First Effort

“So this is what it’s going to be for the rest of my days?” Pippin thought as he gulped down his evening dose of medicine.

He coughed a little and Sam quickly patted him on the back.

“Hope you paid attention to what that tastes like, Pippin,” Sam teased. “I’m making tomorrow morning’s batch.”

Pippin cleared his throat as he smiled at Sam. “Just don’t poison me and I’ll be happy.”

Sam’s eyes twinkled. “Only if Frodo or Merry tell me to.”

Everyone chuckled at the jest.

The other Companions of the Ring and Parsow were seated around Pippin’s room at the Houses of Healing. He would go back to the house they all shared on the morrow, but Strider and Parsow had felt it best they keep him at the Houses for the rest of his first day of being fully awake. Fully awake not being quite accurate as he had dozed and slept most of the afternoon. Now, he was tiring again. Pippin nodded off, and most of his friends went off to their own beds. Merry propped himself up on the bed, half sitting - half laying on some pillows, and fell asleep beside his cousin.

Early the next morning, well before first breakfast, Sam and Merry were with Parsow in the herbarium. The young Healer and the Master Apothecary were beginning the task of instructing the hobbits in the proper mixing of Pippin’s current elixir.

The first problem that arose was the matter of weights and measures. The Gondorian terms meant nothing to the hobbits.

“Master Ricimir,” Merry interrupted the flow of instructions coming from the apothecary. “This is all well and good, and most kind that you have even written all of it down for us. But what good will it be when we are back home?”

“What good will it be, Sir Meriadoc? I don’t understand. It will be all that you need to replicate the medicines that Healer Parsow and His Majesty concoct for your kinsman.”

“Only so long as we take a good supply of your gear back with us,” Sam put in. “We’ve naught like this lot back home. And what you’ve written is not going to make a lick of sense either, sir. There’s not a word of it any healer back home will know what to do with.”

The Master Apothecary and Parsow looked at each other questioningly, before looking back at the hobbits.

“What is the problem, Sam?” Parsow asked. He blushed a bit as he added, “Surely the healers amongst the Hobbits know how to read?”

Merry grinned wryly, understanding Parsow’s confusion to be genuine and not meant as an insult to the education or intelligence of the Shire’s healers. “It isn’t that, Parsow, Master Ricimir,” Merry said. “It’s that the words themselves won’t mean anything to them.”

“Yes,” Sam jumped in. “I’m not sure we call all of these herbs by the same names, for one thing. Then, there’s all these measurin’ terms. Where’s the dabs, dashes, smidgens, drams, gills, and such?”

Sam paused and his eyes widened. “I just now thought, sirs. Most everything we use back home is smaller than anything men use. Smaller cups, smaller spoons, smaller mortar and pestles. I don’t know as any of your measurements are going to work even if the names for them did match up proper.”

For several moments they all stared at one another. It was an obstacle none had foreseen. Finally, Master Ricimir gave a slight nod of his head and spoke.

“Parsow?”

“Yes, sir?”

“If you would please see to the preparation of Sir Peregrin’s elixir for this morning. I will be conferring with Sir Meriadoc and Lord Samwise regarding how to overcome this issue of differing vessels and nomenclature.”

Merry and Sam spent the morning in the herbarium. Sam, as was the case with most good cooks in the Shire, had long ago learned the art of measuring into his hand. He knew the look of each of the various Shire measures in relation to the palm of his hand and while perhaps not as precise a measure as using measuring spoons and cups, when done by as practiced a cook as Sam, it was amazingly accurate. The King was also called in as he was familiar, to a small degree, with the terms for measurements of Men and of Hobbits. By luncheon it had all been worked out and a conversion chart had been drawn up. Sam and Merry would return to the herbarium after dinner to assist with making Pippin’s evening dose.

Although Aragorn and Parsow told them it would take at least a couple of days before they would begin to see if the medicine was working, the hobbits were all hopeful. Pippin got up, played draughts with Frodo and chatted with everyone while having only five very noticeable blank spells, with perhaps a few lesser ones as well. No one said anything, but all felt encouraged.

The next day Pippin returned to the house after taking first breakfast at the Houses of Healing. He headed straight for the bathing room. He hummed a tune as he began to strip off, not noticing, as was always to be the case, that he had a couple of small spells as he did so. What did catch his attention was the door opening.

“Hey!” Pippin shouted. He hastily covered himself with the trousers he had just taken off as Merry walked in.

“Hello, Pip,” Merry said as he walked over to the buckets of heated water then poured two of them into the tub.

Pippin visibly relaxed. “Oh! Thank you Merry.” He smiled broadly. “Most kind of you to help with that, though I can do it myself, I’m a bit awkward with it, with my hand and all.”

Merry added some room temperature water to the tub then stuck his hand in to test it. More tepid water, another test. Twice more. “Your bath awaits!” He proclaimed regally, bowing slightly while sweeping his arm toward the steaming tub.

Pippin stepped past him and into the tub, closing his eyes as he blissfully settled into the water.

“You may go now,” Pip murmured teasingly as he limply waved his cousin away, a contented smile upon his lips. He quietly soaked a few moments then opened his eyes, only to give a startled squeak.

Merry was calmly sitting in a chair beside the tub.

“May I help you with something, Merry?”

“No.”

They sat there a few moments simply looking at each other.

“Go ahead with your bath, Pip. Just wash up and such. Splash about. Sing. Whatever you had intended to do.”

“Eh, right.” Pippin gave Merry a doubtful look, then slowly picked up a flannel and began to lather it up. He washed his arms, his left a bit awkwardly because of his right hand not being able to get the best grip on the slippery flannel. He washed his chest. Pippin ducked down into the water to rinse off. Then he stopped. This was getting awkward. Oh, he had bathed with someone else in the room hundreds of times. His father, Frodo, Merry, Sam, other male cousins or friends. But, except for when he had been a little child, the other person, or persons, each had a tub of their own and was also taking a bath.

Merry was calmly sitting in a chair beside the tub.

Just . . . watching.

And being watched was embarrassing. Especially as Pippin had reached the part of his bath where he would either kneel or stand in the tub and wash his privates. He sat there for several minutes wondering what he should do.

“Merry?”

“Yes, Pippin?”

“What are you doing?”

Pippin felt it was to Merry’s credit that, at this point, he blushed.

“I’m . . . eh, watching you bathe.”

“A new pastime of yours?”

Merry looked decidedly uncomfortable. “No!” he said a bit too strongly. “No. Strider, and Parsow as well actually, said you aren’t to bathe alone. I mean, without someone in the room with you, not that they have to be in the tub with you or anything like that . . .” Merry’s voice trailed off as his blush increased.

“They said what?” Pippin was rather shocked.

“It’s just a precaution, Pippin. It’s not anything perverted.”

“Precaution?”

Merry sighed as he looked down at his feet. He hated making an issue of this but he had known that it could not be handled easily.

“Just in case you were to have a particularly bad spell or a . . . a fit or something.” He looked Pippin in the eye, speaking rapidly. “You could drown, you see. You could have a spell and not know what you are doing and let yourself slip below the water. Even more likely if you were to have a fit. So they said we weren’t to let you be in the tub without someone in the room with you, keeping a watch on you.” Merry let out the rest of his breath as though to say, ‘There, that’s over with’.

“Oh,” Pippin said thoughtfully, then again, dejectedly, “Oh. No more quiet nor fun baths to myself, eh? Well . . . um. Can you at least not stare at me while I wash up my privates? I know it isn’t anything you’ve not seen before, but it’s unnerving with you just . . . just sitting there watching. Can you at least turn around for a few moments?”

Merry blushed again. Pippin had a good point. He could well imagine how he would feel if their places were reversed.

“They didn’t say anything about . . . those sort of details . . . I . . . yes. Of course, Pip. Sorry.” With that Merry turned in the chair so he faced well away from his cousin.

“Thank you,” Pippin muttered as he hurriedly knelt, washed himself, then plopped back down into the water. “Done,” he muttered again. Now he was the one blushing.

Merry turned back around. Pippin washed his hair. Merry handed him his towel. Pippin dried off, put on his dressing gown and left. Merry cleaned up; not really blaming Pippin for not staying to help.

What neither hobbit knew was that Pippin had a moderately long blank spell just before he had started to undress.

The first week of Pippin taking his medicine moved along with everyone wondering when the elixir would start taking effect. There really did not seem to be much change. Pippin would fade away several times during the day and right at the mid point of the week, he had a fit.

It had been the morning of what was to have been his first day back on duty standing guard at King Elessar's side. Merry had heard a muttered oath through the door connecting their bedrooms. He knocked then opened the door enough to stick his head inside.

“Are you all right, Pip?”

“Oh, of course I’m all right, Merry. Just perfect. Can’t you tell?” Pippin’s tone wasn’t angry. Even though he was frustrated, he could see a bit of humour in his predicament. He had managed to get into his uniform trousers on his own. He had even managed to get the shirt that went under his mail, his mail and his tunic on, even though it had taken half an hour of struggling to do it. What he couldn’t manage was the intricate belt.

“Think I can just guard Strider with a sling and some stones?” he asked as Merry came into the room. “Though that might not work either as I haven’t worked on using a sling left handed. And I’ve no pockets in these trousers to put the stones into. Maybe I could just bite any would be assassins on the butt.”

“That would work,” Merry said, chuckling, as he hitched the belt up where it belonged and started buckling it on.

Pippin stood still as Merry worked. This time when he spoke, his frustration was easier to hear.

“I can barely hold the stupid thing up with the fingers I can use on my right hand and I definitely can’t work the buckles.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t know why I’m bothering.”

“Because it is important to you and you’ll feel better about it the more you do it. You’ve slacked off on your exercises of late. We just need to get you working your hand again. That and giving your left hand more practice as well.”

Pippin didn’t answer. Well, not with words. He gave out an oddly strangled gasp and stiffened. He tottered against Merry, who, realizing what was happening, eased the lad to the floor before moving to the bed to get Pippin’s pillow. Merry placed it beneath his cousin’s head just as the convulsions took over him. Merry waited until the fit passed, rolled Pip onto his side then went for help; everything as Strider and Parsow had instructed them all to do should they be present when Pippin had a fit.

Merry felt tears rising in his eyes as he helped Parsow change a groggy Pippin out of his livery and into his nightshirt. Sir Peregrin Took would not be on duty this day.

It was decided that Pippin should stay on the medicine a while longer, even though it did seem to be having little to no effect upon his falling sickness. Everywhere Pippin went, someone else went with him. They would even stand at near to the privy when he was attending to his needs, and though they thought they were being discrete, Pippin knew.

It was starting to annoy him.

A good many things were starting to annoy him.

Eating was often annoying, especially if there was meat needing to be cut. Yes, he had been contending with that for a while now, but it was one more piece of life that had turned into an embarrassment. At first someone had helped him during the meal, now his plate would be set before him with the meat already cut into small chunks.

Like a mother would do for her faunt.

And sometimes, although it might have been his imagination, it seemed the others would be irritated if he asked for second and third helpings as one of them would have to take the time to cut Pippin’s meat for him.

He was getting a little more aware of when he had spells. He would notice they way others were looking at him and realize that he must have gone blank. And, of course, sometimes it would make him tired or confused. Either way, instead of feeling glad that he was more aware of himself, Pippin felt irritated that it seemed to happen so often. Especially when he began to sense it had happened and he was on duty at the Citadel.

It was in the second week of using the first medicine that Pippin had suddenly noticed that Aragorn, Faramir and the gentlemen they were meeting with, were all staring at him. Worse, as the fog in his mind cleared, he realized he had wandered away from his post. He was standing near one of the statues of a former King of Gondor, gazing up at it’s cold, stone face whilst their stares made the back of his head tingle. It was only with a great deal of badgering, after his time on duty was over, that Faramir told Pippin that he had simply walked over to the statue and begun babbling to it.

Pippin was mortified and only a direct order from the King brought him back to duty in the Great Hall two days later.

The two weeks had not passed in full when it was decided that Pippin would be given a new medicine.

“I think, my lord, that we need to try something stronger,” Parsow sighed as he shook his head.

He and the king were meeting together for luncheon and a discussion about Peregrin.

“I agree, Parsow. He’s had five fits and countless blank spells in eleven days time. No unwanted effects, but no desired ones either.”

Both men sighed.

“His mood sours as well, sire. The others of the Company have all shared with me instances of Pippin’s growing ire. I have seen it myself when I am there each morning and evening. I expected as much with the lack of privacy, but I think that only serves to heighten the frustration of knowing he is still having numerous spells per day as well as a frequent number of fits.”

The healers ate in silence as both thought of medicaments they could try.

“Perhaps peony root, betony and jujube fruit?” mused Parsow.

“Hmm. Perhaps.” Aragorn thought for a few more moments. “Yes, that has merit. The betony in particular. Perhaps with cassia bark instead of the peony root and hazelnuts added to what he regularly eats.”

“Khandian scullcap root!” Parsow’s tone brightened. “I’ve heard wonderful things about it’s curative powers and spasms were among the conditions for which it was promoted.”

Aragorn nodded. “But is it not difficult to procure?”

“It has been, yes. Nearly impossible. But I’ve heard . . .” Parsow paused. “As perhaps I shouldn’t have, my lord, but I have heard a delegation from Khand were quite recently at court to honor and offer allegiance to your majesty.”

“True.” Aragorn smiled. He knew well how news traveled in the Citadel and it’s environs. “And trade has been established as well.”

The King dabbed at his lips with a cloth then rose. “Shall we go to the herbarium and see what Master Ricimir has of these herbs, either fresh or dried?”

By the evening, when it was time for Pippin to receive his dose of medicine, the new elixir was ready.

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A/N: The herbs mentioned have been, and in some countries still are, used to help lessen the effects of epilepsy. “Khandian scullcap root” actually is “Asian scullcap root”. On my map in the book “The Atlas of Middle-earth”, Khand is in an area that would be the Middle-east or the western edge of Asia.

I have no idea if any of the combinations mentioned are real, I just picked and chose which herbs to put together.