Chapter 19. Trudge to the Ford, Day 3

'That was a long climb,' young Faramir puffed to himself, dashing sweat from his forehead. On seeing that they were at last nearing the top of the deceptively gradual slope, he'd sprinted ahead of the rest of the Walkers.

Upon raising his eyes he gasped, turned to face the way he'd come, and waved vigorously to his companions still toiling up the hillside. 'You've got to see this view!' he shouted. 'I think I can see halfway to Gondor!'

He received a brief wave from his Uncle Ferdi for his trouble. At his side, the Man was walking much more slowly than usual – not because he was weary, Farry thought, but more to accommodate the Hobbits' shorter stride, for all of the other Shire-folk were walking – trudging, rather, the teen thought rather critically – instead of trotting along at the Man's natural walking pace.

Pippin Gamgee came to the hilltop ahead of the rest, having forced himself into a stumbling run up the last stretch, flailing, his arms windmilling wildly towards the end as if to supply his legs with more power. He nearly bowled Farry over as he reached the top; as the other teen bent and grasped at his knees, gasping for breath, Farry saw him sway and grabbed at his arm to steady him. 'What're you about?' he asked, torn between irritation and concern. 'There's no call to run yourself to ribbons!'

Pip-lad lacked the breath to answer. Looking at his beet-red face and clouding eyes, Farry took a firmer grip and eased the staggering Gamgee lad to the ground. 'Steady, Pip,' he said, squeezing Pip-lad's arm and then releasing his grasp so he could work his friend's backpack free. He laid the pack aside and then bent over Pip, supporting him with a hand on his friend's shoulder. 'Just breathe!' he said. 'As deep as you can! Slow, steady breaths...' 

The young son of the Thain blinked at the memories that arose at his speaking the familiar litany from the past... seeing his father in one of his breathless fits and not knowing whether this would be the one that would take Farry's da forever away, all those fearful years before Pip-lad's father had returned from the Southlands with a wondrous cure for the Thain. All of Faramir's young life, it had been. Until about four years ago, the fear of losing his father had haunted him almost daily for as long as he could remember.

Even sitting, the Gamgee teen swayed. 'Dizzy,' he managed to get out between gasps.

Faramir pushed on his friend's back. 'Put your head between your knees,' he said. How he knew to say this, he did not know, but it was the first thing that came to mind. He kept pushing gently against Pip's shoulder as he watched his friend bend forward, his back rounding, stopping when the curls atop his head brushed the ground between his splayed legs.

Suddenly Haldoron was beside them, having leapt the last few steps with bounding strides of his long legs. 'What is it?' he said, bowing over the two teens.

'I don't know!' Farry almost shouted, frantic with worry. But in moving his hand from Pip's shoulder, Farry's fingers brushed an unexpected bump – a swelling that should not have been there, his brain told him, drawing his eyes to the spot. 'Here!' he said to the Man. 'Look at this!'

Haldoron looked, and drew his knife from its sheath. 'A sting of some kind,' the Ranger-guide said. He laid the edge of the knife against the back of Pip's neck and scraped it delicately along the swollen skin. 

'Hold still, Pip,' Farry said, watching closely. He certainly didn't want his friend to jerk his head up and into the Man's knife!

Suddenly, Haldoron exclaimed, 'There!' and lifted the knife away. 'Stinger,' he said, and looking closely, Faramir saw something like a tiny sack with a dangling needle attached.

Ferdibrand spoke from Faramir's other side; the young Took had been so focused on Pip and Haldoron, he hadn't noticed his uncle's arrival.

The Man had, however; addressing the older Hobbit, he said urgently, 'I saw rat's tail as we were climbing the slope...'

'Aye,' Ferdi acknowledged, and then he was gone.

'What can I do?' Robin said behind them.

'Wet a handkerchief from your water bottle,' Haldoron said. Soon, he applied the dripping folded square of cloth to the swelling on the back of Pip-lad's neck. 'It stings, I know,' he murmured to the teen. 'That's why they call it a stinger, I'd venture to guess.' He lifted the cloth away, turned it over, and gently applied it again. 'This should help the swelling, at least a little.'

Ferdi returned, clutching a handful of large plantain leaves. 'Your rat's tail,' he said.

Haldoron nodded, and taking one of the leaves the Hobbit held out to him, he stuffed it in his mouth and chewed. 'Poultice,' he said through the mouthful. Then he spat the chewed leaf into his palm, lifted the handkerchief away with his other hand, applied the green pulp to the swollen skin, and covered it once more with the handkerchief. 'We'll let that work,' he said, sitting back on his heels, though he kept his hand on the back of Pip's neck to hold the poultice in place.

Looking up, he said to Ferdi, 'I beg to differ.'

'What's that?' Ferdi said, his eyes on the stricken Gamgee teen.

'I've been called a "rat" before by one or another of the good burghers of Bree, but that does not mean I've ever had a "rat's tail" of my own...'

It took Ferdi a moment to catch the joke, and then he suddenly murmured your rat's tail and clapped his hand to his forehead. 'Lame,' he reproached as he lowered his hand again. 'As lame as the King's favourite warhorse...'

'I'd like to see you do better,' Haldoron said. While keeping one hand on the poultice, he used the other to ease Pippin all the way down to the grass. 'Here, lad,' he said. 'Lie on your side. Rest for now.' He asked for a blanket, and Robin hastily pulled his bedroll free of its straps and held it out to the Man.

'Ease it under his head to support his neck,' Haldoron said, 'and give me your water bottle.' 

As Robin lifted Pip's head and pushed the bedroll in place, Haldoron carefully lifted the handkerchief away and freshly wetted it before applying it over the plantain-leaf poultice again. 'Good,' the Man said. 'We're holding the swelling at bay. If it were an arm or a leg, instead of his neck...'

'Uncontrolled swelling could affect his breathing,' Ferdi said quietly to his nephews. 'But Hal seems to have the situation firmly under control.'

Hardly listening, the Man looked up from Pip-lad. As his eyes moved around the small circle of staring Hobbits, he said, 'Bee stings aren't that dangerous, at least they should not be in most cases. But I think the lad has not been drinking as he ought... Once we began to climb the long slope, he was pressing ahead, eager to reach the top. Part-way up, I should have called a halt to rest...'

Ferdi reached for the flask attached to Pip-lad's pack and shook it. 'Nearly full,' he confirmed.

'Very well, lad, we're going to sit you up and get you to drink,' Haldoron said, suiting word to action.

'I feel sick,' Pip-lad moaned.

'O' course you do,' Ferdi said, lifting the flask to the teen's lips. 'Small sips now... you're sick from the heat – as you were in the marshes – and you haven't been drinking. Take small sips, lest you bring it all up again and undo all the good that we're able to do.'

'We'll camp here this day,' Haldoron announced to the watching group.

Faramir jerked involuntarily. Though he said nothing, he was thinking, The day is only half-gone! Half a day of travel – wasted!

As if he could read his younger cousin's thoughts, Robin said quietly, 'So it was for them, as it were...'

'What's that?' Farry said irritably. Why did Pip-lad have to go and get himself stung by a bee?! He knew he was being unfair to his friend, but he couldn't seem to push down his resentment.

'Though the previous Walkers knew they had to get him to Rivendell as quickly as possible if he was to have a chance of surviving, Frodo's injury slowed them down. So in one sense, Pip's heat-sickness and sting are helping to make our journey more "authentic", wouldn't you think?'

Shame rose in Farry, infusing his cheeks with sudden colour. 'It's not a game,' he said low, speaking more to himself than Robin. 'It's not a contest, to see how much ground we can cover in how little time.' He looked up and met his cousin's steady gaze, and his eyes filled with tears. 'It's especially not make-believe, like small children playing out some story they've listened to...'

'Of course not,' Robin said quietly.

'I – I'm sorry,' Faramir said brokenly. 'It was all a lark... or so it felt, somehow – but I was wrong!'

'If your da had thought this was just a lark, he'd never have agreed to this venture,' Robin said.

Faramir bent his head to hide his tears. 'I'm sorry,' he whispered.

Robin clapped the teen on the shoulder and rose to his feet. Bending down again, he spoke softly. 'Tell that to Pip-lad once he's feeling better,' he said. 'It's him that you have wronged the most this day. He didn't ask the bee to sting him, nor was he thinking about drinking – though he should have – with you continually talking about getting to the top of the slope and taking in the view.'

Somehow Farry seemed to hear the words his cousin didn't say. If you are to lead the People someday, following your da as Thain, you must learn to consider their needs and make it your ambition to pursue their good, and not some phantom of your imagination...

'Aye,' he whispered to Robin... and to himself.

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