Spring had come to Ithilien.  The scent of new grass and fresh air filled the lungs of those still camped upon its land, carried by a warm breeze that bore away the stink of battles and death.

 Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the High King returned, walked briskly amongst the camp, Peregrin Took following close behind.  Though he was but a few days out of his healing bed, Pippin insisted that he was quite capable of carrying messages around the camp, and Aragorn had agreed after a careful exam that morning.  The young hobbit’s cheeks were flushed with energy and health, and though his right hand was still bandaged and he limped slightly when he walked, there was little other sign of the horrendous damage done to him.   Bruises that had been livid and mottled nearly every inch of the small body had faded to mere yellows and slight greens, where they remained at all.    

 The two had been traversing the length of the camp all morning, taking care of the essentials required to run an Army.  The number of horses that still needed tending, of men wounded and needing certain extras, how much medicine was still needed, and how much food they had and would need to replenish.  Small things that could have easily been passed off to a lesser in charge.

Yet Aragorn knew that his presence among his men, among those still in bed recovering from their wounds and those recently, like Pippin, about again, was small thanks for their efforts.  And so they wandered, every now and then stopping for a consultation with a particular soldier or handler. 

 “ Sir Peregrin,” Aragorn said softly after one such meeting, and Pippin knew what was coming.  So far that morning there had been seven such “ Sir Peregrins” turned his way, and each had been accompanied with a missive that had to be run to some place across camp. 

 “Aye, Sir?” he asked, waiting patiently as the King finished writing something on borrowed parchment, blotting it, then folding it quickly. 

 “Take this to your cousin, Sir Meriadoc, and be certain he delivers it to King Eomer,” Aragorn instructed, placing the parchment into the hobbit’s small hands.  “Make haste, as we need those numbers back as quickly as possible.”  The solemnity of the order was broken when the man gently touched his hand to Pippin’s curls with a quick wink and smile.  “And when you get back we shall break for Tea.”

 “Aye!” Pippin agreed happily, bowing his head slightly as he turned and scurried away, knowing his cousin was clear on the other side of camp, and that a good twenty-minute run was in order. 

 His leg troubled him still, though not enough to prevent him from doing his duties, and it was with a smile that he ran, happy to finally be freed of his bed.  The day was warmer than they had yet seen, and soon he found himself sweating under the heavy chain-mail, though it did not slow his step. 

The men around him, who had stared rather gawp-mouthed that morning, were now accustomed to seeing his little form hurrying from one mission to another, and paid him no heed other than to move out of his way or wave a hand in greeting.  

When he reached the section of camp where the men of Rohan were settled, he spent a good ten minutes trying to track his cousin down, and finally ran into him at one of the many stables.

“Hoi, Sir Meriadoc!” he called, grinning widely at his cousin’s start, turning to look and see who was hailing him thus.   

“Hello, Sir Peregrin,” Merry replied wryly when he saw him, leaving the man he had been talking to.  “Another missive?” he asked, taking in Pippin’s sweaty appearance at a glance as he approached.  “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Pippin waved him off, smiling.  “But it is a bit warmer than I’ve got used to!”

He handed Merry the folded parchment, now bearing the imprint of small hobbit fingers, and explained his cousin’s mission. 

“All right,” he agreed quickly, suddenly all business.  “Follow me and we’ll get you the answer.”

A half hour later Pippin was once more running across the camp, sweat trickling down into his eyes, hands clutching yet another parchment. 

He was breathing hard and slightly dizzy as he made his way to the tent where Aragorn was sitting on an improvised stool, talking easily to the horse handler as they awaited his return.

“Your Majesty,” Pippin huffed, stumbling slightly as he slowed to a walk and bowed his head to the King, presenting him with the parchment. 

Aragorn took the answer quickly, kneeling down as he did so to peer at his friend’s face anxiously.

“Are you feeling all right?” he asked, letter forgotten as he laid a hand on Pippin’s sweaty brow. 

 “Aye, just – just winded,” Pippin assured him, still breathing heavily, good hand clutched to his recently healed ribs. 

 “Sit down, then, and rest while I take care of this, and then we shall retire for Tea,” Aragorn ordered gently, his eyes lingering for moment as he watched the other obey his orders.

Pippin did as instructed, taking the seat the King had recently vacated, feet dangling, his breath finally returning to normal.  He wiped sweat from his forehead again, trying to stop it from running into his eyes.  Though they had healed remarkably well, they still easily irritated, and sweat getting into them was definitely an irritation. 

He waited patiently for his king to finish his business, finding himself less hungry than he thought he would be after running about the camp all day.  Still, when Aragorn turned to him and signaled him to follow he went readily enough, looking forward to sitting down in the shade and sipping at a nice cup of tea.

By the time they had reached Aragorn’s tent a small headache had started to pound behind Pippin’s eyes, and he felt himself trembling slightly.  When he saw who waited for them, however, he quickly thrust all thoughts of his discomfort aside.

“Frodo, Sam!” he greeted with a laugh, then turned to the elf and dwarf, who were already seated and handing out plates of sweet berries and apples to the other two.  “Legolas, Gimli!”

“Sit down, sit down, Peregrin!” Gandalf admonished behind him, seeming to come out of nowhere.  “Merry shall be joining us shortly, as soon as Eomer lets him go, so quite hovering and get something to eat.”

Pippin was quick to obey, taking a seat beside Frodo, who passed him a quartered apple from his plate, looking at him with his nose scrunched.

“What has Strider had you doing today, Pippin?  You smell like rusted nails!” he laughed.

“I’ve been working!” Pippin protested, popping the apple into his mouth, though he did not feel like eating.  The throbbing behind his eyes had not diminished and it was making his stomach hurt.  “And it’s awfully warm today!”

“Aye, he has been terribly important this morning, Frodo,” Aragorn defended him, smiling as Frodo looked at his cousin with a proud smile, even as he wrinkled his nose.  “I could not have accomplished half of what I did without him.”

“Still, I think as soon as this tyrant releases you for the day a bath is in order!” Frodo teased.

“Tyrant?” Aragorn huffed in mock indignation, and the others laughed at his expression.

“Hoi, what did I miss?” Merry asked happily as he entered the tent, himself slightly sweaty and smelling like old nails. 

“Just a discussion on Strider’s lack of smell,” Frodo answered.

 Merry took in the situation, surprised and pleased to see his oldest cousin smiling.  It was almost something he had not expected to see again.

“Well, seeing as how he was a Ranger, stuck in the woods without a proper bath and all, I think it would rather be a survival trait, if you know what I mean,” Sam supplied, casting a shy glance Aragorn’s way as the other laughed.

“I yield, I yield!” he finally said, wiping his eyes.  “Pippin, by my order, you are to take a bath as soon as you are released!”

“Aye, Strider, whatever you say,” Pippin smiled, though his heart was not in the teasing.

“What’s wrong?” Merry asked softly as he sat down next to his cousin, the plate Legolas had handed him forgotten as he eyed Pippin carefully. 

“Nothing, Merry,” Pippin assured him.  He had stopped being hot sometime during the teasing, and suddenly was trembling with cold.  “I’m just tired from running after you all day.”

Merry frowned at him, ignoring the joke, noticing that he had not touched his food. 

Frodo, turning to ask Merry a question, caught the look on his cousin’s face and his smile faded as he looked to Pippin.

“Oi, I’m going to get some tea, would you like some Frodo?” Pippin asked quickly, realizing that he was about to be interrogated and in no mood to be. 

He stood, and was astounded as the world tilted to a magnificent angle.  Somewhat dazedly he realized a moment later that Aragorn’s boots were actually quite beautiful, as they were suddenly closer to his face then they had ever been.  Such intricate stitching!

“Pippin!”

 He could not distinguish the voices that called his name in shock, and tried to get to his knees, wondering how he had got on the floor in the first place.

 “Easy,” Aragorn ordered, the boots no longer in front of his face as the king knelt down next to him. 

 “What happened?” Pippin asked, slightly dazed.

He was trembling, he realized somewhat stupidly, his brain seeming to have been turned off.  And when did it get so cold?

 “Something I should have noticed earlier,” Aragorn sighed, placing a gentle hand on Pippin’s throat to check his pulse.  He frowned, feeling it beat under his fingers like a scared rabbit’s.  “How are you feeling, Pippin?  Dizzy?  Cold?  Nauseous?” he asked.

 “Aye, and my head hurts,” Pippin murmured, blushing slightly as he realized the others were staring at him worriedly.  “I must have stood up too fast,” he tried to assure them, making to stand.

A sudden wave of dizziness had his eyes closed as he fought to keep from vomiting.

“What’s wrong with him?” Merry asked anxiously, the three hobbits surrounding the two of them.

“Heat sickness,” Aragorn answered, turning to where Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf stood behind him. 

“Legolas, could you get me several glasses of cool water?  Gimli, please help me take off his chain-mail, we need to get him cooled down.”

Pippin closed his eyes as Aragon issued orders, wondering if he was going to be confined to bed again.  It was his last thought before he passed out.

“Pip-lad, I need you to drink this,” a gentle voice was murmuring to him. 

He wrinkled his nose, not wanting to open his eyes.  His head hurt, and he couldn’t decide if he was cold or hot, but seemed to be trembling from head to toe. 

“Please, Pippin, you need to get some fluid inside of you,” another voice urged, and he recognized Legolas’ coaxing tone.

 He finally pried his eyes open, blinking in surprise. 

He was surrounded by people. 

At least three servants hovered in the background, Gimli and Gandalf looking down at him anxiously with the three hobbits in front of them.           

He was still in Aragorn’s tent, though now he was laying on something soft, his upper body propped up.  He realized rather blurrily that his chain-mail was gone, and a small part of his mind that was still working noticed that he did, indeed, need a bath.  Desperately.  The rest of him was simply thankful to be free of its weight.

 “Here,” Legolas urged again, holding a mug to his lips.  “Just a little.” 

 He sipped gingerly, closing his eyes again as the water trickled down his throat, unaware until that moment just how thirsty he was.

“Easy, now, just a little at a time,” Aragorn’s voice gently instructed from slightly above and behind him.

With a start that dribbled water down his chest, Pippin realized that the something soft he was propped up on was the High King himself.  He started to sit up, some part of him realizing that laying in the High King’s lap was simply not proper, but Aragorn’s arm stole around him, gently wrapping about his chest and effectively pinning him.

“Lie still,” he ordered. 

Too drained to argue, for he suddenly felt as though he had not slept in days, he allowed his head to rest back on Aragorn’s chest, sipping at the water Legolas kept pressed to his lips.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Pippin?” Merry demanded, unable to contain himself any longer.  

“I thought I was just hot,” he mumbled around the mug. 

“Oh, Pippin,” Aragorn sighed, the smile evident in his voice.  He rested his chin on Pippin’s sweaty curls.  “What are we going to do with you?”  He did not seem to expect an answer, though, and Pippin closed his eyes as he felt the other murmur something in Elvish to Legolas. 

The sound of movement alerted him a moment before a cool cloth was placed against his brow, and he opened his eyes once more to see Frodo bending down beside Legolas. 

“Silly Took,” he whispered, smiling gently, and the sadness in his piercingly blue eyes was tempered by love for his youngest cousin.  He brushed the wet cloth down Pippin’s face, wiping away some of the sweat and leaving a cooling dampness behind.  “Next time you decide to run around all day in hot armor, make sure you take better care of yourself, all right?”

Pippin nodded slightly, finishing off the water in the mug, his eyes closing against his wish.

 “Rest, Pippin, your duties for the day are over,” Aragorn whispered into his ear, and he felt the bristling softness of his King’s lips touch his temple.  “You did very well, and I expect you by my side tomorrow.”

 “Aye,” he whispered softly, feeling himself drifting away. 

The last thing he heard before sleep claimed him was Aragorn reassuring the others, “He should be up in time for supper, but I shall keep him here until then.  He will be fine, once he gets some rest and some more fluids in him…”

A soft breeze was caressing his face, gentle fingers of wind tugging at his hair and brushing his cheeks.  The scent of sweet grass filled his nose, and he opened his eyes slowly.  The sun was still up, barely, the sky tinged with purple and pink.  He was still in a tent, though the wall facing him had been rolled up to allow the cool breeze and the last vestiges of the day to lighten the otherwise dark interior.

He was lying on a patch of soft grass, the green vibrant before his sleepy eyes, and it took him a moment to realize where he was.  He blinked, trying to remember what had happened.

 “Are you awake, Little Bird?” a gentle voice asked softly behind him, and he smiled at the nickname. 

“Aye,” he whispered, surprised to hear the hoarseness of his voice.  He started to  sit up, but stopped as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he lay back down quickly.

 “Still dizzy?” Aragorn asked softly, and he heard the sound of the Ranger’s knees rustling the grass as he knelt down.

 “A little,” he admitted, opening his eyes again to watch the sun lowering in the sky. 

 “You need to drink some more water, and then get some food inside of you,” Aragorn instructed, placing his hand on Pippin’s cool forehead and nodding to himself.  “The others have gone to their own supper and will be back shortly, but I felt that the quiet and smell of fresh earth would do you better than any of my potions.”

 Pippin giggled at that, smiling up at the man before turning his gaze back to the sunset.

“It is lovely outside, isn’t it Strider?” he asked softly

He caught his breath, then, as a small, brilliantly blue butterfly flapped its way into the tent, seeming to float in the air without the aid of its wings, before it landed gently on the ground next to him. 

“Strider –“ he whispered, not daring to move as the tiny creature stared up at him..

“I see it,” the King answered, just as softly.

They were silent for a while longer, the sounds outside barely reaching their ears as they enjoyed the creature’s beauty.  After a few moments, it flapped its wings once more and departed, heading out the same way it had entered.

“I have not seen a butterfly that vibrant in some time,” Aragorn whispered, almost to himself.

“A flutter-by,” Pippin whispered, closing his eyes again as the other stroked his hair gently.

“What was that, Little Bird?” Aragorn asked.

“Merry and I would call them flutter-bys,” he answered, sighing contentedly.  “After all, I’ve never seen butter that color before.  Have you?”

Aragorn chuckled, deep and rich.

“No, I have not.  Now before you drift off to sleep again, I want you to try and sit up and drink some water and eat, and then you are going back to your bed for a good night’s sleep.”

Pippin grimaced as Aragorn helped him sit up, eyes closed against his spinning head.  He drank all that was given to him, and managed to eat the full plate of fruit and cheese that was placed before him.  By that time his eyes were drooping, and it was taking all his strength to keep from nodding off.

He was only vaguely aware of being gently lifted in strong arms and carried outside into the fresh air.  His head rested on the other’s strong shoulder, the scent of leather and soap filling his nose.  He heard murmurs around him as he was laid down, Aragorn saying something too softly to be made out, and then fingers brushing his hair out of his face.

The smell of pipeweed and horse and leather filled him, and he smiled as Gandalf’s voice murmured softly to Aragorn.   “He looks much better than he did.”

“Aye, the rest did him good.  I will watch him closer tomorrow.”

There was silence a moment, then, “How is doing, truly, Aragorn?”

“Better than I could have ever hoped,” was the whispered reply.  “After that troll…  I will not lie to you, Old Friend.  I had feared that he would never recover completely.”

“He is truly remarkable, as are all hobbits,” Gandalf agreed. 

A hand stroked his cheek, though whether the king’s or wizard’s he could not be certain.

“We saw a most amazing thing today,” Aragorn finally said, though how much time had passed he could not be guess, laying in that twilight between sleep and wakefulness.

“Oh?” Gandalf prompted.

“A…flutter by,” Aragorn said, and the wizard’s chuckle filled the air.

“Ahhh, I see young Peregrin was the one who pointed it out.”

There was another silence, broken after a moment, softly, “He is remarkably like them, isn’t he?  Brilliant, vibrant, and yet struggling to keep aloft on breezes that can tear the world apart.”

“He is,” Gandalf agreed, and something soft and tender touched Pippin’s brow, a beard tickling his nose.  “He may have struggled as a caterpillar for a while, and he certainly eats like one still!”  This was met by laughter from the both of them, then, as the merriment faded, “But he has emerged now, stronger and more amazing than ever.  Never would I have thought when we started this journey that I would ever see a spirit brighter than his was then.  I was wrong.”

“Indeed.”  Aragorn’s voice was faint as sleep began to lay claim to the small knight.    “It seems as though he grew brighter as the darkness grew thicker.”

The wizard’s reply was the last thing he heard as slumber surrounded him, bearing him aloft on vibrant blue wings.  

“Or perhaps the darkness just showed how truly bright he had been all along.”