He stared down at the two sleeping forms with a mixture of fondness and exasperation on his face, trying not to smile at the little row of ants diligently making their way across Pippin’s hand.

“Mister Frodo, Master Pippin,” he called softly, kneeling down next to the slumbering pair.  To think, the both of them had been outside all night with not even a cloak to keep the morning dew off their clothes.  “Time to wake up.”

Frodo wrinkled his nose, burying his face into the soft curls next to him, only to be jolted awake a moment later with a great sneeze.

Both forms jumped at the unexpected jerk of Frodo’s body, and in a moment they were both sitting up, looking blurrily around themselves as they tried to rub the sleep from their eyes.

Pippin gave a little squeak as he suddenly spotted the ants that were making their journey across his anatomy and jumped up, shaking his hand as he stumbled backward over his cousin and landed on his rump, Frodo wincing at the legs laying across his back.

Sam, watching from a safe distance a few feet away, could not help but laugh at the scene despite himself.

“They’re only ants, Master Pippin,” he tried to reassure the other, moving to help him stand.  “They’ll not harm ye any.”

Frodo smiled as his cousin untangled himself from his awkward position and stood dazedly, staring around himself as though he had no idea how he had managed to find himself in such a state. 

“Good morning, Sam” Frodo yawned, smiling as he watched his dearest friend wipe a bit of grass off his cousin’s shoulder.  “What are you doing up so early?”

 “Tis not as early as all that, Mister Frodo,” Sam replied with a look to the sun that had crested the hills some time ago.  “And I wanted to make certain that Master Pippin here had made it safe to his bed.”

Pippin rubbed his nose, still looking dazedly about himself, before turning shadowed eyes to his cousin.

“I’m going back to bed,” he finally announced, plopping down on the ground again next to Frodo and closing his eyes.  “Wake me for supper.”

“Pippin,” Frodo laughed, sharing an amused glance with Sam.  “Get up, lazybones.  Don’t you want me to make you some breakfast?”

 “I already took care of that, Mister Frodo,” Sam replied, and snorted as two sets of eyes stared at him in awed pleasure.  “Twasn’t a big thing, and I figured you two would be hungry when you awoke.”

“I think I know why Rosie loves you so much,” Pippin yawned, dragging himself up. 

 “And shouldn’t you be with her instead of taking care of us?” Frodo asked, sighing as he took Sam’s proffered hand and rose to his feet with a groan. 

 “Nonsense, Mister Frodo,” Sam scoffed, smiling at Pippin’s expression of regret as he eyed the soft grass.  “Rosie’s fine for a bit by herself, enjoying a bit of a lie-in, and Mister Merry wanted me to check on this young rascal while he escorted Mistress Estella home.”

 The gardener did not miss the look shared between the cousins as they descended into the smial, and felt his mouth tighten slightly. 

“Sam, I really am still very tired.  Could I just have some tea?” Pippin asked in a small voice that plucked at Sam’s heart.

He was about to protest when Frodo caught his eye, and something in that look stopped him. 

“All right, Pip-lad,” he said softly, watching in worry as the young Took made his way wearily to the spare bedroom he always claimed as his whenever he visited.  The lad moved as though they had just finished climbing a mountain.

“He’ll be all right,” Frodo whispered softly, bringing the other away from his thoughts.  Sam turned, to see his friend staring after Pippin with a knowing gaze in his eyes.  “Just let him sleep a bit longer.  In fact, I think I may join him.”

“Why don’t you settle down, then, and I’ll bring you a tray?’ Sam suggested, not liking that faraway look in those blue eyes.

Frodo seemed to shake himself, smiling at the suggestion. 

 “All right, but only if you promise to stop fretting about us and pay more attention to that wife of yours,” he teased, yawning as he headed to his own room.

For a moment Sam stood there, seeing in his mind’s eye the strange, somber look the two had shared that morning, when Sam had mentioned Merry with Estella.  He had known that seeing his cousin courting the lass was a bit hard, but he had not realized until that moment just how much of a toll it was costing.  Pippin had given no indication, with words or by action, that he was against the union, but something had changed nonetheless.  And not for the better.

 Pippin looked worn out, the same kind of wear that showed on Frodo’s face when he thought none were looking. 

 And Sam didn’t know what to do.

 While they had journeyed and fought and struggled, his mission had been clear:  take care of Frodo, keep him safe and warm, help him in any way that he could.  Little things like a warm meal or blanket, a drink of water or a helping hand had been easy for him to offer.

But now, back in the Shire and finally safe with those they loved close about them and everything green once more, his mission was not quite as clear.

 “I worry about him,” he had told his fair Rosie last night when Frodo had declined to stay at the party after his brief appearance.  “He hides himself away from the world, closes himself in.  He’s still hurting inside, and naught I can do will ease that.”

She had had no reply, but had pressed his hand and kissed his cheek gently, her own eyes straying to the threesome sitting by the window, laughter and smiles concealing a set of green eyes that remained shadowed and weary even after the many months of recovery.

“I think, perhaps, that he is not the only one still hurting,” she had finally murmured, watching as Merry gently kissed Estella’s cheek.  “Though I know no cure for the pain.”

And so they had enjoyed themselves as best they could, and neither noticed when Pippin had slipped out, leaving behind a clean stack of dishes and a bouquet of small white flowers that he had always thought pretty, though knew to be a weed.  And it was only when Merry and Estella had returned from their short stroll that anyone noticed that the lad’s plate had been tossed rather than eaten.

 “Sam?”  The voice brought him out of his memories, and he turned worriedly at the weak tone.

“What’s wrong, Pip-lad?” he asked quickly, seeing with concern that the young hobbit looked slightly green around the edges as he stood in the doorway to the kitchen. 

“I don’t feel too well.  Would it be too much to ask if you could tell Merry to head back home without me?  I think I shall rest here another day, if Frodo doesn’t mind, before setting out.”

 Now Sam was concerned. 

“Here, now, get yourself back in bed, then, and let me bring you that tea,” he ordered, moving to place a cool hand to Pippin’s brow.  He frowned at the heat.  “And a cool cloth,” he added.

“Oh, Sam, please don’t,” Pippin protested as he turned to go.  “If I am getting sick I don’t want you to get it and possibly give it to Rosie.  I’ll be fine, really!”

 “None of that, Lad!” Sam admonished, taking Pippin’s arm and steering him firmly into his room.  “I’ll not be getting sick, as I’m not the one who spent all night asleep in the grass without so much as a cloak.  Now climb into that bed and I’ll bring your tea and some toast in a moment.”

 He waited to make certain Pippin obeyed his orders, then set about making two trays of tea with toast, Frodo’s containing thick slices of bacon and a mushroom omelet. 

“Here now, Mister Frodo,” Sam said when he entered the master bedroom of Bag End, handing the food to his friend.  “Make sure that you eat it all, you’re getting too thin again and you don’t need to be getting sick along with Master Pippin.”

Frodo looked up, startled, and Sam regretted the words immediately.

“Is Pippin sick?” he asked worriedly, moving as though to get out of the bed.

 “Just a wee fever, Mister Frodo, don’t you fret.  I’ll take care of him and make sure he gets some rest, which is what you be needing as well,” Sam ordered.

“But, Sam, Rosie-“ Frodo protested, stopping at The Look Sam cast his way.  It was one he had seen several times on the journey.

“Rosie is going to be fine, I’ll not be getting sick, and you and Pippin need to rest and eat,” was the irrefutable command.

“Yes, Sam,” Frodo murmured meekly, and set to his breakfast with gusto, as though to assure the other that he had no intention of disobeying such an order.

Sam nodded, once, then turned to fix a cold cloth for Bag End’s other occupant.  When he entered the silent room, though, Pippin was fast asleep, the teacup drained and the toast untouched, lying on the tray next to him.  Sam frowned, smoothing curls from the warm brow, gazing into the young face that was thinner than he remembered from a few weeks ago and more drawn. 

 He placed the cloth on the other’s head, made certain a mug of cool water was waiting on the bedside table should Pippin wake up while he was gone, and then took the tray to the kitchen, shaking his head at the untouched toast.  It just wasn’t right.

“Pippin!” 

The voice was calling from outside, and Sam sighed as he thought about how he was supposed to deal with this new problem. 

“Well, I dealt with Spiders and orcs, I can deal with this,” he muttered to himself, stealing himself for what he knew was about to come.

“Pippin!” Merry’s voice called again, just outside the smial, sounding slightly

impatient.  Just as Sam reached for the doorknob it was yanked from his hand, Merry

blinking at him in surprise from the doorway. 

 “Hush, now, Mister Merry, Mister Frodo and Master Pippin have just gone to bed,” Sam admonished.

Merry stared at the gardener for a moment, clearly taken aback.  He looked slightly rumpled, having slept in his clothes, and his hair was mused as though by hands being run through it.

 “What do you mean just gone to bed?  Didn’t they go to sleep last night?” he asked in alarm, eyes widening as he stepped inside so they could close the door.  “Pippin left well before anybody else did!”

 Sam sighed, ushering his friend into the kitchen, where he poured him some tea and made a fresh plate of toast for him. 

“I found them asleep outside in the grass, curled up as peaceful as could be, but Master Pippin isn’t feelin’ well and they both figured they could use a bit more sleep.”  He handed Merry the plate, sighing as he sat down across from him.  “Those two, Mister Merry, they’re bone weary from all that happened to them, and I’m afraid that it ain’t gettin’ any better.”

 Merry took a thoughtful sip of his tea, scowling into its depths.  “Pippin hasn’t been eating,” he finally said softly, looking up to lock gazes with his friend.  “He’s lost weight in the past few weeks, yet won’t tell me what’s wrong.  It’s not the nightmares again, he hasn’t had one for over a month, but for some reason all he seems to want to do now is sleep.”  He sighed, resting his chin on his hand as he looked thoughtfully out the window to the sunshine gracing the day.  “I don’t know what to do, Sam.  He won’t talk to me, and I don’t know how to get him to open up.  It- it’s never been this way between us!”

 He turned his gaze back to the other, and for a moment something seemed to pass between them, a shared worry and love for those they cared about.

“No offense, Mister Merry, but it seems to me as though the lad is upset about loosing you to Estella, though he’ll never admit it,” Sam finally ventured, seeing Merry’s automatic response of defending either his relationship or Pippin’s actions die on his lips as he nodded thoughtfully. 

“But it’s not just that,” Merry finally admitted, his eyes frank and worried as he looked up again from where he had been studying his hands.  “It’s something that’s been there since before we came back, but I thought would fade.  Only it’s become worse.”

 “I know what you mean,” Sam murmured, taking a sip from his own mug.  “Mister Frodo has a look about him, I can’t rightly place it, but it gives me the shivers sometimes, how his eyes get all distant, as though lookin’ to something none of us can see.”

Then he shook himself and stood, taking another sip of his tea before saying, “I need to collect Mister Frodo’s tray for him and make sure he ate all his breakfast.  Why don’t you check on Pippin before you head out?”

 “Head out?  I can’t leave him if he’s sick!” Merry protested, also rising. 

They were silent as they went to the separate rooms, Sam watching as Merry approached the sleeping figure on the bed almost hesitantly.  He shook his head, continuing down the hallway to Frodo’s bedroom, where he found the other hobbit curled up asleep, burrowed under the covers.

He smiled as he took the empty tray, tugging the blankets more securely around the thin shoulders before heading back to the kitchen, beginning on the dishes even as he started another pot of tea.

A few moments later Merry entered as well, frowning. 

“He woke for a few minutes and told me quite firmly I was to head back home and not wait for him,” he huffed, sitting down hard in one of the chairs.  “I actually think he wants to get rid of me!”

 Sam smiled as he put the last dish away, moving over to sit next to the offended hobbit.

 “I think he just wants a bit of time to think things through, Merry,” he said softly, placing his hand over the other’s.  “Somethin’s going on inside of him that he has to work out by himself, and I think he’s afraid he won’t be able to if you’re with him.”

He knew the words were painful to hear, but he thought they needed to be said. 

Somewhat to his surprise, Merry nodded slowly, scowling.

“We’ve always been able to tell each other everything, Sam,” he finally whispered, voice wavering a little.  “I can’t remember a time when it was otherwise.  But now…” He sniffed, and Sam realized that he was crying.

 “Hush, now, Merry-lad, hush,” he soothed, standing to gently wrap his arms around the other.  “I know it’s hard to bear, but ye have to be strong for a little while longer.  I’m sure that he just has to work things out a little, and then you’ll not get him to stop talking!”

 Merry chuckled weakly into the embrace, and patted Sam’s arm as he tried to get himself under control.  Sam handed him a hanky from seemingly out of nowhere, and Merry chuckled again. 

“Oh, Sam, what would we do without you?” he asked softly, blowing his nose after wiping his eyes.

 “Now, none of that,” Sam blushed, waving away the compliment.  “You get yourself put together, say good bye to Pippin and then get on your way, you have a long journey and don’t want to start too late.”

 “No, you’re right,” Merry agreed, wiping his eyes once more before heading into his cousin’s room to say farewell.

 Sam sighed as he stood to set about preparing a luncheon for Merry’s journey, wishing there was more he could do.

 Pippin did not wake for luncheon, or tea, but managed to make his way to the table for supper.  Sam watched in frustration as he ate without appetite, smiling and making conversation with both his cousin and friend, but quickly retiring to bed well before the other two were done.

 “It’s just not right!” he finally exclaimed to Frodo, meeting his friend’s gaze across the table.  “That lad always had enough appetite for six hobbits, and now he won’t barely touch his food.”

Frodo smiled sadly down at his own plate, which had been thoroughly cleaned under Sam’s watchful eye. 

“He’s tired, Sam,” he said softly, finally meeting the other’s gaze, the weariness in those blue eyes sending a sharp pain lancing through Sam’s heart. 

“But he’s slept all day, and Merry says that all he does is sleep now.  It’s not right, Mister Frodo!” Sam protested again.

“Sam,” Frodo started, looking away for a moment, out the window to where the sun was just beginning to set, and a strange look came into those eyes, a faraway look as though seeking something only he could see. 

 “His whole world has been lost to him,” Frodo finally whispered in a strange, distant voice.  “Things he always knew to be true suddenly aren’t, and now everything is different.  People he has always known are changed forever, including himself, and he doesn’t know how to deal with that.”

 Frodo looked back to his friend, smiling sadly at the startled look on Sam’s face.  For a moment, just a moment, Sam knew that Frodo was not only talking about Pippin.

 “He’s fighting himself, Sam, as fierce a battle as any we fought with swords.  And it’s wearing him down to where all he wants to do is escape.”

 “But why, Mister Frodo?” Sam demanded, knowing he was asking the question for his friend as well as Pippin, knowing he was speaking to the pain in those eyes staring back at him.  “Doesn’t he realize that he can tell his friends anything?  That he doesn’t have to fight this battle alone?”

“But he does, Sam,” Frodo whispered. 

There was a long silence, in which Sam struggled to gain his thoughts, to form in words what his heart was demanding be said. 

“We each of us faced such horrible things, Mister Frodo,” he finally managed to whisper, eyes earnest as they bore into his friend.  “But we can’t let those dark things fester inside of us, blinding us to the love of those around us.  We’re none of us alone, now!  We never really were, though it felt like it at times.  We’re home, now, and safe, and have to start living our lives again!”

Frodo smiled tenderly at the words, some of that lost look leaving his eyes as he placed his maimed hand on Sam’s.  “And that is the problem, Dearest Sam,” he whispered softly.  “For I don’t think he knows how to.”

For a heartbeat there was silence between them as Sam struggled to take in this startling statement, then a harsh cry filled the night.  Both hobbits were on their feet and racing to Pippin’s room before either could fully understand what was happening.

They threw the door open, to see Pippin thrashing around on the bed, the covers twisted about his body as he sobbed and cried out in a pathetic, pain filled whimper.

 “Pippin, Pip-lad, wake up!” Frodo ordered, immediately going to the other’s side and grabbing his shoulders, trying to bring him awake.  “Pippin!”

 Sam ran to get a cool cloth and a pitcher of water, knowing that they would need to clean the lad off before allowing him to sleep again.  When he returned it was to see Frodo gently cradling his youngest cousin, murmuring softly to him as he stroked sweat-soaked curls. 

“It’s all right, Pip-dearest, it’s all right.  It was only a dream, you’re safe now.  It’s all right.” 

Slowly he calmed, and tenderly Sam helped to pull off the soaked nightshirt and wipe the fevered body with the wet cloth, his lips tightening at the sight of the scars marring the thin body. 

 “I’m sorry, Sam,” Pippin whispered as Sam gently stroked the cloth down trembling arms. 

“Hush, now, Lad,” Sam soothed.  “T’ain’t nothing to be sorry for.”

Frodo stood slowly, excusing himself to make some tea, touching a hand to Sam’s as he passed.  For a moment the only sound was that of Pippin’s harsh breathing, which turned, softly, into a strangled sob.

Once more Sam found himself holding one of his dear friends close to his heart, gently rubbing a soothing circle on the weeping hobbit’s back.  The thin body shook with grief, and for a moment his mind was filled with another time, not so long ago, when exhaustion and fear and sorrow had filled his own being. 

 “It’s all right now, Pip-lad,” he whispered into the sweat-tangled curls.  “You don’t have to be afraid any more.”

As he rocked the shaking body in his arms, he closed his eyes, remembering the feel of harsh rock beneath him, and the heat that had burned his very soul.  He remembered the feeling of utter weariness that had filled him, of the bone-crushing fatigue that had pulled at his limbs and made his very breath an effort. 

 “Just take it one breath at a time, Lad,” he whispered, not bothering to wipe the tears marking a slow path down his cheeks.  He pressed the fevered head to his breast, touching his lips to that bowed head.  “Just one breath, and then another.”

Slowly, under his continued coaxing, the sobs died away, replaced by a soft sniffling, and then deep, even breaths as sleep once more took hold.

“Is he asleep?” Frodo asked softly as he came back in, holding two steaming mugs in his hands as did so. 

 “Aye,” Sam sighed, laying the sick hobbit back onto his pillow, tucking the blankets securely around the bony shoulders.  “He should sleep for the rest of the night now.”

Frodo wordlessly handed him one of the mugs, sipping at his own. 

 “You should head back to Rosie, Sam,” he finally whispered, touching a hand to Pippin’s brow.  “She’s probably wondering what we have done with you.”

“She knows Master Pippin is sick, Mister Frodo,” Sam replied calmly, though his thoughts turned for a moment to the lovely lass waiting for him and the precious joy she now carried within her.  “She’ll be more mad with me should I leave you in the lurch than if I’m a bit late getting home.”

Frodo smiled, finally looking up to meet Sam’s eyes.  “We’ll be fine, Sam,” he said softly.  “Go on home and take care of that lovely lass before she does start to worry, and tell her Pippin will be fine.”

He was about to protest, but something stopped him, something in the manner that Frodo was stroking Pippin’s curls, one hand holding the other’s.  And something started to form in his mind.

“All right, Mister Frodo.  If you need me during the night, don’t hesitate to come get me,” Sam finally said, standing slowly.  “And don’t you be staying up all night either.  It won’t do neither one of you any good should you both be sick.”          

Frodo laughed, a genuine laugh, and smiled.   “Don’t worry, Sam, we’ll be fine.”

 Sam nodded and headed out, his last glimpse of the two being that of Frodo climbing into the large bed that had been made to accommodate Pippin’s large form. 

 Rosie was waiting for him, her nightgown hanging on her frame in such a way that for a moment he thought that surely an angel was standing before him, her long hair flowing around her shoulders.

“Is everything all right?” she asked softly, taking his arm and leading him to bed.

“For the night,” Sam replied, and told her of what had happened that evening.  They lay silently in their bed, the soft sounds of the night coming in through the open window on the breeze, and he found his arms wrapped about her, his hands on her still small tummy, thinking about the new life that was growing inside of her.

“They are all alone, Love,” he finally whispered into her hair.  “Even though I would do anything for Mister Frodo…”

 She sighed against him, already asleep, and he rested his head against the skin of her neck, breathing in her scent. 

 He realized now what had been eluding him most of that day, what had been troubling both Merry and himself but had been too elusive until that moment.  It was the memory of Frodo gently holding Pippin’s hand that brought the thought to completion.

The two of them were alone.  Though they had friends and loved ones who cared deeply about them, they were being left behind, unable to move ahead with the others, yet unable to escape to the past. 

The thought was heartbreaking, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, his arms tightening ever so slightly about his wife.  For he knew that in this, at least, there was nothing he could do. 

When sleep claimed him, he welcomed its embrace, the tears falling from his eyes dampening the soft curls next to him.  And knew, as the taste of tears lingered on his lips, why that far-away ocean tasted of salt.