“That’s it, dearest. It’s over now,” Frodo said, frowning distastefully at the puddle of vomit that was quickly seeping through the blankets. There was not much – just the remnants of tonic and tea, after all – but it had left Pippin tearful and exhausted.

“I’m sorry, Frodo. I couldn’t help it,” Pippin whimpered.

“I know, Pippin, I know. I’m not angry,” Frodo assured him with a kiss to his cousin’s sweaty brow. Taking a moment to get his bearings, Frodo sprang into action, cleaning Pippin’s face and hands, helping his cousin change into another nightshirt, and stripping the bed of its soiled linens. Wrapping Pippin in the only blanket that had remained clean, Frodo settled him in the chair and went in search of new bedclothes.

As he tossed the dirtied blankets into the wash basket and selected clean ones, Frodo wished suddenly that Merry was here. Young as he was, Merry kept a cool head in these situations and had been at Pippin’s side through more serious illnesses than a cough and cold.

Back in Pippin’s room, Frodo found his cousin’s fever soaring again. He quickly made the bed, but Pippin’s legs gave out when he rose from the chair and Frodo had to lift him onto the mattress.

“Thirsty,” Pippin whispered. “My eyes burn.”

A few sips of water and a flurry of cool cloths later, Pippin’s fever dropped slightly and the young hobbit was fast asleep.

Stretching his arms over his head with a sigh, Frodo hovered by Pippin’s bed until he deemed it safe to see how his other guest was faring.

He discovered Gandalf still seated at the kitchen table, gazing out the window at the furious rain.

Frodo yawned loudly in greeting, and prepared a fresh pot of tea.

“I don’t know what I am doing, Gandalf,” he said after a moment, handing the wizard his mug. “Pippin slept for barely twenty minutes before he woke up coughing so badly that he was sick all over the blankets. Only now has his fever gone down a bit.” Frodo sighed and slouched against the table. He hid another yawn in his tea.

Gandalf shifted his glance from the window to the hobbit beside him. “Perhaps with some sleep your mind would be clearer, though it seems to me that you are doing a fine job.”

Frodo smiled in thanks but shook his head. “Pippin needs me. I can’t leave him now, but I am sorry to keep leaving you. I have been a very poor host. I suppose this has spoiled your visit.” 

“We all do what we must, Frodo,” Gandalf replied, smiling kindly.

Taking Gandalf’s words to heart, Frodo smiled again and returned to Pippin’s side.

*          *          *

Frodo did not recall dozing off, but was startled awake by a hand on his shoulder.

“Get some sleep in your own bed, Frodo,” Gandalf said quietly. “I’ll watch Peregrin now.”

“No, no, Gandalf, I can handle it,” Frodo replied. He yawned widely before continuing. “I have to stay with him.”

“So you can sleep when you should be watching your cousin?” Gandalf asked with a raise of his eyebrows. “Let me look after him, Frodo. You need some rest.”

“But you’re leaving in the morning,” Frodo protested, rubbing his eyes furiously.

Gandalf glanced at the hobbit in the bed; Pippin was awake now and watching the entire exchange. “Well, Peregrin, what do you say – do you think I can manage, or should your cousin remain here to yawn at you?”

“Go to sleep, Frodo,” Pippin said hoarsely. “I don’t think you’ve slept at all since I got sick.”

Frodo checked Pippin’s fever. “Hmm. You still feel very warm, Pippin.”

“But I don’t feel as sick as before, Frodo,” Pippin insisted, though his words were punctuated by a deep cough. “Besides, Gandalf will take good care of me, I just know it. You should go to bed.”

“It seems you both want to get rid of me,” Frodo replied, standing reluctantly. He meant to say more, but another enormous yawn swallowed his words.

“Oh, go on before you fall over,” Pippin said, managing a small smile.

Frodo smiled in return and somehow stumbled to his own bed where he immediately fell into a deeper sleep than he intended.

“You should get some rest as well,” Gandalf said, after he settled himself at Pippin’s side.

Pippin shook his head and began another long coughing fit. 

When it showed no apparent sign of stopping, Gandalf reached over and lifted Pippin, blankets and all, into his arms and held him as if he were a very small hobbit-lad. If Pippin had not been so ill, he might have been insulted, but as it was his ceaseless coughing prevented him from considering much else.

“All finished?” Gandalf asked when the bout ended, patting Pippin’s back lightly.

Pippin let out a shaky breath and sagged limply against the wizard’s shoulder, too weak to even reply with anything more than a slight nod.

Gandalf tucked the blankets more securely around Pippin, but did not return him to his bed. It might have been his imagination, but it appeared that the hobbit breathed easier now that he was sitting up.

For a few moments Gandalf studied Pippin, whose eyes were glassy from the fever and his breath ragged.

“I am not accustomed to a quiet Took,” Gandalf said finally, “and I hope I never come across another.”

At this Pippin lifted his head and met the wizard’s gaze. “Do you mean all Tooks, or just the quiet ones?” he whispered faintly.

“The quiet ones, of course, my lad. They are a grievous sight. I prefer my Tooks chatty, cheerful, and curious.”

With a thump, Pippin let his head fall against the wizard’s shoulder once more.  “I think I am too sick to be chatty and cheerful,” Pippin whispered. He paused a moment to clear his throat, and then said louder, but no less hoarsely, “But I am always curious.”

“That is a relief,” Gandalf replied with a sad smile.   

For a long while they sat in silence, with Pippin’s breathing the only sound that filled the room. Gandalf felt Pippin’s temperature grow cooler, and was about to return the hobbit to his bed when he spoke again.

“Do you like the stars, Gandalf?” asked Pippin after a few moments, staring out the window. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the sky was an inky black.

“Yes, Peregrin. I do like the stars very much,” Gandalf replied.

“So do I,” Pippin said. He sniffled loudly and wetly, and swiped ineffectually at his nose with his sleeve

From the depths of the wizard’s robes emerged largest handkerchief Pippin had ever seen. He supposed it would have smothered him if Gandalf had not dutifully held it while Pippin blew his nose.

“Thank you,” he whispered when he was finished.

Gandalf smiled and set the handkerchief on the bedside table for later.

“Sometimes I wish I could touch one,” Pippin said, coughing again.

“A star?” asked Gandalf.

“Yes. But I wouldn’t want to keep it because it would be lonely without the others.” Pippin eyed Gandalf thoughtfully. “You must know everything there is to know about stars. Do you think one would be sad all by itself, Gandalf?”

“I think it would,” the wizard replied with a nod.

“I thought so,” Pippin replied. “I know I would be very lonesome without any other hobbits around.”

“Well, I certainly hope you never have to feel that way, my lad,” Gandalf said, patting the hobbit’s hand gently. He paused in mid-motion, and lifted Pippin’s hand to look at it more closely.

“I wonder…” he said, turning Pippin’s hand over in his much larger one.