Awakenings

40. Awakenings

Pippin awakened to bright sunshine streaming through the round window of his room, previously one of the best guest rooms but assigned to him and made over when he'd come to work for the Steward of Buckland. Even before he opened his eyes to the light, he registered the too-familiar feeling of drowning in his bed.

Or was it still one of the best guest rooms, and he was only a guest, and he'd only dreamed of coming to work for Carodoc and the Brandybucks?  

He closed his eyes again and tried to think back to his last coherent memory, wondering how much he had dreamed and how much of the muddle in his head might represent reality. Perhaps it was not all that long since the ice storm, and he was still gripped in the clutches of the Old Gaffer's Friend. Perhaps he was fated to marry Estella Bolger instead of Diamond of Long Cleeve, and the dissolution of the marriage agreement and all the events that had followed had simply been the stuff of dreams, and nothing more. Feebly, he shook his head. If that was the case, he'd rather not wake up at all.

At his stir, a soft hand stroked his forehead and Diamond's voice said, 'Good morning, my love.' Startled, Pippin blinked and opened his eyes to focus on her face. He hadn't been aware of her here, by his side, until he'd heard her speak. Was she real? How he wished she would tell him how to sort the dream from the reality, but it took too much effort to breathe, much less speak.

'Do you think you could manage some tea?' another voice said, and he turned his eyes to see Lily Brandybuck on his other side. She got up from her chair to collect the little teakettle steaming on the bedroom hearth, poured some steaming water into a mug, then returned the teakettle to its hook. As Pippin watched, his eyes heavy-lidded, she stirred in honey and added some liquid from a flask. 'I know,' she said, 'you don't like honey.' She came closer and sat down beside him on the bed. 'But drink it anyhow. And take my word for it; the stuff is worse than vile. I put honey in it so you can concentrate on hating the honey.' He tried to smile, and she smiled in return and held the cup to his lips. He recognized the taste, one of Ossilan's bitter concoctions.

Diamond, sitting in the chair on the other side of the bed, holding Pippin's hand, laughed at the face he made. 'Drink, my love,' she urged. 'It's supposed to ease your breathing.'

He'd drink to that.

Diamond's other hand continued to stroke his forehead. Seeing the questions in his eyes, she said reassuringly, 'Socks is safe. Old Nob says his lungs are better than yours, and he ought to get over the smoke he breathed without any lasting trouble...'

He closed his eyes in relief. The fire had been real, not a dream. That must mean the handfasting had been real. 

The watchers mistook his concern, and Pippin heard Lily chuckle and mock-complain, 'He sets more store by that pony of his...'

'Aye,' Diamond returned. She smoothed his hair back from his forehead and laid a kiss there. 'Socks is the little brother he never had...'

Pippin opened his eyes again, willing his watchers – for it was obvious to him that they were his watchers, assigned to sit with him, that he might not be left alone, indicating serious concern on the healers' part – to tell him more. 

Diamond read the look. 'Merry was badly burned, mostly on his arms, and he took in some smoke, but the healer said he has a good chance of recovering.'

Recovering. That meant surviving, did it not? He hoped so, anyhow. But he didn't have the breath to ask for reassurance on that point.

Lily dipped a cloth in cool water, wrung it out, and gently wiped his face. It felt good, and he closed his eyes again at the soothing touch. He heard Diamond say something more, but her words were far away and he could make no sense of them. 

He slid into sleep again.

***

Saradoc stood in the yard with his Steward, surveying the steaming, blackened ruin that had been a fine stables filled with some of the best pony-flesh in the Shire.

'We can recover most of the rock, use it to rebuild,' Carodoc was saying.

'Do we know yet how many ponies were lost?'

'No, I'm afraid the rubble is still too hot to be digging through.'

'Hard to imagine,' and the Master shivered as the icy wind cut through his heavy cloak. 'Any idea how it started?'

'No,' Carodoc said with a shake of his head, 'and as things stand, we may never know. A careless guest with a pipe? A lantern left to burn? All the stable workers were at the feast.' He met the Master's sorrowful gaze and added, 'If your son hadn't gone out to say good night to his pony, we'd have lost all of them. Every beast in the stables, from prize stallion down to newest foal.' He took a deep breath of the smoke-smelling air and added thoughtfully, 'Good thing he kept his horn tied to the saddle pad. That quick alarm saved at least half the ponies that were in the building when the fire broke out.'

'How's Wingfoot?'

'That brand that fell across his rump will leave a scar, no doubt. Old Nob doesn't know yet if his wind's been spoilt by the smoke he breathed.' The Steward shook his head again. 'Only time will tell.'

Saradoc drew a deep breath and let it out on a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered next steps. 'Now all we have to do is to figure out where to keep the survivors, and what we're to feed them.'

'The healthiest ones have already been dispersed to Stock, Standelf and Newbury. We've even sent a few to Crickhollow, along with some stable lads who will be staying there to care for them. We've also kept a couple of the stable lads here just for running messages since there's no stable for them to work in at the moment. The other surviving ponies are salted away wherever we can manage. There's even some tucked up with the goats and cows...' The Steward chuckled, but it was far from a happy sound. '...and chickens.'

'I wonder what the chickens think of their new family members...' Saradoc murmured. The thought of ponies and chickens sheltering together might be comical if it weren't so tragic. 

The Master of Buckland clapped his Steward on the shoulder and said in dismissal, 'Well, carry on. I'm going to go see how my brother and his son are doing.'

Carodoc nodded soberly. From what he'd heard, the prospects for Merimac and his son Berilac did not sound promising.

The Master nodded grimly at Caradoc's unspoken thought. 'If you want me later, I'll be sitting with Meriadoc for a few hours – or as long as they'll allow me to, that is.'

***

Merimac was the worst off of the four rescuers who'd gone in after Merry and carried him out of the fire just before the whole building came down. The other three, his son and cousins, had youth to their benefit. Nevertheless, all four of them were gravely ill. Saradoc entered the room in the infirmary where one healer – at this moment old Ossilan, the Hall's head healer – watched over all four rescuers together. He hesitated just inside the room, exchanged glances with Ossilan, and then walked over to the bed where his brother lay.

He stood a long time looking into Merimac's face, then took up his brother's hand. 

Merimac opened his eyes, blinking as if seeing were difficult for him in his current condition.

Saradoc squeezed his brother's hand, and felt a feeble answering squeeze. 'Thank you,' he said simply. 

Merimac nodded, and closed his eyes again.

Saradoc looked up to the healer, raising his eyebrow in a silent query. 

'He's holding his own,' Ossilan said quietly.

The Master nodded and put Merimac's hand down again, smoothing the bedcovers over his brother before meeting Ossilan's keen glance once more.

There were so many more words he wanted to say, but all he could manage was, 'I'll be with Meriadoc, or in the study, if you need to find me.'

***

Unrelenting pain awoke Merry. He felt as if his arms were still afire, and there was a roaring in his ears as if he might still be trapped in the burning stables. Flames burned red behind his eyelids, and he tried to throw up his hands to ward off the burning boards falling in on him, the last sight he remembered...

But instead of the fire raining down on his head that he expected, he felt someone catch at his hands, while a gentle voice spoke soothingly, displacing the roaring of the flames.

'It's all right, beloved. Don't try to move.' He opened his eyes to see Estella smiling at him. 'Your father was here with you up until a few minutes ago, when we saw him start to nod off. We sent him off to his bed for a nap. I think he may even take one. In any event, I also sent a message to your mother so she can make sure he rests.'

Merry realised then that he was propped up in bed. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Breathing was difficult. So this is what Pippin had gone through... too many times.

Somehow, he managed to croak his cousin's name. 'Pippin?'

Estella's smile grew broader, and amusement sparkled in her eyes, which was somehow reassuring. She wasn't good at hiding her emotions, so the smile must be real.

As if she could read his thoughts, she winked at him. 'You want to know about my former beloved, do you?' she said, and her smile became pure mischief as she added, 'They've tied him to his bed! And you'll never in all the world believe it, but he says he's going to adopt it, for they're getting to be such friends, and he's planning to carry it about with him wherever he goes.'

'Heavy load for Socks,' Merry managed.

Estella laughed. 'That pony? According to Pippin, he can do nearly anything!'

But Merry found that laughing hurt too much, and seeing his grimace, Estella's face sobered again. 'Foot by foot, my beloved,' she whispered, and she leaned over to lay a slow tender kiss on his forehead.

Just as Estella straightened again, Primrose Brandybuck entered the room with a tray. 'Ah, so he's awake, then!' she smiled. 'Just in time for some lovely broth.'

Estella spread a serviette over his neck and chest, and then Primrose dipped the spoon in the bowl of broth and brought it to Merry's lips. 'Here's the Old Owl,' she said, smiling, though Merry could see her distress at his helpless state in her eyes. 'He's got a fat mouse clenched in his claws, and he's flying to his hole to feed his young ones...'

Merry obediently opened his mouth for the spoon, closed it again, and held the small amount of broth in his mouth for a long time. Instead of spooning up more broth, Primrose waited for him to swallow, and he saw a small frown of anxiety on her face that she couldn't quite suppress. 

Smiling would be too difficult with a mouthful of broth, so Merry commanded his throat to swallow. Almost surprisingly, it did. Equally surprising, he didn't go into a coughing fit immediately afterward. Although he wasn't sure he'd be able to get anything down his smoke-roughened throat, he found the broth surprisingly soothing. 

Smiling with relief, Primrose spooned more broth into him while Estella carefully held his less-damaged hand and whispered sweet nothings.

'You're doing so well!' Primrose said. 'And we haven't even had to call upon the Old Owl more than once to get this good broth into you! I don't know if I should be worried or relieved!'

When they'd coaxed half the bowlful into him, Estella squeezed his hand. 'Are you in much pain, beloved?' she asked.

Instead of trying to answer, Merry closed his eyes. Pain was not enough of a word to describe what he was feeling.

He heard Estella speak again. 'Ossilan left this for you. It'll help you to sleep. We're going to have to change the dressings; it would be better if you weren't with us then...'

He opened his eyes and shook his head at her.

Somehow, it was Primrose who understood. 'We doesn't include Estella, Merry. She was speaking like a healer about matters of healing. In this case, we means Ossilan and I. We'll escort your beloved from the room, shut the door to keep her out, and we healers will change the dressings.' She smiled at Estella, but her voice was firm as she added, 'You told your father that you don't want her to see your injuries, and we agree, at least not until they've healed a bit more...'

'Of all the ridiculous...' Estella said.

But Primrose silenced her. 'It's for Merry's sake.' Not yours.

Merry saw Estella swallow hard, and then she leaned over to kiss his forehead again in blessing. 'I won't leave you,' she said. 'I promise. I'll be right outside that door until they open it to me again.'

She reached over and picked up a glass of brandy. 'But let me do this little bit to help,' she said. 

Merry nodded and tried to smile.

Estella held the glass to his lips, and he sipped. 

Not soon enough, to his thinking, but soon it would be, or so Primrose murmured to him and to Estella, watching anxiously, that the powder Ossilan had added to the brandy would do its work.

Even with the general lack of air and difficulty breathing that Merry was experiencing, somehow he managed to sigh as he felt the pain start to fade. To his immense relief, the world dimmed and began to slip away. His last sight was Estella's face, poised above his, staring into his eyes as if she'd never look away again. The last sound he heard after his eyes drifted closed was her whispered, 'Dream well, my love. Dream of love, and light, and healing, and joy.' The last sensation he felt was the touch of her lips on his forehead. Smiling despite everything, he relaxed into sleep.

***