With Hope and Without Hope

Chapter 30: Lessons from History

Pippin made his way through the dark corridor to the hall where Aragorn was kept-no, he would never call him that again. Strider he would be, as he should have been. Setting aside his regret, Pippin focused on not jostling the pot. He managed to keep more water in the vessel today than yesterday, and it was still hot.

He knew his way around a bit now, even more than his minder Fagrod realized. Even so, Pippin reminded himself to keep his eyes open for new paths. Merry was roaming to learn his way about below. Pippin would learn his way above, well enough to walk in utter darkness if need be, as well as find every nook and alcove in which he might hide or that might lead out of this prison. Fortune might still look upon them. After all, he managed to return from his visit to Merry without encountering Fagrod. And he would try his luck again later.

He stopped to take a breath on a landing and listened: the same random shouting from below, but silence above. He hated that silence.

Saruman had busied Pippin throughout the previous day doing menial and mindless chores. He was often bored and always hungry, but he knew better than to complain. Merry's weary face was reminder enough that Pippin likely fared the best of all of them.

Even Strider fared poorly under Saruman's constant attention. The wizard had used his strange power on Strider again that previous evening. After witnessing Strider's strength and valor in battle against all sorts of foes, to see what followed Saruman's sorcery disquieted Pippin. Strider seemed to age a year's worth and was left wearier than Pippin had ever seen the Ranger. Confused and distracted, Strider needed some time to return to his usual demeanor. Pippin preferred to deny that Strider was an ordinary man with weaknesses. Saruman, it seemed, could make those weaknesses painfully clear.

Pippin set down the pot in a corner of the alcove in which he found the man. Strider crouched as far into a corner as he could manage, his head on his knees. He looked as if he would melt into the walls if he could.

"Strider, it's Pippin." Jerking in surprise, Strider slowly raised his head, but otherwise did not acknowledge Pippin. Now utterly still, he seemed to wait for something. "It's Pippin. I've come with the water. It's time to tend to your leg."

The man simply stared ahead as Pippin pulled the pot over to him. Then Pippin made a decision. The hobbit had seen what Strider did to his leg several times already. Perhaps he no longer needed the Ranger's guidance. While he tended to him, Strider might come back to his surroundings.

He gently pulled Strider's leg down, and the man stared at his leg without reaction. Pippin dipped a rag in the hot water and slowly squeezed it over the wound. Strider flinched and stared at Pippin.

"Pippin?" he whispered harshly.

"Yes, Strider, it's me."

"What are you doing here?"

The hope that had begun to grow wilted. "I'm here to clean your wound. Like we did earlier."

Strider shook his head. "You should not be here. I know not how you are here, but you must leave. He will see you!"

"Don't worry, Strider. Saruman told me I could do this. He put me in charge, in fact."

"You must not let him see you," Strider continued as if Pippin had not spoken, his voice a mere rasp. "He will never release you. Your entire life will be fire. If he grabs hold of you... he never lets go." Strider's whispers sent a chill skipping down Pippin's back. The man still wavered between the nightmare world of Saruman's making and the real nightmare.

Torn, Pippin decided to continue his ministrations. After dipping the rag in water once more, he left it on the wound, while he felt the skin surrounding the injury. It was cooler than yesterday, to his relief. Strider had been uncertain they had caught the infection in time.