I am not going to fall asleep. I am not. I will remain upright and dignified, and I will NOT fall asleep!

Sitting astride Arwen’s horse, the Queen riding easily behind him, one arm around his waist, Pippin felt his muscles begin to quiver with the effort of sitting so stiff and still for the past three hours.

Just think of something, anything! I will not lay my head back, even though she is rather soft and she smells so good and it would be so -–

He firmly gave himself a mental shake, widening his eyes as he stared at the passing scenery to try and wake himself up more. It had been a losing battle all morning, ever since Merry had practically pried him out of the bed.

Now Aragorn rode beside them while Frodo and Sam chatted easily behind and Merry once more rode on King Théoden’s wain. Sitting in front of the Queen, Pippin found himself casting about for anything, anything, to keep his eyes open.

“If you are tired, Pippin, you can lay your head back and take a nap,” Arwen whispered softly into his ear as he struggled against a mighty yawn.

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly, sitting up straighter when he realized with horror that he had begun to droop.

Beside them, Aragorn flashed his wife a bemused grin. She smiled back, a twinkle brightening her eyes, and softly began to sing.

HELP! Pippin thought, feeling his muscles relax. Must. Not. Sleep.

He felt his eyelids droop, his posture bend, and before he knew it he was being pulled back onto something soft that smelled of lavender and fresh air.

He sat up again, quickly, rubbing his eyes as his face turned a deep scarlet. Unperturbed, Arwen continued her song, her voice wrapping about him like a warm blanket on a cold night, the words reaching some part of his soul that seemed to understand the elven words. Once more his eyes drooped, his head nodded, and the last thing he knew he was drifting to sleep on a lavender scented cloud.

Strong arms were lifting him, holding him gently. The scent of lavender faded, replaced by that of soap and leather, and Pippin stirred, trying to open heavy eyes.

“We are stopping for the night, Pippin,” Aragorn whispered softly into his ear, shifting the hobbit so he could rest his head on the man’s shoulder. “You have slept the entire day, and I suspect you shall sleep away the entire night as well.”

“Mph,” Pippin mumbled, closing his eyes once more and burrowing his head deeper into Aragorn’s shoulder. At the moment, he did not care about propriety.

“All right,” Aragorn laughed, and the gentle swaying of his friend alerted him that the King had begun to walk. “If you wake up hungry in the night, there shall be a plate set aside for you.”

“Mmmmhmmm,” Pippin agreed, already starting to feel himself drift off once more.

“What’s wrong with him?” Merry’s worried voice asked from somewhere around Pippin’s knees. “Why is he so tired?”

“The herbs I gave him last night are very powerful, Merry, and I believe our young friend here is fighting off a slight cold. He should be much better in the morning after this long rest,” Aragorn answered calmly.

“Do not worry, Merry,” Arwen’s sweet tone floated to the sleepy hobbit, perking his ears up. “We are keeping an eye on him.”

Then he was drifting off again, not even aware when he was placed gently into the large bed the hobbits shared. Only when, sometime later, Merry crawled into bed and snuggled up against him did he stir, turning sleepy eyes to his cousin as Merry arranged himself.

“Go back to sleep, Pip,” Merry prompted, placing a slight kiss to his cousin’s brow. Then he frowned slightly in confusion. “Pippin, why does your hair smell like lavender?”

Pippin did not answer, but felt his face and ears turn a brilliant scarlet.

Why is it so dark? Where is my Merry? And Frodo, and Sam? Why can’t I breathe? I need to breathe! Merry? MERRY! FRODO! Help me, please, anyone! Strider?

But there was only the dark, stifling him, choking off what breath he had remaining, and he felt his body become heavy as lead, and just as still. He wanted to close his eyes, but when he tried, he realized they were already shut. Slowly, he opened them.

Faintly, as though from a very far distance, he heard a whisper of voices, though he could not make out what they were saying. He paid them no heed as his eyes roamed around the beauty before him, and then stopped.

Walking easily upon the sands, feet as bare as a hobbit’s and clad only in a loose jerkin and rolled-up trousers, Boromir approached, smiling a carefree smile that Pippin had never seen upon his face.

“Boromir,” he whispered, his breath catching in his throat as sudden tears filled his eyes, and he found himself running to greet the other, throwing himself into those strong arms that had fought so valiantly to save Merry and himself on that bleakest of days.

Boromir laughed, a sound of pure happiness, and caught the hobbit in mid air, spinning him around as he drew him close in a warm embrace.

“Boromir!” Pippin sobbed into the soft material of the man’s shoulder, not caring if he was dampening the tunic with his tears.

“Hush now, Little One,” Boromir soothed, his tone calm, gentle “I am here.”

He allowed the hobbit to weep himself out, kneeling so that when the tears had finally faded, he pushed the small form gently away from him, staring into the brilliant green eyes with tender fondness as he rested his hands upon those small shoulders.

“You must go back, Peregrin,” the man whispered softly, though there was no sorrow in his tone. “You cannot remain here.”

“But -“ Pippin started to protest, feeling his lips begin to quiver. A finger, absent of the sword calluses it had worn in life, stilled his protest.

“Listen to me, Peregrin,” Boromir whispered intently, squeezing the hobbit’s shoulders slightly. “You have a responsibility now. To your King, your kin, yourself...and to me.”

Pippin closed his eyes against the sudden onset of tears this last brought to his eyes, and nodded miserably. “I am a knight now,” he whispered.

“That is not the responsibility I speak of, Little One,” Boromir said softly. At the tweenager’s uncomprehending stare, he shook the hobbit slightly as he explained, in mild exasperation, “I want to see you live, Pippin! To marry, have children, grow old! I want to see you resting tired bones before a hearth, grandchildren about your knees! And you cannot leave Merry, not now.” Grief briefly clouded the warrior’s eyes, and he looked away, above Pippin’s head, as though seeing something the hobbit could not. “The shadow still lays heavily upon his soul, and should you pass now, he will not be long in joining you. And he, too, has a full life he may live, given the chance. ”

Then he turned his gaze back, and Pippin saw only love and compassion in those eyes.

“But, Boromir,” he managed to whisper, the words seeming to stick in his throat as he struggled to get the words out. “I am afraid.”

“And so are all who live and breathe,” Boromir smiled, gently moving one hand to rest it on Pippin’s curly hair.

“But that’s just it!” Pippin whimpered, his voice very small and young sounding. “How can I live, when even a little cold makes it so I cannot draw breath? How can I ever sleep again, when I am so afraid to close my eyes, lest I never open them?”

“Oh, Little One,” Boromir sighed, bringing the slight body close to his once more, his breath cool against Pippin’s cheek. “I pledge you this: every night as you drift off to sleep, I shall be there, holding your hand, until the day that you may walk by my side once more.”

“You promise?” Pippin asked in that same, small voice, not moving his head from where it pressed against Boromir’s chest.

“I swear it, one Knight to another,” Boromir answered, placing a tender kiss to Pippin’s head. “And now you must go.”

“But, I do not know the way!” Pippin whispered, pulling back slightly to gaze into that face once more, knowing his friend was at peace, and that Boromir’s sacrifice had not been regretted.

“There is one who does, and if you listen closely, you shall hear him,” Boromir whispered, standing slowly, one hand lingering on his friend’s shoulder before he gently pushed him back.

“Follow Aragorn, Little One, and he shall bring you home. I have no power to help him, but I can steer you in the right direction.” And thus saying, Boromir pointed to what appeared to be a bridge, though Pippin had not seen it before when he had arrived. “Go, brave Knight of Gondor, and serve our King once more.”

Pippin swallowed, hard, and nodded. Then he turned, though his feet shuffled slightly as he made his way over to the bridge that seemed to span a lifetime, crossing the sea and fading into the distance.

He looked back, once, and saw Boromir standing still where he had left him, watching closely. Then he placed his foot upon the bridge, and heard, clearly, Aragorn’s voice, a desperate note making it sharp.

“Peregrin Took, come back to me!”

Dimly, he could make out a form some distance down the bridge, and determinedly started toward it. As he neared, the figure slowly took shape, until Aragorn’s features were gazing down at him. Without a word, his friend held out his hand, and Pippin placed his small fingers within that grasp.

White light blinded him, and he knew no more.