch veined with silver. It was this article that caused him to sniff for he had not forgotten how the brooch had helped guide the three trackers, nor the punishment he had received from the orcs afterwards.
He rallied quickly and managed to don his shirt and trousers without straining his arm, ankle or ribs too badly. The braces (i "suspenders" to my fellow Americans i) proved to too much of a challenge for his aching ribs and stiff arm. In his efforts he accidentally jostled Merry who blinked like an owl at him.
"Is there an anthill in the bed or are you taking a fit?" he demanded, his curls going every whichway.
"Neither," Pippin replied. "It seems that I am no longer able to dress myself," and he flung down the offender article of clothing in disgust.
Merry gathered them up and looked at his cousin curiously. In his Shire clothing Pippin looked more like his old self despite the changes. "The Ents have much to answer for in giving us those draughts," he commented and pointed at the cuffs of their shirts, which no longer covered their wrists.
"Indeed," answered Pippin and gestured to his trouser legs, now absurdly short. "Unfortunately I have both grown and shrunk." He pulled at his waistband to illustrate and gave Merry a pointed look.
Merry laughed. "Turn around then." Pippin obeyed as best he could and Merry, sword hand fumbling a bit, adjusted the straps so that Pippin could grab them and attach them in front.
"Aragorn was here," Pippin commented. "He said we might have time for some breakfast before we leave for Ithilien."
"Ah, so we are leaving today," Merry said and burrowed out from under the blanket. His clothes were rumpled and his curls were likewise though he tried to smooth them down. He yawned prodigiously. "Breakfast, you said? Then why are you not outside yet?"
Pippin folded his discarded tunic. "I have strict orders from Aragorn to stay off my feet until my ankle can bear the weight, and since it seems I am still in Gondor's service, I have no choice but to obey my lord."
"And so it falls to me to see that you are fed," Merry finished with a shake of his head. "I sense a conspiracy between Aragorn and your ankle."
Pippin grinned. "You must take it up with them, then, though I do not think you will have much luck with my ankle. It does what it wants with little regard for the desires of others."
Merry clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, then I shall hunt up Aragorn and breakfast together." He hesitated a moment, to look once more at his young cousin, and went out into the morning.
Strange, savory scents greeted him. Among them was the whiff of fresh bread, though it was not Rohan bread nor Gondor bread nor any other kind Merry recognized. Here and there small pots frothed over small fires, tended by weary men. Some of the wounded were sitting in the carts already, sipping from rough cups and bundled into blankets. Many of the tents were gone, folded into large squares and put away wherever they would fit. Some men carried staffs and packs and Merry understood they would be walking to Ithilien. Any horse that could be spared, with the exception of Shadowfax, was harnessed to pull a cart or loaded with supplies.
"Good morning, Master Brandybuck!" a deep voice called. Merry turned and saw Gimli waving to him over a flat rock. As he neared, he saw that the rock was over a fire and it was covered with some steaming, golden brown substance.
"You were able to sleep at some point?" Gimli asked as Merry yawned again.
"Oh, yes," Merry assured him and looked at rock between them. "Is that the odd bread I've been smelling?"
Gimli seemed to swell up beneath his armor. "It is indeed, young hobbit. It is *cram*, the traveler's bread of the dwarves, freshly made. It is, perhaps, not so dainty as *lembas* but it is good and filling and will certainly last until we reach Ithilien. Though some don't seem too credulous," he added, looking at the legion of men around him.
Merry was quick to assure Gimli he would be happy to try the bread. Its taste was not sweet but was plain in a wholesome way. Gimli watched as Merry nodded his approval.
"It is very good," Merry said once his mouth was no longer full. "May I take some back to Pippin?"
No sooner were the words spoken than the dwarf piled several cakes for him on a piece of clean tree bark. "I have seen first hand how much feeding is needed to satisfy you hobbits," he said, eyes twinkling. "If this proves to be too little you are welcome to come back for more before we depart."
With a smile and a bow Merry thanked him and set off to find drink. At another fire he found a pot of fragrant broth and gladly accepted two cups of it. Only then did he realize his dilemma: one good hand could not carry two mugs and a bark plate of *cram*. It was here that Aragorn found him.
"That is a large meal for one so small," he teased gently.
"It may be so, but it is a small meal for two large hobbits," Merry retorted good-naturedly. "And as you have imprisoned Pippin to his bed I had little choice but to seek out food for the both of us."
"Ah, I was afraid you had been too quick for me and had returned to you cousin already," said Aragorn. He looked over the simple fare Merry had gathered. "Gimli's cram?" Merry nodded. "The broth and bread are good choices for one who recovers from internal bleeding." Aragorn knelt down so that he might look the hobbit in the eye. "I do not know how much you have been told about Pippin's injuries. Forgive me if I repeat what has already been told to you. The troll's weight was so great that it not only cracked his ribs but caused him to bleed inside. Several times he brought up blood. It has healed but his food must be plain, as unseasoned as possible, so as not to irritate his stomach further. Can I rely on you, soldier of the Mark, to hold firm to this prescription and not sway in the face of adversary?"
Merry drew himself up proudly. "You may, my lord!"
Aragorn nodded. "Now, having confided in you, you made confide in me. How does your arm improve?"
Immediately the confident and positive air vanished like smoke in the wind. "It . . . improves," Merry stammered in a low voice. "It is still chill but not as cold as it used to be. And I can move it though it still feels odd, as my feet did when I had sat on them on the journey to Ithilien."
"Push against my hand," Aragorn ordered, holding his hand straight. Merry did so, showing he had regained quite a bit of his old strength.
"Good. Now, copy this." The man curled his fingers, one by one, towards his palm, and then extended them again. Merry did as he was bidden though it seemed he lacked control of the movements.
Frowning, Aragorn took Merry's hand in his and squeezed one curled finger until the knuckled gave a small popping sound. "Can you feel this?"
"Yes," Merry answered, still in a low voice, "but it should have hurt, shouldn't it?"
Aragorn nodded slightly. "There should have been some discomfort but I am relieved you felt it at all."
Merry raised haunted eyes to the king's face. "Will it ever recover, fully?"
"I know not," he admitted. "But you Shirefolk are as tough as tree roots when the need arises. I will give you some athelas to put into water. Bathe you hand and arm in it nightly, and try to give them as much use as possible to bring back more strength and movement. Pippin too will have need of strengthening exercises; perhaps you may work together." Aragorn ran his fingers along the thin white scars on Merry's wrist, a reminder of the orcs and their filthy ropes. "These do not bother you?"
Merry shrugged. "I would prefer them gone, since only lasses wear bracelets in the Shire, but they cause me no pain and they are not very noticeable."
"Honest and practical," Aragorn said. "Very well. I shall accompany you back to your tent," here he picked up the two mugs of broth that no longer steamed, "and see that Pippin is brought safely to a cart for the wounded before you eat." He fixed Merry with a stern look. "Mind your promise, Meriadoc, to stay true to your cause. It is for Pippin's health that you deny him." Merry nodded, confidence restored, and picked up the cram to follow Aragorn.
The tent was already gone when they arrived at the site. Merry looked around wildly until he spotted a small curly head sprouting over a veritable hill of blankets on a wagon nearby. "Oi, Merry!" the hill called. "I thought perhaps you had gotten lost."
Merry laughed and trotted over as quickly as he dared. "Pippin, do not tell me you disobeyed orders and left bed under your own power?"
"I should say not," replied Pippin with asperity. "What do you take me for, cousin? But as for why I am not in bed, the fault lies entirely with Gandalf. He brought me out to clear the tent, or some such thing, and so I am packed into the wagon like so much pipeweed. Is that bread?" he concluded with honest puzzlement, eyes fixed on the cram.
"It is cram which, according to Gimli, is a type of journeybread," Merry replied and passed it to Pippin while he himself clambered into the cart to sit next to Pippin. "Pipeweed indeed! This is no supply cart, foolish Took. Having ridden in one myself I think I have reason to know." Aragorn chuckled and passed the cups to them and they both drank.
Pippin accepted the cup but continued to look annoyed. "I know what cram is. I remember Bilbo's stories well enough to recognize the name if not the sight of it."
"In any case, sup lightly," Aragorn warned. "The movement of the cart is jolting and irregular and may cause you to feel ill."
Pippin nodded but quickly chose a piece of cram and nibbled it. "Will we be leaving soon?"
Aragorn looked to the trickle of wounded being helped into carts. "Within an hour's time, I should think. You would do well to move to the back of the cart so as to allow others to climb in without crushing you in their ascent."
The hobbits looked up and saw that there were indeed wounded headed their way. Pippin set down his cup and wiggled backwards, awkwardly, but with surprising speed, into a back corner. Merry chose a more dignified method and walked on his knees to settle next to his cousin. Among the wounded were familiar faces from both Gondor and Rohan, and soon the hobbits were chattering freely between sips and bites.
A lurch surprised them into silence. It took them but a moment to realize the wagon chauks had been removed. A second lurch sent them swaying where they sat, and they were off.
Pippin awoke in the gray dawn. Merry slumbered next to him, forming a comfortable lump of warmth beneath the blankets. All around them the air was filled with clanking and creaking and a general busyness.
"Merry," he whispered, "something's happening. Wake up." But Merry only sighed and rolled over in his sleep.
"Merry," Pippin tried again but he abandoned his effort when someone entered the little tent. At first the light was behind him so Pippin could not see his face but as the figure neared the features became plain.
"Hullo, Aragorn!" Pippin greeted him. "I suppose you've come to tell me what has got the camp in such an uproar. Before you do you ought to wake Merry to avoid telling the tale twice. I tried to wake him myself but the lazybones would have none of it."
Aragorn smiled at this tirade and placed a hand on Pippin's brow. "The fever has left you, for which I am glad." He took Pippin's hands and gently moved the fingers and wrists, checking the healing, noticing the bruises were shrinking. "As for Merry, he was awake long into the night after sleep claimed you, or so Gimli tells me, and so he has been told already."
Pippin frowned. "Why should he do that? And how would Gimli know he was awake?"
"Merry wished to make certain all was well with you," said Aragorn. "And Gimli came in periodically to check on the both of you." The man's eyes crinkled with humor. "He has become quite possessive of you, Pippin. Merry would do well to look out for a usurper."
"Gracious, not Gimli too!" exclaimed Pippin. "Between the two of them I shall be smothered with pillows."
At this Aragorn laughed. "Indeed, if we were to remain among the Slag- hills I fear that might be your fate. As we are not, you need not fear such a demise." He released Pippin's hands and cautiously probed the sword arm. "Tell me if you feel pain."
Pippin nodded, too excited by the sudden revelation to take much heed. "Then we are leaving! But to where?"
"Ithilien, of course, with the rest of the wounded." He turned the elbow slowly and stopped when Pippin gave a sharp intake of breath. "That is not so bad. You have regained a considerably amount of movement, more so than I had hoped. Now the ankle."
Aragorn began by slowly bending and rotating the ankle and found Pippin was unable to move it without wincing. "You must stay off your feet a few days yet. I will leave you to dress and wake Merry. There is breakfast outside when you are ready," he added, thinking to hurry the hobbits.
"Dress?" Pippin asked. As far as he knew the only clothing he still owned was the tunic of the Citadel guards of Minas Tirith, in which he was clad.
"Ah, here it is." Aragorn drew a slightly soiled bundle from beneath the bed. "Merry brought your effects from the White City. These will do until you may be garbed as properly befits one in the service of Gondor."
Pippin's fingers eagerly sought the familiar weave of his elven cloak that Merry had used to wrap the bundle. One phrase struck him. "But I am no longer in the service of Gondor. I was dismissed by Denethor."
"Denethor was steward only and your pledge was to Gondor, of which I am king." Aragorn spoke the last as though he was not yet sure of its truth. "I am loath to lose another of my people so soon after losing many others, so with your indulgence, I shall keep you on a little while yet."
"Thank you," said Pippin though his tone faltered somewhat. "I will be honored to wear the sable and silver again but . . . how long . . . is 'a little while yet'?"
Aragorn smiled, understanding what was unsaid. "Fear not. You shall journey to your beloved Shire unhampered by the world of Men."
"And Merry?" Pippin asked eagerly.
"That is not for me to say for it was to Rohan he pledged himself," replied Aragorn. "But there will be time enough for that later on. I have tarried too long here." He stopped before leaving. "And do not try to walk yet," he ordered, pointing a finger.
Pippin undid the inelegant knot Merry had tied and spread out his old clothes on the coverlet. The white shirt and dark trousers, the jacket dyed a peculiar blue-green from a secret blend of wode known only to a small branch of Tooks, the scarf of gray, brown, and rust that was quite old but dearly loved. Pinned to it was his green leaf brooch veined with silver. It was this article that caused him to sniff for he had not forgotten how the brooch had helped guide the three trackers, nor the punishment he had received from the orcs afterwards.
He rallied quickly and managed to don his shirt and trousers without straining his arm, ankle or ribs too badly. The braces (i "suspenders" to my fellow Americans i) proved to too much of a challenge for his aching ribs and stiff arm. In his efforts he accidentally jostled Merry who blinked like an owl at him.
"Is there an anthill in the bed or are you taking a fit?" he demanded, his curls going every whichway.
"Neither," Pippin replied. "It seems that I am no longer able to dress myself," and he flung down the offender article of clothing in disgust.
Merry gathered them up and looked at his cousin curiously. In his Shire clothing Pippin looked more like his old self despite the changes. "The Ents have much to answer for in giving us those draughts," he commented and pointed at the cuffs of their shirts, which no longer covered their wrists.
"Indeed," answered Pippin and gestured to his trouser legs, now absurdly short. "Unfortunately I have both grown and shrunk." He pulled at his waistband to illustrate and gave Merry a pointed look.
Merry laughed. "Turn around then." Pippin obeyed as best he could and Merry, sword hand fumbling a bit, adjusted the straps so that Pippin could grab them and attach them in front.
"Aragorn was here," Pippin commented. "He said we might have time for some breakfast before we leave for Ithilien."
"Ah, so we are leaving today," Merry said and burrowed out from under the blanket. His clothes were rumpled and his curls were likewise though he tried to smooth them down. He yawned prodigiously. "Breakfast, you said? Then why are you not outside yet?"
Pippin folded his discarded tunic. "I have strict orders from Aragorn to stay off my feet until my ankle can bear the weight, and since it seems I am still in Gondor's service, I have no choice but to obey my lord."
"And so it falls to me to see that you are fed," Merry finished with a shake of his head. "I sense a conspiracy between Aragorn and your ankle."
Pippin grinned. "You must take it up with them, then, though I do not think you will have much luck with my ankle. It does what it wants with little regard for the desires of others."
Merry clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, then I shall hunt up Aragorn and breakfast together." He hesitated a moment, to look once more at his young cousin, and went out into the morning.
Strange, savory scents greeted him. Among them was the whiff of fresh bread, though it was not Rohan bread nor Gondor bread nor any other kind Merry recognized. Here and there small pots frothed over small fires, tended by weary men. Some of the wounded were sitting in the carts already, sipping from rough cups and bundled into blankets. Many of the tents were gone, folded into large squares and put away wherever they would fit. Some men carried staffs and packs and Merry understood they would be walking to Ithilien. Any horse that could be spared, with the exception of Shadowfax, was harnessed to pull a cart or loaded with supplies.
"Good morning, Master Brandybuck!" a deep voice called. Merry turned and saw Gimli waving to him over a flat rock. As he neared, he saw that the rock was over a fire and it was covered with some steaming, golden brown substance.
"You were able to sleep at some point?" Gimli asked as Merry yawned again.
"Oh, yes," Merry assured him and looked at rock between them. "Is that the odd bread I've been smelling?"
Gimli seemed to swell up beneath his armor. "It is indeed, young hobbit. It is *cram*, the traveler's bread of the dwarves, freshly made. It is, perhaps, not so dainty as *lembas* but it is good and filling and will certainly last until we reach Ithilien. Though some don't seem too credulous," he added, looking at the legion of men around him.
Merry was quick to assure Gimli he would be happy to try the bread. Its taste was not sweet but was plain in a wholesome way. Gimli watched as Merry nodded his approval.
"It is very good," Merry said once his mouth was no longer full. "May I take some back to Pippin?"
No sooner were the words spoken than the dwarf piled several cakes for him on a piece of clean tree bark. "I have seen first hand how much feeding is needed to satisfy you hobbits," he said, eyes twinkling. "If this proves to be too little you are welcome to come back for more before we depart."
With a smile and a bow Merry thanked him and set off to find drink. At another fire he found a pot of fragrant broth and gladly accepted two cups of it. Only then did he realize his dilemma: one good hand could not carry two mugs and a bark plate of *cram*. It was here that Aragorn found him.
"That is a large meal for one so small," he teased gently.
"It may be so, but it is a small meal for two large hobbits," Merry retorted good-naturedly. "And as you have imprisoned Pippin to his bed I had little choice but to seek out food for the both of us."
"Ah, I was afraid you had been too quick for me and had returned to you cousin already," said Aragorn. He looked over the simple fare Merry had gathered. "Gimli's cram?" Merry nodded. "The broth and bread are good choices for one who recovers from internal bleeding." Aragorn knelt down so that he might look the hobbit in the eye. "I do not know how much you have been told about Pippin's injuries. Forgive me if I repeat what has already been told to you. The troll's weight was so great that it not only cracked his ribs but caused him to bleed inside. Several times he brought up blood. It has healed but his food must be plain, as unseasoned as possible, so as not to irritate his stomach further. Can I rely on you, soldier of the Mark, to hold firm to this prescription and not sway in the face of adversary?"
Merry drew himself up proudly. "You may, my lord!"
Aragorn nodded. "Now, having confided in you, you made confide in me. How does your arm improve?"
Immediately the confident and positive air vanished like smoke in the wind. "It . . . improves," Merry stammered in a low voice. "It is still chill but not as cold as it used to be. And I can move it though it still feels odd, as my feet did when I had sat on them on the journey to Ithilien."
"Push against my hand," Aragorn ordered, holding his hand straight. Merry did so, showing he had regained quite a bit of his old strength.
"Good. Now, copy this." The man curled his fingers, one by one, towards his palm, and then extended them again. Merry did as he was bidden though it seemed he lacked control of the movements.
Frowning, Aragorn took Merry's hand in his and squeezed one curled finger until the knuckled gave a small popping sound. "Can you feel this?"
"Yes," Merry answered, still in a low voice, "but it should have hurt, shouldn't it?"
Aragorn nodded slightly. "There should have been some discomfort but I am relieved you felt it at all."
Merry raised haunted eyes to the king's face. "Will it ever recover, fully?"
"I know not," he admitted. "But you Shirefolk are as tough as tree roots when the need arises. I will give you some athelas to put into water. Bathe you hand and arm in it nightly, and try to give them as much use as possible to bring back more strength and movement. Pippin too will have need of strengthening exercises; perhaps you may work together." Aragorn ran his fingers along the thin white scars on Merry's wrist, a reminder of the orcs and their filthy ropes. "These do not bother you?"
Merry shrugged. "I would prefer them gone, since only lasses wear bracelets in the Shire, but they cause me no pain and they are not very noticeable."
"Honest and practical," Aragorn said. "Very well. I shall accompany you back to your tent," here he picked up the two mugs of broth that no longer steamed, "and see that Pippin is brought safely to a cart for the wounded before you eat." He fixed Merry with a stern look. "Mind your promise, Meriadoc, to stay true to your cause. It is for Pippin's health that you deny him." Merry nodded, confidence restored, and picked up the cram to follow Aragorn.
The tent was already gone when they arrived at the site. Merry looked around wildly until he spotted a small curly head sprouting over a veritable hill of blankets on a wagon nearby. "Oi, Merry!" the hill called. "I thought perhaps you had gotten lost."
Merry laughed and trotted over as quickly as he dared. "Pippin, do not tell me you disobeyed orders and left bed under your own power?"
"I should say not," replied Pippin with asperity. "What do you take me for, cousin? But as for why I am not in bed, the fault lies entirely with Gandalf. He brought me out to clear the tent, or some such thing, and so I am packed into the wagon like so much pipeweed. Is that bread?" he concluded with honest puzzlement, eyes fixed on the cram.
"It is cram which, according to Gimli, is a type of journeybread," Merry replied and passed it to Pippin while he himself clambered into the cart to sit next to Pippin. "Pipeweed indeed! This is no supply cart, foolish Took. Having ridden in one myself I think I have reason to know." Aragorn chuckled and passed the cups to them and they both drank.
Pippin accepted the cup but continued to look annoyed. "I know what cram is. I remember Bilbo's stories well enough to recognize the name if not the sight of it."
"In any case, sup lightly," Aragorn warned. "The movement of the cart is jolting and irregular and may cause you to feel ill."
Pippin nodded but quickly chose a piece of cram and nibbled it. "Will we be leaving soon?"
Aragorn looked to the trickle of wounded being helped into carts. "Within an hour's time, I should think. You would do well to move to the back of the cart so as to allow others to climb in without crushing you in their ascent."
The hobbits looked up and saw that there were indeed wounded headed their way. Pippin set down his cup and wiggled backwards, awkwardly, but with surprising speed, into a back corner. Merry chose a more dignified method and walked on his knees to settle next to his cousin. Among the wounded were familiar faces from both Gondor and Rohan, and soon the hobbits were chattering freely between sips and bites.
A lurch surprised them into silence. It took them but a moment to realize the wagon chauks had been removed. A second lurch sent them swaying where they sat, and they were off.
