Chapter Three: Confusion
beta provided by:  Pipspebble

It didn’t take long for Gimli’s messenger to find Aragorn, who was in his tent, eating the first decent meal he’d had since before the battle several days previous. He had just taken a sip of wine and had barely tasted his stew when there was a scratch at the flap of his tent. A moment later a Guard popped his head inside. "My lord, there is a messenger here from the dwarf, Gimli."

Aragorn looked up with a frown of worry creasing his brow. "Send him in, please, Dargol."

Dargol’s head withdrew and soon another figure was entering the tent. A young Guard, who looked barely old enough to hold a weapon, bowed deeply, keeping his eyes on the ground. "My lord," he began in a hesitant voice, "Gimli the dwarf bids you come as soon as you are able. He says the hobbit has awakened, and that you would wish to know this."

"Thank you, ah..." he paused, not knowing the lad’s name.

"Marek, sir."

"Thank you, Marek. Please tell Gimli that I will be along shortly." Dismissing the Guard, he took a last longing look at his meal and sighed as he turned away, searching out his bag. Most likely, Pippin would be asleep again by the time he got there, but if the hobbit had spoken with Gimli at all, it would give them an indication of how severe that wound on the back of his head was. As he passed the table again on his way out, he paused to grab a heel of bread. There was no knowing how long it would be until he made it back to his interrupted meal. Taking a bite of the bread, he stepped out into the night.

Shortly after he left his tent he heard a light voice hailing him from behind and turned at the familiar sound. "Well met, Legolas," he said as he slowed to allow the elf to catch up with him. "Are you rested?"

"I went for a walk through the woods and now I feel much refreshed," Legolas replied. "Alas, I can see that you have had no rest at all."

"True," Aragorn acknowledged with a wry smile, "I was just sitting down to sup when Gimli sent word that Pippin had awakened. I am on my way now to see him."

"I will accompany you, then, as I was on my way to relieve Gimli." Legolas matched his stride to Aragorn’s and the two friends continued on in silence, each absorbed by his own thoughts.

It was a short walk to Pippin’s tent and once inside, Aragorn pushed aside his weariness, instead focussing his thoughts on his patient’s needs. As he’d suspected, Pippin was asleep once again, but Aragorn had not expected to find him lying on his side, curled up in a loose ball. Turning to Gimli, who was pacing the width of the tent, he found the dwarf looking a trifle pale and shaky.

"Tell me what happened," he murmured while gently straightening Pippin out and examining him for further injury.

"I don’t rightly know what happened," Gimli confessed, moving over to stand near the cot. "He woke while I was giving him the tonic you prepared. His eyes seemed to bother him; he opened them and closed them up again quickly. When he opened them again, he was squinting. He asked where he was." Gimli paused unhappily a moment before continuing, "I don’t think he knew me, Aragorn. He was pressing back into the bed, as far from me as he could get. I tried to give him some water and he choked on it, then started to scream and fight me when I tried to help him. Next thing I knew, he’d gone limp. I backed away and he curled up just like you saw him."

It was a long speech for the taciturn dwarf, who now clumped back to his chair and sat down, pulling out his pipe and fussing about with it, although he didn’t light it. Aragorn, shooting a fast glance at him, saw tightness around the eyes and white knuckles clutching the bowl of the pipe. Clearly Gimli was very much disturbed by Pippin’s behaviour.

"It isn’t at all unusual for patients with severe head wounds to be disoriented or confused when they first begin to wake up, Gimli," he said reassuringly. "That he was able to speak at all is a positive sign." It was little enough to go on, and Aragorn did not want to build up false hopes, but it was enough for now.

"Legolas, would you please bring me a bowl of hot water?" Fishing out a small packet of herbs from his bag, he emptied them into the water the elf brought and let it sit for a few minutes as he unwound the bandage from around Pippin’s calf. He frowned when he saw that the linen was spotted with fresh blood, and a moment later his concern was confirmed when he saw that the wound had pulled open, most likely while Pippin struggled with Gimli.

Dipping a cloth into the warm, aromatic water, he bathed the wound carefully before rebinding it. He repeated this process with several of the larger and uglier cuts and bruises covering Pippin’s body, before carefully and gently lifting the hobbit’s head just enough to remove those bandages as well. When he had finished bathing each of the wounds and had settled Pippin back onto his cot, he pulled a light blanket up over the hobbit’s chest and sat back. Gimli had fussed with his pipe throughout the examination. Now he tucked it away in a pocket and stood to approach his friend, clearly waiting to hear the prognosis.

"He still has a fever but it has not risen since this afternoon," Aragorn said, looking to the dwarf and smiling reassuringly. "Several of his cuts have opened and bled a bit, but I think he has taken no real hurt from his battle with you, Gimli."

He looked over his shoulder at the elf. "Legolas, Gandalf is sitting with Frodo and Sam, in a beech grove not far from the edge of the camp. Please let him know I desire his consultation on a delicate matter. I know you were planning to sit with Pippin for a few hours, but if you could sit with the Ringbearers for a time instead, it would be most helpful."

"Of course, Aragorn. I will send Gandalf directly." With a nod of his head, Legolas exited the tent.

Aragorn turned his attention back to Gimli. "When was the last time you had any sleep, Master Dwarf?"

"I had a few hours last night," Gimli replied, seeming surprised by the question.

"And when did you last eat?"

Gimli paused, as if he had to think before he could answer. "I...had a bite a few hours before we arrived here, I suppose."

"And you’ve been keeping watch here since you arrived?" Gimli nodded and Aragorn frowned reproachfully at the dwarf. No wonder he looked so tired.

"Gimli, my friend, it is time for you to find something to eat and then sleep. Your concern for Pippin is admirable but you will be of no help to him or anyone else if you fall over from exhaustion."

Gimli snorted dismissively. "And when do you plan to rest, Aragorn? Even you must sleep on occasion."

"I will sleep soon, Gimli," Aragorn replied, touched by his friend’s concern. "But first I must speak with Gandalf. Go and rest. When you have slept and are refreshed, you may return, but not until you are truly rested."

With a minimum of grumbling, Gimli took his leave and left Aragorn alone with Pippin. Pulling Gimli’s chair closer to the bed, the king sat down and studied the injured hobbit for a time, then put one hand to Pippin’s forehead and picked up a small, limp hand with his other. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on reaching out to the confused and frightened spirit of his friend.

After a long while he sighed and sat back, opening his eyes again.

"And how is the impertinent young Took?" Gandalf asked in a soft voice . Aragorn, though deep in a trance had still felt the wizard’s arrival and drew comfort from his presence.

"Damaged, I fear," he answered soberly, "although I hope not permanently so. The thoughts that I can touch are clouded with confusion. He does not remember leaving the Shire."

Gandalf moved to Pippin’s side and took one of the hobbit’s hands in both of his. He was silent for several minutes before sighing and placing Pippin’s hand back on the cot.

"Yes, I see what you mean. This would be easier for him if one of his cousins were here."

"I do not think it advisable to keep him asleep until Merry arrives. I was hoping that you would be a familiar enough sight to prevent him from panicking again when he wakes up."

Gandalf lowered his bushy eyebrows in thought. "It is true he knew me before he left the Shire, although not well. He was still a child when last I spent any great amount of time at the Smials. Still, I suppose you are right. If he does not remember any of the Quest, he would be quite frightened by the sight of a strange Man or Dwarf looming over him when he awoke. A kindly figure from childhood might indeed be the better option."

"I am glad you agree, my friend." Aragorn moved back and away from the bed, so that he would not be in direct sight when Pippin awoke. Gandalf settled himself comfortably in the chair, once again taking one of Pippin’s hands in his.

***

Pippin was being pulled inexorably towards wakefulness, a process he fought tooth and nail. He didn’t want to have to deal with the strange and frightening things he’d seen the last time he’d come awake. Someone was calling him, though, very insistently, and it was becoming more difficult to resist. The voice was deep and rough, too deep to be a hobbit’s, and it reminded him unpleasantly of the dwarf’s voice. Please let it just have been a dream, he thought with all the intensity he could muster. When I open my eyes, it will all have been a dream, and I’ll be in my own room, with Da whispering to me. It’s just because I’m asleep that his voice sounds so strange and...and big.

The voice refused to resolve itself into proper hobbitness as Pippin came closer to wakefulness, but there was something vaguely familiar and oddly comforting about it.

"Come now, Pippin, I know you are awake," the voice rumbled. "Open your eyes, now, and we’ll just take a little look at each other."

Pippin opened his eyes slowly. Much to his relief, the room did not spin about this time, but stayed blessedly still. Blinking painfully against the light, which was still too bright, he tried to bring his eyes into focus. After a moment, a large, white blob to his left began to resolve itself into the shape of a person. A very large person with bushy eyebrows and a long white beard. Pippin shrank back, remembering the dwarf, but stilled as he continued to look at the figure. There was something familiar about this person. He frowned as he tried to place the oversized figure.

"G...Gandalf?" he whispered hesitantly.

The wizard smiled as he brought one hand up to gently cup Pippin’s cheek. "Yes, my dear Pippin. I am pleased that you remember me."

Pippin leaned into the comfort of the touch, even as he tried to make some sense of things. "What is happening, Gandalf? Where are we..." he broke off as his throat protested and he began to cough.

Gandalf waited until the fit had passed and then helped him drink some water. "Is that better?"

"Mm," Pippin nodded his head cautiously, braced for pain. It hurt, but not as much as before, though it did make him a bit dizzy, prompting him to close his eyes for a moment until the spell had passed.

"There was a...I thought, when I woke up before..." he paused to drink a little more water and try to gather his thoughts. "I thought there was a dwarf here, when I woke up before."

"Yes, Gimli son of Gloin, a good friend of mine," Gandalf smiled. "He is very worried about you, but we have convinced him to leave you to us for the time being. When you are feeling a bit better, he would like to visit with you again."

"Why should he be worried about me? I’ve never met him before." This made no sense to Pippin. Nothing was making any sense. "Who is ‘us’?"

"Ah." Gandalf looked as though he regretted something, but after a moment he smiled and answered. "‘Us’ in this instance is myself and Aragorn, who is sitting somewhere behind me. Aragorn is your healer."

Pippin moved his eyes beyond Gandalf’s head, careful to keep his own head as still as possible, and soon spied another Man, coming forth from the shadows of the tent. Pippin stared at him, with no thought for politeness. There was something...something nibbling at the back of his mind. He had seen that face before, could almost see it in his mind, but...but, and then it was gone. Pippin sank back, confusion and a splitting headache warring for dominance in his awareness.

"I – I don’t understand," he murmured weakly, looking back to Gandalf. "I thought...it seemed for a moment as if I must know him, but I have never seen any Men in the Shire. I don’t understand," he repeated plaintively. "Where am I? What has happened?"

This new Man, Pippin didn’t remember what Gandalf had called him, came and sat carefully on the edge of his bed, on the side opposite Gandalf, looking very large. Pippin found himself shrinking back ever so slightly toward the wizard and stopped himself, not wanting to appear as a frightened child.

"I know this must be very difficult for you, Pippin," the Man said in a kind voice that was at odds with the grave expression that seemed carved on his face as if on stone. "You have forgotten some things and it will take a little time to remember them, but I believe you will in the end." He smiled and suddenly the somber visage fell away, leaving Pippin once again sure that he had met this person before, although that seemed impossible. But still, no one had answered his questions and he was beginning to wonder about that. Why would they not tell him where he was or what had happened to him? Where were his parents? If he was hurt, or ill, they should be here with him. Had something happened to them as well?

Before he could say anything about this, however, Gandalf interrupted his thoughts. "I want you to tell me the last thing you remember, Pippin. Take your time and see if you can bring your thoughts into focus, just as you did with your eyes when you first woke up."

Pippin wanted to protest and demand answers to his questions, but he remembered very clearly that Gandalf never answered questions he did not want to answer. Sighing, he cast back in his mind, trying to do as the wizard asked.