“AAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!”

The shout rang through the still dawn air, the inhabitants of the small camp leaping to their feet, weapons in ready hands, blinking sleep from their eyes as they tried to locate the source of the cry.

Legolas, who had just taken the first watch but a quarter hour before, was already on his feet, trying to discern what enemy had made it past his keen eyes.

The two humans, elf, dwarf, and wizard all froze at the sight before them, staring incredulously.

Pippin and Frodo were dancing around the camp, swiftly removing all their garments as they clawed at their arms and legs, jumping and screaming at nothing and each other. Not far behind them Sam and Merry were doing a mildly tamer version of the same thing, scratching at their arms and hopping about, first on one foot, then the next. All were batting at themselves and each other.

“What in the-“ Boromir whispered, his sword slowly lowering.

“Ants! Antsantsantsantsantsants!” Pippin screamed as he flew past Aragorn, the last of his clothing now discarded.

Legolas’s eyes widened as he perceived in the dim light what his comrades could not: all four hobbits were covered from head to toe in red ants.

Moving swiftly, he darted to the nearest hobbit’s side, which happened to be Merry, and began to brush frantically at the stinging, biting insects.

“They’re covered in ants!” he shouted to the rest, dislodging the tiny menaces as quickly as he could.

Spurred into motion, one of the other companions each ran to the aid of a wiggling, jumping, frantic hobbit. Aragorn was by Frodo’s side in an instant, and to his horror saw that most of his flesh was covered in the creatures. No wonder he and Pippin had screamed so!

Gimli rushed to Sam’s aid, while Boromir hurried to Pippin’s, who had finally stopped screeching in pain and panic and was simply doing his best to get the ants off his skin.

Off to the side, Gandalf watched the scene unfold with pained sympathy, moving to start a small fire and begin boiling water for the poultices he knew would be needed.

It took several minutes to dislodge all the ants from their victims, and by then the damage had already been done. Pippin and Frodo were covered from head to toe in red, painful welts that were slowly starting to swell, and Sam and Merry were little better off.

“What happened?” Gimli finally asked, staring at the miserable, naked hobbits before him.

“I woke up when they started biting me,” Pippin said in a very small voice, looking as miserable as any had ever seen him. His whole body was a brilliant red, and the welts that covered him seemed to encompass his entire frame. Beside him, arms held slightly away from his body, Frodo nodded his agreement.

Aragorn, slightly braver than the rest, went to where the hobbits had created their normal sleeping pile for the day, and his eyes widened in horror. It appeared that Pippin and Frodo, as always sandwiched protectively between the other two, had fallen asleep right atop an anthill, unnoticed in the predawn darkness.

“Strider?” Pippin whimpered.

The Ranger turned quickly, knowing full well the danger that so many bites could cause. A few ant bites were nothing more than a nuisance, but a few hundred?

“It will be all right, Pippin,” he soothed, kneeling down beside the shivering form before him. All four hobbits were shaking, either with reaction to the ant poison, the drop in adrenaline, or the chill in the air, he was unsure.

“Legolas, I need my herbal pouch, quickly. Gimli, start a-” He stopped, noticing Gandalf already taking care of the small fire, one of Sam’s pots already starting to boil. “Gimli, Boromir, Legolas, I need you to place wet cloths over the worst of the bites. Use shirts or bandages, the blankets and cloaks will be too coarse. The water will help ease the pain until I can make the poultice.”

Quickly the others set about their task, and in moments the four hobbits were covered in a varied mix of soaked shirts, bandages and, in Pippin’s case, Legolas’ sash.

The young hobbit swayed dizzily as Legolas wrapped the dripping sash around Pippin’s red and swollen chest, the bites there more numerous then anywhere else on his person.

“Be at ease, Pippin, I have you,” he said softly, gently steadying him. “This should help the swelling, and take away some of the pain.”

“Pippin?” Merry asked softly, a few feet away, groggily trying to focus on his cousin. “Pip, are you all right?”

“Yes, Merry,” was the automatic answer, though Pippin was struggling to keep his own eyes open, swaying as though in a breeze.

“Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked, his critical eye gazing over his master worriedly.

“I’ll be all right, Sam,” Frodo assured him, his smile pinched. “However, never again shall I believe you when you tell me ants are harmless.”

A strained laugh was his only reply.

“The poultice is ready,” Aragorn said softly, carefully taking the pot off the fire and carrying it over to where the others stood, rather than asking the hobbits to move. “Gimli, Boromir, I have a dangerous task for you,” he said, stirring the concoction as he knelt before Frodo. “I need you to rid the hobbits’ clothes, blankets and cloaks of ants, and set up a new sleep area. Be careful,” he added, smiling at the two warriors’ fierce scowls. “I have never seen this type of ant before, and they appear to be extremely aggressive.”

He watched for a moment as the two set about their task, gingerly picking up the garments and blankets and moving off to shake them out. When he turned back to Frodo, he smiled slightly.

“How are you doing, Frodo?” he asked gently, starting to smear the hot poultice on the sensitive flesh. Frodo winced, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth before gritting out, “I feel as though they are still crawling over me, though I know they are not. I will not sleep soundly for a while!”

Aragorn laughed as he finished with the Ring-bearer and moved to Pippin, who was sitting now next to Sam, Legolas’ hand still on his shoulder. The gardener wrinkled his nose at the foul smell emanating from the pot, though Pippin showed no reaction.

“Oh, it’s ruined,” Sam sighed, though his tone was more resigned than regretful.

“But for a good cause,” Aragorn assured him, starting to smear the foul substance onto Pippin’s arms. “Is this better, Little Bird?” he asked gently, pausing in his work to place a gentle hand on the other’s forehead, frowning at the slight heat.

“Oh, that is worth one of Sam’s pots,” Pippin sighed quietly, closing his eyes in bliss.

Aragorn chuckled at his response, covering the hobbit’s entire body with the concoction. When he was finished, Gandalf came over from helping Frodo to the new bedding that Boromir and Gimli had prepared and gently took him from the elf’s hands, half carrying, half supporting the stumbling hobbit. Frodo was quick to his cousin’s side, as unsteady as he was himself, and the two of them lowered Pippin gently to the mass of cloaks and blankets that had become their bed.

“Pippin?” Merry asked, his attention on his cousin rather than his own discomfort.

“He’ll be fine,” Aragorn assured him, gently slathering him in the now cooling paste. “I’ll make him something for the fever as soon as you and Sam are taken care of.”

“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I think Pippin’s a bit worse off than us,” Sam said, trying valiantly to not squirm when the Ranger’s gaze turned to him.

“I’m almost done, Sam, and I want this poultice on all of you, it will draw out the poison. A few ant bites are nothing, but so many, and inflicted on someone of your size, can be dangerous,” Aragorn informed him gently.

As soon as Merry had been seen to he hobbled as quickly as he could to his cousins, the tenseness in his shoulders easing slightly when Pippin smiled up at him, making a comment too soft for the Ranger to hear, but bringing a chuckle from Gandalf and Frodo.

As Aragorn finished up with Sam’s legs, the hobbit sighed.

“To think, if me old Gaffer saw me now, naked and covered in goo, the look on his face!”

Aragorn laughed, standing with a creak of leather and metal, and helped Sam over to the others. Aragorn knelt beside Pippin, Merry and Frodo moving slightly to allow him room.

“How are you feeling now, Pippin?” he asked gently, once more taking the youngest hobbit’s pulse and checking his fever.

“Better,” came the weary reply, followed by a small smile. “Though I don’t think we’ll ever get the smell out of the cloaks!”

“Or my pan,” Sam sighed.

“No, I think it is ruined,” Aragorn agreed. “I suggest that all of you lay down and try and get some rest. Pippin, I want you to drink something for me, all right?”

The tweenager merely nodded, his eyes already closing, breathing evening out in sleep as the others settled around him. Now that they were covered in the foul paste, their discomfort had eased and they were feeling their exhaustion again, made even more extreme by the poison in their systems. Frodo, one hand protectively on Pippin’s arm, was asleep in moments, Sam close behind, his back pressed against Frodo’s. Merry fought off his own fatigue long enough to watch Aragorn coax a mug of something sweet smelling into a drowsing Pippin before he, too, was dragged down into the depths of slumber. Pippin, barely managing to finish off the mug, was fast asleep again before he lay back down.