Tremendous thanks and big hugs to Pipwise for the helpful betaing and even more helpful encouragement. I can’t thank you enough! :)

Thank you also to Marigold for supplying me with logistical information and the most wonderful plotbunny. It truly was a joy to write :)

I will not say the Day is done,
Nor bid the Stars farewell.

~The Return of the King, Book 6, “The Tower of Cirith Ungol”

The early hours of March 26

After the Eagles had brought Frodo and Sam out of the fire and into the night, they took the hobbits to the makeshift camp that was set up at the Morannon. Aragorn was waiting for them, and Gandalf remained with the hobbits, watching as the king worked into the early hours of the morning, bringing them back from the brink of death and sending them into a peaceful healing sleep.

Aragorn and the other healers then turned their attention to Frodo and Sam’s minor injuries. The tent occupied by the Ringbearers was silent aside from the small sounds of bandages being unrolled and wrapped around limbs, but it seemed all the more quiet with the absence of one who was expected to be underfoot and asking questions.

As he worked, Aragorn explained how Gimli had discovered Pippin crushed beneath a hill-troll, giving a voice to the fear that had already crept into Gandalf's heart.

“Pippin’s situation is very grave,” Aragorn said quietly. “Many of his ribs were crushed, and this is putting a strain on his breathing. He also has a broken sword arm and a sprained ankle, and is feverish. Fortunately there is no sign of internal bleeding.” He paused to arrange Frodo’s hands so that the injured one rested in a comfortable position before turning to face Gandalf.

“I treated his injuries as best I could,” Aragorn continued. “But I am very worried. Where Pippin’s spirit wanders, I do not know. He was very near death when Gimli brought him to me, and it was a struggle to call him back.”

With a heavy sigh Gandalf circled the tent, closely watching the sleeping hobbits. He suddenly looked old and withered, his previous joy at finding Frodo and Sam tempered with the fear he felt for Pippin.

“Have you sent for Merry?” he asked finally.

Aragorn nodded. “I sent word that he should travel with the first supply wains, and meet us at the rear camp we established in Ithilien.”

“Good,” Gandalf replied, half to himself. “Merry must be here whether all goes well or ill.”

There was a light rustle as the tent flap was pulled open, and both turned to see Legolas enter, his eyes shining with hope.

“Pippin has not stirred,” he said quickly, in response to the unasked question written clearly upon both their faces. “Gimli and I received word that Frodo and Sam have been brought back to the camp alive. I have come to see how they fare.”

“Come, Legolas, and look upon our friends,” Gandalf said, resting a hand on the elf’s shoulder as he guided him closer to the hobbits’ beds. “Altered though they may be, Aragorn has promised that they will survive.”

Legolas smiled at the hobbits, reaching out a hand to touch each of their foreheads in turn. He shook his head and sighed a little. “It is a joy to see Frodo and Sam again. My heart has grieved for Pippin this night.”

“Do not grieve overmuch when there is still breath and Tookish resilience to consider,” Gandalf said, smiling a little at the thought.

“Has there been any change in Pippin’s condition?” Aragorn inquired.

“No,” replied Legolas, shaking his head sadly. “His breathing still suffers, and his mind continues to wander. I tried to make contact with him, to gain some response, but I could not reach him.”

“We will soon be moving to the camp in Ithilien,” Aragorn said. “We must leave the foul air of Mordor, but I fear the journey will take a toll on those who were seriously injured.”

The three friends were silent for a moment, their eyes turning toward the two hobbits.

“The Eagles,” Gandalf said quietly. “I shall ask the Eagles to transport the gravely wounded.”

Aragorn smiled appreciatively. “That would certainly ease my mind. It will be a slow and bumpy road to Ithilien, and I fear we will lose many of our critically injured if they are forced to travel by cart.”

“I shall ask Gwaihir at once,” Gandalf said before turning to Legolas. “Someone needs to meet Merry when he arrives with the wains. He must arrive at Ithilien as quickly as possible, for his own sake as much as Pippin’s. I fear that the Shadow will increase its hold over Merry once he hears the news, and he will no doubt be frantic.”

“I shall meet him at the river,” Legolas offered. “A friendly face should be more welcome than a stranger’s, and we shall travel faster to Ithilien together than if he is forced to wait for the supplies to be unloaded from the ships.”

Grateful, Gandalf smiled and clasped the elf’s arm in thanks. “Now I must find Gwaihir,” he announced, before going first to Frodo, and then Sam, and whispering softly in their ears. With a final glance at the hobbits he strode away to where the Eagles had gathered.

*

The Eagles agreed to help, and Gandalf hurried back to tell Aragorn. The king, with Legolas’ assistance, immediately began preparing Frodo and Sam for travel, while Gandalf went off in search of Pippin’s tent.

It was not difficult to find, guarded as it was by two grim soldiers of Gondor. Gandalf recognized them as members of the company Pippin had been serving with at the Last Battle, and tonight their faces were stretched thin with worry over their small friend as they opened the tent flap for Gandalf.

Nodding in greeting, Gandalf passed them and entered the dimly lit tent. The smell of blood hung in the air. Gimli paced alongside the cot, and Gandalf settled himself at Pippin’s side and carefully inspected his friend.

Despite Aragorn’s detailed list of injuries, Gandalf was not quite prepared to see Pippin so still. There was no smile or quizzical look to be found on the young hobbit’s face, which was set in a blank expression so unfamiliar for this lively creature.

Blood and dirt had been washed away, exposing the extensive bruising covering almost every visible patch of Pippin’s sallow skin, and it was obvious that he struggled for breath. A bit of the bandaging that covered Pippin’s torso was visible through the loosely tied laces at the collar of his nightshirt, and there was a bulky splint on his right arm. Pippin looked like a tiny broken doll, swaddled in blankets on a too-large bed.

Ceasing his restless pacing, Gimli stood beside Gandalf and cleared his throat. “Is it true? Have Frodo and Sam returned to us?”

“Yes,” Gandalf said, managing a smile. “They sleep now, and will for many days yet, until their strength returns. Perhaps you might go and see them now, before we break camp and set out for Ithilien.”

Gimli snorted. “Good, they must not spend any more time in this intolerable place.” His eyes betrayed his eagerness to see Frodo and Sam again, as well as his unwillingness to leave Pippin’s side. Gandalf watched with concern as Gimli resumed his pacing, his face troubled.

“I have failed him, Gandalf,” Gimli said finally.

“Failed him?” Gandalf asked, his brow furrowed. “How?”

“I made him a promise. Before the battle, I said to him, ‘Pippin, I will do everything in my power to see you returned safely to Merry’s side.’” A few tears trickled down Gimli’s face and into his beard. “How will I ever face the other hobbits?”

Gandalf sighed heavily. “Gimli, you did not fail Pippin. You simply made a promise that no one can truly keep.”

“Aye,” Gimli grumbled, wiping roughly at his eyes. “I know that now.”

“But certainly, you did your best to honor your word. You found Pippin beneath the troll and brought him to Aragorn,” Gandalf continued.

“I found him too late, I fear,” Gimli said.

“That may be,” Gandalf admitted. “But do not forget that hobbits are a sturdy folk who heal quickly. Not unlike dwarves,” he added with a smile. “There is still hope yet for Pippin. When there is life, there is hope.”

Gimli smiled a little at that. “Will Pippin be moved to Ithilien tonight, as well?”

“Yes,” Gandalf said. “The Eagles have promised to bear all of the most gravely injured. I must prepare him for travel soon.”

Gimli nodded with satisfaction. “I shall leave you, then, and visit with our other friends while I may.” He gently patted Pippin’s uninjured hand before exiting the tent to visit Frodo and Sam.

Drawing his chair closer to Pippin’s cot, Gandalf regarded him with a sad smile.

“My brave lad,” he said softly, and reached out to smooth back the hobbit’s curls.

Gandalf let his hand linger there on Pippin’s bruised and feverish brow, and shut his eyes, concentrating. He, too, could sense that Pippin’s spirit was muddled, made confused by the excruciating pain. There was a chance that Pippin would not find his way back, a terrible chance that grew with each hour that passed without his regaining consciousness.

“Tiny wanderer,” Gandalf muttered, before opening his eyes and addressing Pippin as if he were awake.

“You did better than anyone ever could have hoped or expected, Peregrin Took, but now I must make one final request. I know that you are struggling, and that you are in pain, but you must not grow weary now.”

He sighed a little before continuing. “All those times in your young life when you were forced to fight against one illness or another have prepared you for this moment, Pippin. Frodo and Sam are here and recovering from their own injuries, and Merry is on his way.” Gandalf smiled a little, and hoped that Pippin would sense it. “You must not disappoint us, my lad.”

Pippin’s breathing remained shallow, and he did not stir. After a few moments Gandalf stood and carefully wrapped the hobbit in blankets. Though Pippin was taller now, Gandalf lifted him easily, blankets and all, and carried him outside to the waiting Eagles.

Frodo and Sam were already there, having been brought through the camp in high honor, and now they were borne up by Landroval and Meneldor. They circled through the air, leading the column as the other Eagles lifted the most seriously wounded and joined them in the sky. Gwaihir the Windlord presided over it all, and now Gandalf approached him.

“Gwaihir, I imagined that three times would have been enough for you to bear me, but now I must ask you again. This is my young friend, one of the Ringbearer’s kin, and a brave soldier gravely wounded in the last battle.”

“He is but a small burden,” Gwaihir replied, “and any of my folk should be glad to bear him. I shall carry you both.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Gandalf said, and he held Pippin tightly as they were lifted up and carried away toward the fragrant land of Ithilien.

*

March 27

Pippin did not stir during the journey to Ithilien, and it tugged at the wizard’s heart when he thought how excited and curious the hobbit would have been about such an adventure had he been awake.

Several times Gandalf grew unnerved by his stillness and leaned close to the small bundle in his arms, and each time was relieved to discover that Pippin continued to breathe, however shallowly. He was grateful, too, for the smooth flight of the Eagles, knowing that if Pippin had been forced to travel by cart it certainly would have caused him an unbearable amount of pain.

It was just after dawn when the camp at Ithilien first came into view. The Eagles bearing Frodo and Sam arrived first, and the healers already stationed there busied themselves with settling the Ringbearers in a quiet grove of trees. Last of all, Gwaihir soared over the camp, descending in a large open spiral, and landed with the gentlest of hops upon the ground.

With whispered thanks and an affectionate pat on the Eagle’s feathered back, Gandalf made his way through the camp, led by a pair of healers who guided him to a tent near the grove where Frodo and Sam were sleeping.

The healers had already received word from the king to treat his friend, the young perian, with special care, but they had hardly needed his orders, having already heard about the Ernil i Pheriannath from the few soldiers and healers left in this field hospital before the battle, and they were anxious to honor this small friend of Gondor.

Some of Pippin’s bandages had come undone during the journey, and others were now blood-soaked, so as the healers turned their attention to tending his wounds, Gandalf left for a time to stay with Frodo and Sam, and watch them sleep.

In the late afternoon Aragorn arrived with Gimli, ahead of the slow-travelling host of the uninjured and lesser-wounded. Legolas had gone already to Cair Andros, to wait for Merry when he arrived with the supply wains.

As the hour grew late the three members of the Fellowship divided their time between the three hobbits, watching as Frodo and Sam rested peacefully and slowly regained their color, and as Pippin’s mind seemed to draw further into himself.

Finally it was night, and Gandalf found himself seated at Pippin’s side once more. The hobbit’s fever had risen during the day, and now his breath came in short little gasps through his dry, cracked lips.

A healer was there, a tall man called Belecthor whom Gandalf recognized from the Houses of Healing. The wizard knew that Pippin was on friendly terms with him, as he was with all the healers there, and he also knew that Belecthor’s particular specialty was teeth, so he asked curiously if the hobbit had lost any, wondering why he was tending him.

Belecthor seemed startled by the question. “No, my lord Mithrandir, his teeth are undamaged.” His eyes dropped to the hobbit lying so still on the cot. “There were other healers here before, and they did all they could for Master Peregrin before they left to treat the other wounded. He is under my care now.”

The wizard frowned deeply, realizing that the other healers were losing hope, and he watched in silence as Belecthor bathed Pippin’s face with cool, wet cloths before leaving the tent with a quick bow.

Gandalf took Pippin’s uninjured hand. It felt clammy and hot in his own, and he smiled sadly.

“Where do you wander, Peregrin Took?” he asked quietly. “Wherever it may be, do not stray too far. Your Merry will be here soon.”

Pippin’s breath hitched, and a hoarse choking noise escaped from his lips. Gandalf stood quickly, prepared to call for Belecthor, but then Pippin’s breathing evened out, and though it was still labored, it seemed deeper than before.

Gandalf sat again, and placed his other hand on the hobbit’s feverish brow, trying to tap into his confused thoughts. Shutting his eyes, Gandalf concentrated, deep in thought until finally he sat back and opened his eyes with a smile.

He glanced down at the small hand he still held, and looked at it closely, turning it over in his own much larger one.

“I wonder…”

***Gimli’s promise to Pippin and the character of Belecthor are both found in my story "In the Company of Friends"***

A/N: Thank you to Pipwise for the beta.

Pippin felt as if he were trapped in a mist, in a dense fog as he had been on the Barrow-downs. He could not see where he was or where he was going, and knew only that he was wandering in the dark without even a star or pale sliver of the moon to guide him.

He kept hearing echoes of familiar voices, mere snatches of noise, but every time he tried to call out to them his own voice was smaller than a whisper, and soon the voices would fade, leaving him alone again.

After some time Pippin decided it was better to walk and try to find his way than to wait idly for help. He walked for a while but never seemed to go anywhere, until finally in the distance a large shape formed, and as Pippin walked closer he saw that it was the tallest mountain he had ever seen.

His steps grew more determined; perhaps if he climbed the mountain he would be able to look around and see where he was. But as he drew closer the mountain suddenly grew legs and stood, towering over him at an even greater height.

Pippin froze in place, and as he wondered what he should do the mountain toppled over, crushing him beneath its weight and scattering his thoughts.

All time seemed to stand still, and then move too fast, because suddenly Pippin felt himself floating, or flying, forward, the wind ruffling his hair. The air turned cooler, and he shivered a little, frightened, only to feel a pair of strong, warm arms wrap tighter around him and chase away the chill and his fear.

He could hear a faraway noise, like a bird’s wings flapping, only louder, but when Pippin strained his ears to listen the sound disappeared abruptly and he found himself back on the ground and wandering once more, searching for a friend or a familiar sight in the darkness until he grew too weary to go on.

“Perhaps I should just rest here, for a little while,” Pippin thought as he sat upon the cold ground. He felt drowsy and longed for sleep, just a short nap to regain his energy, and allowed his mind to drift away.

Time passed, how much he could not tell, and then, unbidden, his thoughts turned to Merry. Pippin shook his head, trying to clear his muddled mind, but his brain was too fuzzy to think.

“Merry?” Pippin tried to call out, but his throat did not seem to work either, and he choked instead.

A familiar, soothing presence appeared at Pippin’s side. He strained his eyes, trying to find its source, but saw nothing in the darkness.

“Who’s there?” he cried again and again in desperation, only to be surrounded by a thick wall of silence that his voice could not penetrate.

Pippin clenched his fists in frustration, and was surprised to feel something hot against the palm of his left hand.

The warmth flowed through his arm and into his body, and Pippin opened his hand slowly to discover two miniature spheres of light resting in his palm, shining brightly in the darkness.

The memory of a long-ago evening sprang to Pippin’s mind, and he remembered one of the many times he had been ill with a fever and cough. This time had been different, however, because Pippin had fallen sick at Bag End, and Gandalf had arrived midway through his illness. And that night Gandalf had sat up with him, had held him in his lap as he struggled to breathe, and given him a most wonderful and unexpected gift.

“Stars,” Pippin recalled, smiling, and at that word the tiny lights twinkled and leapt from his hand.

“Wait!” Stumbling to his feet, Pippin stretched out his hand, trying, and failing, to grasp the stars that hovered before him. He reached out again, frantically, and was relieved when the stars changed direction and circled him.

They seemed to recognize him, Pippin noted with a smile, and he relaxed a little as they flew around him, chasing each other.

Pippin watched, torn between confusion and amusement, though he felt his heart grow lighter as he watched the stars’ antics. He wondered what purpose they served, and how they had found him wandering so far from home.

The stars soared ahead, two twinkling lights piercing the terrible darkness around them. They waited, hovering in the air as Pippin took a halting step toward them, willing his mind and body to break free from the hazy, sluggish state it was in.

But the stars were patient and waited where they were, floating in the darkness as Pippin drew closer. When he was within reach they flew a short distance away and twinkled brightly, as if encouraging Pippin to follow.

Pippin forced his weary legs to continue walking, his steps coming quicker each time the stars soared ahead. They never allowed him to reach them, but always flew ahead, forcing Pippin to come to them.

The stars flew faster and faster, and shone ever brighter, beckoning Pippin to them. He hesitated just a moment, but knew deep in his heart that his stars would not lead him astray, and so he followed, first walking and then breaking into a run as he forced his exhausted body forward.

Finally Pippin was within reach. He stretched his hand out and managed to grab hold of the stars. Pippin smiled and looked at them resting in his palm, and the stars shone more than ever, glistening so brightly that his eyes were blinded by their intensity…and then the world went dark around him.

TBC...

Thank you to Pipwise for the beta! :)

The night of March 27 – morning of March 28

“Gandalf?”

The hesitant whisper seemed very loud in the quiet tent, and the wizard’s eyes, which had closed in thought, opened to see Merry standing at the tent flap. Pale and wild-eyed, he hurried inside, stumbling in exhaustion and haste, and would have fallen had Gandalf not rushed forward and grasped him tightly by the shoulders.

“I had a dream,” Merry whispered hoarsely, looking past Gandalf to gaze at Pippin’s unmoving form. “Pippin lay upon a field, covered in blood, and his eyes were open and unseeing. I knew he was dead, and I came forward to hold him one last time, but he vanished, and my arms were left empty.” His face crumpled and he burst into tears, wracking sobs that shook his entire body.

Kneeling, Gandalf pulled the crying hobbit into a hug, and Merry buried his face in the wizard’s shoulder. Gandalf frowned; Merry’s right arm felt icy against him and his movements were slow and clumsy.

“Meriadoc, your cousin is most certainly not dead, nor has he vanished into thin air,” Gandalf said brusquely, hoping to shake Merry out of the lingering Shadow. “If you would put your ears to good use you would be able to hear him breathing, and labored as it is I assure you that it is an improvement from what it was just a short time ago.”

Merry pulled away, his eyes confused. With a small smile, Gandalf reached for Merry’s injured hand and held it tightly, trying to bring some warmth to it as he spoke in a gentler tone.

“I will not lie to you, my lad. Pippin was terribly injured, and his spirit is wandering in a place that we cannot reach. It is a very grave situation, but I would not have you give up hope yet. You know what the Shadow would do to you.”

Merry seemed to come back to himself then, and his eyes were no longer wild or puzzled, but filled with love and concern for his cousin.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I know.”

Standing, Gandalf placed a hand on Merry’s shoulder and gently pushed him toward Pippin. “I suppose you are anxious to see your cousin now, Merry. I told him that you were on your way, and I think he is waiting for your arrival, even though he dreams still.”

Merry managed a smile, but his eyes filled with tears again as he took in the sight of Pippin’s battered and broken body, looking impossibly small in the man-sized cot.

“Oh, Pip,” he whispered, and with a trembling hand he reached out and gently skimmed through his cousin’s matted curls and down the side of his bruised face. He sighed shakily and reached for Pippin’s uninjured hand, and saw that it was clenched in a tight fist.

Merry tried to pry Pippin’s fingers apart, and looked up in confusion when Gandalf gently, but firmly, pulled his hand away.

The wizard looked closely at Merry for a moment before smiling. “Did your cousin ever tell you about his stars?”

“His stars…?” Merry’s brow furrowed in thought.

“The stars that came to visit him while he was ill,” Gandalf prompted.

“Oh, yes, the ones he said you gave to him.” Merry smiled a little at the memory. “Pippin was a bit put out afterwards, if I remember correctly. He thought that Frodo never quite believed him.”

“Did you?” Gandalf asked.

“I knew that Pippin would never lie to me,” Merry replied. “And whatever had happened made him very happy.” He paused to smile down at his cousin before turning to meet Gandalf’s eyes. “But what were they truly, Gandalf? Fireworks? A trick of the light?”

Gandalf smiled mysteriously. “Open your cousin’s hand, Merry, and tell me what you see.”

Merry cast Gandalf a long, doubtful look, before reaching for Pippin’s hand and prying the clenched palm open.

“Stars?” Merry shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”

Gandalf reached over and closed Pippin’s fingers around the stars once more. “Tell me, Merry, how does a wanderer find his way through the darkest of nights?” he asked quietly.

“He follows the stars,” Merry whispered. He glanced questioningly at Pippin.

“It is my hope that these stars will find your cousin, wherever he is wandering, and lead him back to us,” Gandalf said.

Merry looked down at Pippin’s hand, watching as small slivers of light shone between his fingers, and when he glanced up again Gandalf could see the tiniest spark of hope shining in the hobbit’s eyes.

“Do you really think it will work, Gandalf?” he asked quietly. “What if Pippin is so lost that he can’t follow the stars, or even see them at all?”

Gandalf smiled a little and placed Merry’s hands over Pippin’s. “Perhaps you may help show your cousin the way.”

Merry smiled back, and gripped Pippin’s hand tighter in his own. Paying careful attention not to jostle Pippin, he climbed onto the cot and settled down at his cousin’s side as Gandalf sat back in his chair to continue his watch.

For a long time they were silent, watching Pippin’s chest rise and fall with each breath. Breathing seemed to come easier now to Pippin in the fresh air of Ithilien, and Gandalf was grateful once more for the Eagles’ assistance in transporting the seriously wounded.

The hours crawled by and Merry, made weary by his long journey and his fear for Pippin, fell into a light doze several times, only to come awake a few moments later, feeling guilty and irritated with himself. Gandalf was just about to suggest that Merry give into his sleepiness and rest for a bit when the hobbit began to speak.

“Pippin has always liked stars,” he said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “When we were younger, we once thought to ask Bilbo how many stars there were and what their names were, and then managed to forget all about it when we reached Bag End.” He smiled a little at the memory.

“I doubt that Pippin ever truly forgot,” Gandalf replied, grumbling half-heartedly. “On the way to Minas Tirith, your cousin not only had the audacity to ask me to name each star, but he also demanded that I recount the entire history of the world.”

“He didn’t!” Merry cried, his eyes widening.

“He most certainly did.” Gandalf smiled sadly. “I wish now that I had not been so short with him that day, and on other occasions.”

Merry managed a wobbly smile. “Well, Pippin usually deserves it,” he admitted fondly, and pressed a gentle kiss in his cousin’s curls before sitting up, his drowsiness drifting away as he focused his concentration on Pippin.

His eyes searched his cousin, desperately hoping that he would discover that a change, however small, had occurred.  Sighing a little in disappointment when he found nothing, Merry opened Pippin’s hand a little to steal a glimpse at the stars inside. They gleamed vibrantly in the dim tent, their light casting into shadow the lines of care on Merry’s face, his worry making him seem much older than his years.

“They’re beautiful,” Merry said quietly, squinting in their brightness. “Now I know why Pippin was so happy whenever he spoke of them. I only wish that they would find him now,” he added before closing his cousin’s hand once more around the stars.

“I know it is difficult, but you must be patient,” Gandalf said gently. “Pippin’s spirit has wandered far, and it is not so easy to return to the waking world, as you know.”

Merry frowned at that, and fell deep into thought for some time, his eyes trained on Pippin. His mind seemed crowded with memories, and he sorted through them all, beginning with the last time he had seen his cousin.

Pippin had been whole and healthy then, his armor gleaming in the sun, and Merry’s thoughts drifted deeper into their shared past until finally he found himself thinking of the very first time they had ever met, when his cousin was nothing more than a tiny wriggling baby laughing in his cradle.

“It’s too much to bear, seeing Pippin like this,” Merry said suddenly, tears stinging his eyes and throat. He bowed his head and wept for a long while as Gandalf struggled to think of some words of encouragement, and failed.

“Merry?”

The whisper was so faint that it was nearly drowned out by Merry’s tears. Gandalf leaned forward in his chair and Merry half-choked on a sob as he leaned closer, too, as Pippin’s eyes opened, just barely.

Merry clutched his cousin’s hand and stared at him in disbelief, watching as he blinked slowly. “Pippin?”

A tiny, strained smile formed on Pippin’s bruised face, and Merry shook his head and wrapped his arms around his cousin, holding him far too tightly. He buried his face in Pippin’s hair and squeezed his eyes shut, thanking every star in the sky that Pippin had returned.

Pippin attempted to hug Merry in return, but when he found it too painful to lift his arms at all he settled for turning his head a little, resting his cheek against his cousin’s.

They stayed that way for a few moments, as Gandalf saw fit not to disturb them, until Pippin’s breathing hitched and he began to cough. Merry drew back in alarm, and Gandalf quickly reached for the mug of water on the table beside the cot. He slid a hand beneath Pippin and, lifting his head a little so he would not choke, held the mug to the hobbit’s lips.

As Merry watched, concerned, Pippin managed to drink a small mouthful of water before he grew exhausted by the activity. His head lolled back, and he stared at Gandalf beneath heavy-lidded eyes as the wizard tenderly lowered him once more to his pillow.

“Hullo, Gandalf,” he murmured, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy from the fever. “You sent me stars again.”

The wizard smiled fondly. “You were lost for some time, my lad. I am very glad that they found you, and that you were able to follow them back to us.”

“I couldn’t find my way back at first,” Pippin whispered slowly. “And then I was so tired, and couldn’t go on any longer.”

“Oh, Pip,” Merry whispered, willing himself not to cry again.

Pippin smiled weakly. “I thought of you, Merry, and I knew that you must be nearby, and Gandalf, too,” he said, turning to the wizard. “I don’t know how I knew.” He frowned a little, catching his breath and trying to sort out his thoughts, before continuing.

“Then I followed the stars for a long time.” Pippin shifted a little, and hissed in pain. “I finally reached them, and…I’m not sure what happened. They left, I suppose.”

“They are still here,” Gandalf said gently. He carefully opened Pippin’s still-clasped fist and released the stars.

The stars floated upwards, shining brightly as they danced in the air. Pippin stared at them in awe, and forgot his pain for a moment. “Look, Merry.”

“I’m watching, Pip,” Merry replied, though in truth he was looking at Pippin more than the stars.

“It is nearly morning,” Gandalf said, taking note of the pale light seeping through the tiny opening in the tent’s flap. “You know what that means, Pippin.”

Nodding, Pippin watched as the stars twinkled at him once more before they disappeared though the tent flap and soared away into the fading night. He turned back to Gandalf then, and smiled through his pain.

“I am very happy that you have returned to us, Peregrin my lad,” Gandalf said warmly. “As I hope you remember, I do not like quiet Tooks, and these past few days I have discovered that I do not like still ones, either.”

“Chatty, cheerful and curious,” Pippin remembered, repeating the words said on that long-ago evening. He tried to move and grimaced in pain. “I’ll try, Gandalf, but everything hurts at the moment.”

“That is to be expected when you so absurdly stand beneath a falling hill-troll,” Gandalf countered grumpily, though he offered Pippin a fond smile.

Pippin gave a short laugh, and though it sounded dry and little-used, Gandalf and Merry grinned at each other, glad to hear the familiar sound. Their smiles faded quickly, however, when Pippin’s breath caught, his eyes squeezing shut as his face contorted with pain.

“There will be plenty of time later for chatting and curious questions,” Gandalf said as he rose to his feet. “But for now I must go and fetch Aragorn so that he may tend to you. I fear some foul tonic will be involved.”

Pippin barely flinched at the thought, and even managed to offer the wizard a smile.

“Thank you, Gandalf,” he whispered. It seemed that he wanted to say more, but was in too much pain, and Gandalf was forced to read all that was left unsaid in Pippin’s eyes.

“You are most welcome, my dear hobbit,” Gandalf replied, smiling in return. He left the tent, then, and once outside called for Belecthor to tend to Pippin until Aragorn arrived.

Gandalf lingered at the tent flap, watching for a moment as Belecthor happily greeted Pippin and joined Merry in fussing over him. With a satisfied nod, he left to summon Aragorn as the new day dawned bright in Ithilien.

TBC...

Thanks to Pipwise for the beta! :)

March 28

Belecthor prepared for Aragorn’s arrival, setting out clean rolls of bandages and bowls of water. Uncertain how to help his cousin, so quiet and full of pain, Merry soon found himself chattering away. He rapidly recounted the events of the past three days, focusing on the end of the war and Frodo and Sam being rescued and healed by Aragorn, leaving out the worst of Pippin’s situation and his own terrible worry over him.

There were so many questions that Pippin wanted to ask, but his body throbbed with pain and burned with fever, and he shut his eyes and merely listened, absorbing all that Merry told him.

“Soon you’ll be well again, and you can ask all the questions you want,” Merry said, always attuned to his cousin’s thoughts. He stroked Pippin’s face, carefully avoiding his bruised nose and the gashes covering his cheeks and forehead.

Pippin smiled briefly before he shifted, flinching away from Merry.

Merry snatched back his hand, his eyes growing wide with worry. “I’m sorry, Pippin. Have I hurt you?”

“Your hand…” Pippin whispered, shivering. “Too cold.”

“It’s your fever,” Merry explained, tugging the blankets up to Pippin’s chin. He glanced up at Belecthor, who arrived with a stack of cool, wet cloths.

“Your fever has risen, Master Peregrin,” Belecthor agreed, arranging the cloths on the hobbit’s forehead and neck. He glanced at Merry’s hand curiously, remembering how he had suffered from the Shadow in Minas Tirith, and was about to ask if he was feeling well when Aragorn arrived.

“He’s burning up, Strider,” Merry said fretfully. With stiff fingers he grabbed at the already-warm cloth on Pippin’s forehead and replaced it clumsily with another.

The movement was not lost on Aragorn, but now he had to tend to Pippin, who was shivering violently.

“S-s-strider,” Pippin whispered, his teeth chattering.

“Pippin,” Aragorn returned, smiling gently. “It is wonderful to see you awake again.”

Pippin smiled feebly, and Aragorn turned and murmured something to Belecthor, who left, returning a few moments later with two mugs of freshly brewed tonic in his hands.

“Here is something that I hope will bring down your fever, Pippin,” Aragorn said, accepting the mugs from the other healer with a nod of thanks. “And the other is for the pain. I apologize in advance for the taste.”

Squeezing his eyes shut at the miserable flavor of the tonics, Pippin managed to drain both mugs before flopping back against his pillow, utterly spent by the effort.

As they waited for the medicine to work, Aragorn inspected Pippin’s broken arm, checking for discoloration, before moving on to examine his swollen ankle. Pleased with the progress he saw in both injuries, Aragorn was about to turn to Pippin’s broken ribs when suddenly the hobbit gasped and sweat poured from his skin. His fever had finally broken.

Pippin’s friends worked quickly and efficiently. Aragorn carefully lifted him to a nearby table and gently removed his sweat-soaked nightshirt as Merry and Belecthor replaced the cot’s damp blankets and pillowcases with clean, dry ones. Gently, Aragorn cleaned away the sweat from Pippin’s body and dressed him in a fresh nightshirt. He also took the opportunity to bind Pippin’s ribs tighter, now that the hobbit was awake and breathing easier.

When Pippin was settled in his cot once again, his friends were relieved to see him more alert.

“I feel a little better now,” he said. Cautiously Pippin flexed his sprained ankle, testing it, before moving his unwounded leg and arm. The intense pain had yet to subside, but at least his thoughts were no longer groggy and muddled.

“Your recovery will take time,” warned Aragorn, perching on the edge of Pippin’s cot. “Aside from your injuries, fever and lack of food have made your body weak. You will need plenty of bed rest before you may even attempt walking. And no smoking for some time yet,” he added quickly. “Your lungs were bruised by your crushed ribs and are not strong enough for that now.”

Pippin shut his eyes and nodded, unable to even imagine doing any of those things just now.

“How long must he remain in bed?” Merry asked, concern furrowing his brow.

“At least a week, perhaps longer,” Aragorn said firmly. He smiled gently when Pippin opened his eyes, an alarmed expression on his face. “Hobbits may heal quickly, but you gave us quite a scare, my friend, and I will not let you out of bed until I am certain that you are ready. But do not fret. You will be up and about before Frodo and Sam wake.”

Smiling at that, Pippin settled deeper into his pillow as his stomach growled, earning a chuckle from his friends.

“Until we know that you are able to keep down food, I am afraid that I cannot offer you anything more than broth,” Aragorn said apologetically. “But it is important for you to begin rebuilding your strength.”

“I’ll have some broth,” Pippin replied quickly. A sharp pain shot through his body and he winced. “If I can manage,” he added.

“Good,” Aragorn said, standing. “I must leave now and look in on Frodo and Sam, but I shall send someone in soon with your food. Until then, I want you to drink plenty of water.” With a kind smile and a gentle squeeze of Pippin’s shoulder, he left the tent.

Merry refilled the mug and helped Pippin drink some water; by the time Pippin had drained the mug Legolas and Gimli arrived, each carrying a bowl.

“I never thought a hobbit should trouble me as much as you have, you young rascal,” Gimli growled by way of greeting, though he smiled warmly at Pippin. “I am glad to see you awake again. It nearly made my beard curl to see you pale and still for so long.”

“Thank you, Gimli,” Pippin replied, “and not just for the broth. Merry says that you’re the one who found me. I owe you my life,” he said seriously.

“Nonsense!” Gimli boomed. “I made you a promise, and I couldn’t very well break it, now could I?” He leaned closer, and vainly tried to lower his voice so the elf would not hear. “I saw that healer-friend of yours, Belecthor, tending you earlier. When you’re feeling up to it, lad, would you mind coming with me to visit him? I mean to get that replacement tooth.”

“Of course I will, Gimli,” Pippin promised, smiling at the thought of being well again. He reached for the bowl, but was too weak to hold it, and he nearly spilled its contents all over himself. Gimli sprang into action, and carefully held the bowl of lukewarm broth to the hobbit’s lips, and helped him eat.

“Here, Merry,” Legolas said, handing over the other bowl. Merry peered inside, finding a rich, hearty stew, and he accepted it gratefully, although he was guilty that he should be eating more than Pippin, when it was his cousin who so clearly needed more strength.

“You must eat as well,” Legolas said firmly. Merry nodded and ate quickly, not realizing until then just how hungry he had been.

Pippin, however, insisted he was full after less than half a bowl of broth, and so Gimli gathered up his and Merry’s bowls and brought them back to the mess tent while Legolas remained with the hobbits.

“How bad is the pain?” Legolas asked as Pippin shifted awkwardly for a few moments, struggling to find a comfortable position.

“It’s…” Pippin ceased his movement and rested limply against his pillow. “It’s bad, Legolas. Everything is aching and throbbing. I feel like my skin is being pulled in all directions.” He sighed, and his breath wheezed audibly.

Concerned, Legolas rested a hand on Pippin’s chest, so lightly that the hobbit did not feel it. “You are having trouble breathing,” he said.

“A little,” Pippin admitted. “But not like before.”

“Even so, we should send for Strider,” Merry said worriedly.

“No,” Pippin said. “He said that I need rest and time to heal, and there’s no way to rush that.” He tried to smile for his cousin, but the result looked painful and forced. “I’ll feel better soon, Merry. I promise.”

Merry smiled in return, though his eyes were clouded over with fear and uncertainty. “I hope so.”

“I promise,” Pippin repeated, though he winced when a sharp spasm of pain coursed its way thorough his body as Merry looked on helplessly, wishing he could believe him.

TBC...

A/N: Thank you to Pipwise for the beta!

March 29, just after midnight

A pale light shone on Merry’s face, though not brightly enough to disturb his slumber. He shifted a little in his sleep, turning over onto his back, as his mind drifted between dreams.

The light changed, and Merry, still in his sleep, felt a shadow fall across his face. Not yet ready to awaken, he shifted again, trying to ignore the outside world as he clung to sleep, but still the darkness loomed over him, creeping over Merry until his entire body was beneath its shadow.

Fully awake now, Merry opened his eyes slowly, peering though the darkness, and focused on Pippin’s cot. His eyes widened with horror as he saw a shadowed figure drifting closer to his cousin, the cloaked creature holding out one iron-gloved hand as it reached for Pippin.

“No!” Merry’s shout pierced the silence of the tent, and though Pippin did not stir, the Shadow-figure turned its attention to Merry, and he shuddered, realizing that it was a wraith.

Merry’s eyes darted around the tent – where were Legolas and Gimli? Last night they had stayed with Pippin while Merry went to visit Frodo and Sam, and when he had returned the two friends insisted on staying the night, ready to find Aragorn should Pippin’s pain grow too much to bear. But now the tent was empty, and Merry found himself facing the wraith alone.

Abandoning Pippin, the wraith drifted toward Merry, unsheathing its sword with a metallic clang that turned Merry’s already cold arm to ice.

Trying to sit up, Merry found that the blankets had suddenly turned to stone. He struggled with them, but they would not shift, pressing him deeper into the mattress instead as he felt his chest tighten in fear.

The wraith moved ever closer, obliterating nearly all the light in the tent. Merry’s left arm was trapped beneath the leaden blankets, and his ruined right arm was splayed across his pillow, limp and useless.

Already triumphant, the wraith raised its sword above its head. Merry’s eyes followed the weapon’s graceful arc and tried desperately to move his lifeless arm, but it refused to move.

The wraith was so close now that Merry could smell its wasted form; the stench of its rotted flesh curled into his nostrils and made him lightheaded with nausea. He tried again to break free from his prison of blankets, and failed as the sheets pressed down against him, squeezing all the air from his lungs until his breath came in shallow, suffocating gasps. In his heart Merry knew it was pointless, and that the wraith would kill him first and then Pippin.

No, he thought frantically, not Pippin! Merry would not let that happen now, not after his cousin had fought so hard to find his way back. In desperation Merry tried one last time to force his frozen arm into action as the wraith’s sword sliced sharply through the air.

A ripping sound filled Merry’s ears as the wraith’s sword stabbed through his pillow. Stunned, Merry stared at its pointed edge piercing through the cushion, and then at his own hand, now filled with life and holding the pillow aloft.

The wraith hesitated, but Merry wasted no more time, and twisted the pillow, turning it around until he wrenched the sword from the wraith’s grasp, and it fell to the ground with a thump.

Merry tensed, waiting for the next attack, but the wraith shrieked loudly and vanished, its shadow dispersing like smoke into the darkness.

Exhausted and shivering, Merry sank back against the thin mattress of the cot and shut his eyes, trying to calm the frenzied beating of his heart. After a time he heard a living voice calling his name, and Merry forced open his heavy eyelids to see the blurry lines of Aragorn’s face coming into focus.

“Drink this,” he ordered, and held a mug to Merry’s lips. Merry wrinkled his nose at the smell but drank it down quickly, and was relieved to feel his racing heart slow to a normal pace.

Aragorn smiled sympathetically, and dabbed at Merry’s sweaty face with a cloth. “That sounded like a terrifying nightmare,” he said calmly. “You have frightened the wits out of your cousin.”

Merry turned and saw Pippin crying quietly, his face pale and drawn in the lantern light. Sniffling, Pippin attempted to sit up, and when that proved too painful he held out his uninjured hand to Merry, silently begging him to come closer.

Stumbling out of his nest of blankets, Merry darted over to Pippin’s cot and clumsily climbed up. He reached for his cousin but his right arm was cold and dead and he could not move it. “I’m so sorry, Pippin,” he whispered, and tears fell from his eyes as well.

Seeing that Merry could not move his arm, Pippin took his icy hand and held it tight in his own. “You were yelling and crying and I couldn’t go to you,” he murmured, his lower lip quivering. “You tore your pillow into shreds.”

Glancing back at his cot, Merry’s eyes grew wide with horror as he saw Aragorn studying his pillow, its brown-grey feathers spilling out of a gaping hole in the center.

“Your arm is always cold, Merry. I’m so frightened for you,” Pippin admitted, wincing as his breath hitched painfully beneath his broken ribs.

“I’m sorry,” Merry repeated, angrily wiping away his tears. “You should be resting and trying to get well again, and not fussing over me.”

“How can I rest when I’m worried about you?” Pippin asked simply. Merry smiled a little at that, and dropped a kiss on his cousin’s forehead.

Aragorn came over and crouched down beside the cot. “What did you see in your nightmare, Merry?” he asked gently.

“I saw a wraith,” Merry whispered, shuddering at the memory as he tried to sort through his thoughts. Pippin’s hand clasped tighter around his own, bringing a little warmth to it, and Merry found the strength to continue. “It was here in the tent, and I couldn’t move my arm. It kept coming closer and closer until finally I was able to pick up my pillow and block its sword. Then it vanished.”

“Have you had other nightmares?” Aragorn inquired.

“Yes, but not since…” Merry glanced over at Pippin uncertainly. “I had one while I was travelling on the ship to Cair Andros. But I don’t want to talk about it now,” he added quickly, and looked away from Pippin’s concerned, curious eyes.

Thankfully, Aragorn did not press him further. “Have you been doing the exercises I taught you?” he asked instead.

“Yes, every morning and night, just as you said,” Merry replied. “They warm up my arm, and loosen it a little, but it always goes back to being cold and stiff.”

Merry saw a movement from the corner of his eye, and blinked in surprise to see Gandalf stepping closer from where he had been standing quietly with Legolas and Gimli by the tent flap.

“When did you plan on saying something, Meriadoc?” the wizard demanded, his voice stern. “Or did you intend to suffer in silence?”

“It’s not always this bad, Gandalf,” Merry protested. “Besides, I don’t think anything can be done about it.”

Gandalf harrumphed loudly, but Aragorn did not deny it.

“The exercises should have helped you more, Merry,” he mused thoughtfully. “You were not free of the Shadow when I last saw you in Minas Tirith, and I think that your fear for Pippin has invited it to linger in your mind and body.” Aragorn smiled gently. “Do you still doubt that your cousin will recover, even after I have assured you that he would?”

Merry hesitated a moment, glancing over at Pippin. “Yes,” he whispered, looking down, unable to meet everyone’s concerned gazes.

“Poor old Merry,” Pippin cried. “There must be some way to help him, Strider.”

Brow furrowed, Aragorn considered the possible forms of treatment for Merry. Tonics and draughts would soothe him for now, and let Merry sleep peacefully, but they would not truly defeat the Shadow.

Before he could think of an idea, Aragorn was distracted by Pippin, who was feebly struggling to sit up. Quickly, he helped the hobbit sit up slightly, propped against a mountain of pillows.

Pippin smiled weakly in thanks, desperately trying to ignore his aching and throbbing body, and turned to Gandalf, asking him to come closer.

“Yes, my lad,” Gandalf said gently as he settled on the edge of the cot, noting with concern the pain visible in the hobbit’s eyes and face.

“Do you think my stars could help Merry?” Pippin murmured. “They might warm his hand, at least.”

Gandalf studied Pippin for a moment before laughing, the surprising sound rumbling through the tent.

“A generous thought, and a very wise one,” he said, and carefully patted Pippin’s shoulder. “Perhaps your stars will chase away the Shadow that lingers within your cousin. What do you say, Merry?”

“Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt,” Merry said doubtfully.

Pippin grinned as much as his bruised face would allow. “Will you call them down now, Gandalf?”

“Certainly,” he replied, smiling fondly as he watched Pippin try to reassure his cousin, who was obviously reluctant about this strange, new treatment.

“Don’t worry, Merry,” Pippin was saying. “You will probably like the stars so much that you’ll ask Gandalf for a pair of your own.”

Merry grinned as he carefully settled himself more comfortably beside his cousin. “I’m content enough to leave the stars to you, Pippin. It gives me peace of mind to know that you’re being watched over even when I can’t be with you.” His smile wavered, and he looked troubled again.

“Not that that will ever happen again,” Pippin replied softly, but firmly. He squeezed Merry’s cold hand tightly before letting go with a smile. “You’ll need that in a moment.”

Gandalf took Merry’s hand and closed his eyes, muttering words that Merry’s ears strained, and failed, to catch. He watched closely, expecting to see the stars burst in through the tent flap, and was shocked when he felt something warm appear in his hand.

“But how did…?” he trailed off, seeing the light of the stars peeking between his fingers.

“That is not for you to trouble yourself over,” Gandalf said with a mysterious smile. “Concentrate on the stars and allow them to help chase away the darkness and bring warmth and life back to your arm again.”

Nodding, Merry sighed shakily and allowed himself to grow accustomed to holding the stars. After a time he felt his fingers grow warm, followed by his hand, and before long warmth was flowing through his arm all the way up to his shoulder.

Soon his arm no longer felt cold and dead and useless, but alive and able, and with this change in his body came a change in Merry’s heart. Slowly, he grew confident that Pippin would recover, and Frodo and Sam as well, and that they would return home to the Shire at last, whole and healthy and together.

Merry looked at Pippin, who watched him with eyes darkened by pain and exhaustion, but for the first time since his cousin had woken up Merry was able to look past that and see that there was life there, also, that would not be extinguished.

Taking a deep breath, Merry let the stars go. He watched as they sprang from his hand and leapt over to Pippin, hopping like small stones across a river over his crushed chest in greeting and in care, before soaring past Legolas and Gimli to escape through the open tent flap.

Open-mouthed and a little dazed, Merry watched, straining his eyes, as the stars soared higher and higher until they disappeared in the pale morning light.

“Are you all right, Merry? They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Pippin fretted, glancing over at Gandalf for help.

“No, of course not,” Merry replied, coming back to himself as he took in his surroundings. The sun was rising, and the world seemed brighter without the shadowy darkness that had colored his vision in the past few weeks.

He reached over and pulled his cousin into a careful but thorough hug, and smiled genuinely for the first time since Pippin had gone to battle with the host, leaving him alone in that city of stone.

But now when Merry thought of those long, terrible days, his heart was no longer made heavy by doubt and fear, but was light and filled with such hope and joy that he could never hope to keep it inside. And so he laughed a little, and more still when he heard his friends join him.

TBC in the next and final chapter :)

A/N: This is the final part. Thanks to everyone who has been reading! And thank you to Pipwise for the beta :)

March 29

Pippin did not recall falling asleep, but when he woke he discovered Merry sprawled beside him, still in a deep slumber. Blinking in the bright midday sun, he glanced around and found Gandalf sitting nearby and watching him closely.

“Good morning,” Gandalf said, “or should I say, good afternoon. You and your cousin have slept long.”

“Hullo, Gandalf,” Pippin replied with a smile. “Is it really the afternoon already?”

“It is indeed, and I am under strict orders from Aragorn to give you your medicine as soon as you wake,” Gandalf replied, nodding to three mugs lined up in a row on a nearby tray. He handed the first to Pippin, who cringed at the tonic’s smell but gulped it down nonetheless. The next two mugs followed immediately, and by the time Pippin was finished with the third he felt exhausted, and settled back wearily against his pillow.

“I feel so tired all the time,” he said, frowning a little.

“You need plenty of rest, as does Merry,” Gandalf replied. “Between the nightmares and his worry for you, I don’t suppose your cousin has slept well in many days.”

Pippin turned to look at Merry. His cousin was still in a deep sleep, his breathing steady, and looked more peaceful than Pippin could remember. Hesitantly Pippin touched the back of Merry’s hand, and was relieved to feel warmth there, instead of icy cold. “I hope Merry will be all right, Gandalf. He frightened me terribly,” he admitted.

“I know,” Gandalf replied. “I believe your cousin frightened himself. But it was a very wise idea to allow Merry to hold your stars, Pippin. My only disappointment is that I did not think of it first,” he added with a wink.

Pippin laughed a little, stopping only when his chest began to ache. “I knew that if anything could warm Merry’s arm, it would be my stars.”

“Oh, they did more than that, my lad,” Gandalf said. “Your stars helped drive away the lingering Shadow.”

A thoughtful look crossed Pippin’s face. “But, Gandalf, Merry wasn’t holding the stars for very long. How could the Shadow leave so quickly?”

“Your cousin is strong, and has been fighting it on his own since he helped to destroy the Witch King,” Gandalf explained. “If the war had been over then, and Merry allowed to heal properly in Minas Tirith amongst his friends, I do believe the Shadow would have disappeared quickly.”

Gandalf sighed heavily, his heart full of regret. “But there was another battle to fight, and we did not have time to spare. And so your cousin was left alone with his worry, in a city full of fear and doubt, and the Shadow lingered within him.”

“Poor Merry,” Pippin whispered, stealing another glance at his still-sleeping cousin. “I suppose hearing about me must have made things worse.”

The wizard nodded. “Merry believed that his worst fears had come true. The Shadow took advantage of this and increased its hold over him until your cousin was so firmly entrenched in its grasp that it was not enough merely to see you wake up, he had to be certain that you would truly recover.”

“And the stars helped him to do that?” Pippin asked, still struggling to understand.

“In a way, yes,” Gandalf replied. “Just as they helped lead you back to us. The stars serve as guides but they cannot work alone. They require something more, something deeper: friendship and love, which give a person hope, and make him want to live. While you were wandering in dreams, Pippin, your friends were waiting by your side. Somehow I think you were able to sense that, and this brought you hope, enabling you to follow the stars back to us.

“A similar thing happened with your cousin,” the wizard continued. “The Shadow was driven away not only because of the stars’ presence, but because of your desire to bring comfort to Merry. That you were quite capable of looking after him, wounded as you are, no doubt helped your cousin to see that, perhaps, you would be well again.” Gandalf smiled, his eyes twinkling. “His hope increased, and Merry soon grew determined to be free of the Shadow, allowing the stars to chase it away.”

“So we needed to work together, the stars and Merry and I,” Pippin mused thoughtfully. “Is that how you knew it would work, Gandalf? Sending the stars to find me, I mean.”

Gandalf considered this for a long while, his brow furrowed in thought. “I believed that somehow the stars would find you, and that, with your cousin’s help, you would cease your wandering and return to us. I did not know for certain, however, it was merely my hope. Some might have called it a fool’s hope,” he added with a wink.

Pippin smiled, though his eyes looked troubled. “I suppose it was just a few days ago when I thought that everything would end terribly, and that I would never see anyone ever again. And now Merry is here, and feeling more like himself, and soon Frodo and Sam will wake up.” He wiped at his eyes where sudden tears had sprung. “It all seems so strange and wonderful at the same time.”

“I do not doubt that it does,” Gandalf replied gently. “And it is certainly a bit overwhelming for you as well.” He smiled as the hobbit nodded in agreement.

“Remember, Pippin, that your friends are here, and that in hardly any time at all you will be up and about, and wreaking havoc across the camp,” he continued, shaking his head wearily at the thought.

Pippin could not help but grin. “That is something to look forward to. I really do miss getting underfoot, you know.” His expression turned serious and he searched the wizard’s face with anxious eyes. “Gandalf, how are Frodo and Sam? Are they alone and confused now, while they sleep?”

“No, Pippin,” Gandalf said. “They are both recovering remarkably well, considering how they have suffered, though it will be some time yet before they are ready to wake. But they are not wandering as you were. When I sit with them I sense healing, and peace.”

“Good,” Pippin replied, visibly relieved. “I wish I could visit them now. It might seem silly but I like to think that my stars are watching over them now, since I cannot.” He shrugged a little, suddenly uncertain, but Gandalf nodded in agreement.

“I am certain that your stars watch over everyone you love,” the wizard said with a smile.

“That’s a lot of work for two small stars, but I’m glad. And soon enough I’ll be able to see Frodo and Sam myself.” Pippin’s stomach rumbled loudly. “But for now I think I shall eat and then I would very much like a bath,” he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste as he ran his fingers through his matted, tangled curls.

Laughing, Gandalf stood. “I suspected that you would be hungry after missing all of your morning meals. Let me find Aragorn and ask him if you cannot have a bit more to eat than broth today, and if you may have a bath. And then I think I shall visit with Frodo and Sam for a while.”

“Say hello for me, please,” Pippin requested, his smile turning wistful.

“I certainly will, my lad,” Gandalf promised, and patted Pippin’s hand gently before leaving the tent.

*

After a meal and a bath that soothed his bruised body, Pippin felt remarkably better, and spent the rest of the afternoon holding court to a steady stream of well-wishers, both dear friends and acquaintances alike. Although he was cheered by the company, especially when Merry left for a time to visit with Frodo and Sam, Pippin found himself thoroughly exhausted by the early evening, and dropped off to sleep just after supper.

When Pippin woke once more the tent was dark and quiet. Merry was again asleep beside him, tucked close into his side, and when Pippin looked across the tent to the other cot he was amused to find Gimli there, snoring lightly with the covers tucked beneath his beard.

Smiling, Pippin turned the other way. The tent flap was tied back, letting in the cool, fresh air, and Pippin could see Gandalf standing just outside, his face turned toward the dark, star-filled sky.

Somewhere in that sea of lights was his pair of stars, of that Pippin was certain, and he studied the sky closely, searching for them. A fool’s errand, he thought to himself, and could hardly suppress the laughter that bubbled in his chest. Merry and Gimli did not stir, but Gandalf turned. Seeing that Pippin was awake, the wizard soundlessly ducked inside the tent, claiming the chair beside Pippin’s cot as his own.

Pippin smiled in greeting before focusing his attention once more on the night sky. His eyes roamed over the stars, still searching for his, and a couple suddenly glistened, dazzling him with their light. Studying them closely, Pippin watched as they sparkled, shining brighter and brighter until they winked at him, and he knew with certainty that they were his stars.

Pippin tugged on Gandalf’s sleeve and pointed. “Do you see them, Gandalf? My stars, do you see them?” he hissed.

Squinting, Gandalf turned and looked up. “There they are,” he said, smiling as he saw the stars twinkling brightly.

“I did not expect to find them so easily tonight, with all the other stars around,” Pippin admitted.

“They are your own pair of stars and you shall always be able to find them when you need to,” Gandalf said. “They will be there to guide you when the world turns dark around you, or when you feel lost or alone. And when you are surrounded by sunshine, still your stars will remain, though they may be hidden by the brighter light of happier times. They will never abandon you.”

Wide-eyed, Pippin stared at his friend, thinking over all that had been said. “Truly, Gandalf?” he whispered in wonder.

“Yes, Peregrin,” Gandalf replied with a kind smile.

Pippin smiled back as silent tears dripped down his face. “I should like that,” he said, and they both turned once more to gaze up at the dark sky lit with thousands of tiny lights.

High above them a pair of stars shone brightly, and winked.

(The Star-verse continues in "Upon the Wings of an Eagle" and "Unaligned" (located in my 'Postcards From the Shire' collection), both of which are posted here at Stories of Arda)