Chapter 7. Spending Time

A healer nudged the worker next to her, nodding quietly in the direction of the Halflings. They watched, and saw the jerk of the chin that told of the little storyteller's weariness. 'There,' the healer said softly.

'He spends himself recklessly in the care of his kinsmen,' the assistant said.

'Kirian, get a guardsman to help you set up another bed.' At the assistant's look of surprise, the healer said, 'The Lord Aragorn gave orders that he is to sleep in our care this night. He is not strong enough to go and watch with the other Perian, even though there is a bed there for him.'

The healer walked over to the small storyteller, who looked up and smiled. She crouched low by the bed to speak. 'I am Wyeth,' she reminded him, 'and I wanted to tell you how much we have enjoyed the stories, even though you do not tell them to us.'

'Hullo, Wyeth,' he said. 'I thank you for all the care you have taken of my cousin and his companion.'

'It is an honour to do so,' she answered. She touched his right hand and frowned. 'Are you chilled?' she asked. 'Your hand is like ice.'

'I'm fine,' the perian insisted. 'A little tired, perhaps.'

The healer smiled. As Lord Aragorn had said, the perian's "fine" differed considerably from a healer's.

'You are still healing from your own wounds,' she said gently. 'It is time now for you to take your rest. We will watch over your kinsmen.'

He nodded, and she divined a measure of his weariness from the lack of protest he offered. She steadied him as he arose, but he did not ask for aid for the short walk to the cot, nor did she offer it, though she was ready to catch him if need be. He thanked her, lay down on the bed, closed his eyes, and sighed.

'Master Perian?' she asked softly. He did not answer, and she rose to give quick orders. Soon he was warmly covered, with heated rocks tucked about him, especially on his right side, and a healer took up a chair next to his bed to keep watch through the night.

It was time to change the Ring-bearers' dressings, and then to force more nourishing fluids into them. Merry had watched the feeding process with distress throughout the afternoon, knowing it was necessary; even with the healers' reassurances that Frodo and Sam felt nothing, it looked uncomfortable at best, what with heads forced back to make their mouths gape like beached fish, and flexible leathern tubes eased down their gullets....

They had been able to spare him the dressing changes, at least. The Lord Aragorn had come once to persuade Merry to come away and take a meal, and some time later Gimli and Legolas had done the same. The healers took these times to change dressings, wash the healing wounds, to do all the things that healers take for granted but that cause friends and relations distress.

With the Halfling's steady voice stilled, the patients were restless, even in their healing sleep. The healers and their assistants spoke soft words of reassurance and made sure that the small, battered hands were once more joined when their ministrations were finished, but it was a relief when the Lord Aragorn came, bringing more of his wondrous athelas.

He held the steaming bowl before each face, including that of the little storyteller, and spoke soft words in a tongue the healers of Gondor did not know, but that the periain seemed to understand, for they calmed and slept peacefully again.

In the watches of the night, healers sometimes speak softly to each other; it is a good time for thoughtful conversation. Wyeth sat herself down on the ground next to Kirian, who was watching the little storyteller sleep.

'A strange folk, indeed,' she said softly. 'So like to us, yet so unlike.'

'What sort of person do you think he is?' Kirian said. 'You are always noticing hands... what do his hands tell you?'

'Their hands do not differ from ours save in size,' Wyeth mused. 'The Ring-bearer, now, with his slender fingers, his are the hands of a scholar, I think, or a musician. Such hands are made to hold a pen, or to coax a tune from flute or strings.'

'And his companion?'

'Hmmmm. I would say he works with his hands, as a carpenter, or... no, his hands remind me most of my grandfather. He was a gardener. Didn't someone say that little one is a gardener?'

'Yes, I heard the Lord Aragorn call him that. Even gardeners may wield a sword, he said, in times such as these. But what do you think of this one? Could he be a healer among his own people?'

Wyeth regarded the hands quietly. 'He has a generous heart,' she said, 'but his hands remind me more of the Lord Faramir's, or even the Lord Aragorn's. Hands that could heal, or hold a sword, or be turned to a number of uses. Perhaps he is also a prince among his people, like the small guardsman.'

'Perhaps.' Kirian smiled. 'It is certainly marvelous to think of them so. Just imagine me, lowly healer, rubbing elbows with princes from far lands.'

Wyeth chuckled, and Kirian rose to check on their other charges.

***

When Merry walked into Pippin's grove the next morning, he found his cousin unusually subdued. It was actually a relief to him, for he didn't have energy to spare in trying to argue the younger hobbit into staying in bed.

Halfway through the morning he discovered the reason for Pippin's unusual restraint. He'd been telling a story of Bilbo's when Pippin suddenly interrupted, reaching out to take his right hand. 'I wish everyone would stop doing that!' Merry said in annoyance. 'I think I'm going to take up wearing gloves!'

'How are you feeling, Merry?' Pippin asked.

'I'm fine!' he nearly shouted in frustration. He softened his tone at the sight of Pippin's face. 'Really, I'm fine, Pippin. Everybody is a lot more worried about me than I am, it seems.'

Pippin let the subject, and Merry's hand, go. 'Did you see Frodo and Sam today?' he asked suddenly.

'Yes,' Merry answered.

'How are they?'

'I'm told they're getting better. They are still asleep, of course.'

'No trouble keeping them in bed, then,' Pippin chuckled.

'No, indeed,' Merry answered, 'but you're doing pretty well today, yourself.'

'Aragorn said...' Pippin began, and then stopped, turning red to the tips of his ears.

'What did Aragorn say?' Merry asked. 'He filled your head with worries about me, I warrant.'

'I found you after that battle, you know,' Pippin said obliquely. 'I sat with you and watched you slipping away, and no matter what I said or how tightly I gripped your hand I couldn't stop it happening.'

Merry smiled and took his cousin's hand. 'I'm all right, Pippin,' he said reassuringly. He shook his head. 'With so many, Big People, and hobbit, elf, and dwarf looking after me it would be pretty hard to be otherwise.'

Pippin grinned. 'Good!' he said. '...but still, I'm not going to ask to get up today, because I promised Aragorn.' A mischievous smile lit his face. 'Just be sure and get a good night's sleep tonight, because I didn't promise anything about tomorrow!'