This story was concieved at our recent Phoenix Hobbit Moot, and I had the
dubious honour of being an open-mouthed Merry to Piplover's enthusiatic
enactment of Pippin, while poor Sandy K was the healer woman who wasn't sure
what to do! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed working on it!

Marigold

It was not long past sundown when Merry returned from having his supper with Aragorn and Legolas, the King and elf having decided that the hobbit could do with a bit of a break from tending to his cousin.  After being confined to bed for so many days, Pippin had become rather petulant, and both could see the strain starting to show on Merry’s face. 

            The tent was faintly illuminated with lamps burning low, many of the patients already sleeping quietly after having their own suppers.  Merry fully expected his cousin to be one of them, as the young hobbit was still in a great deal of pain, and given a sleeping draught twice a night.

            Therefore, when a high-pitched giggle he knew all too well greeted his ears as he neared Pippin’s cot, he knew something was not right.

            “Merry!” Pippin hissed to him in a loud whisper that carried to all in the tent.  The healer woman on duty looked up from her sewing, frowning slightly.

            “What are you doing awake, Pip?  Are you all right?” Merry asked, taking his accustomed seat next to his cousin’s cot. 

            The tweenager giggled again, a sound that had been all too rare of late, and placed his left hand clumsily on Merry’s shoulder.

            “Merry,” he said again in that overly loud whisper.  “They woke me up!”  Pippin giggled shrilly again, and paused dramatically. He leaned in close to Merry.  “To give me a sleeping potion!”

            This idea seemed so amusing to the young hobbit that he clutched his sides, laughing outright.

            “Pippin, they usually give you a sleeping draught before you go to bed,” Merry began, unsure what to make of his cousin’s odd behavior.

            “No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Pippin hissed, shaking his head fiercely.  “You don’t understand!”  He shook his bandaged hand in Merry’s face, staring at it in fascination for a moment before continuing.  “They woke me up!  To give me a sleeping draught!”

            Pippin started laughing again, his cheeks rosy from the slight fever he had been fighting for the past few days, and clutched his sides again.

            Merry smiled, understanding the joke, yet unsure why his cousin found it so amusing. 

            “That is funny, Pip,” he whispered, a good deal softer than Pippin’s, and tried to ease his cousin back down.  “Why don’t you try and get some sleep, then?”  Pippin shook his head, refusing to lie down. 

            “Noooo, Merry!” Pippin gasped, staring at the other in shock.  “I can’t!”

            “Why not, dearest?  Are you hurting?” Merry asked, starting to think that something was definitely not right with his cousin.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the healer woman watching them curiously.

            “They gave me the sleeping - sleeping potion, not the go-to-sleep-sleeping potion!” Pippin explained, as though his words would clear up any confusion.

            “The – What are talking about, Pippin?” Merry asked, trying once more to ease his cousin back. 

                Pippin sighed, blowing a loud, bubbling gust of wind through his lips, puffing out his cheeks.   “They always give me the sleeping-sleeping potion last and the go-to-sleep-sleeping potion first and they usually give me three or four others, but I don’t like those because they taste really bad, except for the green one, which tastes like mint, and I like mint, but not if I have that one at the same time as the blue one, because that just takes all the good taste away, but tonight they gave me the last one first and they must be going to give me the first one last, which they should do anyway, but don’t, and I’m really hungry, Merry, do you have any food?”  the tweenager asked, finally pausing for breath.

            Merry, the healer woman, and two patients who were still awake stared at the wounded hobbit, mouths open as they tried to decipher what he had just said.

            “I – no, Pip, I don’t have any food.  Didn’t you get dinner?” Merry asked, casting an accusing look to the healer.  She frowned back at him, herself confused. 

            “I was sleeping!” Pippin said, and started to giggle again.  “And then they woke me up!”

            Merry closed his eyes for a moment.

            “Merry, they woke me up!  To give me my sleeping-sleeping potion!” Pippin repeated, giggling harder. 

            “I know, Pip,” Merry murmured, patting Pippin’s arm absently.  “Do you think you could try to get back to sleep?”

            Pippin didn’t answer, instead walking two of his fingers up Merry’s arm, over his shoulder, across his chest, and then down the other arm.

            “They’re going on a quest!” he giggled, watching his fingers avidly. 

            Unable to help himself, Merry asked, almost reluctantly, “What are they on a quest for, Pip?”

            “Frodo’s finger!” Pippin whispered loudly, moving closer to stare his cousin intently in the face.  “He’s lost it you know.”

            For a moment, Merry could find no words to respond to the outrageous comment, staring at his cousin, shocked.  Oblivious to his cousin’s speechlessness, Pippin continued. 

            “I would give him one of mine,” Pippin murmured, looking to his bandaged hand that was still swollen and bruised, the tips of discolored nails and flesh showing above the white bandage.  “But mine are all purple.”

            Unable to help himself at this last, Merry snorted a laugh.  Pippin looked to him, surprised, then started to laugh as well, though he was uncertain what he was laughing about.

            “Pippin, I think you should try and get some rest,” Merry tried again, his voice quivering a little in amusement.  “You truly are not yourself, tonight.”

            “Who am I, then?” Pippin asked, frowning in confusion.  “I’m not Strider, am I?  Because his feet really don’t have that much foot-hair, and I think I would look rather silly with naked feet.”

            A giggle behind him alerted Merry that the healer woman had joined him at Pippin’s bedside.  He turned, to see her smiling down at him, a cool cloth in her hand.  He smiled wryly back up at her. 

            “How are you feeling tonight, Master Peregrin?” she asked softly, moving to wipe Pippin’s face with the cloth.  “Are you in pain?  Is that why you cannot sleep?”

            Oh, no,” Pippin assured her, smiling like the sun and shaking his head vigorously again.  “I feel fine!”  He threw his arms up to emphasize his point, and giggled again when both Merry and the woman had to flinch back to avoid being hit.  “Do you know my cousin?” Pippin asked suddenly, turning serious.  “Merry is the bestest cousin that I have, you know, and he takes such good care of me.”  He turned his slightly unfocused gaze towards said cousin, and Merry was astounded to see tears in those brilliant green eyes. 

            “You take such good care of me, Meeerrrryyy,” he wailed, flinging his arms around the other in a move that surprised both hobbit and healer.  “I looooovvvve yoooouuuu!” 

            Uncertain what to do, Merry gave the healer a quizzical look, frowning as he patted Pippin’s back.  “I love you too, Pip,” he said, then hissed to the woman beside him,  “Has he been this way all evening?”

            “I don’t know!” she whispered back, her smile from before vanished in concern.  “I came on duty just a bit before you came in.”

“Merry?” Pippin asked in a quavering voice.

“Yes, dearest?” Merry asked, turning his attention back to his sobbing cousin. 

“I’m sorry I put that goat dung in your pipe,” Pippin wailed, bursting into fresh tears.  “I’ve been, been, been soooo horrible to you!”

For a moment Merry could only stare at the hobbit crying piteously on his shoulder, too taken aback to respond.  The healer couldn’t contain the giggle that escaped her lips, and he glared at her. 

“I forgave you, Pippin,” he finally whispered, a bit flatly.  “It was only that one time.”

“But then I put those eggs in your trouser pocket, and you squished them when you gave mother a hug!” Pippin wailed, even louder this time.  A few of the patients stirred, and the healer turned to go to them, stifling her laughter behind her hand. 

“That was you?” Merry demanded, sitting back to stare at his cousin in astonishment.  “You told me it was Vinca!”

Pippin shook his head, still sobbing, and clinging to Merry.  After a moment of silence, Merry asked, softly, a gleam in his eye, “What else did you do to me that you blamed on your sisters?”

“I put the honey in your bed, and then left your window open.  And I – I – I cut the lining out of your pockets!”  By now Pippin was shaking with sobs, and amused as Merry had been, now he was truly concerned.

“It’s all right, dearest, I forgive you!  You were only playing a few tricks, I still love you!” he assured Pippin, rubbing his back.  “Stop crying, sweetheart, its all right!”

“But, but, but –” Pippin babbled, pulling back from Merry to sniffle piteously up at him.  “I looovvvee yoouu soooo much!” he wailed again.

“Hush, Pippin,” Merry begged, alarmed by this change in his cousin.  “I love you, too. You know I do, Pip. Stop crying, all right?”

“All right,” Pippin agreed, his sobs stopping as quickly as they had started to be replaced by the sunny smile.  “Did you bring me some food, Merry?”

Now completely baffled, Merry just shook his head.

“No – no, Pip, remember?  But I can go get you some,” he offered, even as he feared to leave.  With Pippin acting so strangely, he did not wish to be absent in case he was needed.

“You are too good to me, Merry,” Pippin whimpered, his eyes once more brimming over with tears.  “I love you!”

“Oh, dear,” Merry sighed as once more his cousin’s arms were around him, and the tweenager was sobbing again. 

“I love you, too, Pippin, but really, dearest, please, stop crying!”

It took several more moments of Merry’s soothing words and declarations of love before Pippin settled down again, sniffing pitifully.  Merry wiped his own eyes with the corner of his sleeve, not sure if he was crying or laughing himself at this point, and wondered where that healer woman had got to, and what he should do.  Pippin was acting odd, even for Pippin, and this sudden change had him distinctly worried, despite the amusement factor.

“Merry?” 

The voice was probably the most welcome sound he had heard in a long time.  Merry turned, to see Legolas enter the tent, eyes settling on the hobbits.  He moved forward, revealing Gimli following behind.

“Aaaggghhhh!”

Merry jerked around at Pippin’s startled shriek, and several of the sleeping patients started, coming awake.  Legolas and Gimli froze.

“Merry,” Pippin hissed, hiding behind his cousin, grabbing him with his good hand and pulling his head down to whisper noisily into his ear.  “What is Lobelia doing here?”

Once more caught off his guard, Merry started to laugh, patting Pippin’s back soothingly as he disentangled his cousin’s fingers from his shirt. 

“That’s Gimli, Pippin,” he whispered around his laughter.  Then, unable to help himself, added, “Lobelia’s beard is grey, remember?”

Mollified, Pippin nodded wisely, easing back down.  “Tha’s all right, then,” he whispered. 

Merry patted Pippin’s shoulder, standing slowly.

“I’ll be right back, Pippin,” he whispered, backing up slowly.  “Just stay quiet, and try and get some sleep.”

“But Merry, I can’t!” Pippin protested, starting to giggle again.  Knowing what was to come, Merry closed his eyes, mouthing the words as his cousin said them.  “They woke me up to give me a sleeping potion!”

            “All right, Pippin, just lay quietly, and I’ll be right back,” he whispered resignedly. 

            He approached the elf and dwarf with a determined stride, not noticing that neither one of them had moved since Pippin’s shriek.  Without pausing, he stopped in front of Legolas, reached up, and pulled the elf down to stare him intently in the face.  The elf’s eyes widened in surprise.

            “Get.  Aragorn.  Now!” he hissed.

            Taken off guard, Legolas could only stare for a moment before asking, confused, “Why?  What has happened?”

            Before Merry could respond, Pippin’s voice cut through the silence that had descended.

            “Ohhh, Merry, are you going to kiss him?  Because if you do, then I want one next!  Although you really shouldn’t kiss him first, as I am your cousin, but I would understand if you did kiss him first, seeing as how he is all handsome and everything.  Of course, you will always be more handsome to me, Merry!”

            Gimli’s eyes widened as well, and a snort escaped him as he turned his gaze from Pippin’s curious face to Legolas‘ shocked expression to Merry’s closed eyes.

            “I will be right back,” Legolas murmured. 

            Merry released his grip on the other’s shirt, and watched as the elf darted out of the tent, sighing as he turned to Gimli. 

            “He’s been like this ever since I got back from supper!  I don’t know what to do!” he hissed, voice breaking with frustration. 

            “Don’t worry, young hobbit,” Gimli assured in a soft voice, patting Merry’s shoulder gently.  “Aragorn will know.”

            “I certainly hope so,” Merry sighed, running a hand through his hair.  He turned back to Pippin, who was now staring at a string in his hand with fascination.  It had obviously come from his blanket, though Merry was uncertain if it had unraveled on its own or with help from his cousin.

            “You know, Merry, this whole blanket is made up of strings all strung together, but when you pull one away, it still stays together.  Why is it that you can pull one and it won’t unravel, but you pull a string from Aunt Esme’s knitting and it all comes undone?  Like the more strings you have, the stronger it is,” Pippin asked, curiously, staring from the string to his cousin and back with a perplexed look on his face.

            Gimli and Merry shared a rather stunned expression, uncertain what to say.  Finally deciding that nothing could be said to such a statement, Merry turned to the dwarf and asked, very softly,  “Gimli, would you mind going to get Pippin something to eat?  He missed dinner.”

            “Because I was sleeping!” Pippin giggled, his sensitive ears catching his cousin’s remark.  Merry closed his eyes again.  “And then they woke me up!  To give me a sleeping potion!”

            “Please?” Merry whispered, trying to ignore Pippin’s shrill giggles and the dwarf’s efforts to suppress his own laughter. 

            “Of course, laddie, I can do that.  Just keep the young one, humph, er, entertained until I get back,” Gimli snorted.

            “Thank you,” Merry whispered in relief.  “Though I do not think it will be very difficult to keep him occupied.”

            Both turned at an odd, vibrating, bubbling noise, to see Pippin, lower lip sticking out, humming in different tones as he vibrated his lips.  He seemed utterly fascinated with the noise he was making.

            “Please hurry,” Merry begged in a strangled whimper. 

            “I’ll be right back,” Gimli muttered, his laughter now fading.  Funny as the sight was, it was also disturbing. 

            As soon as the dwarf left Merry walked slowly over to his chair, sinking down into it with a resigned sigh, watching his cousin making the strange noise.  Suddenly, the tweenager stopped, staring at Merry with a strange look on his face.

            “Merry,” he hissed loudly, his face scrunched up.  “I have to go!”

            Merry put his face in his hands, and wondered if he would be able to survive the rest of the night. 

            “Merry!  I really, really, have to go,” Pippin whimpered.

            Yes, he was truly starting to wonder.

                                                            ***

            Merry reentered the tent, empty chamber pot held stiffly away from his body in his left hand.  Truly, his respect for healers had risen immeasurably since Pippin had been injured in the battle. Due to the number of wounded, and Merry’s desire to ensure that Pippin received the best of care, he had become the one to routinely do such chores as empty the chamber pot and clean up vomit.  Though he had helped with such things before when Pippin was younger, this was the first time such things had fallen mostly on his shoulders. 

            He froze suddenly, eyes growing larger because Pippin’s cot - no longer contained Pippin.  He swiveled his head, desperately seeking his cousin’s small form in amongst the other beds, but there was no trace.

            “Pippin?” he called softly, moving over to his cousin’s cot and setting the chamber pot back in its place under it.  “Pippin, where are you?” 

            There was no answer, and Merry felt his heart quicken.  Pippin wasn’t strong enough to be walking around on his own!  He was going to damage that knee of his even more! 

            “Pippin!” he called again, louder this time.  “Where are you?  This isn’t funny!”

            “What isn’t funny?  And please lower your voice, before you wake the other patients,” the voice of the healer reprimanded him from behind. 

            Merry spun around, furious.  “Where have you been?  Pippin’s escaped!”

            “What do you mean, escaped?” she asked, eyes widening as she placed the tray of tonics she carried down on her desk.  Her eyes swept the tent, trying to find the young hobbit.  Her frown darkened.

            “He’s not in here!” Merry gritted out through clenched teeth.  “I left him for just a moment and now he’s gone!”

            At this last pronouncement the tent flap lifted once more, and Aragorn entered, followed by Legolas.

            “Merry?” he asked, worry darkening the King’s eyes. 

            “Aragorn, Pippin is missing, and he’s been acting very strangely!  We have to find him, quickly, before he can hurt himself!” Merry yelled frantically, uncaring if he woke the other patients. 

            “Calm down, Merry, we will find him.  How long has he been missing?” Aragorn asked softly, soothingly, going to the hobbit’s side and kneeling so he could look him in the eye. 

            “Just a bit!  I went out to empty his chamber pot and when I came back he was gone!”  Merry wiped frantically at his eyes.

            “Then he can’t be far,” Legolas soothed, moving to put a hand on Merry’s shoulder.  “Let us go see if we can find him.”

            Quickly they left the tent, the three of them pausing for a moment to allow their eyes to adjust once more to the darkness, and seeking the small form of their friend in the ever darkening shadows.  They slowly stepped away from the opening, Aragorn and Merry walking in one direction, Legolas in another. 

            “Pippin!” Merry called, fear turning his voice sharp.  “Peregrin Took, where are you?”

            “Pippin!” Aragorn bellowed, his strong voice carrying across the camp and raising heads. 

            “Merry! Aragorn!” Legolas exclaimed, even as he darted off towards one of the large trees that dotted the camp.

            Man and hobbit followed swiftly, coming to a sudden halt at the sight that greeted them.  Legolas, too, was staring in awe, the three of them too shocked to move for a moment.

            Pippin, wavering back and forth, leaning heavily on his good leg, stood about a foot from the tree.  Talking to it.

            “…his name is Treebeard, and I’m certain that you two would get along famously if you should ever meet him.”  His voice, still slightly slurred, was serious, and Aragorn looked down to meet Merry’s resigned gaze.

            “He has been like this all evening?” he asked, incredulously. 

            “Worse.  At least he’s coherent now,” Merry sighed, turning back to watch his cousin. 

Legolas moved slowly, unthreateningly, as though he were approaching a skittish animal. 

“Pippin?” he called softly, bringing the hobbit’s head up.

“Leggy!”  Pippin greeted, and the elf was hard put to ignore the sputtered laughter behind him.  “I want you to meet a friend of mine.  He doesn’t talk much, but I’m sure he would love to meet you!”

Solemnly Legolas approached the tree, sensing its worry for this small creature that was in obvious pain and confusion.

“It is a very nice tree, Pippin,” he whispered, kneeling down beside the hobbit.  “But it wants you to come with me right now, so that you can go back to bed.”

“Does it really?” Pippin asked, eyes widening in delighted surprise.  “All right, then!”  He limped even closer to the tree, and Legolas had to restrain himself from stopping the painful movements. 

Gently, Pippin wrapped his small arms as far around the giant tree as they would go, whispering loudly to it,  “I’ll come back to visit later!”  Then he turned a beaming face to the elf.

“Very good, Pippin,” Legolas murmured, holding his own arms open.  “But it is time for you to go back to bed now, and the tree does not wish you to hurt yourself.  Will you allow me to carry you?”

Pippin continued to smile, limping slowly over to the elf and wrapping his arms around his neck, burying his face into Legolas’ shoulder.

“I love you, Leggy!” he sniffed, starting to cry.

“Oh, no,” Merry muttered, his face dropping into his hands.  “Not again!”

Legolas turned bewildered eyes to Aragorn.

“What do I do?” he mouthed, utterly at a loss.

Aragorn spread his hands in bewilderment, shaking his head, his own face confused.  Merry sighed, moving over to his cousin.

“Pippin,” he murmured, placing one hand on his cousin’s back and trying to smile reassuringly at the elf.  “Pippin, Legolas loves you, too, so please, dearest, stop crying.  I know he takes wonderful care of you, and you are right to tell him that you love him, but you are frightening him.”

“Am I?” Pippin whispered, looking up to meet Merry’s eyes. 

“Yes, sweetheart.  Why don’t you let him take you inside, and then you can tell him all about your new friend the tree, all right?”  Merry asked.

Immediately the tears stopped, and the sunny smile returned. 

“All right,” Pippin agreed, hugging Legolas tightly. 

“That was very well done, Merry,” Aragorn said softly as they all headed back to the healing tent, the King’s hand resting on the hobbit’s shoulder.   “I’m worried, Strider,” Merry whispered, watching as the elf laid his cousin back down on his cot, the healer woman hovering by his side.  “He is acting so oddly, and I don’t know what is wrong with him!”

“I think I may have an idea, but I need to talk to Pippin first.  Tell me, had he been slurring his speech greatly, and acting drunk?” the King asked, watching as Legolas helped the tweenager to drink a mug of water the healer brought. 

“Yes, only more so,” Merry agreed, his brows creased in worry.  “Even a drunk Pippin is better than this.”

Aragorn nodded, and moved, Merry trailing behind him, to sit carefully on the side of Pippin’s cot, gently turning the hobbit’s face to his to gaze into his eyes. He was surprised at how dilated they were.  All of them looked up as the tent flap once more lifted, to allow Gimli to enter, a tray held carefully in his hands.  At the sight before him, however, he set the food aside and moved to join the small group around the tweenager’s cot.  Aragorn turned back to his patient, who was staring up at him patiently.

“Pippin,” he asked, very gently, as though to a child.  “Who gave you your sleeping draught tonight, and when?”

Merry opened his mouth in warning, then changed his mind and shook his head. 

Pippin started to giggle once more, clutching his sides.  “They woke me up, Strider!” he said, snickering.  “To give me my sleeping potion!”

Aragorn nodded patiently, smiling as he waited.  When Pippin spoke next, however, all amusement left the others at his words, to be replaced by a slowly simmering anger. 

“Healer Taren woke me up first, and told me I had to take my sleeping draught, but he gave me my sleeping-sleeping potion rather than my go-to-sleep-sleeping potion, and when I tried to tell him he was making a mistake he told me I was making trouble and to be quiet, and that he didn’t have time to fool about with me, and since I don’t want to be a bother, Strider, I took it, because maybe it had changed.  Then Healer Andel woke me up again!”  Pippin started to giggle once more, but Aragorn was hard put to keep the smile to his face, his teeth grinding as the account continued.  The healer woman, watching from a safe distance, was herself distressed at the hobbit’s words.

            “I told him that Healer Taren had already given me my sleeping-sleeping potion, as well as the icky blue one, and asked if he was going to give me my going-to-sleep-sleeping potion, and he just told me to shush, and that he didn’t know what I was talking about and to behave myself, or else I would upset you by being difficult, and I didn’t want that, so even though I didn’t want to take the sleeping-sleeping potion, which was what he gave me again, I took it anyway, even though I’m supposed to have the sleeping-sleeping potion after I go to sleep and the go-to-sleep-sleeping potion before I go to sleep. Which still doesn’t seem quite right to me.”  Here he paused, taking a deep breath. 

His attention was diverted by Gimli, who was absently clutching the shaft of his axe, and he opened his mouth to ask the dwarf if he intended to chop his friend the tree down, and that that would not be very nice at all, because it was his friend after all, but the King interrupted him before he could utter the question. 

            “So you took the sleeping-sleeping potion twice, Pippin?” Aragorn asked, trying to keep his rising anger from his tone. 

            Pippin nodded his head vigorously, and added, “And Healer Taren gave me the mint stuff, but he gave it to me before the blue stuff, which is wrong, because I remember you telling me that the mint stuff was to take away the taste of the nasty blue stuff.  But I didn’t want to make you mad, Strider, and he told me to take it, so I did, and then Healer Andel gave me another mug of nasty blue stuff, but without the mint, and that made my tummy upset, so I couldn’t sleep, even though they had both given me the sleeping-sleeping potion, and are you mad at me Strider, because I was trying to be good, and not give them any trouble, but they seemed so cross with me!”

            Pippin gazed up at the King with worried, tear filled eyes, and only Gimli’s low growl from behind kept the man from snarling his own anger and instead respond to the worry in that look.

            “No, Pippin, I am not mad at you at all.  You have been a very good patient, and I am very pleased with you,” he answered.

            “Really?” Pippin quavered. 

            “Yes, Little Bird,” Aragorn assured, and gently took the other into his arms, holding him tenderly, his gaze turning to steel as he turned it upon Legolas.  “Find these healers and bring them to me,” he growled softly, rubbing a soothing circle on Pippin’s back.  “I wish to have a few words with them.”

            The elf nodded, casting one more worried look to his young friend before heading out, his stride purposeful and angry.  Merry could not help the thrill that ran through him at the thought of the two inept and discourteous healers having to face not only an angry Legolas, but a furious Aragorn and Gimli as well.  His own thoughts he would keep to himself, and let the Big People take care of it.  For now.

            “Strider?” Pippin whimpered suddenly, turning their attention back to him.  “I don’t feel well.”

            Aragorn moved just in time to avoid being covered in vomit, and held Pippin with gentle hands as he was sick over the side of his cot. 

            “That’s it, Little Bird,” he coaxed, rubbing Pippin’s back as he continued to retch.  “Get it all out.”    The healer woman was by their side immediately, a cloth in one hand and a mug in the other.  He nodded his thanks to her, and placed the cool cloth on the back of Pippin’s neck.  “Is that better, Pippin?” he asked softly.

            Pippin sniffed and nodded, looking utterly miserable. 

            “I’m sorry, Strider,” he whispered, tears audible in his voice.  “I don’t mean to be so much trouble.”

            “Hush, Peregrin,” Aragorn chided gently, still rubbing Pippin’s back.  “I will hear none of that.  Do you think you can lay back for a few moments, or will you be sick again?”

            “No, I’m better now,” Pippin whispered. 

            Aragorn moved the cloth from Pippin’s neck and used it to wipe his face as he lowered him back down on the bed, watching as the hobbit’s eyes drifted shut.  When the tweenager’s breaths had eased into sleep, he turned his sharp eyes to the healer woman.

            “Do you know of these healers he has spoken about?” he asked in a deadly whisper.  For her part, the woman did not flinch, an anger of her own sparking in her eyes.

            “Aye, I do,” she replied bitterly.  “Younglings, who do not care if they are short or not with the sick.  This is the second time they have spoken sharply to the young master here, though he made me promise I would not make a fuss about it,” she growled.

            “It will not happen again, Mistress,” Aragorn said firmly, standing.  “As soon as I have a few words with these healers, I shall be moving Peregrin into my own tent for a few days.  As he continues to recover, he shall be placed in a private tent.  I shall reexamine the other patients under the care of these two as well, and determine whether the healers in question shall remain or not.”

            The healer woman nodded, pleased with the King’s decision. 

            “Aragorn, is he going to be all right?” Merry asked softly, running a hand through Pippin’s hair.

            “He will be once the effects of the potions wears off,” he assured Merry.  “Although, he did have a certain point.  The sleeping-sleeping potion should be given first, and the go-to-sleep-sleeping potion last.”

            Merry closed his eyes, his head sinking into his hands. 

            “Now he’s got you saying it, too,” he sighed, shaking his head.

                                                ***

            Pippin awoke to a strange silence, his head pounding and his ribs and leg throbbing.  He could not for the life of him remember what had happened or where he was. 

            “Are you awake, Little Bird?” a gentle voice asked to his side, and he turned to see Aragorn sitting comfortably cross-legged on a large bed, an apple in one hand and several pieces of parchment in the other.  He got up and put both aside to move to Pippin’s side.

            “Where am I?” the young hobbit asked thickly, trying to put his still foggy thoughts in order.

            “In my tent.  Merry and Legolas went to fetch some tea for us and should be back soon.  Gimli is working on a few projects I set him to, and Gandalf is with Frodo and Sam this afternoon.  How are you feeling?  Better?” Aragorn asked, feeling the hobbit’s head and frowning at the continued fever that Pippin had as yet been unable to shake. 

            “My head hurts,” Pippin replied hesitantly, uncertain what to say.  “And I feel all achy.”

            “That is to be expected, and should fade in a day or so.  I want you to drink this, and no complaints, and then you can have some tea with the rest of us if you are feeling up to it,” the King ordered.  

            The mug he placed to Pippin’s lips smelt strongly of rotten eggs and foul peaches, and it took all his self control not to gag on it as Pippin drank it quickly in one gulp.  It was that awful blue stuff!

            “Now this,” Aragorn prompted, placing another mug to the hobbit’s lips and smiling at the look of relief on Pippin’s face as the taste of mint eliminated the other. 

            “Why am I in your tent, Strider?” Pippin asked in confusion, staring around him awkwardly. 

            There was a slight pause, where the King placed the two mugs aside and fussed with his patient’s bedding for a moment. 

            “Something happened that should not have, Pippin,” he explained, choosing his words with care.  “And I do not wish to see it happen again.  You became very ill, because of a mistake, and I thought it best if I could keep an eye on you for a few days.”

            “I was sick?” Pippin whispered, wide-eyed.

            “Yes,” Aragorn agreed simply.  “But you are better now, and it won’t happen again.  So you are to relax and rest.”

            At this last, the tent flap was opened and Merry and Legolas came in, each bearing a tray laden with food.  At the sight, Pippin heard his stomach growl and laughed.

            “Pip!” Merry exclaimed, setting his tray down hastily to move to his cousin’s side.  “How are you feeling?”

            “Better, I think.  What happened, Merry?” he asked, as confused as he was hungry. 

            Merry turned his gaze to Legolas, a wicked smile creasing his face.  The elf’s eyes narrowed slightly.

            “Let us just say that the next time you want to kiss me a certain tree will be very jealous, and I’ll have to ask Legolas’ permission first,” was the cryptic answer, and Pippin felt his face flush until he was certain there was no blood left in his toes.  “And the next time you decide to put eggs in my pockets and blame it on your sister, I won’t be so forgiving!”

            Pippin turned his gaze back to the King, who was hard pressed not to laugh at his mortified expression, and whimpered, “Strider, I think I want to go to sleep now.”

            “Now, Pippin,” Legolas said seriously, taking a seat next to the King.  “What would be the point in waking you up just to give you a sleeping potion?”

            The hobbit could not for the life of him understand why the three burst out into laughter, and decided that he should content himself with the knowledge that whatever he had said or done, at least Frodo would never know of it.

            “Just wait until I tell Frodo how you wanted to go on a quest for his missing finger, Pippin!” Merry snickered, and Pippin’s jaw dropped.

            Then again…

This story was inspired by a comment I made during the Hobbit Moot in Pheonix about my brother.  While in the hospital, far from home, lonely, and scared, he made a phonecall one night to tell us that he had been awakened...for a sleeping pill.

Much like Pippin in this, he was confused, silly, and very amusing.  He has no memory of that conversation, and has since recovered fully, but those of us who were there when he called still like to remind him of it every now and then.  

Which makes him blush mightily, just like Pippin.