Chapter 5, On Your Feet

April 5

Inside the tent of Pippin and Merry there was very little light even though it was near to noon outside. The light inside their tent emitted from the small, glowing fire that kept the patient warm and the draft air out, and also from the vent above them used to aerate the excess heat and smoke created from the fire pit. The tent flap and windows had been closed and tied shut; Aragorn himself gave the order for no intrusions. The trust between Aragorn and the wizard was so intense that the future King left all matters in the hands of Gandalf for at least one hour, and all decisions would be rendered by him. If Gandalf felt an issue was imperative, then only he was given permission to interrupt Aragorn’s visit to the young hobbits.

In the dim light of the tent, not one eye was dry. Merry sat with Pippin on his bed; a pile of soiled handkerchiefs lay between them. Aragorn held a couple of soft, wadded cloths in his hands. Today was a start in getting the young hobbits to open up. Not much was said by either cousin; Aragorn felt the reason was probably because everything was still too near to memory--they were still a bit frightened to speak of the evils they had met in their path. In order to gain and build upon their trust, Aragorn spoke of his first forays into battle from his youth...how they had affected him. This seemed to help them to articulate a small chip in the boulder of their own harrowing experiences.

After a period of thoughtful quiet, Aragorn was the first to stir. He rose up from his seat, untying the cords that held fast the door flap. Rays of sunshine flooded inside chasing away the gloominess. “Are you ready, Pippin?”

Called out of his reverie, Pippin looked at Aragorn. “Ready for what?”

Aragorn smiled. “Ready to regain your footing?”

“Yes!” the lad fairly shouted his reply.

Merry took his place beside Pippin’s bed--he meant to be of assistance when it concerned his Pippin. “What can I do, Aragorn?” he asked.

“You are going to be Pippin’s walking stick, if you will,” said Aragorn, approaching the pair.

“Splendid!” Merry beamed at the prospect of such an important task.

“Scoot onto the edge of your mattress,” instructed the healer. “Help him, Merry.”

Not really having to be asked, Merry was already assisting his cousin’s efforts. “Easy, Pip.”

Pippin softly grunted or winced, but he gamely made it to the brim of his mattress.

“On, your feet, Soldier!” Aragorn commanded good-naturedly. “Slowly now, Pippin,” said Aragorn standing a pace away from the pair as Merry assisted Pippin to slide off the bed.

In his eagerness to stand up, Pippin slipped off his bed with little assistance. He stood only for a moment before his vision began to cloud over with blackness. He felt his legs grow weak.

At once, the healer saw Pippin’s eyes roll to the back of his head, his legs give way underneath. Quickly, Aragorn stepped forward to help Merry catch the falling tween and then lifted Pippin back onto the bed.

Pippin immediately began to stir, saying, “I’m all right! I just needed a moment is all.”

“Is he all right, Strider?” asked Merry.

“Yes, Merry, he is fine,” said Aragorn. “The blood rushed from his head, is all. It comes from being abed for such a long time. If your places were switched the same would have happened to you. I allowed you to rise from your bed much sooner in the Houses of Healing than with Pippin here.”

“Can we give it another go?” asked Pippin, rubbing his eyes.

“In a moment, Pippin,” Aragorn answered. After a short time of the lad catching his breath, the healer prompted his patient to the edge of the bed again. “Have a care this time, Pippin.”

Carefully, Pippin let his toes touch the ground...and then his heels. He closed his eyes, feeling the blood drain from his head again, but it wasn’t nearly as severe as the first time. He took a deep breath before opening his eyes. He looked to Merry with bright, green eyes, “I’m standing, Merry!”

Merry became tearful at seeing his younger cousin, his best friend, back on his feet. Little more than a week ago, Pippin’s life hung in the balance. He looked up at the tall Man, grateful of his healing hands. “Thank you, Strider.”

“Yes,” said Pippin, leaning heavily on Merry, “thank you!”

Aragorn returned their gratitude with a smile. “You are most welcome,” he said. “Now that you’re on your feet, Pippin, I want you to try to walk to the end of your bed.”

With Merry’s support and with little steps, Pippin gradually met with the foot board of his bed. He was out of breath, forehead glistening with perspiration, and his ribs started to give him grief for his efforts. By the time Merry got him turned round and headed back toward his pillows, Pippin was walking a little bent, hands grasping at his sides. When he reached his goal, Aragorn, once again, gently lifted the tween onto his bed.

“Well done!” Aragorn was delighted with his patient’s progress. “You are well on your way to recovery, my dear hobbit. We will do this again later in the afternoon. However,” he continued in a serious tone, “you are not to rise from your bed without Merry by your side nor are you to leave this tent. You are still very weak in your legs and your ribs. I do not want you to overexert yourself so soon.”

Pippin lay upon his bed panting for air, wiping his brow. “Can I get out of bed to use the convenience now?” Now that Pippin had his feet back, lying in bed seemed extremely tedious.  Pippin was rearing to go--regardless of sore ribs.

“With Merry’s help, you may, but I would caution you against exhausting yourself. Remember, there is more exercise for you later.” He smiled, “Little by little, we will have you ready for a special feast that will take place very soon.”

Pippin and Merry had heard snippets of the plans and were excited about it all. “I wish Frodo was awake now,” he said. “Then we could have our feast, yes, but mostly...I will feel better when he is awake. I want to hear his voice--to listen to his tale apart from the Fellowship from beginning to end.”

“Frodo does have a tale, indeed,” Aragorn said in reply. “I must attend an important gathering to plan a bit more for that feast, so I shall take my leave of you both. Before I do, however, I want to give something to each of you. Merry’s gift I have with me, but Pippin, I’ll send in your gift once I have met with him.”

Both Pippin and Merry exchanged surprised looks.

Aragorn reached into his pack, then brought out a leather-bound tablet and a lead-stick. “For you, Merry. I thought it would suffice until we return to the City where there are a few art shops.”

The young hobbit gaped in wonder at the gifts his healer had bestowed upon him. “Thank you, Strider!” Merry opened it up, leafing through the empty pages all ready to be filled in with his expressive sketches.

“It belonged to the official Scribe of the army,” said Aragorn. “Fortunately, he brought more than he needed. I was able to convince him that this one was needed elsewhere.”

“The Gondorian army has a Recorder?” asked Pippin. “I didn’t know that.”

Aragorn answered, “He is a soldier firstly, a scribe secondary.”

“Well, I’ll put this extra tablet to good use,” said Merry, placing the tablet on the table.

Satisfied that the morning had gone well, Aragorn started for the door. “I will send your gift in shortly, Pippin.”

* * *

Merry sat at the table busy as a Shire bee outlining a new drawing -- something to reflect his good humour. This sketch was going to be a portrait of Bilbo sitting in the Hall of Fire at Rivendell. A slight rustle of the door flap indicated someone had entered his and Pippin’s tent. He looked up and smiled. “Hullo!”

“Greetings,” said Legolas, trailing behind him was Gimli.

“Good afternoon, lads,” said Gimli as he pushed aside the flap.

Pippin sat upon his bed with his legs dangling over the side. “Hullo, Legolas...Gimli.” From his hand he let loose a smooth round object, letting it fall toward the ground...and there it stayed at the end of its string. The tween grunted in frustration.

Legolas laughed, “A *kelicam!”

“Commonly called a *quiz by the Dwarves who make them,” Gimli chimed in.

“Frodo gave me one for his birthday when he came of age,” said Pippin, “but we never had a real name for them. Not many hobbit-lads had one. I wonder what I’m doing wrong...?”

“May I?” Legolas inquired, taking the offered toy. “There are Elf children who might play with one, but kelicams do not hold their amusement for very long.”

Pippin watched with fascination as the Elf took hold of the string by the finger-loop and then spun the toy rigorously on its extended string. “What are you doing?” he asked, taking the ball-and-cup out of his box of toys. More than anything, the ball-and-cup was more to give his fidgety hands something to do.

“The string is not coiled enough,” answered Legolas, eyes on the spinning toy. “A taught cord helps it to spring back more swiftly.”

Gimli took in the comical sight of Pippin and his array of handcrafted toys. “Do the other soldiers take you for a child, Pippin?”

Merry laid aside his charcoal to join in the fun. “Wouldn’t you? Just look at him!”

“They’re gifts, Merry!” Pippin said in mock offence. “What am I supposed to do--let them sit and collect dust?” His remark garnered laughter from the others.

“Good afternoon, my lords,” said a strange voice.

The laughter ceased and all eyes were upon the lone figure standing inside the entry. He stood tall with fair hair, wearing colourful raiment and bearing objects covered in leather. He appeared to be around the same age as Faramir. Merry got up from his seat to stand protectively beside his young cousin. Who was this Man? Merry did not remember seeing him before now.

The man grew nervous at the open stares. “I believe knocking upon sturdy cloth does not aid a man to gain entry as a guest,” he spoke timidly.

“Pray tell, who are you?” asked Legolas in an even tone. He returned the toy to Pippin.

The Man bowed low to them. “My name is Celeblin, son of Malbrindor, at your service.” Still a bit nervous he added, “I am--was--a minstrel of Lord Denethor’s court. Lord Aragorn sent me to speak with the Perian...Pippin, son of...” Celeblin trailed off, unsure of how to address the halfling.

Pippin grinned, understanding the minstrel must be Aragorn’s delayed gift from earlier. “Paladin,” he said, supplying the information. “I am Paladin’s son, but we hobbits have surnames that we go by. My name is Peregrin Took, but I am generally called Pippin. This is my cousin, Merry Brandybuck. Beside him is Legolas, son of Thranduil, and standing by the table is Gimli, son of Gloín. Why did Stri--er, Lord Aragorn send you here?”

“Hobbits, you say?” he said thoughtfully. “Lord Aragorn mentioned that you are an accomplished musician and requested I lend you one of my instruments for a time--to aid in your healing, he said. As opposed to mere lending, I offer Ernil i Pheriannath any one of my humble instruments as a gift!”

Merry snorted a laugh when he heard the title bestowed upon the tween by the unwary citizens of Minas Tirith. Gimli rolled his eyes, Legolas smiled.

Celeblin uncovered his finely handcrafted violin, lute, and harp. “Please, Master Pippin, tell me which of these you will have.”

Pippin gazed wide-eyed at their beautifully polished wood. “I...I don’t know what to say,” he said.

Celeblin smiled, “Say that you will take one!”

Pippin couldn’t help but grin with delight. “Well, if Lord Aragorn says that I may do so, then I will. Until then, I shall be happy to keep one for a time--as he requested.” Pippin immediately laid aside the cup-and-ball he held in his hand and then chose the violin. Placing the bow to the strings, Pippin tried a few notes only for his ribs to protest the wide, angular movement from his arm. His second choice was the lute. Here, Pippin found his arms could relax a bit while making sweet music.

For a while, as he played a folk song native to the Shire, Pippin’s mind flew up and away from Ithilien, away from all of the horrid memories of fearing and battling dark nightmares. Soaring high above snow-capped mountain peaks he sailed northward...toward home.

*A/N: After conducting research on the yo-yo -- which has been around for eons, I discovered that the name “yo-yo” is actually a word in Tagalog (Philippines) meaning, “come back”. Historically, “Britons” called it a quiz (among others). I did the best I could in researching what I thought the Elves might have called it. I welcome suggestions! :-)