(Written for hobbit_ficathon) 

SOMETHING TO BE THANKFUL FOR

Pippin tiredly entered the tent he still shared with the other three hobbits. It was only his second day of having duty since his awakening, and though Aragorn had him sitting on a small stool as he awaited his various orders, which were yet few, he still was very weary.

A single lantern lit the area. Legolas was seated on the floor, talking to Frodo and Sam, who sat upon Frodo's cot.

“Ah, Pippin!” said the Elf, as he rose gracefully, “it must be later than I thought! I shall take my leave, and allow you all to rest.” He gave Pippin a companionable pat on the shoulder as he ducked out.

Pippin placed his helm on a small table, next to Merry’s. “Where’s Merry? He didn’t have any duties this evening.”

Frodo and Sam looked at one another.

“He’s at the camp of the Rohirrim,” said Frodo.

“One of them Riders as he is friends with was having a birthday,” put in Sam.

Frodo nodded, but a worried crease appeared in his brow. “He said he would not stay long, as you could not be with him, Pippin. But he’s been gone longer than I would have expected already.”

Pippin bit his lip. As tired as he was, he didn’t think he could rest without being sure Merry was all right. And Frodo had begun to look alarmed. Frodo didn’t need any more to worry about. He sighed. “Merry wouldn’t get drunk without me--not on purpose anyway, but you know how Men can be. I’d better go check on him.” He sighed. All he really had wanted to do was go to bed.

Yet just as he was starting to turn and go out of the tent, a tall figure ducked in. It was the young King of Rohan, Éomer, and carefully carried over one shoulder was the slumbering form of his cousin.

Pippin’s jaw dropped, and he started to say something angrily, but the King shook his head, and said softly “No, Pippin, he’s not the worse for drink--he had only one ale, in the goblet Master Gimli made him. He simply fell asleep by the fire. I thought he would slumber more soundly with the rest of you, so I brought him back.” He walked over, and laid Merry gently on his own cot. Merry stirred slightly, but did not wake. Pippin walked over to the cot and drew the blanket up over him. Fortunately his cousin was not wearing his armor, but some of the clothing that had been sent for them from the City.

Frodo stood, and gave a small bow. “Thank you, Lord Éomer, for bringing him back to us.”

The King smiled. “You are most welcome, Frodo Baggins.” He cast a look back at the slumbering form of his small esquire. “He has had many days of weary waiting, and much lost sleep to make up for.” With a final gracious nod, he left the tent.

Pippin stood by his sleeping cousin, his hand on Merry’s head, brushing back the sandy curls. Frodo and Sam walked over, and Frodo lay his left hand on Merry’s shoulder, to reassure himself all was well.

“Poor Mr. Merry,” said Sam. “I wish we had not given him so much grief.”

“I know,” said Frodo, “he nearly worried himself sick, from what I was able to get out of Aragorn.”

“I’m thankful.” said Pippin firmly. “Thankful he was worried.”

Frodo gave his youngest cousin a startled look. “What do you mean, Pippin?”

“Just think, Frodo. What would have been the only reason he would *not* have worried about us?”

“Oh!” Frodo gasped. “I see what you mean!” Tears sprang to his eyes, and the hand on Merry’s arm clutched slightly.

Sam looked puzzled. “I’m afraid I don’t get your meaning at all, Mr. Pippin.”

Pippin looked at Sam earnestly. “Sam, hurt as we all were, there would be only one reason he wouldn’t have worried--that’s if he’d been there at the Black Gate with me, and badly hurt--or killed--himself.”

Sam looked shocked at the thought of it. “You have the right of it, Mr. Pippin! Put it that way, I’m thankful as well.”

And the three watched him sleep for a moment, united in gratitude.