A hand rested on Frodo’s neck and started to knead it, gently yet firmly. Frodo leant into the touch and closed his eyes at the sheer bliss of it, heaving an appreciative sigh.

“You get yourself a little rest, my lad, or you shall catch a fever, too. Pervinca will be just fine,” said Bilbo in a warm voice, keeping his hand steady on the stiff muscles in Frodo’s shoulder now.

Frodo breathed out a small protesting, “No,” as he peered over his shoulder through half-lidded eyes. “She needs me. Uncle Paladin and Aunt Eglantine have taken care of her all day and they deserve their rest. It is my turn now.”

Bilbo sighed. When was Frodo not being stubborn like this?

“All right,” the older Baggins yielded. “But I’m staying here as well.”