“Pippin, come back to me.”

His eyes opened as he took a large, gulping gasp of air, as one who has surfaced after being under the water too long. Aragorn was above him, one hand still resting against Pippin’s brow, face pale and fearful. Beside him, Gandalf watched in concern, the wrinkles around his eyes suddenly more pronounced. Distantly, he could hear the sound of weeping.

He struggled to speak, to ask what had happened, and where were his cousins, but all he managed was to bring in another struggling breath.

“Easy, Little Bird,” Aragorn soothed, moving the hand from Pippin’s brow to his cheek, his fingers light and tender. The King’s voice was so filled with relief and exhaustion that it wavered, and for a moment Pippin feared that his friend might faint, or that his legs would give way. “Just concentrate on your breathing for now.”

“Pippin!”

A flurry of motion, followed by Merry’s arms wrapped about him desperately, though gently. Pippin smiled into his cousin’s shoulder, reveling in the ability to breathe once more, and managed to pat Merry’s back awkwardly.

“Pip!”

Another movement, and then Frodo and Sam were about him as well, tears marking a trail down their cheeks as they sobbed his name and held him close, until it was hard to tell where one hobbit began and another ended.

“Now, now, lads, enough of this, you must let him breathe,” Gandalf rebuked gently, starting to pull hobbits off of the slightly crushed tweenager, even as he himself wiped at his eyes.

“I’m...all right,” Pippin managed to whisper, smiling up at his friends.

He felt his eyes begin to droop once more, knowing he was safe and warm and loved, and did not fight the urge to sleep.

After all, Boromir was waiting for him.

“Lgls,” Pippin rasped, surprised at how difficult it was to force the words from his throat. His chest hurt, nearly as badly as when he had been crushed by the troll.

Legolas looked up immediately, putting aside his bowstring to move to Pippin’s side, bending over Merry to place a soothing hand to Pippin’s brow.

“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked softly, brushing curls back from the hobbit’s forehead.

“‘M chst hrts,” Pippin mumbled, trying to force the words out around. He tried again, forcing his lips to move correctly. “My chest hurts.”

“I have no doubt,” Legolas whispered, and a shadow flickered in the elf’s eyes. “You were very, very ill last night, Pippin. For long moments, we thought that we had lost you, for you ceased to draw breath, and became still. For a time, before Aragorn called you back, he had to breathe for you.”

Pippin swallowed, hard, at this revelation, and turned his gaze to his cousin.

“Yes,” Legolas murmured, answering his unspoken question. “Merry, too, had a very dark time last night, thinking that he had lost you, but he is also recovering. The shadow did not claim him, though it was a near thing.”

“It won’t…have him. Not so long...as I am here,” Pippin whispered, determination filling his voice.

A soft snore turned both their heads, to see Sam, curled up next to Frodo, both of them looking as though they had fallen asleep crying on each other’s shoulders, tear marks still evident on their cheeks.

“Why, Legolas?” Pippin whispered, turning back once more to his friend. “Why...did this happen?”

It was becoming easier to talk, as though his lungs were becoming accustomed once more to the action. Legolas sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as he gathered his thoughts.

“You developed a chest cold,” he began, opening his eyes once more to stare deeply into Pippin’s. “Apparently, the bruising done to your lungs by the troll was more extensive than we had realized, and the congestion caused the scar tissue to swell, preventing you from breathing.”

“Will...will this happen - every time I get sick?” Pippin asked in a trembling whisper, only fading memory of white shores and a pledge made by a beloved friend keeping him from being too frightened.

“For a while...yes,” Legolas answered regretfully. “Should the illness be one that affects the lungs. But it should fade as you grow older, and your lungs stronger. For now, however...” The elf sighed, and tenderly placed his hand on Pippin’s cheek. “You must take care of yourself, and do what you may to prevent getting sick for a while.”

Remembering the responsibility the Boromir had placed upon him, Pippin nodded.

“Now, let me get you something to drink, and then I shall let Aragorn know that you are awake,” Legolas murmured, moving to pour the hobbit a mug of water from a pitcher by the chair he had been sitting in, helping Pippin sit up to drink it, and then easing him back down.
“Will you be all right for a few moments?” he asked, clearly hesitant to leave the young Knight’s side and reluctant to wake one of the other hobbits.

“Go,” Pippin smiled, shooing his friend out. “I am better already.”

Legolas paused only long enough to touch Pippin’s cheek once more before he left the tent, moving with the grace and speed of his race. Only a few moments later he returned, Aragorn following close behind, wearing a robe over a soft leather tunic and trousers that reminded Pippin of the outfit worn by Boromir.

“Good morning, Little Bird,” Aragorn greeted him softly, moving to kneel beside the bed as Legolas resumed his seat. “Legolas tells me you are feeling better, though your chest hurts you.”

“Yes,” Pippin whispered, catching Aragorn’s hand as the King went to take his pulse. His friend’s eyes were slightly startled as he met Pippin’s gaze. “I am sorry, Strider,” Pippin breathed, feeling his breath begin to hitch in his throat and forcing himself to calm down. “I am sorry I did not tell you I was feeling ill.”

Aragorn’s eyes softened, and he smiled tiredly. “That is all right, my brave Knight. I knew that you were becoming ill, though as usual you were too stubborn to say anything. I had not anticipated such a severe reaction, however, and that is my fault.”

Pippin shook his head, tightening his grip slightly on Aragorn’s hand. Though the grip was weaker than the King would have liked, he was encouraged by the fierceness of it.

“I just need to be more careful, Strider,” Pippin whispered. “You won’t always be there to put me back together again, and I...” He paused, trying to even out his breath once more and stop the tears that threatened to form. “I have a responsibility to live, now. And I’ll do my best to make sure I stay around as long as I can.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Aragorn chuckled. “But for now, I am here, and I can put you back together. So I am going to rub some more of that ointment on your chest, and give you another potion, and you are to remain in that bed for at least another few days.”

Pippin opened his mouth to protest, knowing that the return of King Théoden to his home was the priority. Aragorn silenced any comment with a severe look.

“We can afford to stop for a few days, and I will not risk your life again so soon after nearly losing it,” the King reproached. “You need to gather your strength, and your stamina, and when you are more recovered, then you shall ride with myself or Arwen until we are certain the danger has passed. There will be no argument, either, for this is a direct order from your King.”

Pippin nodded, swallowing his embarrassment and guilt for slowing them down.

This is part of taking responsibility for myself, he told himself firmly. If I have to be a little embarrassed, then so be it.

“All right, Strider,” he finally murmured, sighing. The movement hurt, and he winced, scrunching his nose.

“Good. Now, let me get that rub, and then you can go back to sleep. I want you to try and eat some breakfast in a few hours, and then, if you are feeling up to it, you may sit in the sun for a bit.” Aragorn smiled at the look of relief on Pippin’s face, and tweaked his nose, gently. “I am learning,” the King whispered, and both Pippin’s and Legolas’ laughter were his reward.

Smiling, he left the tent.

“You scared me last night, Pippin,” Merry finally whispered, looking away from the other, to the trees waving gently in the light breeze. “I thought I had lost you, and for one moment...” Merry’s voice trailed off, his gaze distant.

“Merry?” Pippin asked, softly, reaching out to touch Merry’s hand. It was cold, though not as chilled as it had been after his initial wounding. Merry looked up, startled, as though having forgotten where he was. “Merry,” Pippin whispered again, and brought his cousin closer, moving his grasp to Merry’s shoulders and wrapping him in a warm embrace. “I promise: I won’t leave you, so long as you don’t leave me. All right?”

His cousin nodded into Pippin’s shoulder, and the young hobbit could feel Merry’s tears dampening his shirt. He held him for quite a while, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the feel of the other next to him, of the warmth slowly returning to cool flesh.

Soft footsteps finally broke them apart, and Merry sat up, wiping his eyes quickly as Aragorn approached, smiling down at them. He knelt between them, so that he could meet each of their eyes with his own steady gaze.

“Are you all right, my friends?” he asked softly, and smiled when both of them nodded. “Then I have some important things to discuss with you both. Though we shall not be moving for a few days, I thought it would be best to discuss this now rather than later.” Aragorn held up a small, dark jar, which he held out to Merry, who took it in steady hands.

“This is the rub for Pippin’s chest. Keep it close at hand, especially at night, for the next few months.” He held up his other hand, which held a small, burgundy pouch. “This is an herbal mixture that I want you to carry with you at all times,” he said seriously, placing the pouch around Pippin’s neck. “Should you even so much as get chilled, you are to make it into a tea immediately. Two pinches is all you will need, but I shall prepare a few more bags for when you get back to the Shire, and write down the ingredients of the tea and the rub for you Merry, so that you will know how to make more.”

His gaze was very serious, and Pippin and Merry both nodded.

“I do not believe that your lungs shall remain this weak for long, Pippin,” the King reassured, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “The slightly thinner air and different climate were a part of the problem, but also the recent activity you have been doing, and this odd chill in the air at night. I truly believe that as you get older, and your wounds become more distant, your lungs shall be whole once more. Better even than they were during your childhood, I am certain. Until then, however,” he added, tapping the pouch and the jar. “Keep these items close.”

Both hobbits nodded, and Aragorn smiled once more, standing.

“Do not wear him out too much,” he cautioned Merry, leaving them as softly as he had arrived.

Pippin met his cousin’s gaze and smiled sweetly at him.

“I’m going to smell like a lass for the next year or so, aren’t I?” he whispered, and Merry could not help the chuckles that escaped him.

“That’s all right, Pip,” he managed to say around his snickers. “I won’t let the lads kiss you.”

“Thanks,” Pippin whispered wryly, taking Merry’s hand once more.

His cousin squeezed it gently, and the rest of the afternoon was spent in silence, the two of them enjoying the gentle breeze, and the sound of their two breaths mixed together.