SHELTER - Chapter 1

Pippin remembered a loud clap of thunder, and the trees bending in a sudden, cold wind. Strider had hurried into the pavilion and urged him to drink some of that bitter stuff, then... He opened his eyes with an effort, feeling slightly dizzy. Above him was a roof hewn of freshly-cut wood. There was a murmur of many voices, and Gimli’s beard…

“Easy lad,” Gimli said quietly. “Take your time waking, no need to hurry.” They had discovered that Pippin was extremely sensitive to the sleep draught; a diluted amount affected him as a strong sedative would for a Man, and he was usually a bit disoriented when it wore off.

“I’m... awake,” Pippin said groggily. “Is it still today?”

“Aye.” Gimli very gently slid a hand beneath Pippin’s shoulders, and lifted him slightly. Sliding a cloth-stuffed bag behind the young hobbit to support him, he helped him sit up a bit. Pippin realized that he was in a shelter with dozens of soldiers, many of whom seemed to be wounded – and all of whom were smiling at him. He smiled back, which made the Men beam with delight.  The entrance to the shelter was a bustle of activity, as fresh blankets and cots were carried in.

“More supplies have arrived, haven’t they?” Pippin asked.

“Indeed, a caravan arrived from the River less than an hour ago.”

Pippin gazed anxiously at Frodo and Sam, lying next to him. Both hobbits were warmly wrapped, and slept peacefully.

“They heal, as you do,” Gimli assured him. “They are being well looked after. Indeed, such constant fuss and attention would embarrass them both, I suspect!”

“They deserve it,” Pippin said firmly. He took a deep breath as the dizziness passed. “That’s better. Is the storm over?”

“For now,” Gimli said. “You’ve slept nearly the entire day. Has the rest eased you?”

Pippin nodded. He rubbed his right arm, which was in a sling. Looking around at the injured Men, he counted himself fortunate to have come out from under that troll with only cracked ribs, a dislocated shoulder, concussion, and severe bruising over the whole right side of his body.

“It’s been a whole week,” Pippin fretted, impatient to be up and about. “In another few days I’ll be able to do for myself, and help out a little.”

“You may run about camp when Aragorn says it is time, and not before,” Gimli reminded Pippin. He handed the young hobbit a cup. “Start with that, and I’ll bring you a plate of that meat you smell roasting. Legolas and his hunters have brought back enough game to feed everyone in camp – perhaps even enough to fill the belly of a hobbit.”

“Thank you; but how did you know I was waking up?” Pippin asked curiously. “This milk is cold; someone must have just fetched it."  He knew they kept the milk and other perishable foods in the stream that flowed past the camp.

“That is no mystery,” Gimli chuckled. “When a hobbit’s nose begins to twitch at the smell of food cooking, I know enough to suspect he is waking, and will be asking for his supper.”

Pippin dutifully sipped. Aragorn and Gandalf had urged him to drink all the milk he could hold – they said it would assist his bones in mending. The first boatload of supplies had included goats for the milking, as well as egg-laying chickens. Suddenly he wondered if his friends had been saving all the milk for him, and denying the Men. He looked quickly around the shelter to see if anyone else had any.

“Drink up, lad,” Gimli said softly. “There is no lack.”

“How do you always know what I’m thinking?” Pippin asked.

Gimli chuckled. “Peregrin Took, I doubt there is a person in all of Middle-earth who could claim to know everything you are thinking!”

“Except for me,” came a quiet voice from the entrance.

“Merry!”

“Did I forget to mention what else that caravan brought to camp?” Gimli chuckled, getting to his feet. “I will return shortly with supper for you both.”

** TBC **