Ariel

Chapter 7: Ariel

Aragorn drew the table closer to the bed that held his small patient.

Pippin's last movement, after they'd purged his stomach again and settled him onto the high bed to examine him, had been a feeble attempt to push away the hands of the healers trying to remove his shirt, but he was motionless now, in an deep unnatural sleep, his skin strangely grey in colour, shadowed and clammy and his breathing laboured. The healer who'd brought athelas water looked up from the other side of the bed and shook his head. Pippin was becoming more and more difficult to rouse, even by pain. The first sign, Aragorn grimly noted. It confirmed his greatest fear; Pippin had ingested a lethal quantity of the Haradric poppy and was rapidly succumbing. With such a dose, he might never wake from this cursed sleep.

'Are the others gone?' the King asked.

'I've just seen them away,' Legolas answered. 'Frodo was quite torn. He wished to remain, but for the other hobbits' sake, went with Gandalf. At parting, he asked me to remind you that Pippin is the closest thing his people have to an heir of the blood.' The Elf cocked an unperturbed eyebrow. 'I believe he was trying to indicate that you should not fail.' Aragorn thought he sensed a note of grim amusement from his friend. 'I concur. You must remember Frodo has bested Sauron. I suggest you do not disappoint him.'

Aragorn nodded. 'I'd sooner sever my own leg than see this bright fellow come to harm. But counteracting this poison will be a dangerous business in any case.' He picked up a phial from the table. The tincture within it looked dark and ominous inside the green glass. Belladonna. Potentially as deadly as the Haradric poppy. 'But we can not wait any longer.'

The contraption he picked up next was a small, glass globe with two projections from it. One was long, delicate and ended almost in a point but was hollow like a quill. The other was hollow also but shorter and on the end of it was attached a small bladder. The globe itself had a hole in the very top covered by a waxed stopper. Aragorn removed this and measured out a very small amount of water into the strange device's centre. The amount of the belladonna tincture he would need would be miniscule for a patient Pippin's size. He paused, recalculating the dosage once again. Any more than one drop and the poison would act as a sedative, not stimulant, and Pippin might never waken.

Aragorn had been to Far Harad and had seen the glazed eyes of the poppy eaters before. He had even entered one of their houses once, out of horrified curiosity, but the place had so disheartened him he had to leave it. It was reminiscent of the den of some malevolent spider, its denizens, her prey, beyond hope and help, drugged and waiting for her to drain the lifeblood from them. He carefully dripped one drop into the globe and swirled the mixture gently. He could not have saved the men in that dark house, they had given their souls to the drug long before he had chanced upon them, but he would not abandon Pippin to such a fate. He stoppered the globe and laid it on its side so that the mixture pooled away from the spines and stopper and then turned back to his patient.

He drew back the soft, woolen blanket. Pippin's bare chest was as pale, grey and clammy as his face. The poison was running its deadly course with frightening speed. Aragorn gripped his friend's upper arm, temporarily blocking the blood returning from the limb. After a few moments, he turned it over and tapped the inside of the elbow with his fingers. A small welt rose, the vein running purple beneath it. None of the reeds they had assembled for the purpose looked small enough to direct medication into the course of a hobbit-sized vessel, but it had to be tried. There was no other choice.

Aragorn clamped the hobbit's hand under his arm to keep it still, even though his patient was no longer even trying to resist him. He could feel Pippin's weak, erratic pulse fluttering beneath his hand. The young hobbit was succumbing. There wasn't an instant to lose. He picked up his small knife.

'The moment I have the slit made, you must insert the smallest reed you have into it and hold it there.' He looked up at the healer who was assisting him. Legolas stood behind him and Gimli kept watch on the door behind them.

Aragorn had never seen the dwarf so plainly terrified. Poison was not the kind of adversary one could battle with an axe. The poor fellow was decidedly out of his element, but would not leave the companion whose life he had almost single- handedly saved.

'Keep the reed canted in line with the vein and do not push it deeply into the opening. I will not make a large hole so you must be quick or you will lose sight of it in the blood that emerges. When I fit this bulb over the top of the reed, it is vital that you do not push the thing in too far or I won't be able to get the medication into him.'

Aragorn met his assistant's eyes. 'Are you ready?'

When he nodded, Aragorn gave a quick flick with the knife and a tiny slip of dark red appeared on Pippin's arm. The assistant had the tiny reed in place in the next moment and a few seconds later, dark red blood began welling laboriously out of the top of it.

Aragorn fitted the bulb's long protuberance into the reed and turned the glass so that the belladonna liquid drained into the longer tube. Blood mingled with it and began to back up into the bulb. The King eased his numbing grip on Pippin's upper arm and with the other hand very gently squeezed the attached bladder. Tincture and blood were forced gradually from the bulb down the long tube.

When the glass chamber was empty, Aragorn nodded again to his healer and the man quickly slipped the reed from its entry point and covered the wound with a bandage.

'Did you learn that technique from my brethren in Rivendell?' Legolas asked.

'Would you believe from an ancient healer of Eriador?' Aragorn lifted one of Pippin's eyelids. The pupils were still tightly contracted. 'When I was but a boy, an old Ranger came to Elrond's house with a great hoard of ancient books. He said he was the Librarian of the Dúnedain, keeping the tales and knowledge of my ancestors for the day the North Kingdom would be restored. He'd no heir and so brought his treasure to my foster father for safekeeping.' He checked the arm he had injected the medicine into. It was still chilled, but whether that was from his grip or the effects of the poison, he could not tell. 'I devoured them. While exploring the cache of herbs and tools here in the Houses of Healing, I saw this device neglected on a shelf. I don't expect any here knew what it was or what it could be used for, but I had seen a diagram of it in one of those ancient books and recognized it immediately.' He drew the blanket back up to Pippin's still frighteningly unmoving chin. 'Let us hope that my chance find was a lucky one for Peregrin.'

*****

'Aragorn, you must attend.'

Legolas' sharp tone brought the King swiftly out of the nap he had sorely needed and had been loathe to take. He rubbed his face to rouse himself and was on his feet in an instant.

'What change?' he asked, his voice still rough.

'He has stirred…,' the Elf admitted.

Aragorn re-entered the small room, still drawing on his jerkin. Pippin was moving though without strength and his motions were directionless and confused. Gimli held him from behind, his eyes bright with unshed tears, to keep the young hobbit from throwing himself off the bed.

'…But he does not know us,' Legolas finished, sadly.

'He's no idea who we are,' the dwarf agreed. 'Poor bright lad, it's as if his mind has gone!'

Gimli had one arm wrapped tightly around the hobbit's chest; the other held his forehead while Pippin's arms flailed freely. Aragorn caught them and checked the hobbit's pulse. Though it had strengthened, due probably to his ineffectual thrashing, it was even more wildly erratic than before. Dank, cold sweat also now covered the youngster's body, but most alarming of all was his glassy, unseeing and terrified gaze.

'Pippin!'

Aragorn took his patient's face into his hands and forced him to look into his eyes. No recognition flickered there. He wasn't even focusing on what was before him.

'Get the others back here. Hurry!'

Legolas did not even ask for clarification, but was off as quickly as only a wood elf could move.

Gimli stroked the small, sweat-slicked brow. Pippin remained oblivious. 'Do you think he will recognize them if he does not know us?' As if in answer, the hobbit shrank away from the dwarf's touch, clawing weakly at the arm that held him until his eyes rolled back and he sagged.

Aragorn shook his head. 'I don't know, but this is the turning point of his treatment. If any can call him back, it will be his kin. If even they cannot, then they will at least be here when…'

Gimli gripped his charge tighter though Pippin seemed almost too spent to struggle. 'Aye,' he nodded.

*****

'You must come and quickly.' Legolas's bright eyes flicked from Gandalf's worried face to Frodo's grim and pale one. 'Aragorn has called for you. Pippin's condition is coming to crisis. He feels your presence would aid the young one.'

'Does he wish us to rouse Merry and Sam as well?' Gandalf asked.

'No,' Frodo answered quickly before the Elf could. 'Don't wake them, Gandalf. I am eldest and this was my choice. I am solely responsible for the consequences. Merry might be furious with me, but there's really nothing he can do but worry. They've just got to sleep… If it looks that dire, I will call for them, but let's let them sleep while we can. They'll be more use to Pippin later if they've rested.'

Gandalf raised an inquiring eye to Legolas. 'Have we that kind of time?'

The Elf frowned. 'I am no healer,' he said, 'but I believe you, Frodo, are the best hope he has. You will be able to command him with both authority and love. Merry loves him, but is distraught. Cool heads are needed now. If you wish, I will stay here with them and await word.'

'That would be a kindness.' Frodo nodded, accepting. 'Let us hope I won't need to send it.'

*****

The strangled scream that met Frodo's ears as he entered Pippin's sickroom was both familiar and frighteningly alien. Aragorn sat beside his cousin on the bed, his forehead bent, touching Pippin's, his eyes closed in concentration. Gimli looked up from his position holding the younger hobbit upright. A third healer held Pippin's legs.

'Frodo and Gandalf have come,' Gimli said with relief.

A visible shiver ran down Aragorn's back and he straightened. He turned and looked at the Ringbearer. 'He's fighting me, not letting me in to calm him.' He nodded, as if thinking. 'Yes. Yes, it is good you came alone, Frodo. You are eldest, Pippin will listen to you.'

Frodo could almost not tear his eyes away from his young cousin. Dark shadowed, wildly staring eyes looked unseeingly out of a pale, glistening face. He looked haunted, haggard.

'Pip… 'Frodo looked away from the frightening visage. 'Pippin was never much of a one for listening to anyone.' Their patient convulsed and let out another baleful cry. 'But, I will do whatever I can,' he finished in a terrified whisper.

Aragorn nodded and drew Frodo closer.

'I'm going to take you with me into his mind.' When Frodo shook his head, confused, the King put a hand on his shoulder. 'I am no wizard or seer, Frodo, but I can call the injured spirit. You too have skills yet unguessed, but this time you need only rely on your love and strength. Pippin needs both now. I dare not give him any more of the drug, but together, we can give him a guide in his delirium, a path to follow out of this madness, and I believe you can show him a way to keep this evil from consuming him from within, how to live beyond the darkness.'

'You think a great deal of my abilities, my King.'

Aragorn smiled, the warmth, respect and love in his face almost embarrassing Frodo.

'You took the One Ring into its maker’s lair and destroyed it under his nose. I think my confidence very well placed.'