Dawn had just begun to creep over the horizon when Pippin’s fever broke, and his breathing became the soft, deep rhythm of true sleep. The three hobbits who had remained by the tweenager’s side through the night, felt themselves begin to relax.

Aragorn, not taking any chances, brewed yet another tea, the smell of athelas sweet and invigorating to tired and worried bodies and minds. When he lifted Pippin’s head to place the mug to his lips, the hobbit’s eyes fluttered for a moment, then opened, slowly.

“Pippin!” Merry cried, moving swiftly from where he had been preparing another wet cloth for his cousin’s still warm and sweaty face. The rag was held forgotten in his hand as he knelt by Pippin’s side, taking his limp, cold hand in one of his own.

The tweenager had no strength to speak, drinking what was in the mug even as his eyes began to close once more. Weakly, he squeezed Merry’s hand.

“Hush, dearest,” Merry whispered, Frodo and Sam crowding closer beside him.

“Go back to sleep,” Frodo murmured gently, bending to place a kiss on Pippin’s brow. When he moved, a droplet of water rested just below his cousin’s cheek, and he quickly wiped it away, even as he dabbed at his own eyes.

Sam rubbed Frodo’s back with one hand, using the other to squeeze Merry’s shoulder. The three of them sat there quietly for some time, simply watching the gentle rise and fall of the small chest.

It was only when Merry’s eyes began to cross in his attempt to keep them open that they decided to take turns resting, Frodo taking the first watch, Merry the second, and Sam drawing the third.

Merry lay down gingerly beside his cousin, one hand resting lightly on a thin shoulder, Sam lying next to him. Within moments, both were asleep.

Frodo, sitting within arms’ reach of all three of them, watched as the darkness began to fade.

Slowly he took a deep breath, and was relieved when only a slight rasp greeted the effort. What, then, had happened?

“Pippin? Are you waking up, lad?” Frodo’s voice was soft and hesitant, as though afraid to wake him if he still slept.

“Mphm,” Pippin mumbled.

“I think that is a yes,” another voice whispered, this one on his other side.

Slowly, with an effort that surprised him, Pippin opened his eyes, the world blurring about him as he blinked several times. The forms of his cousins, Sam and Aragorn took shape.

“Hello, Pip,” Merry whispered, touching Pippin’s cheek gently.

“H’lo,” Pippin mumbled thickly, his tongue feeling swollen and awkward in his mouth.

As though understanding his difficulty, Aragorn sat forward a little, so that Pippin could see him without turning his head, and said, gently, “You bit your tongue last night during a fever spasm. That’s why it may be difficult to speak.”

The young hobbit’s eyes widened at the explanation, turning his gaze to Merry for confirmation.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Merry whispered, still stroking the pale cheek. “But you’re doing much better now. You need to drink whatever Aragorn gives you, and rest a bit more.”

Pippin turned his gaze to Frodo, and the other was surprised to see tears welling in those large, green eyes.

“’M sorry,” Pippin whispered.

“For what, dearest?” Frodo asked, his own voice strained with emotion. “You have nothing to be sorry for!” Briefly, for just the barest of seconds, his eyes flickered to Aragorn, as though in warning.

“For getting sick. Again,” Pippin answered miserably.

Frodo felt something in his heart wrench, and it was with difficulty that he fought back the tears welling in his own eyes.

“Pippin –“ he began, trying to find the words to respond to such a statement as he turned his gaze to Merry, seeking aid.

To his surprise it was Aragorn who answered, taking one of Pippin’s small hands in both of his large ones. The Ranger’s eyes were sorrowful, filled with guilt and remorse.

“The fault is mine, Pippin,” Aragorn rasped out. He lowered his head, as though bowed by the weight of his shame. “If I had not been so foolish, and taken more care with what I knew to be a dangerous situation, then none of this would have happened. I can only beg your forgiveness, and hope that you will still trust me in the future, should something else happen.”

The hand in his trembled, and Aragorn looked up, to see all four hobbits staring at him in wonder.

“Will you remember this, the next time you feel we are lagging?” Frodo asked, his voice quiet, though hard once more, eyes staring unflinchingly at the Ranger. “Or one of us takes ill?”

Pippin stared in confusion from Frodo to Merry, startled by their suddenly hard gazes and their seeming mistrust of their friend. Sam, too, seemed to be angry, though for no reason he could fathom.

“Frodo,” Pippin whispered, but was stopped from saying more by a sudden coughing fit, his throat dry and sore. Four sets of hands reached to help him, with Merry being the one to ease him up slightly, rubbing his back. Aragorn’s larger hand rested on his chest, feeling the fluttering heartbeat beneath his fingertips with concern, but relaxing when the fit faded, and the thumping slowed to a calmer beat.

Sam held a mug to Pippin’s lips, and the other drank thirstily, nodding his thanks and taking a deep breath before attempting to speak once more.

“Frodo, why are you mad at Aragorn?” He asked softly, looking from his cousin to the Ranger. “If it weren’t for him, I would still be sick!”

Frodo opened his mouth to explain, but a glance from Merry stopped him.

A soft thumping alerted them a moment before Gandalf knelt beside Aragorn with a creak of his joints.

“Hello, Peregrin,” he whispered softly, eyes regretful and full of shame.

For his part, Pippin felt as though the floor had tilted beneath him. What had happened last night? Why was Gandalf, of all people, acting so odd? Why did the Big People around them look so miserable and ashamed?

“Gandalf?” Pippin asked softly, trying very hard to keep the quaver out of his voice.

“Yes, lad, I’m here,” the wizard murmured, placing a wrinkled hand on Pippin’s arm.

“Thank you for holding me last night. I don’t remember much, but I remember you holding me.” Pippin’s voice was hesitant, and he found himself more confused as the wizard he had been in awe of since he was a mere lad bowed his head, unable to speak.

“You should rest some more, Pippin,” Frodo finally said, pulling the blankets more securely around his cousin’s shoulders.

“But Frodo – we’re falling behind!” Pippin protested, even as he felt his eyes begin to droop. He wanted so badly to be able to stay awake! “It’s too important…”

“No, Pippin,” Aragorn’s voice whispered, trailing him into sleep. “What is important is that we get there together.”

Frodo watched his cousin drift off to sleep once more, then turned his gaze to the Ranger, who was watching him steadily.

A quiet understanding passed between them, then. A rebuke on Frodo’s part, an apology on Aragorn’s, and a mutual forgiveness from both of them. When the hobbit turned to Gandalf, he found the same apology in the wizard’s eyes, as well as a fondness and love for his cousin that was rarely glimpsed.

It was Legolas who broke the silence, his soft tread undetected by any of them.

“The dawn has come,” the elf said softly. “The shadows are fading. I suggest you all try and rest. I shall watch Pippin, and alert you if anything changes.”

“Yes, Legolas, you are right,” Frodo whispered, his gaze on Aragorn. “The shadows are fading.”

Merry stood, uncertain, then turned to the Ranger and, with a speed that gave Aragorn little time to react, threw his arms around the man’s neck.

“Thank you for saving my cousin,” he sobbed, the hot tears finally escaping. For a moment too stunned to do more than hold the weeping hobbit in his arms, Aragorn found himself smiling, sadly, as he moved to rub a soothing circle on Merry’s back.

“What are friends for?” the Ranger whispered softly into the other’s pointed ear.

Merry continued to cry for a few moments longer, then slowly calmed, his head resting on Aragorn’s shoulder.

“Will we really make it, Strider?” he finally asked, voice thick with fatigue and strain.

Looking over Merry’s shoulder’s, the man met Frodo’s gaze once more.

“Yes, Merry,” he answered, to the hobbit in his arms and the one across from him.
“So long as we are true to each other I have no doubt that we shall make it.”

Nothing more needed to be said as Merry sank slowly to the ground, curling around Pippin and falling into a deep sleep between one breath and the next.

And the dawn shone upon the Fellowship, banishing the darkness of the night.