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A Healer's Tale  by Lindelea

Chapter 18. Interlude

 ‘Well I’m back,’ Samwise says awkwardly, and then he moves to the bed, shedding weariness and filled to the brim with purpose, putting a hand to the Thain’s shoulder and bending close. ‘Mister Pippin,’ he says, drawing out the words, and then quicker, ‘Mr. Pippin, do you hear me?’

To my surprise, the Thain speaks. ‘Samwise?’ he murmurs. ‘Is it time... to start again... already?’

Behind me I hear Merry’s gasp, but the Mayor himself pales, haunted by a ghost of the past, perhaps. Bravely he forges on. ‘Pippin, it is time! Time to wake up!’

 ‘Is breakfast ready?’ the Thain says, his eyes still closed. ‘Do make sure... Frodo eats something... will you? I... don’t know if... you noticed, but... he’s been putting his... portion... on my plate...’

 ‘Pippin,’ Sam says again, with a gentle shake though from the stiffness of his shoulders I gather he fears he’ll break the frail figure in the bed if he more than breathes upon it. The stink he exudes of sweaty pony, mud, leather and his own unwashed state ought to be enough to waken the dead.

 ‘Dark...’ Pippin whispers. ‘So dark... Moria... hard to breathe...’

Rose pushes past me, to crouch by the Thain’s other side. ‘Pippin,’ she says softly. ‘Is this any way to welcome far travellers home?’

Plain-spoken, she has always been so, since I first met the lass, when Samwise became Mayor and was called to the Smials to discuss matters of business with the Thain. But there is more to it than that; she speaks from long experience, I imagine, of jarring a dreamer gently out of a disturbing dream.

Indeed, the Thain blinks his eyes open, though I would have scarcely credited it, after thinking him only a few breaths from leaving us. He sees Rose and grins weakly.

 ‘Rosie! You are a sight indeed!’

 ‘I’ve no doubt I am,’ she says briskly. ‘And this is Tolman, our littlest, and Sam has brought you a spot of cheer from the Southlands.’

 'Tolman!' Pippin gasps, and he half-lifts his hand from the bed as if to touch the sleeping babe's soft cheek as Rose bends near. 'Fine name... named for a... fine hobbit...' He straightens slightly against his pillows.

 'Steady,' Samwise murmurs, his fingers still resting lightly on Pippin's shoulder.

'It is good... to see you,' Pippin says faintly, between gasps, to Rose and Samwise. 'You... made it back... in time for... the pony races... or are you off... to Southfarthing next week, for the... strawberries?' He has made an obvious effort to rally for his visitors, but he is fading again, all too quickly, and the attempt to speak casually, to put them at ease, is quickly using up what little strength remains to him.

'No, we came for the pony races,' Sam says. Rose kisses the Thain gently on his cheek and turns suddenly to leave the room. Having seen the trembling of her lips, the tears in her eyes, I understand. Reginard follows after, conceivably to give orders for hot baths and hot food and beds to be turned down. He returns quickly, not wanting to be away from Pippin’s side for any length of time.

'Well, what kind of presents... have you brought me?' Pippin says weakly. He seems to draw strength from the work-worn hand that rests on his shoulder, unlikely as it seems to me. In any event, the hobbit has seldom if ever done what was expected of him, so why should I expect him to expire on the spot even though all the signs pointed to his imminent death? 'Did you... give my greetings to... everyone?'

'Everyone who asked about you,' Sam says. 'Not too many. They seemed more interested in that Ernil i Pheriannath fellow, whoever he might be.'

'Ah,' says the Thain.

Sam makes a great show of remembering. 'O yes, I did bring you back a little somewhat,' he says. He brings out a bottle from the sack he carries, over-large, Man-sized, that looks to hold water.

'What's that, then?' Pippin asks. 'It's the wrong colour... to be some of the Hall's... finest.'

'It's a bit of cheer I picked up along the way,' Sam says. 'Supposed to be very rare and special. Would you like to try some?'

'What does it... taste like?' the Thain asks.

'I don't know, I haven't tried it,' Sam says. 'I thought I'd let you taste it first, so if it was bad I'd be forewarned.'

'Everything tastes like... mud, anyhow,' Pippin says. 'The cooks have... lost their touch. What doesn't taste like mud... tastes like dust... and ashes.'

'Then eat dust and ashes,' Sam says darkly. 'At least it would be something.'

The Thain sighs, 'O aye,' he says. 'It's the same old story... I hear it from everyone.'

The Mayor fills a glass with the precious liquid, but I step forward to take the glass before he can give it to the Thain. I take a sip. It is water, as I thought, and anger stirs within me. I have given my share of “cures” in my life, for imaginary complaints and even some real ones. If hobbits think you’re giving them a potion, if you caution them against its overuse because it is so very “potent”, often their thoughts will trick them into healing themselves. But... water!

And yet, not. There is a taste, so very subtle as to elude the naming. And I feel as if life is rushing through my body, life and strength, as if the very hair on my head is crackling with energy, growing and stretching.

'What, do you think... the Mayor would... poison the Thain?' Pippin jokes. How he manages to joke with barely the air to speak is beyond my understanding, but the Mayor only chuckles.

'Perhaps I could hope to become Thain, with you out of the way,' Sam answered, 'but I'd have to get rid of Regi and Ferdi and a lot of other Tooks as well. Too much trouble, I'll just keep on as Mayor, thank you very much.' Scandalous, such an idea, probably born of their time in the Outlands, and yet... Lotho Sackville-Baggins had much the same idea, may his dreams be peaceful ones.

'Tastes like water,' I say bluntly. Surely Samwise doesn’t think Pippin so dull of wit as to mistake water for a healing potion. And yet, the rush of well-feeling is intensifying, and that from just a sip. '...but wait ... there's something else to it.'

I abandon caution and pass the cup to the Thain, steadying his hand as he sips. 'I know this...' he says reflectively. He drinks again, then looks to Sam. 'Ent draught?' he says in wonder. 'Wherever did you get this?' I notice his breathing steadying somewhat. He is no longer speaking in gasps. Diamond beyond him, on the other hand, seems to be having trouble catching her breath, as renewed hope shines in her eyes.

Little Merigrin stirs, disturbed, perhaps, by the overpowering smell of Samwise, though I am growing used to the odour. I leave the Thain cradling the cup against his chest and lift the little one, softly swaying and murmuring soothing nonsense.

'Wherever do you think?' Sam answers. 'Took a little side trip to Isengard, gave your regards to Treebeard.'

He reaches to steady the glass as Pippin takes another swallow. The Thain looks up with a frown. 'It is, but it isn't,' he says.

'Isn't what?' Sam asks.

'I'd swear it isn't the same as I had before...’ O yes! His breathing grows more even, more regular; where he was thinking of every breath before he took it, now he speaks without noticing the natural movement of air in and out! ‘...even though it's been so long. There were different kinds of Ent draughts that Treebeard gave Merry and me. This is yet another.'

Sam urges him to drink again, helping him lift the glass. 'I told Treebeard about your illness. Perhaps he cooked up something special just for you.'

'He's a good cook, then,' Pippin murmurs. 'This is the first thing that hasn't tasted of mud or ashes in weeks.'

Regi reaches a hand out as if to take a taste, but Sam stops him. 'I don't know how much it takes; Treebeard didn't know. He sent three bottles, but only one survived the trip.'

'Drink up, then,' Regi says to Pippin.

Pippin twinkles; the lines of pain seem to be fading from his countenance. 'I might become the tallest Thain in history.'

'You are the tallest Thain in history,' Ferdibrand says. I didn’t hear him come in, but it stands to reason he’d be here. The seal of the Thain must be burning a hole in his pocket, and he’d be all too eager to restore it to Pippin, given half a chance.

'Well, then, I'll beat my own record,' Pippin answers. He finishes the glass, and Sam pours another. After drinking the second, the Thain says, 'That's enough for now. I don't know if I could keep it down, should I have any more.' Sam nods soberly, suddenly reminded how very close we’ve come to the brink before pulling back.

'What do you feel?' I ask, curious. The crackle of energy from that little sip of mine has faded, but the feeling of well-being continues, soft and subtle yet perceptible.

'Tingling,' Pippin says. 'I recognize the stuff. It sends a tingle from your toes up through your body, all the way to your hair. It's almost as if I can feel my hair stretching and curling and growing.'

'Tingling... even in the bad leg?' He’s had no feeling in that leg to speak of, since he was half-crushed beneath an overturned coach, about the time the twins were born. What with the state of his lungs it’s been enough to pull him down, gradually, until he had nothing left with which to cling to life.

Pippin is quiet a moment, as if listening to his body. 'Yes,' he says slowly. 'There's even some tingling there. I'd forgotten how it feels.'

'Can you move the leg?' I say, trying to contain my excitement. Miraculous draughts from legendary beings indeed! Why, I’m tempted to go out and hug a tree in celebration.

Pippin tries, but can do no more than twitch his toes, all he's been able to do since the accident. 'No,' he says. 'It's no better.' He smiles at Diamond then, reassuringly. 'But it's no worse, either.' Still, I’m hopeful. He has feeling in the leg, more than the few “pins and needles” he’s had up until this time. And his breathing is definitely better. Somehow I no longer fear his falling asleep, never to waken in this world again.

He looks at Sam. 'Put the bottle away in a safe place. Perhaps we can try some more tomorrow.' His face shows again his weariness; the temporary lift provided by the Ent draught seems to be evaporating. My own rush of energy is gone; I no longer feel as if I could climb in leaps and bounds the enormous Hill that contains the Great Smials. But that feeling of well-being remains.

Pippin smiles at Diamond and reaches for her hand. 'I think I can sleep now.' He cocks a mischievous eye at Sam. 'Better get a good rest yourself, Mayor. There'll be quite a welcome feast tomorrow, you know. Hopefully the kitchen will turn out something other than dust and ashes.'

His eyes are already closing as the steward shoos everyone out of the room, leaving only myself, Diamond, Farry, and the twins.

Merry thrusts himself forward; he has been hovering in the background, behind the others, hiding himself in the shadow of the opened door. Now he kneels beside the bed. He has yet to speak.

Diamond begins to say his name, but he puts an urgent finger to his lips, the anxiety not leaving his face.

 ‘Fear not, lad,’ I tell him. ‘He is no longer waiting to hear your voice before his spirit takes flight. There was something in that draught, I don’t know what... but it has gained him time. You may go to your bath and your rest. I have every confidence he’ll greet you in the morningtide.’

 ‘You’re sure?’ he whispers, looking from my face to Pippin’s. He swallows hard, as if afraid his cousin will leave him even now, at the sound of his voice.

Indeed, Pippin stirs against the pillow, turning slightly towards his cousin. ‘Merry?’ he murmurs. ‘At last... it seems I’ve been waiting ever so long...’

Merry catches his breath in dread, but his cousin only smiles and relaxes into sleep.





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