Notes: First LotR fic I've written! (Yay?) A slightly selfish, very sketchily titled, "MY take" on things. It is gen, a gap filler, and a one shot. Rated PG for vague mentions of injuries. Written for the June 2008 challenge at the lotr_community. The challenge was to write a story for the theme "Summertime", including the sentence "They had been tramping for hours, and _____'s stomach was rumbling loudly." Thank you for reading!

Back Again

"You must go, and therefore we must, too!"

Just as they had left him, Pippin's thoughts now came fluttering to him; although they seemed rather reluctant to do so and it took many tries before they finally settled for a long enough moment; enough for him to wonder why he had woken up to his own voice echoing in his mind. Had he been dreaming?

Each breath he drew sent sharp pain through Pippin's chest, and his newly acquired thoughts formed the impression that he would die, now. He was going to suffocate to death.

But hadn't he already died? The idea of dying wasn't foreign to him. And why was it so dark?

Oh.

Pippin slowly, very cautiously, opened his eyes, and, although his sight was bleary, he could see sky. His breath caught painfully. It was a deep, dark sky with lights spread across it like white sugar powdered over a cake, but, no, Pippin's thoughts disagreed with the typical hobbit description. He thought the stars were like glistering, somehow living jewels, and he wished that he knew the names of the Valar that he had heard so much of since leaving the Shire, for he wanted to thank them for the stars.

"Here now lad, we'll get you under cover soon," said a familiar voice above him. Pippin wanted to argue that he did not mind resting under the stars, but that was when his thoughts decided to flutter away in the breeze once more.

"How far are we walking tonight?"

~*~

"How far are we walking tonight?" he asked, careful to make it a question rather than a complaint. (No matter how he might be feeling.) They had been tramping for hours, and Pippin's stomach was rumbling loudly. This Strider was a grim fellow, apparently not one to look on the bright side of things, and definitely not even attempting to make the journey as tolerable as possible. The Midgewater Marshes were enough proof of that.

None of the hobbits answered his question; of course, they did not know what to say. Several moments passed before Strider turned to him.

"If we reach drier ground before nightfall, we shall be lucky. Nevertheless, we cannot set camp before we do."

A right cheerful answer. Dry ground did sound like a good idea though, for Pippin's foot hair was soaked and his feet were numbing in the cold, something that had rarely ever happened to him, even in the winter. Thinking of that, it was unusually cold for being early October. Last night he had huddled close to Frodo and Merry because the chill reached him, even though the blankets.

~*~

The next time that Pippin came to himself he found it easier to breathe, although he could not quite gather why it shouldn't be easy, and there was something tight around his chest that prevented him from inhaling deeply. He had no wish to move, but he opened his eyes and gazed confusedly at not-sky; canvas, his mind supplied after a few moments. For some reason he couldn't work up the energy to move his head even slightly, but from the corner of his eyes he saw others, Big Folk, lying beside him on the ground amidst blankets and coats.

Pippin drifted off again, thankfully, because he was becoming aware of that his body throbbed and ached in a way that was on the verge of being intolerable.

~*~

"How long have we been down here?" Pippin whispered to himself, knowing that asking Gandalf, or even his cousins, would prove to annoy them, but just the same not able to keep quiet. It was too quiet, which Gandalf might say was a small blessing. Pippin found it unsettling.

Something about the mines of Moria made Pippin shiver, from cold and for...other reasons. The deep darkness was making his eyes and head hurt; the fear of accidentally walking into a chasm and fall into abyss made his heart beat faster and painfully loud in the silence. Having lived in smials his whole life, he couldn't imagine why being underground made him so jittery, but it did. But naturally this was not a comfortable hobbit hole with armchairs waiting in front of an open fire. It was dead, barren, cold, and even his blankets couldn't warm him up.

~*~

The third time that Pippin woke up was the time when his thoughts had finally decided to stop floating and once and for all, stayed a while. He could gather several things about his situation now: he was in a tent, lying in a nest of blankets and rags, his body ached and hurt in a piercing, dreadful way, he felt slightly nauseous, and he was surrounded by men lying in the same position on the ground as him. Other men were walking alongside the lying, and some were sitting beside a figure, talking in hushed tones.

"Good morning, master hobbit!"

Pippin's eyes fell on the figure beside him; how had he not realized that Gimli was sitting there? He opened his mouth to reply, but could only manage a little mortifying croak.

Gimli didn't even chuckle. "Easy now, laddie."

A mug of water was lifted to his mouth and he was urged to drink. Pippin instinctively thought it was a bad idea because as he swallowed the water the nausea intensified, although thankfully not unbearably so. The liquid did help a little in other ways, and Pippin found that he could form a very proper "Good morning" in reply, that actually made Gimli smile typically coarsely beneath his beard.

"You've been asleep for quite some time, young hobbit."

Pippin blinked in reply, unsure of what to say. His thoughts seemed slower than he was used to.

"I feared the worst, I admit, when I hauled you out from underneath that foul beast--"

It was like being hit with a smith's sledge, the way it came back to him; everything, and his thoughts went from being dreadfully slow to a speed that made him dizzy. Frodo and Sam being dead, the last shreds of hope lost, a desperate battle, preparing to die, wishing Merry had been there, a crushing pain, something about Bilbo's eagles, and then he remembered--

--dying?

"I..." Pippin said, although he could barely hear his own voice through the roaring in his head. To his utmost mortification, he felt his eyes burn and hot wetness on his cheeks, so he clenched his eyelids closed. "We're...what..."

Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his forehead, somehow calming, and he opened his eyes to look into an unmistakeable, rough, grimy face, although the eyes now seemed clearer, and the man's posture was straighter than Pippin remembered.

"...Strider?"

"Feel ease, Peregrin," Strider said, and somehow, Pippin felt his mind and body obey and he relaxed. "It is over. You are safe."

"Are we alive?" Pippin somehow had to ask, even as he felt himself drift, the warm, smooth hand urging his mind to rest, but the sleep that was pulling at him this time was of peace, not of heavy unconsciousness.

Strider's voice came as from far away as it answered. "Indeed we are."

And as Pippin's thoughts stepped over into the world of dreams he thought he heard Gimli's rough voice. "With all your duties to attend, ought you really spend time here?"

And Strider's voice replying, "Healing is the most precious of my duties."

~*~

He blinked to keep the sharp, icy grains of snow out of his eyes; they were cutting his eyelids and had started to stick to his lashes in heavy chunks. Before him were the familiar backs of his cousins, Merry and Frodo, and there was Sam, also. Further ahead were the Big Folk and they had trampled a path through the snow; Pippin merely had to follow, although he could barely feel his toes anymore, and he constantly blew on his hands to keep his fingers working and somewhat bendable.

Pippin hadn't realized that he had stopped, until he saw Merry, suddenly far away, turn and then stride back towards him. An arm was thrown around his shoulders, pointing upwards.

He gazed up through the snow and couldn't see the peak.

"We just have to reach the top, Pippin." Merry was speaking lowly into Pippin ear, so to be heard under the roaring of the storm. "After that we'll just have to walk downhill. Much easier."

Pippin's lips felt unnatural and stiff, but he replied as easily as he could manage. "Much easier."

~*~

Pippin woke up to gentle birdsong and the voices and sounds of people working and talking, not the tense harshness as they prepared for a day of marching towards battle; but peaceful, friendly, yes, perhaps even cheerful voices. While he kept his eyes closed, he could imagine that he was in Whitwell, just a runt of a lad allowed a morning free from chores, and that he was hearing his father and the farmhands working on something outside. The chill of his dream was still present like a dark veil surrounding his pleasant vision, but he could keep it at bay with the thoughts of home; just as a lit candle can banish the darkness to the corners of a room.

When he eventually opened his eyes, he noticed that he was in a tent still, but that it was smaller than the one he could vaguely remember from earlier and that he was alone. Alone, that is, except for a very familiar figure sitting in a chair by the bed, chewing on a long pipe that was obviously not lit.

"Gandalf!"

The figure turned to him, so familiar and yet somehow completely new. "So you are finding it suitable to wake now, Peregrin Took?" he rumbled, but he was also smiling. "You slept whole long journey here, much thanks to our king; who spared you a lot of pain by putting you to sleep I might add."

There wasn't much Pippin could think to answer to that. He didn't know much about anything right now, and out all the questions that came to him, the first one to made its way to his mouth was, "Where is here?"

"'Here'," Gandalf rumbled, "is Northern Ithilien, if that means anything to you; and since you have been asleep for so long, I am certain that you are more than ready for breakfast. Such as it is."

"I am," Pippin admitted, for as Gandalf had mentioned the word 'breakfast' he had felt his stomach rumble. The tug of hunger in his belly somehow felt like an old friend. He made a move to sit up, but what had been a dull ache suddenly intensified and he fell back with a wince.

Gandalf snorted. "You have broken bones, and enough bruising to probably make you wish you had remained asleep. Lie still."

He stood and walked over to the tent opening. He spoke a few words to someone outside before closing the flap and turning back to settle in his chair again.

Pippin looked at him curiously for a while. Somehow his mind felt blank and none of the questions he had earlier wanted to ask would now come to him. Strange, how quickly that had changed.

Gandalf turned to him then, his eyes glittering cheerfully to contradict his gruff expression. "Well. I have never known you to be so quiet. But I do know how you feel."

He smiled suddenly, very kindly. "Your cousin Frodo is a hero, and Samwise too, for that matter, and they are both asleep in the tent right next to this one."

And then his smile broadened at Pippin's tearful astonishment. (Which was, suitably, interrupted by the arrival of breakfast.)

~*~

The next few days passed slowly. Pippin was not well enough to walk around yet, and barely wanted to because of the dull ache that constantly followed him, and the sharp pain that would replace it whenever he tried to move.

Having his own tent was intended to be an honour, but in truth it made him feel lonely. He rarely had anyone to talk to, to distract him from his pain. Gimli and Legolas sometimes came to visit, even Strider did once, and a few of the men he had gotten to know during the march; including Beregond, who had his arm in a sling. But mostly, people were busy cooking, building, tending the injured and preparing for the day when the ringbearers would wake.

Pippin found himself longing to be outside under nothing but the wide sky; to feel the company of the stars and the warmth of the sun. The tent and his own inability to move without feeling pain, was as frustrating and restrictive as anything.

At the same time it was odd how, flat, his mind felt at times. It was odd to imagine Frodo and Sam to be alive, and so close to him, even. It was odd to think of the future as such. And most of all, it was odd that he had these thoughts at all. 'Perhaps accepting death changes a hobbit,' he thought.

The first ships from Minas Tirith were announced by many happy exclamations that spread across the camp like a wildfire. Pippin thought himself well enough to hobble out to greet the arrivals. He had almost managed to convince Gimli to help him, when the healer put an end to it by ordering him back to bed again.

"It would not befit you to greet anyone in that rundown nightshirt, besides," was the resolute comment before the healer hurried to attend other duties. Pippin quieted. Gimli smiled rather kindly and strode away as well.

When a familiar head poked through the tent opening, though, Pippin could not help himself.

"Well, that took you long enough."

"You know how much talking has to be done. Slows things down quite a bit," Merry said, hastily walking over to the edge of the oversized bed. He grasped Pippin's left hand in both of his own. His eyes raked over Pippin's form in the bed, the bandages and scrapes. "Goodness, Pippin, what have you done to yourself?"

"Ask the troll that fell on me," Pippin said tartly, a tone he rarely ever used, before that knot inside suddenly slipped loose and he burst. "Oh, I'm sorry Merry. I'm just so tired of lying here all day; I'm hardly allowed to sit up! Would you believe it, I have barely seen the sun since I woke up!"

"Most unnatural," Merry agreed. "But that should be easily remedied, soon enough. Like you once said to me, it is easy for a hobbit to be forgotten when we are surrounded by important Big Folk like this. We mustn't blame them too much." Merry then climbed, very careful so not to jostle it too much, onto the big bed and sat there on the edge, close enough for Pippin to feel his warmth though the blankets. It was wondrous; he still remembered Merry lying so cold in the bed in the Houses of Healing. Mindful of his ribs, he leaned into his cousin's side.

"Took you long enough," he repeated.

~*~

Two days later, the healers (under the king's stern, yet glittering eyes) allowed Pippin to get up for short amounts of time. Even when assisted by Merry, it was a slow progress. His legs were weak, he found, his body felt oddly twisted; walking was odd. He tired quickly, and his balance was off.

"Maybe we should get you back to bed now," Merry teased as they finally reached the opening of the tent. Pippin didn't have the air to reply; his ribs still hurt when he moved in certain positions, but he did sacrifice himself by hitting Merry lightly with the elbow. Merry took that as a cue to move the canvas cover out of the way.

It was morning and the sunlight blinding. The field held many tents, but there were also large spaces with high green grass and white wildflowers. Tenderly green birches surrounded them and the light shade among the trees; the flowers and grass, made Pippin's heart ache with longing. Merry helped him sit down on a bench as Pippin quietly glanced around.

"Apple for your thoughts," Merry said finally, after moments of silence.

Pippin didn't look at him, rather staring out over the camp, then down at his hands.

"I was thinking," Pippin said after a moment, hesitantly. "It's…odd, isn't it?" He paused, unsure of how to continue.

Merry seemed mildly curious, his face almost nonchalant, but there was something in his posture that made it seem like he might be listening more carefully he let on. "What are you talking about?"

"Well." Pippin paused, once again looking around at the camp in wonder. It was so green already, although it was only April, and the sun was actually warming him up. He had not realized he had still been cold. "It's just, the sun is so bright!"

He pretended he didn't see how Merry blinked several times before answering. "Warm for being spring, isn't it? I assume it is because we are down south."

Pippin started to smile, first wanly, but with the sunlight in his face he felt his spirits lift oddly, something heavy leaving him at last. "Practically summer."