Written by: Piplover, Auntiemeesh, Marigold Cotton, Gayalondiel 99, Dreamflower, lindaleriel8, Caroline, Alayna_The_Tallest_Hobbit, pipspebble, Lily, silvermoonlady1, Holdur, and Mysterious Jedi.

Edited by: Topaz Took and Alayna_The_Tallest_Hobbit

British spellings editor: LizaLlinos

"Merry, what are you doing with that?" Pippin demanded, trying to back around the sofa Bilbo had so inconveniently placed in his study. If only it wasn’t in his way…

His cousin ignored his attempted escape, blocking the exit with his body as he faced Pippin down.

"Pippin, we can do this one of two ways," Merry said softly, for Bag End was strangely quiet. "You can either take your tonic now like a good lad, or I can have Sam sit on you and pour it down your throat. Either way, you are going to take your medicine."

"But I'm feeling all better now, Merry." Pippin insisted, determined to resist the cough building in the back of his throat. "Honestly I am."Merry simply stared at his young cousin, utterly unmoved by Pippin's declaration of health. A moment later, the cough burst forth, harsh and loud in the stillness. Merry raised an eyebrow. "All better, are you?"

Pippin stared at the floor muttering something under his breath, which was probably just as well Merry didn't catch.

"It's your choice, Pippin. Me or Sam." Merry didn't have long to wait.

"Fine." Pippin half shouted. "I'll take your nasty old tonic, but it better not taste as bad as it did last time." Scowling in frustration, he forced himself to swallow the foul-tasting brew Merry handed him. He gagged dramatically at the taste, eyeing his cousin to see what sort of effect this had on Merry.

Merry was unmoved. He had been through this too many times with Pippin. Although he hated making the lad take a medicine that smelled and tasted so vile, if it was necessary to keep him from getting worse, Merry would do what he had to do.

Deep down, Pippin knew that and loved Merry for caring so much for him; but another, tiny little part, wished Merry knew what it was like to have to take such a nasty tonic all the time.

Realising his discomfort was having no effect on Merry, Pippin tried his best to ignore the taste and smoothed his face into a sad, wide-eyed expression—the one that no one, not even Merry, could withstand for long.

True to form, after a moment of looking at Pippin's drooping mouth and downcast eyes, Merry capitulated.

"Thank you, Pip," he said in a kind voice, placing the bottle of medicine to one side, "that was ever so good of you. Come now, I'll see about some tea for you. You can have it with honey, to make up for it."

Pippin smiled slightly. "Thank you, Merry," he said in a quiet voice. "That would be nice." He sniffled, just a little. The expression on his face was enough to break Merry's heart, and would have, if he wasn't fully aware that Pippin knew very well how to manipulate his sweet and innocent looks. Grinning ruefully, Merry turned and walked out of the study.

Pippin followed slowly and softly, as befits a martyr who is about to be soothed. As he passed the small table by the door, one hand snatched the bottle of medicine, quick as a flash, and slipped it into his pocket. Merry hadn't noticed a thing.

He led Pip back to the kitchen. Pippin followed with his most innocent and carefree expression.

Frodo was busy putting the kettle on. He turned and looked at Merry and Pippin. "Well, Merry, did you get it down him?"

"I did indeed, Frodo, with only a minimum of difficulty." This was true. Yesterday it had taken both of them to haul Pippin out from under a bed in order to dose him. "I promised him some tea with honey, since he was so good about it."

"That's nice," said Frodo, "and I think maybe we still have one or two seedcakes left from last night's tea that would not go amiss. What do you say, Pippin-lad?"

Pippin nodded. He almost felt guilty for what he was planning to do. Almost.
The young lad sat down gingerly at the kitchen table as Merry and Frodo bustled around the kitchen, getting the tea set out. Merry put the honey pot on the table and smiled at Pippin. That almost guilty feeling rose up in Pippin's stomach, but he squashed it and smiled back at Merry, with the most innocent eyes he could manage.
Merry, not noticing anything, went back to helping Frodo. Soon, all three of them were sitting at the table, Merry and Frodo across from Pippin. Inside, Pippin smiled. Perfect. Merry was telling Frodo something, but Pippin was so interested in what he was about to do, he didn't hear a thing. He reached for the honey pot... and knocked it over. Golden honey spread across the table and Merry placed his hand in it.

"Oh! Pippin!"

"Sorry, Merry."

"What is it?" Frodo asked, just as he set his own hand in the honey. "Ooh!
Bother..."

"I ‘m sorry, Frodo!"

Both Hobbits got up from the table to grab the dishcloth and wash their hands, momentarily leaving the teapot full and unattended. Pippin, making sure his cousins’ backs were turned, slipped out the bottle of medicine from his pocket.

Now's the chance, thought Pip, as he tipped the medicine out the window. His hand shook slightly as he poured some tea into the medicine bottle. He smiled in triumph as he did it without spilling a drop, putting the stopper back in just as the others returned to the table. As they wiped away the honey, he slipped the bottle back into his pocket. Now, it was just a simple matter of putting it back where Merry had left it.

"There's only a little of the honey left," Merry said sadly as he sat back down.

"Well, I guess it should go to Pip for taking his medicine. He was promised it, after all,” Frodo said. As the eldest cousin poured out the tea, Pip forced a smile on his face. Now he really did feel guilty, but the mischief was done and he couldn't help but be glad that he would no longer have to take such an awful tasting concoction. He'd rather have cold tea than that medicine. Nothing so horrible could be good for you, Pip reasoned, as Frodo added the last of the honey to the lad’s tea.

"You next, Merry." Frodo again poured the tea while Merry started on some freshly baked scones, buttering enough for all sitting at the table. Next came Pip's favourite jam: strawberry.

Frodo sat down at the table, pulling his cup a little closer as he poured out his own, but the tea trickled down to nothing, leaving his cup half empty. "That's odd." Lifting the lid up, Frodo peered into the empty pot. "I could have sworn I used more water than that."

Merry laughed. "It's on account of being a Baggins. I hear they're all cracked."

Frodo joined in the good humour as he took the kettle to the pump to get more water. "As long as the teapot's not cracked...I want my tea."

They all laughed while Pip, feeling less guilty by the second, smiled as he took a huge bite of a rather tasty butter and jam scone.

"Pip?"

Pippin sat up as the coughs wracked his body. "Hurts," he said. The coughing brought tears to his eyes.

Merry couldn't understand it. Pip had been doing so much better since the healer had given them the tonic, and had been taking it without too much fuss for the last couple of days. Merry thought he should have been almost well by now.

He put his arm around his little cousin. "There now, Pip-lad," he soothed. But Merry was definitely worried.

He could feel the slight fever that flushed his cousin's cheeks, and as Pippin began to cough again, he held him closer.

"I'm going to get Frodo, Pippin. Try to relax, and I'll be right back," Merry said, waiting until the fit subsided before leaving his cousin's side. Even as he rushed down the dark corridor to Frodo's bedroom, the sound of harsh coughing followed him.

He burst into Frodo's room, fear hitching his breath as he said, as calmly as he could to his startled older cousin, "Frodo, Pippin is sick again. I think he needs the healer. Tonight!"

Frodo stared at Merry, trying to collect his sleep-befuddled thoughts. "Calm down, Merry. Tell me what's wrong."

"Pippin's fever is back and he's coughing terribly. He needs the healer." Merry was fidgeting with anxiety, looking as though he might pull Frodo physically out of bed if he didn't move fast enough.

Frodo could tell he wasn't going to get much of anything else out of Merry. The Brandybuck lad was usually very levelheaded in a crisis but where Pippin was concerned, he tended to overreact a bit.

"Why don't I take a look at him?" So saying, he climbed out of bed, pulled on his dressing gown, and followed Merry down the hall. Once in the room his two younger cousins shared, he realised why Merry was so anxious. Pippin was sitting up in bed, looking pale and distressed. Frodo could hear him wheezing from the doorway.

Frodo forced his sleepy mind to work. He knew Pip needed help—and fast. With horror he realised Pippin’s sickness was much worse than a few nights before. Poor Pip had a look of panic on his face…

“Frodo?” Merry asked fretfully.

“Go and find the healer’s tonic, Merry,” said Frodo softly. Merry darted out of the room. Going to Pippin, Frodo put a hand on his head. His cousin’s skin felt hot and clammy, and gut-wrenching coughs wracked his body.

“Half a moment, Pippin,” Frodo said, snatching the pillows off of Merry’s side of the bed. Gently he placed the pillows behind the young Hobbit’s back and supported his half-sitting position.

“Frodo…” Pippin whispered.

“Shh, it’s all right Pip, Merry’s gone to find your tonic.”

“No…not all right, I’ve…” Pip abruptly stopped talking as another cough erupted.

Merry appeared in the doorway and handed a bottle to Frodo. “Here Pip,” he said taking out the stopper, “this will make you feel better.”

Pippin shook his head violently, pushing the bottle away.

“He’s just pulling another of his tricks,” Merry said. “Look here Pip. You need this to stop coughing, so quit your squirming and take it.”

Again Pip shook his head.

An idea flashed into Frodo’s mind. “Merry,” he said handing his cousin the bottle, “taste this and tell me if it’s Pip’s medicine.”

A bewildered look was in Merry’s eyes as he dipped his finger in the tonic and placed it in his mouth —expecting the same horrid taste he’d experienced days earlier, when he’d done the same to encourage Pippin. “It’s tea!” he exclaimed.

"Tea?" Frodo let out a moan of exasperation and concern. "Oh, Pip...Right. I'm going straight to the healer’s. You know what to do, Merry: keep him warm, give him something to drink—try lemon and honey, for now. I'll be as quick as I can."

In a matter of moments Frodo pulled on his cloak and pelted out the front door, leaving it to swing shut in his haste. Merry settled himself on the edge of the bed, tucking the covers tightly around Pippin and stroking his curly hair back from his clammy forehead.

"Oh, Pippin," he sighed sadly. "You silly Took..."

"'M sorry," Pippin muttered softly between wracking coughs. "I th...thought I was better...and it was so...so horrid..." he broke off, lying back on his pillows in exhaustion. Merry gently ran his fingers through his cousin’s hair.

"It's all right, Pip," he said. "Don't you worry, we'll get you fixed up in no time. How about a drink for your throat? A little lemon and a lot of honey, how does that sound?"

Pippin nodded, the pitiful expression on his face enough to break his cousin's heart.

Merry hopped off the bed and stoked up the fire, to ensure Pippin would be warm, and then headed to the kitchen. Swiftly, he gathered the newly purchased honey and squeezed the lemons. While he waited for the water to boil, he filled a bowl with cool clear water and found some fresh linen squares. He had hoped not to have to nurse Pippin in this way again, especially not so soon.

It seemed the water took an age to heat, but finally the kettle sang its shrill tone and steam poured from the spout. Gathering the drink, bowl, and cloths on a large tray, Merry hurried back to the bedroom. He was thankful, for the sake of access, he had left the door open.

"Can you sit up for me, Pip?" he called in forced cheer. "You can't take your drink lying down."

Pippin gave no answer, and every alarm bell in Merry's head began to toll once more.
Hurriedly, he set down the tray and rushed to his cousin's side, shaking Pip’s shoulder, stroking his face, and calling his name. But Pippin did not wake.

Touching the brow burning with fever, Merry frantically dipped one of the linen squares in water, squeezed it out, and draped it over Pippin's forehead. While he worked he kept up a steady stream of soothing words.

"Come now, Pippin, you silly Hobbit, your drink is getting cold. And here I put extra honey in it, too, just the way you like it. Frodo will be back soon with the healer and you'll be just fine, Pippin, I know you will. We have so much more to do, you and I. You can't just drop out on me any old time you like."

He ran out of breath and words and sat back on the edge of the bed, just looking at his cousin—his flushed cheeks, the circles under his eyes, the little chest struggling to rise and fall with each painful breath. Merry reached out and touched the damp curls on the pillow, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Oh, my sweet Pippin," he breathed, softly stroking the beloved head. "I am so sorry you are sick. You have to get better. Please wake up. I promise not to even scold you for switching your medicine. Come back to me, my Pippin. Please don't leave me here alone."

There was no answer, save the crackling of the fire, and Merry began to get too warm. Fear trickled throughout his body, making him sweat, but he didn’t dare damp down the fire because he knew Pippin needed to be kept warm. He hoped Frodo would hurry with the healer...

"Pippin, I know you didn't mean for this to happen, but when you get well I'm going to thrash you," Merry murmured, changing tactics. Pleading hadn't helped; maybe threatening would? It was almost painful for Merry to threaten his Pippin, but he was so chokingly afraid. As he held vigil over Pippin's unconscious form, he became gradually aware that his cousin's breathing was growing ever more laboured and sweat had sealed his lashes to his cheeks. The room was too warm, the small Hobbit struggling to breathe too fevered, and Merry was steadily getting more frightened. Frodo's sudden reappearance improved nothing.

"Merry, I went all the way to the healer's and she's not there. No one is there, just a note saying there was an emergency. I left a note of my own for her.”

"Frodo," Merry cried, "we've an emergency here, too—Pippin won't wake up!"

Frodo gazed silently at the lad in the bed, trying hard to put up a brave face for his panicked cousin. He searched his memory, groping for some idea to ease Pippin's breathing until the healer arrived.

"All right," he finally said, drawing a deep breath to steady his nerves. "We'll have to hope she returns soon; but in the meantime, we have to try to ease his breathing. Come and help me sit him up a little more, Merry."

Settling the youth against his shoulder, Merry could feel every breath heave shallowly through the small body.

"I remember old Rosa walking for hours with a sniffling tot in her arms in the laundering rooms in Brandy Hall. She said the steam would help—and right or wrong it seemed to. You keep him upright and I'll get the kettle steaming and fetch more cool water for his head."

Merry nodded silently, his expression seeking reassurance he did not have to offer. Frodo rushed down the corridor, hoping against hope the healer would return to find his urgent message soon.

When Frodo was returning from the kitchen, he heard a soft knock on the front door. Full of hope he flung the door open, but it was not Salvia. Samwise Gamgee stood on the mat with an apologetic smile on his face. “Sam!” Frodo gasped.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo,” he said, “the Gaffer and I were up and seeing you run about this late at night—I mean…oh, bother. He sent me over to see if you needed our help.”

“Help?” Frodo echoed. “I do need help, Sam. Pippin’s sick again and the healer is gone. Come with me.” He turned and rushed back to Pippin’s room. Sam was right behind him and as soon as Frodo had put the kettle on the fire, the gardener was stooping over Pippin.

“He’s in a real bad way,” Sam said softly, “worse than last time. Where’s his tonic?”

“Gone,” said Merry, “he replaced it with tea, the little trickster.” He glared down at Pip, who was coughing a little. Each cough sounded weaker and weaker. Merry’s expression melted into worry as he replaced the cloth on the fevered head.

Sam rubbed his eyes and appeared to be deep in thought. Finally he said, “I believe—that is, I think—I may know what herbs were in his tonic. The Gaffer knows something about the healing herbs…”

“Why didn’t we think of asking a gardener?” Frodo said to Merry.

“It may not work since I’m not a healer.”

“But it’s worth a try, Sam,” Merry said. “You may be Pip’s last hope.”

Sam nodded gruffly, turned, and sprinted out of Bag End and down the hill. While he knew time was of the essence, he felt it was already slipping away from him.

"Samwise!" his father called sharply from the kitchen when he flew through the door with a crash. "If you don't know how to use a door, then you can sleep outside, where doors aren't required."

Sam skidded to a halt in the kitchen and scurried to pick through the herbs his mother always had on hand.

"Sorry, but Master Pippin's sick again and it's worse this time. Much worse. He's gone and replaced his tonic with tea." Sam shook his head, half exasperated, half marvelling at the ingenuity of the lad. His father's gaze changed from reprimand to concern in an instant and he stood and grabbed a bag, helping Sam gather the herbs while picking out a few of his own.

"Hurry up, Samwise," he said, slinging the bag over his shoulder, "you'll need my help."

The kitchen door to Bag End flew open as Sam and his father hurried inside. Frodo was there, heating another kettle of water.

"Sam! Gaffer! Do you think you will be able to help?"

"I hope so, Mr. Frodo," said the older Gamgee. "I know which herbs Mistress Salvia uses in that cough tonic of hers as I've helped her harvest them before. We'll need some strong spirits to steep them in."

"I'll get some brandy," said Frodo. He darted into the dining room to get it from the sideboard.

When he came back in, Sam and his father were measuring out and chopping some of the herbs.

"I'll take that Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "I need to warm it up a bit so we can steep the herbs in it." He gave Frodo a handful of mint and said, "Put some of this in the kettle. It should make the steam work better. You go on and be with him and Master Merry. We'll be along soon as the Gaffer says this is ready."

Frodo went back to the bedroom with the steaming kettle in hand. He paused for a moment at the door, taking in the sight. Merry sat with Pip's head in his lap, smoothing the chestnut curls away from the damp forehead, crooning one of Bilbo's old nonsense songs softly as tears ran down his cheeks. "Oh, Merry," he whispered.
Drying his tears, Frodo entered the room quietly.

Merry looked up at his older cousin as he came in, tears in his eyes as the song died on his lips. "Frodo," he rasped, "Frodo, he's so much worse."

A worried line appeared on Frodo's brow as he made his way to the bed. The rasping breaths coming from the small lad in Merry's arms made a hole open up in Frodo's stomach. Despite the fact that he was now conscious, Pippin was worse. For a split second, Frodo nearly panicked. Realising that panicking would get them no where, Frodo only nodded. "I know, lad," he told Merry. "I know. Sam's here with his Gaffer. Master Hamfast knows what herbs we'll need for the medicine and they're in the kitchen putting it together. This should help until they're done."

"What is it?" Merry asked.

"Mint in steaming water. It should help him breathe." With that, Merry started to position Pippin nearer the steaming kettle. A small blast of the steam hit Merry in the face. His eyes, filled with tears before, now stung fiercely and started to water. He also started to cough, smelling the strong mint. The effect was nearly the same on Pippin, though it was much more subdued.

Pippin's raspy breath began to come a little easier, but he started to cough weakly. It hurt Merry to see his little lad coughing like that, but he knew this would help his congested nose at the very least, so he said nothing. The weak coughing spasm passed, leaving Pippin even weaker than before. He whimpered pitifully, turning his burning face into Merry's shirt front. A shudder passed through the lad, leaving him limp in Merry's arms.

"Hush, now, dearest, you'll be all right," Merry soothed, running a hand through the sweat-damp curls. "Just concentrate on your breathing with me. You can feel my chest, can feel my breath on your cheek. Just breathe with me, Pip-lad."

And slowly, as Merry's calm litany continued, Pippin's rasping breath seemed to ease, his small chest rising and falling with a rhythm matching his cousin's.

"That's it, dearest," Frodo whispered, wafting the steam towards Pippin's face as he took a seat on the edge of the bed, taking the young Hobbit's hand in his own. "Keep breathing with Merry, Pippin, and soon enough we'll have your medicine."

As if the words were a summons, Sam came quickly into the room with the Gaffer close behind, both of them holding steaming mugs of a foul smelling concoction.

"Oh, yes," Merry coughed despite his best efforts, bouncing the small form on his chest with the spasm. "That is definitely the stuff."

The relief on Frodo’s and Merry’s faces was enough of a thanks to the old Gaffer as he watched the elder cousin gently place the mug Sam handed him to Pippin's lips. All the same he could not help but smile as Frodo turned teary eyes to him and mouthed silently, "Thank you."

Gaffer Gamgee nodded once and pulled up one of the spare chairs, settling his old bones down with a quiet sigh, ready to wait out the night.

Even as weak as he was, Pippin tried to resist taking the tonic, turning his head and burying his face in Merry's shirt. Merry looked helplessly at Frodo and the Gaffer.

"What should I do?" he mouthed silently.

"Just hold him," Frodo mouthed back. Then he turned his attention to his youngest cousin.

"Pippin, dear," Frodo spoke, "look at me."

The small bundle in Merry's arms stirred and a pale face reluctantly looked out at Frodo.

"Pippin, you know you have to drink this. It will help you feel better." Frodo spoke as sternly as he could, desperately hoping Pippin would drink the tonic freely and not have to have it forced down his throat.

"Tastes awful," Pippin mumbled sadly.

"I know, love. Drink it anyway."

Heaving a little sigh that very nearly turned into a choking cough, Pippin nodded and allowed Frodo to bring the mug back up to his lips. Drinking as quickly as he could, he downed the contents of the mug in just a few gulps, making a face at the bitterness of the concoction. He gratefully accepted the mug of water that Frodo brought to his lips next, washing away the foul taste of his medicine.

Resting his head against Merry once more, Pippin closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep, exhausted by the effort it had taken to down the nasty medicine.

"His fever is so high," Merry whispered, running fingers over the sweaty, hot brow. "What was he thinking?" he demanded in a thick, strangled tone. "Of all the foolish—stupid—things to do!"

"Calm down, Merry," Frodo murmured firmly, though he himself felt if something did not happen soon he would also be in tears, sobbing right along with his cousin. "The healer should be here soon and until then, the Gaffer and Sam have volunteered to help keep watch. After he gets better you can thrash him."

Merry managed a small smile at this last comment, though all knew he would never be able to hold a grudge against his baby cousin.

"I think his breathing is easing," Sam said softly after several long moments of silence punctuated by the crackling and popping of the fire.

Frodo opened his mouth to agree when a sudden knocking at the door had all their heads turning. Sam and Frodo rushed to answer before the last of the banging faded.

Sam opened the door and Healer Salvia rushed in. Sam immediately directed her to the sickroom, where she displaced Merry and began to observe the pitiful little hobbit in the bed.

"He exchanged his tonic for tea and we didn't notice until today. The Gaffer and Sam mixed up some more, but he still seems weak and breathless," Frodo informed her.

Salvia smeared some kind of paste onto Pippin's chest. "This should ease his breathing somewhat. Now, when was the last time any of you saw him eat anything?"

"Well, I haven't actually seen him eat since tea a couple of days ago, but Frodo has fed him regular meals since then," Merry said.

"What?" exclaimed Frodo, looking alarmed. "I thought you had been feeding him."

"The little imp never told me he was hungry, so I thought he must have eaten," Merry replied.

"He probably didn't want to irritate his sore throat," Salvia said, "so make up some broth and feed it to him when he wakes."

"I can handle that task!" said Sam, happy to be able to do something useful.

Sam made his way to the kitchen, where he gathered some vegetables from his own garden and began grating them into a pot of warm water.

In the bedroom, Pip slowly opened his large eyes, casting his pitiful expression upon all in the room, but especially Merry.

" 'Lo, Mer," he rasped.

Merry rushed to his side. "How are you feeling now, you little rascal?"

" 'M hungry," he murmured. " 'M sorry, ‘ bout all the trouble I made."

"I know, dear," Merry answered, brushing back the curls on his forehead once more.

" 'S Fro angry with me?" he asked in a pitiful voice.

" 'Fro' is right here," said his oldest cousin coming up behind Merry, "and
no, he is not cross with you; but I hope you have learned there is a reason to take the medicine you are given and will not be pulling such tricks on us anymore. I shudder to think what could have happened, dearest." In his mind, Frodo was imagining what he would have had to say to Paladin and Eglantine, if the worst had happened to their little son while in his care.

Just then, Sam came in bearing a steaming cup of broth that gave forth a wonderful smell. Pippin's green eyes grew wide and he took it eagerly, blowing on it and taking small sips.

"It's very good. Thank you, Sam."

Healer Salvia stood back and watched the scene before her. A small smile played on her lips and when she turned to take up her bag, she found the Gaffer eyeing her knowingly.

"I think the lad should be fine now," she said to the room in general, grinning at

Frodo's and Merry's relieved smiles. "I'll leave some of this tonic for you and something for the fever and sore throat. Other than that: bed rest, lots of broth, and see that he takes the tonic twice a day for the next three days. After that he should be able to go back to the once a day dosing."

Pippin grimaced around his mouthful of broth, his flushed face scrunching in distaste.
"I know it tastes awful, lad," Salvia relented, moving to place a hand on her patient's forehead. "But medicine tastes bad for a reason. If it tasted good, no one would want to get well again."

Pippin nodded, still frowning, and watched as Frodo escorted the healer to the kitchen where he could be heard appreciatively preparing something for her to eat.
When the broth was consumed, Sam took the mug and headed towards the kitchen with his Gaffer following him. This allowed Merry some time alone with his cousin, who looked up at him with anxious, worried eyes.

Now, Pippin thought at Merry's scowl, I'm going to get it.

Merry paced back and forth, trying to come up with the right words. If Pippin hadn’t disposed of his medicine, he wouldn’t be in this fix. Merry wished he didn’t have to scold him, but Pip needed it. He needed to be punished so he wouldn’t do such a terrible thing ever again.

Pippin watched Merry pace. Nervously, he played with the covers. He wished Mer would say something—anything. But his cousin just kept on pacing.
Suddenly, Pippin just had to say something. “I’m sorry, Merry,” he murmured, “so sorry.”

Merry halted. Pip sounded very sincere. Perhaps there was no need for any scolding or thrashing. Perhaps he had been punished enough. Perhaps…

“I never thought I would be sick again. I felt so much better Mer, I thought I didn’t need medicine anymore. But I was wrong. And I’ll never do it again, I promise.”

Pippin was serious this time, for Merry could tell from the tone in his voice. Never in his memory had he ever heard Pip speak so solemnly.

Merry faced him and gazed upon him with a tired smile. “I’m not going to thrash you.”
Pippin sighed with relief.

“But if you ever do such a thing again, I’ll give you a thrashing that’s worse than all the tonics in Middle-earth combined.”

“Thank you Merry,” Pippin croaked, “I’m glad you’re not angry anymore.”
“Get some sleep, Pip,” said Merry, pulling the covers around his cousin, “and get better soon.”

Merry blew out the lamp and fell into bed himself, completely—and utterly—exhausted.

Frodo checked on them half an hour later and was pleased they were both sleeping. He sent Sam and his Gaffer home, thanking them a hundred times over for all the help they had given.

Afterwards, he pulled a chair into his cousins’ room and listened to them breathe. It was not long before he started to drift off and when the dawn crept in through the window, it found the three cousins sound asleep. Pippin's laboured breathing was the only indication of the struggles of the night before.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Frodo brought in a tray for Pippin who eyed the toast warily, as though measuring whether his sore throat was up to eating. He did, however, take his medicine without a word of complaint, his eyes downcast as he grimaced around the horrid taste.

Merry, still slumbering obliviously in the bed beside Pippin, twitched slightly at the smell of the food, though gave no other indication of waking.

"Frodo," Pippin whispered, his voice barely above a harsh breath. "I'm sorry."

"I know, dearest," Frodo whispered, watching with a sleepy smile as Pippin nibbled on the toast. "And I know that nasty tonics are no fun. I just wish you had not had to find out the hard way that—well, that there is a reason for having to take them."

"I just hate being sick," Pippin whispered. "I want to be like other hobbit lads, who don't have to take nasty medicine all the time."

"You will be, Pippin," Frodo encouraged him, placing a gentle hand on his cousin's shoulder. "But you have to give it time. Why, even the Old Took was small like you once. I can tell you’re ever so much more mature than yesterday.”

With a wry grin, Pippin finally accepted the challenge of conquering his persistent cough. Glancing over at Merry, he realised how terrible it must have been for him. Pippin swore he would never again put Merry through such torture. He would always take his medicine. It was time to grow up.

“Pippin?” Frodo asked. “Are you all right?”

Pip gave his older cousin a radiant smile and said, “I’m fine.” Handing Frodo the now-empty tray, he settled against the pillows once more. Closing his eyes, he fell into deep dreamless sleep, not even noticing Frodo leave and quietly shut the door behind him.

Fin