Pippin slept soundly all through that day, the first untroubled sleep he had enjoyed since before Rivendell.  When Frodo gently shook him awake, he smiled up at his cousin beautifully, and received a smile just as large as his own.

“How are you feeling?” his oldest cousin asked, helping him sit up, and Pippin had a feeling he was referring to more than just his head.

“Better,” he answered truthfully.

“Good, because Aragorn wants you to drink this all up and then eat some breakfast – er, supper.  Or whatever meal it is when we sleep all day and wake at night,” Frodo finished with a chuckle. 

“Breakfast, and I see Aragorn is getting you to do his dirty work for him,” Pippin sighed, pleased to see that his hands did not shake as he took the proffered mug. 

“Maybe he is just tired of you whining,” Merry murmured sleepily next to him, earning a dark look from both of them.

“Hush, Merry, and get up, you can’t laze about all day, er, night.  Sam needs help washing the pots, and your supper, er, breakfast is getting cold,” Frodo admonished, reaching over to pull the covers off of his reluctant cousin.

“Hoi, that’s cold!” Merry protested, grabbing for the blanket and missing. 

“Then get up and moving!” Frodo chuckled. 

Pippin smiled at the antics, though it faded quickly as he downed the noxious potion.  He shuddered, wondering for a moment if he was going to be sick again, then decided that his stomach was in a forgiving mood that morning.   Er, night.

“All right?” Frodo asked, who had been watching him at the same time he was teasing Merry.

“Yech!  I mean, yes,” Pippin assured him, shuddering one more time before handing the mug back to his cousin.  “Though I think I had better eat that breakfast soon before my stomach decides otherwise.”

Merry stumbled past them, absently touching Pippin’s shoulder and Frodo’s hair as he passed, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he made his way to where Sam was trying to instruct Gimli on the proper care of fried potatoes. 

“Am I allowed to help today, or must I stay inactive again?” Pippin asked, giving Frodo his best puppy-dog eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t, stubborn Took,” Frodo laughed, touching his cheek as he stood.  “Aragorn wants you to rest until it is time to leave, and then you shall be carried again.  If you have no more troubles by morning, then maybe he will let you walk tomorrow.  Now eat up, you need your strength.”

It was with a much lighter step that Frodo left his cousin, though he still did not like how the light in Pippin’s eyes had not returned, and his smile was quick to fade. 

“Here, Merry, Sam made some tea,” Pippin said cheerfully as he approached his cousin, who was standing guard with Boromir.  “I’ll get you a mug if you would like one, Boromir,” he added.

“Aye, thank you,” the large man nodded, smiling down at the young hobbit. 

Though he had still been silent and withdrawn most of that night’s travel, he had started to revert to his former self, every now and then throwing out an outrageous question and having everyone pondering some pointless fact.  The tension in the group had faded noticeably. 

He waited for Pippin to leave, but the tweenager stood there for a moment, as though waiting for something, and a moment later a startled cry jerked his attention back to his watch mate.

Merry was staring at his reflection in the tiny pond they had decided to camp by, a look of horror slowly changing to outrage. 

“Pippin!” he snarled, turning to look at his cousin and revealing the cause for his distress. 

His teeth and lips were stained black.

The youngest hobbit’s giggles quickly turned to shrieks as he darted off unsteadily, trying to avoid capture as Boromir watched in amazement. 

Aragorn approached him silently, a smile playing about his lips as he watched the antics, Gimli’s laughter filling the clearing.

“Oh, Sam, you didn’t!” they heard Frodo ask in mixed horror and amusement.

They turned to see the two of them by the small fire Gandalf had permitted them, Frodo looking to his friend in wonderment.

“Of course not, Mister Frodo!” Sam answered in affront, though no one could deny the small smile that was playing around his lips.  “Master Pippin put it in after I poured the mug.”

Frodo burst out laughing, and the others who had heard were hard pressed not to follow suit. 

“Sam, how could you?” he finally managed, wiping tears from his eyes.

Sam swiveled slightly at the sound of Pippin’s shrill giggle, and the others turned just in time to see Merry mercilessly tickling Pippin, who was curled up in a ball on the ground trying to avoid those pitiless fingers. 

“Some things are worth a bit of mischief, Mister Frodo,” the gardener answered softly, watching the scene play out before him. 

Frodo watched as Aragorn went to break up the entertainment and admonish Merry about roughhousing with patients not up to it, not noticing as Pippin made faces behind the Ranger’s back. 

“Indeed, Sam,” Frodo whispered, turning back to his friend and smiling.  “Indeed.”