He awoke with tears on his face, though he could not remember why he was crying or what had caused the lump in his throat.  There was a feeling, as though someone had taken his insides and replaced them with a dripping ball of something slimy, in the pit of his stomach. 

“Pippin?” Boromir’s voice was gentle, questioning.  “Are you in much pain?  Should I call for Aragorn?”

“No,” Pippin whispered, burying his face into the strong shoulder of the man that carried him, wiping away the tears as he did so.  “I am just –“

He could not finish, not knowing exactly how he felt.  All he wanted at that moment was to curl into a tiny ball and disappear, to become something so small that no one would ever notice him again.  Maybe then the icky feeling inside of him would go away.

“I understand,” Boromir whispered, and placed a soothing hand on his back.  “Go back to sleep.  It is still a while before we shall make camp again, and then I fear you shall be subjected to another of Aragorn’s tonics.”

Some of the despair vanished as he giggled tiredly, allowing the steady rocking of Boromir’s tread to lull him back into a restless slumber.

They had decided to walk the rest of the night through, moving until the travelers were completely exhausted and their steps stumbling.   Only then did they call a halt and rebuild their camp. 

“Pippin,” a soft voice called to him, bringing him up from the darkness of troubled sleep.  He blinked blurrily at the figure above him, realized he was once more laying on blankets and covered with a warm cloak. 

Aragorn knelt beside him, Frodo, Merry and Sam hovering over his shoulder.  He managed to smile weakly at them as the Ranger helped him sit up.  He was pleasantly surprised when the world stayed in its proper place and only a slight throb met the movement. 

“How are you feeling?” Merry asked softly, taking his cousin’s hand in his own and frowning at how cold it felt.

“Better,” Pippin assured him, frowning at the mug Aragorn held in his hand.  “Though for how much longer with that threatening me I’m not sure.”

“Oh, come now, Pip,” Frodo teased, though his voice was strained and he absently stroked the tween’s curls around the bandage.  “If I survived all the potions that Aragorn fed me while in Rivendell, I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Frodo,” Sam added, smiling slightly at the disgusted look on Pippin’s face as he eyed the concoction.  “That doesn’t smell nearly as good as the stuff you drank.”

“You lot are not helping,” Aragorn sighed, casting them exasperated looks before turning back to the battle at hand.  “Really, Pip, just drink it quick and then you can have some warm stew that Sam made to wash away the taste.”

Pippin wrinkled his nose at the thought, but took the mug from the Ranger.  His hands shook slightly, and Merry instantly reached to steady them, placing his own over his cousin’s.  He drank quickly, nearly gagging on the taste but managing to finish the entire contents in one swallow.

“Bleeeccchh!” he gasped, twitching at the taste that lingered on his tongue.  “You could use that to kill weeds, I wager!”

Merry laughed as he handed the mug back to Aragorn, exchanging it for the bowl of stew.   “Here,” he offered, placing the bowl to Pippin’s lips. 

The others watched as he ate silently, content for the moment to simply reassure themselves that the youngest member of their group was well.

“And how is young Peregrin doing?” Gimli asked as he approached the group, smiling around a rather large bald patch on his beard that was overlaid by a nasty cut. 

Pippin stared at the dwarf in worry before he replied, “I am doing much better, Gimli, thank you, but what of yourself?”

“Oh, this is nothing, nothing!” the dwarf was quick to assure him, though he seemed touched and a bit flustered by his concern.

“It may be nothing, but it was valiantly won,” Legolas’ voice said a moment before the elf knelt down beside the little group, moving with his usual silence and grace.  “Boromir and Gandalf are standing first watch, and suggested, rather forcefully, I might add, that we all try and rest.”  His gaze rested for a moment on Gimli then quickly turned away. 

Pippin wondered what he had missed in his moments of unconsciousness that had the elf acting so.

“Agreed,” Aragorn sighed, and stood with a creak of leather and metal.  “To rest, all of you, and that includes you, too, Master Gimli.  I believe we have second watch today.”

“Harrumph,” was the only response as the three of them drifted to their individual sleeping spots, leaving the hobbits to arrange themselves.  Frodo curled himself around Pippin’s left side, Merry on his right, with Sam curling around Frodo. 

“You had us worried for a while there, Pip-Dearest,” Frodo murmured, touching his cousin’s face gently as he gazed at him sleepily.  “When that creature hit you...“

“Aye,” Merry breathed, once again taking Pippin’s hand in his own and squeezing it. 

“You was very brave, Master Pippin,” Sam put in, eyes closed.  “But mayhap next time you could be a little less brave and avoid going for the creature’s heart.”

Pippin giggled around a yawn before he answered, “I’ll remember that, Sam.”

“Good, see that you do,” Frodo admonished, eyes closing as he shifted slightly, snuggling closer.

Soon the only sound to be heard was that of weary travelers drifting off to slumber.  But Pippin lay silent and still, eyes staring up at the rocks that provided them cover, clutching Merry’s hand close to his heart. 

At least I can see the monsters in the daylight, he thought to himself.

And strangely, with this thought, he finally managed to drift off to sleep.