There was a hesitant knock on the door, and a whispered, “Mr. Frodo?”

“Hmm? Yes, Sam?” Frodo asked, turning his head slightly.

Sam poked his head into the room. “Mr. Gandalf’s just arrived, sir. Might I send him in, or will you see him? I’ll wait with Mr. Pippin here, if you want.”

Frodo massaged his temples for a moment and glanced at his cousin, who appeared to be dozing at the moment. “Thank you, Sam. Let me know if he grows worse.”

“Very good, sir,” Sam replied, taking Frodo’s seat beside the bed. Standing by the door, Frodo watched for a moment as Sam checked Pippin’s fever, frowned, and began to bathe the younger hobbit’s face and neck with cool cloths.

Wearily, Frodo went to the kitchen, where he found Gandalf sitting before a cold supper that Sam had undoubtedly prepared. The wizard glanced up when Frodo entered the room, but aside from a kind smile he made no move to speak.

“Hullo, Gandalf,” Frodo said, sinking into a chair with a sigh.

“I suppose I have arrived at a bad time,” Gandalf replied. “What is this I hear of young Peregrin? Samwise seems to think he is at death’s door.”

“Sam worries too much,” Frodo responded, pouring tea for Gandalf and himself. “Pippin is ill, but it is not too serious. His fever has been up and down for the past two days, but the healer says it is nothing more than a bad cough and a slight chest cold, and that he will be better by the end of the week.” He sighed tiredly, “We were lucky to catch it early. I don’t think Pippin will be very sick this time.”

Gandalf glanced at Frodo sharply. “Is he often ill?”

“It seems that way. Either that, or I have grown so old that I don't remember how often young ones come down with something.” Frodo yawned sleepily and propped up his chin with his hand.

Gandalf nodded and began to fill his pipe. “Tell me Frodo, are you well? I am afraid I have seen you better.”

Frodo laughed and began to prepare some tea with extra honey for Pippin. “I am just tired, I suppose. Sam has been a wonderful help as usual, but I’m afraid I am not used to caring for sick hobbit-lads on my own. I do not envy Pippin’s parents at all.” With another sigh, he stood and said, “I should get back to Pippin now. It is raining again, and I want to send Sam home before the storm grows worse. But please stay – I’ll return as soon as I settle Pippin for the night.”

When he returned to his cousin’s room, Pippin was awake. After sending a reluctant Sam on his way home, Frodo asked his cousin how he was feeling.

“Good. Better.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth Pippin began to cough violently, his small body trembling under the force of his coughing.  Frodo pulled his cousin into a sitting position and rubbed his back soothingly until the fit passed and Pippin flopped limply against the pillows, weak and exhausted.

“This calls for some more tonic,” Frodo remarked, reaching for the bottle.

Pippin made a face.

“It is helping you,” Frodo reminded him as he measured out a spoonful. “You’re breathing a little easier.”

With a sigh, Pippin swallowed the hateful tonic and gratefully accepted the tea Frodo gave him next to wash away the bitter taste.

“Are you hungry?” Frodo asked. “Sam made some chicken soup this afternoon.”

“Maybe later,” Pippin whispered.

“You should try to have the broth, at least,” Frodo persisted.

 Pippin shook his head. “Is Gandalf really here? I thought I heard Sam say so before.”

“Yes, he is,” Frodo replied, tucking the blankets closer around his cousin.

“I haven’t seen him since Cousin Bilbo’s party so long ago.” Pippin smiled sleepily, thinking of fireworks and cake. “Where has he been?”

“Oh, you know Gandalf. He wanders in and out of the Shire when he has the time. He will most likely leave by the morning.”

“May I see him?” Pippin coughed again, not as badly as before, but enough for his stomach to hurt. “Please?”

“Maybe later,” Frodo said. “But for now, get some rest.”

“I don’t want to,” Pippin whispered, even though his eyes were slipping shut.

“Ssh,” Frodo replied. “Time for sleep.” He watched as Pippin began to doze lightly and then leaned back in his chair. It was going to be another long night.

“That’s it, dearest. It’s over now,” Frodo said, frowning distastefully at the puddle of vomit that was quickly seeping through the blankets. There was not much – just the remnants of tonic and tea, after all – but it had left Pippin tearful and exhausted.

“I’m sorry, Frodo. I couldn’t help it,” Pippin whimpered.

“I know, Pippin, I know. I’m not angry,” Frodo assured him with a kiss to his cousin’s sweaty brow. Taking a moment to get his bearings, Frodo sprang into action, cleaning Pippin’s face and hands, helping his cousin change into another nightshirt, and stripping the bed of its soiled linens. Wrapping Pippin in the only blanket that had remained clean, Frodo settled him in the chair and went in search of new bedclothes.

As he tossed the dirtied blankets into the wash basket and selected clean ones, Frodo wished suddenly that Merry was here. Young as he was, Merry kept a cool head in these situations and had been at Pippin’s side through more serious illnesses than a cough and cold.

Back in Pippin’s room, Frodo found his cousin’s fever soaring again. He quickly made the bed, but Pippin’s legs gave out when he rose from the chair and Frodo had to lift him onto the mattress.

“Thirsty,” Pippin whispered. “My eyes burn.”

A few sips of water and a flurry of cool cloths later, Pippin’s fever dropped slightly and the young hobbit was fast asleep.

Stretching his arms over his head with a sigh, Frodo hovered by Pippin’s bed until he deemed it safe to see how his other guest was faring.

He discovered Gandalf still seated at the kitchen table, gazing out the window at the furious rain.

Frodo yawned loudly in greeting, and prepared a fresh pot of tea.

“I don’t know what I am doing, Gandalf,” he said after a moment, handing the wizard his mug. “Pippin slept for barely twenty minutes before he woke up coughing so badly that he was sick all over the blankets. Only now has his fever gone down a bit.” Frodo sighed and slouched against the table. He hid another yawn in his tea.

Gandalf shifted his glance from the window to the hobbit beside him. “Perhaps with some sleep your mind would be clearer, though it seems to me that you are doing a fine job.”

Frodo smiled in thanks but shook his head. “Pippin needs me. I can’t leave him now, but I am sorry to keep leaving you. I have been a very poor host. I suppose this has spoiled your visit.” 

“We all do what we must, Frodo,” Gandalf replied, smiling kindly.

Taking Gandalf’s words to heart, Frodo smiled again and returned to Pippin’s side.

*          *          *

Frodo did not recall dozing off, but was startled awake by a hand on his shoulder.

“Get some sleep in your own bed, Frodo,” Gandalf said quietly. “I’ll watch Peregrin now.”

“No, no, Gandalf, I can handle it,” Frodo replied. He yawned widely before continuing. “I have to stay with him.”

“So you can sleep when you should be watching your cousin?” Gandalf asked with a raise of his eyebrows. “Let me look after him, Frodo. You need some rest.”

“But you’re leaving in the morning,” Frodo protested, rubbing his eyes furiously.

Gandalf glanced at the hobbit in the bed; Pippin was awake now and watching the entire exchange. “Well, Peregrin, what do you say – do you think I can manage, or should your cousin remain here to yawn at you?”

“Go to sleep, Frodo,” Pippin said hoarsely. “I don’t think you’ve slept at all since I got sick.”

Frodo checked Pippin’s fever. “Hmm. You still feel very warm, Pippin.”

“But I don’t feel as sick as before, Frodo,” Pippin insisted, though his words were punctuated by a deep cough. “Besides, Gandalf will take good care of me, I just know it. You should go to bed.”

“It seems you both want to get rid of me,” Frodo replied, standing reluctantly. He meant to say more, but another enormous yawn swallowed his words.

“Oh, go on before you fall over,” Pippin said, managing a small smile.

Frodo smiled in return and somehow stumbled to his own bed where he immediately fell into a deeper sleep than he intended.

“You should get some rest as well,” Gandalf said, after he settled himself at Pippin’s side.

Pippin shook his head and began another long coughing fit. 

When it showed no apparent sign of stopping, Gandalf reached over and lifted Pippin, blankets and all, into his arms and held him as if he were a very small hobbit-lad. If Pippin had not been so ill, he might have been insulted, but as it was his ceaseless coughing prevented him from considering much else.

“All finished?” Gandalf asked when the bout ended, patting Pippin’s back lightly.

Pippin let out a shaky breath and sagged limply against the wizard’s shoulder, too weak to even reply with anything more than a slight nod.

Gandalf tucked the blankets more securely around Pippin, but did not return him to his bed. It might have been his imagination, but it appeared that the hobbit breathed easier now that he was sitting up.

For a few moments Gandalf studied Pippin, whose eyes were glassy from the fever and his breath ragged.

“I am not accustomed to a quiet Took,” Gandalf said finally, “and I hope I never come across another.”

At this Pippin lifted his head and met the wizard’s gaze. “Do you mean all Tooks, or just the quiet ones?” he whispered faintly.

“The quiet ones, of course, my lad. They are a grievous sight. I prefer my Tooks chatty, cheerful, and curious.”

With a thump, Pippin let his head fall against the wizard’s shoulder once more.  “I think I am too sick to be chatty and cheerful,” Pippin whispered. He paused a moment to clear his throat, and then said louder, but no less hoarsely, “But I am always curious.”

“That is a relief,” Gandalf replied with a sad smile.   

For a long while they sat in silence, with Pippin’s breathing the only sound that filled the room. Gandalf felt Pippin’s temperature grow cooler, and was about to return the hobbit to his bed when he spoke again.

“Do you like the stars, Gandalf?” asked Pippin after a few moments, staring out the window. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and the sky was an inky black.

“Yes, Peregrin. I do like the stars very much,” Gandalf replied.

“So do I,” Pippin said. He sniffled loudly and wetly, and swiped ineffectually at his nose with his sleeve

From the depths of the wizard’s robes emerged largest handkerchief Pippin had ever seen. He supposed it would have smothered him if Gandalf had not dutifully held it while Pippin blew his nose.

“Thank you,” he whispered when he was finished.

Gandalf smiled and set the handkerchief on the bedside table for later.

“Sometimes I wish I could touch one,” Pippin said, coughing again.

“A star?” asked Gandalf.

“Yes. But I wouldn’t want to keep it because it would be lonely without the others.” Pippin eyed Gandalf thoughtfully. “You must know everything there is to know about stars. Do you think one would be sad all by itself, Gandalf?”

“I think it would,” the wizard replied with a nod.

“I thought so,” Pippin replied. “I know I would be very lonesome without any other hobbits around.”

“Well, I certainly hope you never have to feel that way, my lad,” Gandalf said, patting the hobbit’s hand gently. He paused in mid-motion, and lifted Pippin’s hand to look at it more closely.

“I wonder…” he said, turning Pippin’s hand over in his much larger one.

A/N: Thank you to Pipwise for betaing this chapter.

“Wonder what, Gandalf? Wonder what?”

The wizard reached for Pippin’s other hand without answering, and inspected that one as well.

“What, Gandalf? What?” Pippin asked, coughing again.

“Steady, now,” Gandalf said, waiting for Pippin’s coughing fit to pass. He leaned back and studied the hobbit with narrowed eyes. “You are still quite ill. I do not know if it would be wise to tell you.”

Sighing softly, Pippin let his head flop against the wizard’s shoulder. Gandalf frowned; he had expected the young hobbit to claim he was feeling better, whine and wheedle perhaps, and above all, to ask a flurry of questions. He certainly did not anticipate acceptance.

“You surprise me, my lad,” he said quietly, after several long moments had passed. “What has happened to the fabled curiosity of the Tooks?”

Raising his head slowly, Pippin faced the wizard with a smile. “It’s still here, Gandalf, but it is always very difficult to get anything out of you. I was trying to decide what to ask first.”

Gandalf raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Pippin said, clearing his throat. “First, I want to know if you will ever tell me what you were wondering about before.”

“I should think so.”

“Oh,” Pippin said, surprised at his early success. “Is it a big secret?”

“It is not a secret of any sort,” Gandalf replied.

“Are you going to turn me into a toad?” Pippin asked eagerly.

Gandalf chuckled. “Perhaps another time, when you are feeling better. I make it a rule to turn only healthy hobbits into toads.”  

“You know, I am feeling a bit better. I haven’t coughed in a few minutes.” Pippin smiled. “I think you should tell me now,” he persisted.

Putting on his sternest expression, Gandalf made no response other than to fold Pippin’s hands together.

“What are you doing?” Pippin asked. His question remained unanswered and he watched in fascination as Gandalf closed his eyes and murmured some strange words.  Immediately, Pippin’s hands felt much warmer than before, even warmer than they had been when his fever was at its worst.

“What’s happening, Gandalf?” Pippin whispered.

“Open your hands slowly,” the wizard answered.

When Pippin unclasped his hands he found two miniature spheres of light in his palms. They were very warm, but not enough to burn him, and they illuminated the entire room.

His mouth dropped open in awe. “These are stars, Gandalf! You gave me stars! How ever did you do it?”

Gandalf harrumphed. “Now that is a secret, Peregrin Took,” he said with a smile.

Pippin stared at the stars for a while. They were neither hard nor soft, and seemed content enough to stay in his hands, much to his delight. He wondered if they would still shine if he tucked them under the blankets, but thought better of it, too afraid that he might hurt them.

The wizard let the hobbit enjoy looking at the stars for some time before he said, “I am afraid they will stay only a short while longer, Peregrin, before they must leave.”

“Leave?” Pippin looked up sadly. “But where do they go?”

“Back to the sky, of course! We are only borrowing them,” Gandalf replied.

“Oh,” Pippin smiled again. “Will you help them find their way back, Gandalf? I don’t want them to get lost.”

The wizard rested a hand on Pippin’s forehead before answering. “I believe you may handle that task yourself, my lad,” he replied with a smile.

Gandalf stood, the hobbit still wrapped up in blankets in his arms, and walked to the window. Pippin marveled at being so high from the ground, and clasped his hands tightly, both from his initial burst of fear and to prevent the stars from trying to leave before it was time.

“I think we may risk opening the window for a moment, now that the rain has ended and your fever is nearly gone,” Gandalf said.  He balanced Pippin carefully in one arm and unlatched the window.

“Send them on their way, Peregrin,” he said gently.

“Goodnight, and thank you for visiting,” Pippin whispered to them, in the proper way his parents had taught him, before opening his hands and letting the two stars soar away.

Gandalf latched the window quickly, but lingered beside it so that Pippin could watch as the stars escaped into the night.

“Oh,” Pippin murmured, his eyes wide. He leaned forward as far as the wizard would allow and searched the sky.

“There they are, Gandalf. I see them!” he cried after a moment, coughing in his excitement.

“Where?” Gandalf asked, peering through the window as well.

“There!” Pippin repeated, pointing at a pair of stars that, to his eyes, seemed to shine brighter than the rest. “Those are mine, I just know it.”

They remained by the window for a few long moments, until Pippin coughed again, and rubbed at his eyes sleepily.

“Rest awhile now,” Gandalf said, as he tucked Pippin back into bed. “Soon it will be morning - and time for more tonic.”

Pippin made a face, but was already falling asleep. “Thank you, Gandalf,” he mumbled, burrowing deeper into the pillow.

“You are most welcome, my dear young hobbit,” Gandalf replied softly as he settled back into his chair for the remainder of his watch.

A/N: Thank you to Pipwise for betaing this chapter.

It was approaching mid-morning when Frodo woke from his deep slumber. In a panic, he rushed to Pippin’s room, his sleep-befuddled mind swimming with thoughts of the worst kind. Only when he saw Pippin sleeping peacefully with Sam at his side did his heart slow to a normal pattern.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam cried, jumping out of his seat. He clapped his hands over his mouth and glanced apologetically at the hobbit in the bed, who was now stirring. “Sorry, Mr. Pippin.”

“’Morning, Sam…Good Morning, Frodo!” Pippin coughed deeply, but not as violently as he had the night before, and smiled at his cousin. “Sleep well?”

Frodo sat beside Pippin and inspected the young hobbit. Pippin’s fever was gone, his eyes were no longer glassy, and a bit of his normal coloring had returned to his face. His voice still sounded raspy, and his breathing was heavier than normal, but by all accounts, Pippin had greatly improved during the night.

“I’m so sorry, Pippin,” Frodo said. “I don’t know what came over me – I didn’t mean to sleep for more than an hour or so.” He turned to look up at Sam. “When did you get here, Sam?”

“Well, when I arrived this morning, Mr. Gandalf was all set to leave, and he told me I should stay with Mr. Pippin here. He said you were worn out and needed your rest, and – and that I was just the right hobbit to take care of things.” Sam ducked his head and his ears flushed pink in embarrassment as he took a step toward the door. “If you’re not needing me now, sir, I’ll just make some breakfast for you and Mr. Pippin.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said with a smile, before turning back to his cousin. “What would we do without him, Pippin?”

Pippin thought for a moment before shrugging. “Starve, I suppose.”

Sam blushed furiously and fled to the kitchen.

Frodo pulled Pippin into a tight hug. “This is the best you’ve looked in days, Pippin. How do you feel?”

“Much better,” Pippin replied. “I’m still coughing, and my nose is stuffed and sniffly, but my chest doesn’t hurt so much and I’m hungry.” He wriggled away from Frodo’s tight embrace. “Do I still have to take my tonic?”

“Oh, yes. Thank you for reminding me,” Frodo said, reaching for the bottle. Pippin groaned but accepted the medicine.

“Did you see my stars?” Pippin asked eagerly when he was finished.

“Your what?”

“My stars. Gandalf gave them to me. Not to keep, though, just to borrow. They were very pretty. And warm! Did you know that stars are warm, Frodo?”

Baffled, Frodo stared at his cousin. The fever must have made him hallucinate last night. “What are you talking about, Pippin?”

Pippin sighed. “Stars, Frodo. Gandalf gave me two of them before I went to sleep and I looked at them and held them, just like I always wanted to. Then I had to let them go back home, so we opened the window and they flew back up to the sky.”

“Oh,” Frodo replied, raising his eyebrows. “That’s…very interesting, Pippin,” he said, reaching for a handkerchief to wipe his cousin’s nose.

“Isn’t it?” Pippin smiled happily, batting away the handkerchief. “It’s a shame they had to leave so soon, or you could have seen them, too.” He paused, and sniffed loudly. “I think my nose is starting to work again. Is that bacon?”

Frodo breathed in deeply. “Yes, and eggs, too. Do you feel well enough to come inside and eat, or shall I bring you a tray?”

“No, I want to get up. I’m so tired of this bed.” Pippin allowed Frodo to help him to his feet and only protested a little bit when his cousin insisted that he wear a robe and wrap up in a blanket.

Pippin looked more like himself once he was settled at the table with a plate of food before him. He coughed and sniffled between bites, but concentrated on his breakfast and paid no attention to the others.

Sam hovered by Frodo’s chair. “I’m glad Mr. Pippin is up and about, sir. Is there anything you’re wanting?”

“No, Sam. Thank you for breakfast. Have you eaten yet?”

“I’m all right, Mr. Frodo.”

“I suppose that’s a no. Come on, Sam, have breakfast with us.”

Sam hesitated, and inched closer to the door. “Well, sir, I have lots of work to do this morning. All that rain we had these past few days has set me back.”

Frodo smiled. “Sam.”

Sam fidgeted for another moment before nodding finally and filling a plate for himself with considerably less reluctance. “I saw the strangest thing last night, Mr. Frodo,” he offered shyly as he reached for the bacon.

“What was it?” asked Frodo.

“Well, sir, after I came home, I sat for a while with my Gaffer and then I went to bed. It was later than usual and, as I was changing, I saw these odd little lights hovering round in the sky. So I went closer to my window, and sure enough, it looked like they were coming from the Hill. These lights flew right up high, ‘til I couldn’t see them no more. It was a mighty strange sight,” Sam concluded, shaking his head thoughtfully. His face brightened, “Do you think it was some sort of Elf-magic, Mr. Frodo?”

For a moment, Frodo sat stunned, before his eyes darted over to where his cousin was happily occupying himself with his breakfast.

“No, Sam,” Frodo said with a smile. “I believe they were two stars that Gandalf told Pippin about.”

“Stars, sir?” Sam pondered this for a moment before nodding in agreement. “Well, I suppose a wizard would know.”

(The Star-verse continues in my Cormallen story "The Stars Will Light Your Way," which is posted here at Stories of Arda)