Just a few inches.  That was all it would take to slide his still bandaged foot off the edge of the cot and then he could make his way to the small table that held the pitcher of water.  If he could sit up.  If he could force his body to slide that distance that seemed to grow even as he looked at it.

He cast a fearful glance to Merry, who was dozing quietly beside him on a cot pushed up next to his.  His cousin’s face was relaxed for the first time he could remember in a long time, and little, light snores escaped his barely parted lips. It wouldn’t do to wake Merry.

He pushed himself up, slowly, on his elbows, wincing slightly at the pull of his fractured ribs.  He paused, allowing the pain to fade as he took several deep, calming breaths, then (he) used his left hand to push himself up the rest of the way.

For a moment the world spun about him, and he closed his eyes, taking a few more deep breaths before attempting to move any further.  Well, he thought as he looked about himself once more, at least I am sitting up. 

Now for the hard part.

One eye still on his sleeping cousin, he shifted slightly, moving his foot those few inches necessary to have it hanging off the cot, and then shifted his other leg, wincing and gritting his teeth at the pain radiating from the knee that had been dislocated.  He could do this, he thought to himself sternly.  Really. 

He was sweating and trembling slightly by the time he managed to get both legs over the edge of the cot, and it was here he was faced with an unanticipated problem.  His   feet dangled a good six inches above the ground.

“Peregrin Took, what are you doing!”

The voice did not belong to Merry, but it startled him so much nonetheless that he gave a little squeak and jerked his body around, a small part of his brain not affected by the pain noticing with some amusement Merry jerking awake with a flailing of limbs and a panicked,  “What? Ww -what’s happening?”

Pippin hissed through his teeth, fighting for breath as fiery daggers seemed to pierce his lungs and chest, feeling himself start to fall back.  Strong hands caught him and lowered him gently down.

“What were you doing, young hobbit?” Aragorn’s firm, slightly exasperated voice asked sharply from above him. 

“I – I was – thirsty,” Pippin managed to get out between gulping sobs of air, trying without success to relax his clenched muscles. 

A deep sigh was his only answer, and a cool hand was placed upon his brow.  After a moment his pain seemed to fade a little, his muscles easing, and he was able to open his eyes again.  He swallowed.  Hard.

Aragorn, Gandalf and Merry stared down at him, each with a reproving glare in his eyes. 

“H-hello,” he managed to stammer, trying to smile around his sudden trepidation. 

“Peregrin Took,” Gandalf said in a tone all too familiar, “Just what did you think you were doing, trying to get out of bed when not but two days ago you were barely able to count to three and keep your eyes open at the same time?”

“Yes, Pippin,” Merry added, hands on his hips, his shadowed eyes accentuating his fierce scowl.  “What were you thinking?  You could have seriously hurt yourself!”

Pippin tried, without much success, to burrow his way into the cot. 

“Gentlemen,” Aragorn said suddenly, softly, and the three of them turned to the King.  “I think I would like to have a few words with my patient if you please. 

“Gandalf, would you and Meriadoc like to go in search of some food?  I’m sure we could all do with some luncheon.”

Pippin felt for certain he would melt right through the bedding, he became so limp with relief. 

Seeming mollified that Aragorn would set their young charge to right, Merry and Gandalf left the two of them alone, the ancient wizard’s hand resting gently on the hobbit’s shoulder as he steered him out. 

Pippin turned a chagrined, downcast face to his friend. 

“You do realize that you really could have seriously hurt yourself, don’t you?” Aragorn asked softly, moving with deliberate motions to the pitcher of water that had been the young hobbit’s goal.  He brought it over, along with the mug next to it, and poured out a generous amount.  “Drink slowly,” he cautioned.

Pippin did so, eyes closing of their own accord as the cool water soothed his dry, burning throat.  Only when he was finished drinking did Aragorn continue, setting both the mug and pitcher aside as though to eliminate distractions from his lecture. 

His gaze was earnest as he met Pippin’s eyes, placing a strong, calloused hand on a small shoulder.  The young hobbit found himself unable to look away from that gaze.

“When Gimli found you laying under that foul beast,” Aragorn began, voice very soft and somber, “you were nearly dead, Peregrin Took.”  Pippin swallowed, nodding.  “You were battered and broken, far worse than I have seen some corpses, and it was only by all my skill and the grace of the Valar that you survived.”

            Aragorn paused, absently moving his hand from Pippin’s shoulder to his curly head, his fingers moving of their own accord to gently tangle golden locks around themselves.

            “I know that you feel helpless right now,” he continued, very softly and tenderly, eyes holding a depth of compassion matched only by his seriousness. “That you worry about being a burden to the rest of us, and wish to speed up your recovering by pushing yourself.  But I tell you this now, Pippin,” he added, hand stilling its idle movement, eyes boring into the tweenager‘s.  “If you keep attempting things your body is not ready to handle, you shall only make yourself worse.”

            Pippin swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat, nodding his head as he blinked fiercely against the tears that were threatening to fall.

            “I just-“ he whispered in a quavering voice, trying to put into words the emotions raging through him.  “I just want to be better.  I don’t w-want to be a burden.”

            “Oh, Pip-lad,” Aragorn sighed, and with a gentleness usually reserved for newborns, gathered the small form into his arms, pressing his lips to that curly mop pressed against his breast.  “You could never be burden to us, ever.”

            “But- but- I can’t d-do anything,” Pippin whispered brokenly into that strong shoulder that smelled of leather and soap. 

            The King’s gentle chuckle vibrated through the hobbit’s shivering form.  “Pippin,” he began, and the mirth was evident beneath the fond compassion,  “You were crushed by a troll!  Of course you can’t do anything right now!”

            As the other chuckled again, Pippin joined him weakly, realizing how silly he had just sounded.   After a few moments Aragorn laid him back down, frowning at the whimper that escaped clamped lips.

            “Do you need something for the pain?” he asked softly, checking the pulse at the hobbit’s neck as the other hand moved to touch his brow, checking for fever.  His frown deepened at the slight heat.

            “Just some more water, please,” Pippin whispered, trying to smile.

            Aragorn nodded, retrieving the pitcher and mug and carefully helping the other drink. 

            “Do you think – do you think that I shall be all right? Really all right?” Pippin asked sleepily, fighting his fatigue even as his eyes began to close of their own accord.

            “I do,” Aragorn answered softly, pulling blankets up around those thin shoulders.  “But it will take quite a bit of time, and patience.”

            He moved to sit down on the chair near the table at the foot of the cot, withdrawing his pipe as he turned.

            “Strider?”

            The sleepy voice stopped him, and he turned, eyebrows lifted.

            “Yes, Little Bird?” he asked gently, moving to kneel beside that still form.

            “Will you wait for me?”

            Something in that lost tone of voice, in the softness of its whisper, pulled at the Ranger’s heart, and he found himself blinking hard. 

            “Yes, Pippin,” he said just as softly, touching his lips once more to that fevered brow, eyes closed against a sudden pain in his heart.  “We shall be right beside you, I promise.”

            “Then that’s all right then,” Pippin mumbled, words almost incoherent with sleep.

            He knelt there for a long time by the sleeping hobbit-lad, watching the rise and fall of a chest that had almost forever been stilled.

            “And I promise,” he whispered into one delicately pointed ear, “That I shall not let you fall along the way.”

            Pippin sighed in his sleep, his body seeming to relax completely for the first time since he had been found, and Aragorn nodded.  He moved, to pull the chair near to the cot, and assumed his vigil as he waited for Merry and Gandalf’s return. 

            He had promised, after all. 

Last summer I had to have a surgery on my cervix, and afterward I felt very weak and pathetic.  For about two weeks afterward I had a hard time just walking and going about the things I had to do.  By the end of the days all I had wanted was to curl up in a little ball and go to sleep. 

And through it all, my fiancé was with me.  He would hold me tenderly and tell me everything was going to be all right.  I know it must have been very hard on him, seeing me so weak, and very frustrating, when all I wanted was to sleep.  It was frustrating for me as well. 

But in the end, I think it brought us even closer, and I knew how much I was loved and cared for.  I believe that Pippin must have felt he same way, and thus, this story was born.