Title: How the Wind Howls
Author: Melilot Hill
Summary: After being defeated by Caradhras the Fellowship runs into more trouble. There are wolf-voices in the air and Pippin wanders too far from the camp when looking for firewood.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters and settings belong to J.R.R. Tolkien
Note 1: This story was first published in small parts in my lifejournal
Note 2:  I want to thank Anso the Hobbit, Auntiemeesh, Birch Tree, Dreamflower, Elanor1013, Grey Wonderer, Mysterious Jedi, Olivia Ramirez, Pippinheart, Pipwise, Rabidsamfan and Shirebound for their suggestions, corrections and support when I was struggling with this story. :-D

How the Wind Howls

Chapter 1; The Wind Has Many Faces

As a lad, Peregrin Took had always loved to sleep with the window slightly open. He liked how a sudden gust of wind would make the curtains billow and how he could feel the wind touch his face; the gentle caress of a warm summer breeze or the cold touch of winter air.

Sometimes, a storm would suddenly rise up, strange sounds could be heard from outside. Awakened by these sounds, Pippin often felt a little scared when he couldn’t immediately recognise the sounds for what they were; a creaking branch, a falling bucket. But he never felt so scared that he had to get up to block out nightly terrors.

But now the wind wasn’t a gentle caress or even a cold touch. No, the wind was slapping his face, biting into his very skin. And the sounds he heard were recognisable, but that certainly didn’t make Peregrin less afraid. On the contrary, they made him feel very small and very scared.

Strider, Gandalf and Boromir were discussing what course to take next. Pippin tried to listen to their conversation, but it was very hard. The only thing he was really hearing were the sounds the wind was carrying and Strider’s frightened cry from moments before. “How the wind howls! It’s howling with wolf-voices.”

Pippin was torn away from his thoughts when he felt something touch his shoulder. He jumped to his feet and, almost automatically, reached for his sword.

“It’s just me, Mr. Pippin,” Sam said softly, laying a calming hand on Pippin’s, which was still on the hilt of his sword.

Peregrin slowly lifted up his head, giving Sam a wan smile, the fright and misery apparent in his eyes.

While following the other members of the Fellowship to the top of a hill, which Pippin understood would be the best place to defend themselves, he heard the howls of the Wargs getting louder. Pippin was so fixed on the sounds the wind was carrying that he didn’t hear Gandalf’s repeated request for firewood. Only when Frodo shook him lightly was he able to once again focus on the here and now.

He quickly scrambled down the hill again, not wanting to be alone any longer than was necessary. In his haste he tripped over a stone and scraped his knee. Biting back any noise that might escape his lips, he stood up again and resumed his task. Now was not the time to lose his head.

There was more than enough dead wood to be found, so very soon Pippin had almost more than he could carry. He was relieved that he wasn’t paralysed with fear anymore, like he had been moments before. The fact that they were working on their defence had a calming effect on Pippin. But still, he wanted to be close to the others as soon as possible.
On his way back up the hill he saw another suitable branch and he stooped to pick it up. At that moment he heard some twigs snap. Pippin hadn’t heard any footsteps, so he knew it couldn’t be one of the big folk.

“Merry?” he called out tentatively. “Frodo? Sam?”

But no answer came. Yet Pippin was sure he’d heard something. He very slowly lifted his head and looked directly into a pair of very vicious eyes.

Pippin stared back. It was too dark to see to what animal the eyes belonged to. Besides, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. He dropped the wood and filled his lungs, ready to call out for help.

He quickly closed his mouth again when he saw that the eyes had come closer, in spite of the racket the falling wood had made. Most wild animals in the Shire would have retreated under these circumstances. Pippin frantically looked around, trying to locate the others, but no one was close enough to help him out of his predicament.

Peregrin bit his lip. It looked like he had to handle this situation on his own.

He took a small step back, to which the animal reacted by taking several strides forward. At least now it was close enough for Peregrin to determine what kind of animal it was. He swallowed hard when he realised he was facing an enormous wolf. Or could this be one of the Wargs they were trying to protect themselves against? But no, Strider had said those beasts were still at least an hour away. But what if it was some sort of scout? Could there be such a thing as Warg scouts? And if so, would it kill him outright or would it only report back to the others?

A nervous giggle escaped Pippin’s lips when he heard his mother’s voice in his head, saying: “Peregrin, you’re rambling again, dear”.

“I know,” he said softly to himself while unsheathing his sword. “But I’m so scared. I don’t know what to do and I doubt if I’m brave enough.”

But Peregrin knew he had no choice, that it was all up to him. There was no one around to guide him or protect him. And what if the wolf would harm one of the others? However, he found out what to do very soon. The waxing moon shimmered on his sword and had somehow alerted the wolf.

The enormous beast leapt towards him, its sharp, white teeth exposed. Pippin resolutely gripped his sword with both hands, but the wolf was faster. The sharp teeth sank in Pippin’s left arm. Without further thought he thrust his sword into the wolf’s body.

He felt that his legs could no longer support him and he fell hard on the ground, the wolf falling partially on top of him. He felt its warm blood soak his clothes.

Now there was no longer any more need for bravery or silence, he began to sob uncontrollably.

*~*~*~*~*

“Where’s Pippin?” Frodo asked worriedly when he saw Boromir approach with an armload of firewood. “Everybody is back except Pip.”

“Well he was mightily distraught,” Sam added. “It looked like his mind was somewhere else, if you know what I mean.”

Sam had barely finished his sentence when an equally worried Merry joined them. “What if he’s lost or hurt? It’s dark and he’s all alone. We have to search for him!”

“I agree,” Gandalf put in. “But please try to stay calm. It will do none of us any good if you just start off in random directions. Something or someone might be out there.”

“How can you expect us to stay calm? Pippin might be in danger!” Merry said incredulously.

Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas and Gimli would search for Pippin, while Gandalf, Frodo, Merry and Sam would stay on the top of the hill. The three hobbits had agreed to this, albeit reluctantly. Merry especially wasn’t at all pleased with these arrangements. He argued that the searching would go much quicker if they all helped and only one of them stayed in case Pippin came back on his own.

But Gandalf didn’t relent, he didn’t want to jeopardise the hobbits' safety. In fact, he had the suspicion that the Wargs were very close. He hadn’t mentioned this to the hobbits, however. He didn’t want them to worry about Pippin even more than they already did as long as he wasn’t completely sure about this.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Pippin tried to get up from under the wolf, but the beast was too heavy. He couldn’t even move it an inch. Breathing heavily he gave up his fruitless attempts, cradling his injured arm against his chest. He didn’t dare call out for help, afraid that he would alert foes instead of friends.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gimli walked heavily down the hill, muttering something under his breath about hobbits and troubles. When he reached the bottom his eyes, used to darkness better then any of his companions, spotted something that didn’t seem quite right. He started to run, his heavy mail alerting the others of his movement.

Chapter 2; The Wind Picks Up

Pippin felt the wolf move a bit and heard it make a low growling noise. He frantically felt around for his sword, but he wasn’t able to locate it. However, he did find one of the branches he had collected earlier. Hoping it was sturdy enough, he lifted the branch and awkwardly let it land on the wolf’s head.

Gimli rushed to Pippin’s side, but the hobbit had taken care of the situation very well by himself; the wolf wasn’t moving anymore.

“Do you think I killed it?” Pippin asked in a small voice.

I don’t feel his heartbeat, so I think you did,” Gimli answered while he was lifting the heavy body from Pippin’s legs. “Is that your blood or the wolf’s on your clothes?” he continued, sounding worried.

“Most of it is from the wolf,” Pippin said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve,” but I am bitten in my arm."

The arm was inspected by Gimli. The wolf’s teeth had made deep wounds into Peregrin’s arm, tearing the flesh as the beast fell wounded to the ground.

“That looks nasty, we’d better go back and have that wound dressed,” he commented.

“Gimli? Do you know whether this animal is one of those Wargs or just a regular wolf? It looks so big.”

“It’s a Warg.”

Both Pippin and Gimli started when they heard the reply. Neither had heard Aragorn approach.

“How can you tell?” Gimli asked.

“They are larger than ordinary wolves for one thing,” Aragorn explained. “And they are also more intelligent.”

“You can’t say that about this creature,” Gimli harrumphed. “It got itself killed.” If his companions had been more attentive, they could’ve seen a rare smile behind the dwarf’s big bushy beard.

Aragorn had gone to Pippin in the meantime and was looking at his arm. “These wounds look nasty. They might need suturing, but I won’t know until I had a closer look, near the fire.”

Pippin swallowed at that, but decided that he could be brave a little longer. He tried to stand up, but it made him quite dizzy and he sat down again.

“You must take it very slowly,” Aragorn advised, helping him up again. “Do you think you can walk? If not, I can carry you.”

Pippin didn’t really know if he could walk the whole way back up the hill, to be honest, but he didn’t want to tell that to Strider. He still felt he had to prove himself. “I think I can manage, Strider,” he said out loud. But after several wobbly steps he had to admit defeat.

*~*~*~*~*

Merry sprang to his feet when he saw a figure approaching the fire. “Boromir, is that you? Did you find Pippin?”

“No, I did not, and I am getting worried.”

“No need for that,” Legolas added, joining the others. “I just saw Aragorn and Gimli walking in this direction and Peregrin is with them.”

Legolas listened to the various sighs of relief with mixed feelings. He had seen that Aragorn was carrying Pippin, but whether the hobbit was seriously wounded or just badly shaken he did not know. Should he tell his companions Pippin might be hurt, so they would be prepared for the sight that would soon greet them or should he keep silent and spare the hobbits unnecessary anxiety?

“There is one thing you must know,” Legolas said, having made up his mind. “Pippin is being carried by Aragorn, but that does not necessarily means he is hurt.”

He regretted his decision almost as soon as he finished speaking, when he saw the dread on the hobbits’ faces.

None of the hobbits said a word. Instead they were staring aghast at Legolas. I didn’t take long though, before Merry stood up, followed by Frodo and Sam. He all but ran towards Legolas and would’ve proceeded down the hill if Legolas hadn’t stopped him.

“You had best stay here,” he gently told Merry. “As long as we don’t know what happened, we should remain where we can defend ourselves if need be.”

Merry thought about pushing the matter, but knew better. “All right, Legolas,” he said resigned. “It’s just that I need to be with Pippin if he’s hurt.”

Frodo had walked over to Legolas too and gently lay his hand on Merry’s arm. “Look, there they come! It seems our dear cousin is at least conscious, I think he’s nattering Aragorn’s ears right off his head.”

Pippin was indeed talking a mile a minute. He was describing to Aragorn and Gimli where he had found the best wood, alternated with snippets of previous, more friendly, encounters he had had with various wild animals, anything that would prevent him from thinking too much about what just happened.

But it wasn’t helping any. Pippin had already been trembling slightly when Aragorn had picked him up, but now he was shaking violently and uncontrollably. He killed an animal! Granted, he had helped slaughter animals before, but somehow it felt different. His clothes were soaked with the Warg’s blood and he still could feel its heavy weight on his legs and could still hear the pain-filled growls that came from the Warg’s throat when it came round.

But the worst thing was that this horrible night was far from over. Pippin was reminded by the howls that were brought to him by the wind that there were more Wargs to come. A lot more, judging by what he heard. He firmly pressed his fist to his mouth, trying not to scream. What if they couldn’t defend themselves? What…

“Pippin,” Aragorn said softly, “It is all right to feel afraid and upset about what has happened. There is no reason to pretend that you are fine. You are among friends.”

Pippin looked into Aragorn’s gentle eyes, as if he could see there that it was really all right to give into his feelings of dread and grief. He felt the tears well up in his eyes again. Pippin blinked and bit down hard on his fist, but he wasn’t able to prevent his tears from falling.

“Oh Strider!” Pippin said amidst his shuddering sobs. “I was so scared. I still am. How can we ever protect ourselves against those Wargs?”

“Don’t forget, Pippin,” Aragorn reassured, “that we have several warriors amongst us and not to mention a wizard!”

If he hadn’t felt so wretched, Pippin would have smiled at that. The fact that he didn’t worried Aragorn mightily.

“Look,” he told Pippin, “we’re very close to our companions now. Soon your cousins can comfort you.”

“Pippin glanced into the direction of the hill. He saw his cousins and the others outlined by the bright fire. After just a few moments he turned his head and hid his face in Aragorn’s jacket. He didn’t want the others to see him crying. He knew he was being silly because they would find out soon enough, but he felt embarrassed all the same.

“Pippin?’ Merry asked urgently, when Aragorn and Gimli reached the top of the hill. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Pip answered, his voice thick with tears and muffled by Aragorn’s clothes.

“No you’re not!” Frodo stated matter-of-factly. “Now if you let go of Strider’s coat we can have a better look at you.”

“I can’t,” Pippin sobbed.

“Why not?”

“Then everybody will know I’m crying.”

“We already know, you silly Took,” Frodo gently teased. “Besides, there’s no need to feel ashamed. I think you went through a great ordeal.”

Sam, ever practical, had unrolled Pippin’s bedroll in the meantime, so Aragorn could lay him down.

Merry and Frodo sat down on either side of Pippin. Frodo softly stroked his young cousin’s hair. Merry stared at Pippin open mouthed.

“Pip. what happened to your arm?” He all but shouted when he regained his voice.

When Merry mentioned his wound Pippin sat up and looked at it for the first time. He expected the worst. After all, Strider had mentioned sutures. There was a dark stain on his jacket-sleeve where the Warg had so violently planted its teeth.

“And your legs!” Merry interrupted his thought. “Your breeches are soaked with blood too!”

Pippin’s gaze shifted from his arm to his legs. There was indeed a lot of blood there. But none of it was his, it all belonged to the Warg he had had to kill. It was the first time he really had to use his sword. His sword. Where was it? He frantically looked around for it.

When he felt Frodo’s hands grip his face and turn his head so he could look nowhere else than into his cousin’s worried eyes he realised he hadn’t been paying much attention to his surroundings.

“Pip, are you all right?” Frodo asked, the worry Pippin had seen in his eyes was also to be heard in his voice.

Pippin thought about saying yes for the briefest of moments, but he realised nobody was going to believe that. He opened his mouth to answer truthfully, but no sounds came out. In the end he just shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes once more. Feeling completely lost he laid his head on Frodo’s shoulder.

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.

Chapter 4; Weathering the Storm

“Peregrin,” Aragorn said softly , shaking the lad’s shoulder gently, “it is over now. I am finished.”

“Did I pass out then?” Pippin whispered. “I tried not to. Honestly. I tried very hard.” Pippin felt the tears well up in his eyes again and angrily wiped them away. He had more than enough of those blasted tears. What would the others think of him? Surely they were regretting allowing him on this Quest?

“Passing out is not a bad thing,” Aragorn tried to comfort Pippin. “It is your body’s way of coping.” But he could see his patient wouldn’t be so easily convinced.

“May I have some water, Strider?” Pippin asked, trying to steer the conversation in a direction he was more comfortable with.

“Of course you may,” Aragorn smiled, knowing full well what the hobbit was up to. “I shall bring you a cup. Why don’t you let Merry help you sit up?”

“Merry?” Pippin queried, “I didn’t realise you were still here.”

“Of course I’m here, Pip,” Merry answered, trying to swallow the immense lump that had settled in his throat. “Where else would I be?”

Merry helped Pippin sit up so he could drink his water and settle down somewhat. Aragorn kneeled in front of him.

“Listen, Pippin,” he said solemnly, too solemnly for Pippin’s comfort, “can you stand up for a moment?” At the hobbit’s questioning look he continued, “I need to make sure you will be able to defend yourself.”

Pippin carefully stood up and when that went fairly well, he drew his sword with a flourish. But that was a mistake. He swayed and Aragorn could barely catch him before he fell.

“I think it is best that you keep your sword unsheathed and ready at your feet,” Aragorn advised, “because this clearly won’t do.”

Pippin gave him a sheepish grin and carefully sat down again. Now his head was a little clearer, he started to look around a bit and saw that all his companions were staring at him. Peregrin felt a blush creep on his cheeks and he shyly looked down.

“Why don’t you try to sleep a little?” Aragorn suggested, lightly putting a hand on his shoulder before walking away and taking his place in the circle the fellowship had formed around the fire.

Pippin, who was excused from being on guard this night, tried to comply, because truth be told, he was too tired to stay awake. But at the same time he was too scared to fall asleep, which resulted in an uneasy dozing.

The howling came from all around now, sometimes close and sometimes further away. Oft-time Peregrin woke up from his dozing and scanned his surroundings, expecting to see large numbers of Wargs advance. After he made sure there wasn’t a thing to see, he fell back into his restless slumber.

*~*~*~*~*

Pippin must have fallen into a deeper sleep after all, because he suddenly woke up with the feeling of being watched. There were many shining eyes looking at the fellowship from the dark. One large wolf came really close and stood gazing at them. Suddenly a howl broke from him. Pippin shuddered. It was as if the wolf were a captain summoning his pack to assault. He tried to stand up, to defend himself. But he was caught in the blanket he wrapped around him. And with only one arm, it was difficult to free himself from this trap.

“Listen, Hound of Sauron!” Pippin heard Gandalf cry, “Gandalf is here. Fly, if you value your foul skin! I will shrivel you from tail to snout, if you come within this ring.”

Pippin listened with open mouth. He had never seen Gandalf like this before. It was most impressive! Unfortunately, the Warg didn’t seem to think so; it sprang forward with a great leap. At the same time Peregrin heard a sharp twang, followed by a hideous yell: Legolas’ arrow had pierced the great wolf’s throat.

Gandalf and Aragorn strode forward, but their hill was deserted; all the watching eyes had gone.

Pippin finally managed to struggle out of his blanket. He wouldn’t use it any more this night. True, the wolves had fled, but he didn’t dare hope they were gone for good.

Real sleep wouldn’t come again for Peregrin, not even a restless slumber. The pain in his arm seemed to slowly spread through his whole body, until everything was aching. He tried to take his mind off the pain, convinced that it would lessen that way, but there was nothing else to concentrate on, really. One could only study the waning moon for so long. Besides, there was this zooming sound in his head, like all the midges of the Midgewater Marshes had decided to settle themselves there.

Pippin groaned. He was cold, but he didn’t dare wrap his blanket around him anymore. He probably wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. On his left he saw Frodo sleeping. How his cousin could sleep in that position was beyond him, but exhaustion could do strange things with you, Pippin decided.

On his right, Sam was nodding. He didn’t seem to be in such a deep sleep as Frodo was, but at least he wasn’t awake, Pippin thought wistfully. Next to Sam sat Merry, but it was hard to make out his features in the little light the fire was providing.

Suddenly Pippin’s mind was completely clear. Dim firelight! That couldn’t be good, they needed the fire for protection. He was about to mention this to whoever was on guard, but a storm of howls, from all around their little camp, made that unnecessary. It seemed it was too late.

“Fling fuel on the fire!” cried Gandalf to the hobbits. “Draw your blades, and stand back to back!”

Pippin picked his sword from the ground, remembered he could only use one hand, put his sword down again and started to make his way to the pile of firewood.

“Now, mister Pippin,” Sam stopped him. “Let us take care of that. You can’t do everything with just that one arm.”

Pippin tarried for a bit, indecisive, and then picked up his sword again. The bending made him quite dizzy, but he wouldn’t tell anybody that. They had worried about him enough! The fire blazed once more and showed many grey shapes, springing over the ring of stones. Peregrin felt another body press against his back. He didn’t have time to look who it was, but he was almost sure it was Sam, who had seemed intend on making him less nervous many times already.

Pippin heard swords being wielded, wolfs yelp and Legolas’ bow twang. Some of the Wargs were coming directly his way. Peregrin felt his body tremble. But he could do this, he had done it before and he could do it again. With that thought he trust his sword in a wolf’s belly before it could do any harm.

Even more Wargs were coming. Pippin was wondering how long they would be able to stand up to them, when Gandalf suddenly seemed to grow! Pippin watched, his mouth agape, how Gandalf rose up, picked up a burning branch and strode to meet the wolves. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The Wargs gave back before him and with some kind of spell he set the tree tops aflame. One of Legolas arrows pierced the throat of a great big wolf, the a captain, Pippin thought, and all the others fled.

“What did I tell you, Mr. Pippin?” said Sam, sheathing his sword. “Wolves won’t get him. That was an eye-opener, and no mistake! Nearly singed the hair off my head!”

Aragorn came over to where the hobbits were standing. “How are you doing, Pippin? How is your arm?”

“I’m all right, Strider,” Pippin answered. “A bit dizzy and my arm hurts, but that’s all.”

Aragorn took Pippin’s arm in his hand, to examine it. “You’re trembling!” he observed. “That might be caused by the blood you lost.”

“I think it’s just fear,” Pippin whispered, feeling small.

Aragorn picked up Pippin’s blanket and wrapped it around him and bent down. “You are made of sterner stuff than you look to be, Pippin,” he whispered.

“Truly, Strider?” Pippin asked, his face aglow.

“Yes,” Aragorn laughed. “Truly. And now you should lie down and try to sleep a bit before first light is hear. There won’t be much opportunities to rest tomorrow.”

Pippin complied and fell asleep immediately with a radiant smile still on his face.

THE END