Chapter 3; A Storm Is Coming

Aragorn in the meantime had been rummaging through some of the packs to find the necessary supplies for cleaning and bandaging Pippin’s arm. “Frodo, can you help Pippin take off his jacket?” Aragorn asked when he came back. “I need to assess the damage the Warg caused.”

Frodo and Merry looked up at Aragorn unbelievingly. “Pippin was attacked by a Warg?” Merry asked shocked. “Thank goodness you found him in time!”

When he felt a strong hand slap him on the back, Merry almost fell forwards. He looked over his shoulder in annoyance, but that feeling disappeared almost as soon as it had come when he saw Gimli standing behind him, seemingly glowing with pride.

Merry misunderstood the situation and thought he had insulted the Dwarf. “I’m sorry Gimli, I didn’t realise it was you who rescued Pip.”

“Young Peregrin had already taken care of the situation when I found him.”

“That’s not true,” Pippin piped through clenched teeth, “I was trapped under that Warg. Ouch! Frodo, that hurts!”

“I’m sorry, Pip,” Frodo tried to comfort Pippin, “but that jacket has to come off, otherwise Aragorn can’t treat that wound.”

“I know,” Pippin said resigned, “but it still hurts!”

“A Warg, Gimli?” Merry whispered shocked and awestruck. “My Pip killed a Warg?”

“Yes he did!” Gimli said in a rather loud tone, then continued a lot softer, “at least I think he did. I couldn’t find the beast’s heartbeat, but I didn’t have the time to make sure.” He shot a quick glance in the distance, checking if their wasn’t a pair of vicious eyes peering over the edge.

Pippin caught Gimli’s movement and the meaning behind it and looked over to the edge of the hill in growing panic.

“Gimli!” Merry hissed, “you’re scaring Pippin!” He was back at his cousin’s side in no time, leaving a baffled Gimli behind.

“I’m very sorry,” He mumbled, not completely understanding just  what went wrong.

Aragorn seemed to have an equally difficult time with the worried hobbits. Turning back with a pair of scissors in his hand, to cut off Pippin’s shirt sleeve, he found that Merry had occupied his place. “Merry, could you please move a little?” he asked, trying to not let the irritation he felt be heard in his words. He understood Merry’s worry about his cousin, but he also knew there really was no time to waste. They had to be prepared when the Wargs came.

Merry went to sit next to Frodo, softly stroking Pippin’s hair and mumbling empty reassurances.

Aragorn removed the remnants of Pippin’s shirt sleeve and had a close look at the bite marks. At that moment, Sam came walking over, carrying a pan. “Here’s the boiled water you asked for, Strider,” he said, putting the pan down. “Oh look at your poor arm, mister Pippin. That Warg sure did a lot of damage.”

“I am going to wash the wound now, Peregrin,” Aragorn warned. “It will probably hurt, so maybe one of your cousins, or Sam, can hold your arm steady.”

Without waiting for a reply from Frodo or Merry Sam sat down. “I’ll hold his arm, so you can hold still the rest of him,” he tried to joke, although his heart wasn’t really into it.

Aragorn quickly started to wash Pippin’s wound. He knew he didn’t have much time, because they still weren’t fully prepared for the imminent Warg attack. When all the blood was washed away Aragorn saw that the wound was much deeper and wider then he had originally thought. The Warg had obviously held on desperately to Pippin’s arm when both fell to the ground, and had ripped apart the flesh. The wound needed suturing.

He gently took Pippin’s hand in his and told the hobbit the news. Four pairs of eyes looked at him; scared, worried. Aragorn began preparing and laid out the necessary equipment. He gave Pippin a small stick.

“What’s that for?” Pippin asked nonplussed.

“It’s to prevent you from biting your tongue when I’m treating your wound,” Aragorn explained. “Just bite down on it hard when the pain becomes unbearable.”

“Surely there’s no need for this!” Frodo objected. “Why don’t you sedate him? It will greatly ease the pain.”

“I’m sorry, Frodo, but I can’t,” Aragorn said, regretful. “But Pippin needs to be conscious and alert when the Wargs arrive, I’m afraid that we won’t be able to protect him otherwise.”

Pippin put the stick in his mouth, already biting hard on it in anticipation of what was to come. There were tears leaking from his eyes and he felt them fall into his curls and his ears. Sam resumed his place again and held his arm steady. Frodo took his other hand with both hands. Merry looked down at Pippin. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to stay for the next part of the treatment. But if his little cousin was strong enough to face this, then so was he. He sat himself down next to Frodo and put his hand protectively on Pippin’s head, keeping his eyes fixed on Pippin’s so he didn’t have to see what Aragorn was doing.

Frodo felt completely helpless when he saw the pain Pippin was in. He wish he could help his cousin somehow. Almost without thinking he started to softly sing a lullaby. It had helped Pippin in the past, with scrapes and bruises and illnesses, and it seemed to help now too. If only just a little bit.

“Feel, my child,
Feel how the wind
Caresses
Your skin and hair

Smell, my child
Smell the fragrance
Of flowers
On the air

Hear, my child
Hear how water
Ever flows
Through the river

Look, my child
See how the moon
Illuminates
The star-strewn sky

Taste, my child
Taste the fresh
Raindrops
On your tongue

Sleep, my child,
Sleep and dream
Until night
Turns to day once more”

Every time Strider made a new hole in his skin, Peregrin felt a sharp pain sear through his arm. Each time the pain was worse and it got harder and harder for him to concentrate on anything else than the pain, until their was nothing else left.

Pippin bit down hard on the stick; he was sure he was about to scream out. Or pass out. The pain seemed just unbearable. He tried with all his might not to give in to his urge to scream, but he couldn’t prevent a whimper from escaping his lips when yet another little hole was made.