A/N  I am trying to keep this as consistent with 'A New Kind of Courage' as I can, but as I am writing it, I'm finding places where it doesn't entirely agree with 'Courage.'  My plan is to give 'Courage' a thorough going over, so if you find any glaring errors or inconsistencies, I will be happy to fix them.

Chapter One: Finding

There was nothing, and then there was pain. With the pain came a confusing welter of images and sounds, all jumbled together in a meaningless tangle. Suffocating heat, bare skin exposed to cold air, a hairy face silhouetted against a leaden sky, a foul metallic taste on his lips, lurching movement, a searing pain in his head, violent nausea, a snatch of song which, while he could not make out the words, seemed to speak of love and an easing of pain. Then nothingness again.

***

Gimli sat on a small stool in the hastily erected tent the healers were using, with a bloody rag pressed to his forehead. He’d been sitting here for the better part of two hours, waiting for a healer to look at the cut, and was tempted to just leave. It wasn’t more than a scratch and it would heal just fine without all the fuss and bother, but Legolas had hauled him in here and made him promise to stay put until the wound had been tended. Then the blasted elf had gone off on some errand or other and hadn’t been back since.

Gimli was just working himself up to a fine fume when Legolas reappeared by his side.

"And just where have you been?" Gimli groused, not willing to admit how happy he was to see the elf.

"I wanted to check on our other friends," Legolas replied mildly. "Gandalf has gone off somewhere with the Eagles; to search for Frodo and Sam, I suspect, although I fear there is little hope of finding them." He paused at that, sorrow writ across his face.

Gimli sorrowed as well. It seemed very unlikely the two small hobbits could have escaped the destruction of Sauron’s fortress and he mourned their loss even as he rejoiced over the knowledge that they had somehow, against all odds, survived long enough to complete the task that had been set before them.

After a moment, Legolas continued, "Aragorn is tending the patients with the worst injuries and the handful of men suffering from the Black Breath. I believe he will be busy for some time to come, between healing the injured and all of the other tasks that have settled on him." The elf grinned. "It suits him, being King, although he will never admit it."  He sobered again quickly. "I am worried about Pippin. No one has seen him since the start of the battle. He is so small, and he was standing in the front lines, the last I saw of him. After I leave here, I am going out to the battlefield. I want to be sure he is not still out there, somewhere."

"What?" Gimli jumped to his feet. "Do you mean to say that lad is missing and you’re standing around in here, nattering away?" With a low growl, the dwarf threw the rag down and grabbed up his axe and shield. "Well, what are you waiting for?"  With no further words, he stumped out of the tent.

It was a long search, the two of them scouring the field of battle with the help of the few soldiers that could be spared. It was a gruesome and wearying task, turning over dead orcs and trolls, sometimes having to finish off an enemy that, even at death’s door, tried to fight them. It was equally painful to search under piles of dead or dying Gondorian and Rohirric soldiers. They spoke little and went grimly about their business, trying to move as quickly as possible.

The day was waning into evening and their hopes were fading. Gimli had lost track of how many bodies he’d looked under, but he was determined to move every body on the field, if he had to, in order to find the hobbit. Straightening his back with a weary sigh, he scanned the ground, hoping desperately to see something that would lead him in the right direction.

That’s when he saw the foot. It was sticking out from under the largest hill-troll Gimli had yet seen. With a choked cry, he stumbled over and fell to his knees, reaching out to touch the foot. There was no doubt that it belonged to a hobbit.

"Legolas!" he cried, "help me!" Frantically, he pushed at the troll, straining against it’s great weight to roll it over. A moment later the elf was at his side and together they managed to move the troll. Tears rolled unheeded down Gimli’s cheeks at the sight that then met his eyes.

Pippin still held his sword in his right hand, the blade smeared with the black blood of the troll. His face and body were also covered in that foul, stinking blood, making it difficult to determine what sort of wounds the young hobbit might have suffered. He lay perfectly still, with an oddly peaceful look upon his face and Gimli felt nearly overwhelmed with sorrow that this bright young life had ended in such a cruel and violent way. He thought about having to tell Merry about the fate that Pippin had met and nearly choked, fearful for how the older hobbit would respond to the news.

Pushing the emotions down before they could overwhelm him, he reached down to gently pick up the small, limp form and cradle it in his arms. He was shocked nearly into speechlessness when Pippin moaned suddenly and then began retching and vomiting in his arms.

Instinct took over and he carefully eased Pippin onto his side and held onto his shaking form as the hobbit continued to vomit for several minutes before going limp in his arms.

"Pippin?" he asked fearfully.

"He lives yet," Legolas reassured Gimli, resting a finger on the pulse point at Pippin’s throat. "But not for long if he does not get help. Quickly, Gimli, we must get him to Aragorn."

Gimli allowed Legolas to take Pippin before staggering to his feet. The wounded hobbit whimpered weakly at the movement and Legolas hummed soothingly as he moved carefully across the field. It seemed hours later that they reached the healing tents, although it could have been no more than ten minutes.

Upon arriving at the tents, they found that Aragorn had been summoned to an emergency of some sort, no one knew where. One of the healers found a spare cot for Pippin and examined the hobbit, cleaning and bandaging his wounds swiftly but carefully.

"He has a nice gash on his left leg, but it’s a clean cut and should heal well. He’s badly bruised, everywhere, but especially in the torso. His ribcage is strained and there may be one or two cracked ribs, but none are broken, luckily. The gash on his forehead is superficial. Most likely the rim of his helmet cut into his skin. The most serious injury is the bump on the back of his head. He has a severe concussion and I’m concerned there may be a fracture under all that swelling. I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to tell you any more until he wakes up."

Before they could question the healer further, he was called away and Legolas and Gimli were left alone to watch over their friend.

"I will sit with Pippin for a time," Legolas said. "You still need to have that cut tended to, and then you should sleep for a few hours."

Gimli felt bound to argue but Legolas stopped him. "Pippin will need both of us in the days to come, my friend. You can best serve him by getting some rest yourself, now. Come back when you are refreshed."

Unable to deny his own need any longer, Gimli gave in with a muttered promise to return in an hour or so. Pulling himself to his feet, he trudged out of the healing tent and went off in search of a quiet corner in which to get some rest.

It was after midnight before Aragorn returned to the healing tent. The king looked tired nearly beyond bearing, but when he saw the figure lying so still and quiet in the cot, he straightened and looked to Legolas questioningly.

"Gimli found him under a troll. A troll chief, I might add, that Pippin to all appearances killed before it fell on him. He is badly hurt, Aragorn. I fear for him." Legolas went on to describe everything that had happened, including the report by the healer.

With a weary sigh, Aragorn washed his hands and, lighting a lamp and moving it close to the bed, began to examine Pippin. Several minutes later, he sat back. "I agree with the healer that examined him earlier," he stated. "Most of his injuries are superficial, but that wound on the back of his head is very serious. There does not seem to be any depression of the bone, but I won’t be able to tell if there is a crack until the swelling goes down somewhat. Has he been awake at all, since you found him?"

"No. He hasn’t responded to us in any way since he was sick on the field."

Frowning thoughtfully, Aragorn placed a hand on Pippin’s forehead, closing his eyes and calling the hobbit’s name. For a long time there was no response. Aragorn frowned again and spoke more sternly. "Pippin Took, awake. Come, Peregrin son of Paladin, it is time to wake up now."

***

"Come, Peregrin son of Paladin, it is time to wake up now." The voice was stern and demanding, not allowing Pippin to remain in the gentle cradle of oblivion. He moaned and turned his head away from the soft light that was penetrating his closed eyelids. The movement set off a whole flood of unexpected and unwelcome pain, starting at the back of his head and radiating out to every single inch of his skin. He whimpered and clamped his lips together as the pain awoke nausea, which quickly grew to unmanageable proportions. He vaguely felt hands rolling him onto his side as his stomach lurched and he retched and heaved for what felt like days, until blessed oblivion claimed him once again.