A/N: This chapter of the story returns to the "present" timeline of chapters one and two, where we left Frodo watching over Pippin in his bed at Crickhollow. 

Setting: Crickhollow, midsummer, 1421. Frodo is nearly 53 and will leave for the Grey Havens in a month or two. Merry is 39. Pippin has just turned 31.

A Birthday, A Cold, A Memory and a Gift: Chapter Five

"Frodo?!" Pippin cried out, waking suddenly.

Frodo was at his side in the same breath. "Yes, Pip, I’m here. What is it?"

Pippin peered at him with drowsy eyes. "You are here, then?"

"Yes. I’ve been here all night. And I’ll stay until morning as well. You don’t have to worry."

"I worry about you," Pippin murmured, closing his eyes again, "Shouldn’t you be sleeping too, I think?"

Frodo smiled. "I don’t sleep so well these days anyway, Pippin."

"Don’t you?" Pippin had settled back into his pillow, and though he looked as if he were sleeping, his voice belied a curiosity and interest in the conversation.

Frodo reached out and gently brushed his cousin’s hair back. He had such messy hair. Always had. "No," he admitted, "to be perfectly honest with you, cousin, I can’t recall a night for several months back when I have slept full through."

"That’s awful. How is a hobbit supposed to be well if he does not sleep?"

Frodo laughed. "Please take your own advice then and sleep. You need it more than I. Tonight, at least."

Pippin seemed for a time to do just that, lying still and quiet for so long that Frodo started to rise, believing it an opportune time to lay down another kettle in the kitchen for more hot tea. But then the Took surprised him by speaking again. The same restless curiosity remained in his voice.

"Do you have nightmares, then?"

Frodo hesitated, pulled distractedly on a lock of his own dark hair, then crossed his arms and dodged having to answer, replying only with a question. "Do you?"

"Yes," Pippin said, "Sometimes."

"About the troll?"

"Well, yes. And the orcs. And Old Man Willow, too, although that sounds silly when I say it here now."

"It doesn’t sound silly."

"It does to say you have nightmares about a tree. No one ever believes you that a tree can be scary, unless they’ve seen it themselves."

Frodo smiled. "I bet Merry never teases you about that."

"He does not, that’s true. He has worse dreams, though he never talks about them. I think he thinks I don’t know, but I do—how could I not?"

Frodo felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach. "How are you feeling?" he asked, "are you still feverish?"

"I am as well as I was the last time you asked. Please don’t change the subject."

Frodo raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

Pippin continued.

"Mostly what I have nightmares of is about…about what I saw in that globe."

Frodo swallowed, his throat feeling dry. "The palantir?"

"Yes. Do you dream about him too, Frodo?"

"Him?"

"The Dark Lord."

Every night. Every awful, restless night, Frodo thought, but he shrugged. "Sometimes I do, I suppose."

Pippin opened one eye to look at him. They both knew Frodo was lying. Neither spoke for a time.

"I have nice dreams as well," Pippin offered eventually.

Frodo laughed and it came out in a rather startling bleat. He hadn’t realized until then how much tension had been building up in his muscles. "About sweet ale and jelly tarts and pretty hobbit lasses?"

Pippin smiled. "Something like that."

"Well," Frodo said, pulling the covers up tighter over his cousin, "Please go back to sleep and maybe you’ll have one of those."

He left the bedside then to attend to the fire, which had fallen off a bit.

"Do you remember my eleventh birthday party, Frodo? When you and Bilbo took me camping?"

Frodo nearly dropped the poker into the ash. Did Pippin know that’s what he had just been thinking about? How could he? "Y-yes," he coughed.

"Well do you remember how you said you dreamed there were elves that night and then in the morning you couldn’t believe none of us remembered because you thought it really happened?"

"They gave you back your hair." Frodo said flatly, not daring to turn from the grate.

"Sometimes I dream about that myself, you know. And I wake up wondering if perhaps it really did happen. I can see the elves and the lady in her robes and her golden hair and I can hear their singing…Do you think it’s entirely odd to be dreaming about someone else’s dreams?"

"I think," Frodo said, standing quickly and busying himself picking up the tea tray and its contents, "That you will talk all night if I encourage you and then you shall never get your rest. So I’m going to leave for a bit and you’ll have no one to listen but the floorboards. Maybe that will curb your tongue. Now would you like more tea if I make a new pot?"

"The floorboards are rather chatty themselves, you know. You could have taken it upon yourself to buy a less creaky house."

"If I had known I was buying it for such delicate sorts, perhaps I would have considered it."

"Delicate!" Pippin sniffed. "We Tooks may be rather handsome but we are far from delicate."

"And obedient. Now did you want tea or no?"

"Oh, fine," Pippin growled, flipping over onto his side so that his back was to Frodo, "I will have your tea. And another blanket. The crimson wool on the chair in the parlor will do splendidly."

If Frodo closed the door a bit loudly when he left the room, it was entirely by accident. Or so he would have maintained had anyone ever asked.

~~~~

Frodo took his time in the kitchen, boiling another kettle for the tea. He didn’t want to return too soon, while Pippin was in such a talkative mood. Perhaps if he dragged a bit and came back after a longer time, Pippin would be nearer to sleep and less interested in straying from the rest he needed.

And, anyway, Frodo didn’t really want to hear more from him tonight. What Pippin had said about the nightmares unnerved him and lit the old guilt anew. He never should have allowed them to come with. A day did not go by that he was not filled with regret for the pain he had lead into the lives of his dearest friends.

He would have liked to have a good cry right there in the kitchen, where no one would hear him, no one would bother him or try to soothe him with ridiculous reassurances…but he couldn’t. Tears didn’t come for him anymore. They hadn’t for a long time.

~~~~

When he returned to the bed chamber, he set the tea items on the table as quietly as he could, for he was certain Pippin had fallen back asleep. Then he attended to the fire that seemed determined to go out every time he left it. He put some more kindling on and then stirred the embers a bit, his movements progressively slower as he found himself entranced by the beauty of the sinuous dancing flames.

He was so focused that he nearly fell into the hearth when Pippin spoke up from his bed.

"You forgot my blanket."

"Goodness, Pippin, I took you for asleep."

"Well, I’m not, obviously," he started, but his words tapered off into a fit of wet coughing. Frodo moved quickly to his side and did his best to help him, giving his back great wallops with the flat of his palm. When it had subsided a bit, he poured him a cup of tea with a generous addition of brandy and handed it to his cousin, making sure that Pippin had a firm two-handed grip on the cup.

"Drink this while I go fetch your blanket. I don’t want to see a drop in that cup when I come back."

Pippin gulped the tea, too tired and shivery to protest.

Frodo made his way to the parlor and after a brief search came upon what he was certain must be the blanket Pippin requested. He also grabbed another from the bench, just to be prepared. He returned to the room a short while later and was greeted by the sounds of rhythmic, if husky, breathing.

"Oh, thank you," he murmured to no one in particular.

With great care, he unfolded the blankets and tucked them around his cousin, at the same time feeling about his body to see whether he was clammy or flushed. When all seemed well, he climbed onto the bed and put a small kiss on Pippin’s forehead.

"I’m sorry to have caused you and Merry and dear Sam such trouble." He whispered. "I wish I had allowed you to stay in your nice hobbit hole forever where the most dangerous things you should ever encounter would be honey bees and the garden snakes of Tuckborough."

He gave him a second kiss, brushed back his curls, and then lay down beside him to think.

He was not allowed to think for long, however, for Pippin piped up, not having been sleeping at all.

"Why must you be so dramatic, Cousin Frodo?"

"Pippin, have you been practicing playing asleep just planning for this night?"

"I very nearly was asleep or something like it until you started speaking. And such nonsense you wake me up for! Merry and I would never have forgiven you if you hadn’t allowed us to come and everyone knows poor Sam would have died of a broken heart and no direction. And we ended up just fine. Plus a few more inches." He laughed, "Though minus a few digits, I suppose."

Frodo sighed. "Pippin, please just sleep."

Pippin imitated Frodo’s sigh. "How can I just sleep if I know that you’re lying here with your own silly rain cloud above your head blaming yourself when there’s nothing to even blame for. We had an adventure and everyone came out fine."

"Not everyone."

"No," Pippin said quietly, "That’s true."

They both grew quiet and still and stared at the shadows of the flames flickering across the ceiling. Then Frodo shook his head. "I am more worried about you than anything tonight, Pippin. I would worry less if you were getting some sleep and not exhausting yourself. I don’t want you any sicker if I can help it."

"It may just be a cold. I told you that."

"But it likely may not. Please don’t be careless."

"Then please don’t be sad!" Pippin wrapped his arms around Frodo and buried his head into his chest. "Please just be happy, Frodo. I wish you were happy."

Frodo was surprised by this sudden outburst of affection but only because it was as if current Pippin had suddenly been replaced by a previous version. Over the past few years Pippin had become far less impulsive than when he was younger. It had been replaced rather naturally with a kind of brash bravado but was also intertwined with a strong sense of restraint and, dare Frodo think it, caution. It was only to be expected he supposed, that his young cousin would mature just as any other hobbit did as they closed in on their coming of age, but he hadn’t realized until this moment how much he missed the little hobbit who might kick at you if he was angry but was just as likely to kiss you if he was happy.

Frodo swallowed and put his arms about the body on his ribs. "How can I be sad," he lied, "When I’m here with you?"

Pippin didn’t answer but his grip remained firm. He held tight until at last he dropped off into a genuine sleep, his breath hot and damp against Frodo’s shirt.

~~~~

Frodo didn’t know that he himself had fallen asleep until he realized he was waking. He sat up just as Pippin did, hacking again and at the same time kicking the blankets from the bed angrily.

"It’s too hot, Frodo," he complained between coughs, "I am all wet and exhausted from the heat."

Frodo felt his head, but the pale skin was cool and clammy. "I’ll get you a glass of water," he said.

"No. I want a cold bath."

"You can’t have a cold bath. You’ll catch your death."

"But I’m so hot!"

"You’re not really. You just think you are."

"Of course I am really. I’m sweating!"

"And soon you’ll be getting the chills. Now just lie still and I’ll fetch you some water."

"I hate you Frodo."

"Of course you do. And pouting is very becoming in a thirty-one-year-old."

"I am not pouting!"

"No, because that takes energy. Instead you are lying still quietly, waiting for hateful cousin Frodo to bring you a glass of water."

"Where is Merry?"

"He’s sleeping. Do you think he would take care of you better?"

"Well, he wouldn’t stand for this treatment of me. And if I wanted ice cream, he would make sure I got it."

"Ice cream? You want ice cream?"

"I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I didn’t."

"Well, have you got any ice cream in the house?"

"None. It’s too warm to keep it."

"Then how would Merry get it for you?"

"I don’t know. He just would."

"Pippin, you’re determined to drive me mad before sunrise, aren’t you?"

"No," he sighed. Frodo could see the bruises of exhaustion beneath Pippin’s eyes as he climbed from the bed and spread himself across the floor, where it seemed like it might be cooler. "Honestly, I am not. I’m sorry you are even here. I’m sure you would much rather be off somewhere else having a nice sleep and not being forced to deal with bothersome Tookish relations."

Frodo knelt down beside him and began to wipe his cousin’s sweaty face with his own handkerchief. "Please don’t ever think I feel that way."

"How could you not? I am a nuisance plain and simple. I’m quite tired of it myself and I don’t see how you can say you aren’t as well." He closed his eyes and laid his head in Frodo’s lap. "By the Shire, I am so dreadful tired of being sick. Ridiculous to have believed it might not happen again."

"There, now, Pip," Frodo stroked his cheek, "It might not. Perhaps you were right and this is just a cold."

"You don’t believe that."

"I’d like to."

"But you don’t."

"Maybe I do."

They sat there on the floor together for some time, Frodo stroking the soft, hot head in his lap until he worried he would never feel his legs again or be able to stand. He hated to have to say anything, especially since Pippin seemed to have finally stopped chatting, but he knew he had to.

"Pip, darling, you’ll have to get off me. You’re too heavy for me these days."

Pippin made an odd noise from between his lips, some sort of attempt at a laugh. "I used to be a little mouse so small."

"And now look at you, you are quite tall. Jolly-jolly-day-tock." Frodo finished the line of a hobbit nursery rhyme.

Pippin smiled as Frodo helped him to his feet and then back onto the bed. "I used to be just a carefree lass."

"And now my love those days have past. Jolly-jolly-day-tock."

Pippin sighed and put his head on the pillow. "You used to be a lad nimble and gay."

"And now I am a master with no time to play."

"Jolly-jolly-day-tock."

Frodo took one of the sheets and laid it lightly over his cousin. "We’ve a grand hole to keep and six babes to mind."

"But for today let us turn back time. Jolly-jolly-day-tock."

Pippin turned and watched Frodo as he stood back with his arms spread open and proclaimed dramatically: "We will run on the sweet grass and dance in the sun. And sing songs of nonsense till nighttime is done."

"Jolly-jolly-day-tock," Pippin finished, "Jolly-jolly-day-tock." Then he laughed. "What a silly rhyme. Whatever does ‘tock’ mean anyway?"

Frodo smiled. "I never thought about it. I suppose it has something to do with the clock. Like tick-tock-tick-tock."

"My mother used to change it when I was little. She used to say ‘Jolly-jolly-day-Took.’ I was nearly as old as I am now before I realized that wasn’t the actual rhyme."

"I think that’s an improvement. It’s not the best rhyme to begin with."

"And it’s dreadful sad, isn’t it?"

Frodo ran a finger down the slope of Pippin’s nose, then tapped the end playfully. "Most nursery rhymes are for some reason. I wonder why that is?"

"So that the babes will cry themselves into sleep, I suppose."

"That’s probably right," Frodo laughed and left at last for the long-forgotten drink of water.

~~~~

Merry was up with the sun, leaping from his bed and dashing to the guest room where he found Pippin fast asleep and Frodo sitting cross-legged on the floor, pouring over a book of Shire history that had made its way over from Great Smials on one of Pippin’s pipeweed-fetching trips. Not surprisingly, most of the focus was on the Tooks, their line of Thains in particular. It wasn’t very interesting, but then, Frodo wasn’t really reading it anyway. He merely gazed at it while his mind turned over other thoughts.

He looked up as Merry entered and put a finger to his lips. "Shhh. He’s finally asleep. It took near all night to get him to be still."

Merry crept to the bedside and peered at his cousin. "How is he?" he whispered.

Frodo closed the book quietly and set it against the wall. "It’s hard to say. He denies nearly everything and won’t give you a straight answer. I do wish he would try not to be so belligerent."

Merry smiled wryly and moved a blanket back slightly to get a better look at the sleeping hobbit’s face. "That’s actually a good sign. The worse off he is, the less he puts up a fight." He bent in for a closer look, then carefully tucked the bedding back. "Nevertheless, I’m going for the healer. I don’t take any chances with Pip."

Frodo nodded and noticed then in the daylight the noble cast Merry’s features seemed to have taken on in adulthood. It was very easy to look at the serious furrow of his brow and set to his jaw and see the rider of Rohan, the future Master of Buckland. Although Frodo knew he would miss Merry greatly when he left at the Havens, he did not fear to leave him. Merry could take care of himself, he had always known, but now he knew without a doubt that Merry would and could take care of Pippin for as long as the Took needed him to, and anyone else for that matter. Frodo found himself regretting not so much never seeing Merry again, but instead never getting to see Merry be the good father Frodo knew he would become.

"What’s the matter?" Merry asked, taking in Frodo’s thoughtful gaze.

"Nothing," Frodo smiled lightly, "but please hurry."

"Of course." Merry patted the Baggins on the back. "I never lag when I know I am needed."

Frodo watched him leave and then said quietly to himself: "I don’t believe you ever do."

Then he poured himself a cup of the tea which had long gone cold, sat himself gingerly on the edge of Pippin’s bed and waited patiently for Merry to ride toward town and return with the healer. It would not be a lengthy trip, he knew, but still, he willed the pony and the wind and all the nature that surrounded them to hurry on their behalf.

~~~~