Last month I wanted to do something special in honor of Marigold's birthday, since she is the reason why I stopped lurking and joined the hobbity community! I watched for a few months and saw how friendly and supportive everyone was at her monthly challenges, and I finally summoned up all my courage and emailed her for a starter. That was exactly one year ago this month! :)

I promised to write a story using the plot bunny of her choice. She sent me one for a sequel to "The Stars Will Light Your Way" (which also sprung from a bunny she gave me), only this time she didn't want stars, but an Eagle!

So Happy Belated Birthday, Marigold! Here is your present and I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for all you have done and continue to do in encouraging writers and giving them a safe and welcoming place to post their work – especially for the shy ones who would have continued to lurk otherwise :) *very big hugs*

Big thanks also to Pipwise who betaed two long stories back-to-back for me in the past couple of months. I can't thank you enough for all your help and encouragement! :) *more very big hugs*

*

The feast had ended some time ago, and so had the long conversation the hobbits organized to discuss all that had happened since their separation. Now Gandalf had retired to his own little spot where he liked to have a smoke, near the grove where Frodo and Sam slept and beneath the quiet trees and dark, star-filled sky. It was a pleasant place, with a comfortable enough rock to sit upon, and tonight Gandalf sat in silence puffing on his pipe and sending large rings of smoke high into the air.

Long moments passed, and Gandalf paused to tap his pipe against the side of the rock, letting the pale grey ashes fall to the ground as silently as snowflakes. "What are you doing awake, Peregrin?" he asked without turning around.

Pippin shuffled out from the shadows and carefully climbed up beside Gandalf, dropping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders in the process. He winced a little as he jostled his arm, still bound with heavy bandages and encased in its sling, and once he was settled Gandalf retrieved the blanket from the ground and carefully placed it around the hobbit's shoulders once more.

"Thank you," Pippin said, stifling an enormous yawn. "I couldn't sleep and that Brandybuck cousin of mine refused to keep me company. He fell asleep before I could even say 'good night,' so I went for a little walk and found you here," he added with a grin.

"So you did," Gandalf replied. "But something must be bothering you if you cannot sleep, especially after all the excitement of the feast. What troubles you, Pippin? Are you unwell?" he asked in concern.

"No," Pippin replied quickly, "I feel fine. My thoughts were just keeping me awake. I was wondering a few things."

"Go on," Gandalf encouraged him quietly.

Pippin frowned deeply, his eyes troubled. "I think I remember something that happened before I woke." He paused for a moment and glanced up at the sky, easily spotting a familiar pair of stars winking down at him.

"I remember feeling as if I were floating in the air," he continued. "It was cold, and I felt the wind in my hair, and I thought I heard a flapping sound, like a great bird's wings." Pippin searched the wizard's face. "You said that one of the Eagles carried me, Gandalf. Am I remembering that? Or was it just a dream?"

Gandalf was silent for a long while before answering. "You were nearly lost to us by that time, my lad. It worried me to see you so still and breathing so faintly that I had to check several times to see if you were still alive. You never stirred throughout the journey, and indeed did not open your eyes until Merry and I had nearly lost all hope."

He smiled gently at Pippin before continuing. "But I do not doubt that you sensed something as your spirit wandered. Our experiences often affect our dreams."

Pippin pondered this for a moment before smiling, seemingly satisfied. "I'm glad. I like to think that I've remembered it somehow. I just wish that I had been awake," he admitted. "The Eagles were always my favorite part of Bilbo's stories. I suppose it has become rather dull and commonplace for you, Gandalf, since you have flown so many times, but it must be wonderful to fly and look down at the world so far below."

The wizard chuckled. "Flying is never dull, Pippin, nor does one grow used to it. At least, those of us without wings do not."

Pippin yawned. "I suppose so. I feel terribly sorry for Merry, you know. I hope my poor old cousin is not feeling too left out."

Gandalf smiled but did not answer, and they continued to sit in silence until Pippin nodded off and nearly tumbled to the ground.

"It is time for you to get some rest, Peregrin Took," Gandalf said, and Pippin did not argue as he was led bleary-eyed to his tent.

"Goodnight, Gandalf," he said groggily as his clambered up beside Merry. He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

"Goodnight," Gandalf said quietly, smiling fondly at the two youngest hobbits for a moment before he left the tent and returned to his rock for another smoke. As he reached for his pipe and began to refill it, a large shadow crept swiftly across the sky, blotting out the stars.

Glancing up, Gandalf saw that it was not a cloud but the Eagle Meneldor, who had been ordered by Gwaihir to remain at the camp, should the need for a swift messenger arise.

Meneldor soared past, and Gandalf raised his hand in greeting, watching as the Eagle swooped down far beyond the edge of camp, hunting for his supper.

* * *

Now that Pippin had recovered enough to take on some of his former duties, he stood guard each day alongside Merry in the large tent that served as a place for both kings to meet and take counsel. On this particular day Aragorn and Eomer were huddled with their captains, updating the lists of wounded and dead soldiers. Pippin and Merry stood on either side of the tent flap, ready to complete any tasks that were needed.

It was not yet mid-morning but Pippin was already bored, longing for Aragorn to give him some errand to run. Beside him Merry sighed quietly, undoubtedly thinking the same. Both cousins smiled at each other briefly before returning their attention to the conference before them.

The men were speaking quietly, making notes on enormous sheets of parchment, when Gandalf entered the tent and spoke quickly to Aragorn. The king's face turned grim, and after making his apologies to the men he called Merry and Pippin to him.

"The injury to Frodo's hand has taken a turn for the worse," Aragorn explained as the captains left the tent. "When he woke this morning it was swollen and causing him pain. Pippin, I want you to come with me, and Merry as well, with Eomer's permission."

"Certainly," Eomer agreed swiftly, before turning to Merry. "I grant you leave until your cousin has recovered."

"Thank you, my lord," Merry said, bowing quickly before he and Pippin followed Aragorn and Gandalf out of the tent. Pippin lagged behind, his sore ribs still preventing him from moving too quickly, and Merry was torn between wanting to run ahead and not wanting to leave Pippin behind.

When they finally reached Frodo, they found their cousin in bed, curled on his side. His face was flushed with fever and pinched with pain, his hand hidden beneath the pillows. Sam sat beside him, rubbing his back soothingly and furtively wiping away tears. Legolas and Gimli stood near the foot of the bed, watching the scene with concern.

Aragorn perched on the edge of the bed and gently took Frodo's hand out from under the pillow. The bandages had already been removed, and Pippin winced at his first sight of his cousin's maimed hand. The small stump which was all that remained of Frodo's finger had swollen to twice its size, and puffy red lines ran down to his wrist.

Frodo shuddered when Aragorn gently touched one of the red lines, but otherwise made no sound. After examining the area for a few moments Aragorn sat back with a sigh.

"There is an infection there, spreading from the finger to the rest of the hand," he said. "I need to open the wound and drain it immediately."

Frodo nodded slightly, forcing his glassy eyes to stay open. "Do what you must, Strider," he said quietly.

Aragorn stood and went to a nearby supply chest. He rummaged for a few moments, frowning, before he called Merry over and spoke to him quietly. With a quick glance at Frodo, who lay weakly against the pillows, Merry ran off in the direction of the healers' supply tent.

With a small, slim knife in his hand, Aragorn once more seated himself beside Frodo.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly. Frodo nodded, and Sam and Pippin held onto to him tightly as Aragorn made a small incision in the swollen stump of finger. Thick pus leaked out almost immediately, but there was much more trapped inside. Squeezing first the finger and then the hand, Aragorn drew out the infection with such force that finally the pain became too much and Frodo fainted, going limp against his pillows.

For several more moments Aragorn continued to work before he finally sat back, weary, and cleaned the wound. Merry returned then, clutching a small cloth bag in his hand.

"These were the only ones I could find," he said, panting for breath after his run. "The supplies are running low."

"Thank you, Merry. These will do for now," Aragorn replied, pulling out the tiny bundle of herbs. He removed the leaves from their sprigs and twisted them into a small, tight coil, which he then packed inside Frodo's open wound.

After tucking the blanket around Frodo's shoulders and placing a cool cloth on his brow, Aragorn stepped away from the bed and spoke quietly with Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli. The hobbits gathered around Frodo, watching him worriedly and taking turns holding his uninjured hand. Pippin kept one eye on his friends' conversation, and after a few moments he slipped off Frodo's bed and quietly approached them.

"Frodo's hand appeared to be healing well when I last examined him," Aragorn was saying. "I do not like how this infection developed and spread so rapidly."

"That wretched Gollum," Gimli growled. "I would have killed him myself if I'd had the chance."

"The unfortunate creature is no longer a matter of our concern," Gandalf reminded him. "Now we must concentrate on Frodo's recovery. What did Merry say about the herbs, Aragorn?"

The king frowned. "Merry tells me that we have run out of the herbs I need to treat Frodo. I wished to make a poultice and some tonics, but I need the correct supplies." He sighed deeply. "I suppose I might substitute other herbs for them, but the medicine will not have the potency needed to fight the infection."

"May we find any of the necessary herbs here in Ithilien?" Legolas asked. "I will gladly search for what is needed."

Aragorn shook his head. "The healers brought the herbs from Minas Tirith, where they are grown in earnest. They are unique to the City, developed and cultivated there through many years of study."

Pippin could remain silent no longer, and tugged on Aragorn's sleeve. "But what if you don't have the herbs you need, Strider? Will Frodo be all right?"

"Yes, Frodo might fully recover without any further treatment, but I am concerned that some traces of the infection may linger within your cousin's body. Without the proper medication the infection might continue to spread, and claim Frodo's hand," Aragorn admitted.

Pippin's eyes grew wide with fear. "Someone must go to Minas Tirith right away!" he exclaimed. "Frodo needs those herbs. We can't let him lose his hand, too."

"Even if one of us were to travel at speed, we are several days away from Minas Tirith, Pippin," Aragorn replied. "If the infection spread quickly, any sort of medicine would be useless within a day."

"There must be a way," Pippin insisted stubbornly, his eyes filling with tears.

"There may be," Gandalf said surprisingly. "Peregrin, stay here and look after Frodo while you may. I think I shall soon have a task for you to complete that may help your cousin." Without any further words he turned and strode away, and Pippin, eyes sparkling with hope, returned to Frodo's side.

* * *

Frodo's fever continued to soar. He woke several times, and was able to drink some water, but mostly he slept fitfully, often crying out in pain.

Sam, Merry and Pippin sat beside Frodo on his bed, speaking little and watching worriedly. Legolas and Gimli quietly sat nearby and Aragorn left only once, returning with every herb that could be spared from the healers' supply tent. He now stood at a nearby table frowning and muttering to himself as he tried to piece together an effective tonic.

It was nearing mid-afternoon when Gandalf finally returned, looking oddly pleased given the situation. He whispered in Aragorn's ear, and the man smiled for the first time that day before putting aside the herbs and hastily scribbling away on some parchment. The hobbits watched the scene curiously until Gandalf gestured for Merry and Pippin to come over.

"I am sending you on an errand," Gandalf said. "You must ride for Minas Tirith to gather the herbs needed for your cousin, and return with them tonight."

The hobbits stared at Gandalf, wide-eyed, and tried to work their minds around what he was saying. Although he had secretly wished he could go to Minas Tirith and find the herbs needed for Frodo, Pippin's heart sank as he wondered how he could possibly travel there and back so quickly. His ribs still gave him trouble, and he questioned how he would control a pony with just one working arm.

It was Merry who spoke first. "But how are we to travel to Minas Tirith and back in just a few hours? It took me days to get here when Pippin was hurt. And is Pippin meant to ride a pony with a broken arm? He might fall off, or be thrown from it."

"I assure you, my lad, that you will complete your errand by this evening," Gandalf replied, his eyes twinkling. "As for Peregrin, he will not be riding a pony, and neither will you. The Eagle Meneldor has graciously agreed to bear you on your errand."

"An Eagle?" Pippin cried in surprise, his eyes shining.

Gandalf nodded. "Meneldor is one of Gwaihir's folk, and is counted among the swiftest of the Eagles. He will bear you to Minas Tirith and back with the speed needed to help Frodo."

"How kind of him!" Pippin exclaimed. He turned to Merry, and was dismayed to see that his cousin's face was ashen.

"Are you all right?" he asked and reached for Merry's hand, which trembled in his own.

"Yes," Merry whispered, recovering his composure. He would do anything for Frodo. Merry drew himself up to his full height and raised his chin, determined. "When do we leave?"

Gandalf smiled in approval. "At once."

* * *

"Here is the list of supplies that we need. Bring back as much as can be spared," Aragorn said, handing a scrap of parchment to Merry, who scanned it quickly.

"Strider, there are some listed here that I have never heard of," he said worriedly, but Aragorn smiled.

"Do not fret, Merry. I know that you spent time with the herb-master while you rested in the Houses of Healing and he will assist you in gathering the correct supplies today," Aragorn replied before turning to Pippin and handing him a folded piece of parchment. "Here is a message for Faramir that should assist him in his plans."

Pippin quickly tucked the note away in the pack at his waist before he and Merry returned to Frodo's side. Their cousin was still asleep, and they each kissed his feverish brow before leaving

Gandalf led them through the camp, past the groups of recuperating soldiers who walked and sat in the fresh air of Ithilien. Finally they reached the field beyond the last row of tents, and there Meneldor stood, awaiting them.

The hobbits approached the Eagle, feeling shy and nervous in the presence of such a great creature, and bowed in greeting. Meneldor inclined his head at them in return, regarding them with eyes so friendly that Pippin suddenly found it easy to speak.

"Thank you for helping us," he said. "We are in your debt."

"You are most welcome," Meneldor replied kindly. "I am glad to assist you in helping the Ringbearer."

Carefully, Gandalf lifted Pippin onto Meneldor's back and settled him between the Eagle's wings. Merry then climbed up and sat behind his cousin. For a moment the hobbits fidgeted, remembering from Bilbo's tales how he had been scolded by an Eagle for pinching. They hardly knew where to put their arms and legs.

Meneldor seemed to know what they were thinking. Turning his head to the side, he gazed at Pippin with one large eye. "Lean forward and hold me around the neck," he instructed, "and your cousin may hold onto you."

Gently, Pippin complied, wrapping his good arm around Meneldor's neck as far as he could reach, taking extra care not to lean on his injured arm or tug on any feathers. Merry scooted closer and held on tight to Pippin's waist, and tried to tell himself that it would be no different than riding a very large, feathered pony.

"Return as swiftly as you can," Gandalf said, stepping away from them. "Frodo is depending on you."

Merry and Pippin nodded and said goodbye as Meneldor raised his powerful wings and took off, bearing them away.

As Merry clutched him more tightly, Pippin leaned over one side of Meneldor and watched as Gandalf grew smaller and smaller, becoming a tiny white speck upon a field of green. The camp's tents soon looked little more than a patch of daisies as they soared higher and higher.

"Look, Merry!" Pippin cried, gazing in awe at a flock of birds that were flying alongside them.

"Pippin, stop leaning over!" Merry exclaimed, holding on to his cousin even more tightly. "You might fall!"

Meneldor screeched loudly, and the hobbits started before realizing that the Eagle was laughing.

"I would not drop you," he promised, "not even if you sat upon the edge of my wing."

"Not that either of us would do that," Merry said quickly, pinching Pippin's arm before his cousin got any ideas.

"Oi, stop that!" Pippin said with a laugh. "I'm not going anywhere, Merry."

"Good," Merry said, and loosened his grip on his cousin, just barely. He managed to gaze around, taking his first proper look at the world from this great height. The sight of the ground far below made him feel suddenly lightheaded, and he felt better when he leaned forward and rested his forehead against Pippin's shoulder and shut his eyes.

Pippin smiled and let go of Meneldor long enough to pat his cousin's arm. They continued to travel along in silence, and Pippin watched as the flock of birds that had been flying with them headed back down toward the earth, too small to keep up with the Eagle.

The hazy memories of his first flight came back to Pippin, and he realized that Gandalf was right, and he did remember it somehow. All that he was experiencing now seemed familiar: the wind beating against his face, which made his curls flutter in the cooler air so far above the ground. He wondered how he had ever slept through this, with the sound of Meneldor's wings rushing in his ears and his stomach flopping with every swooping turn.

Below them, Ithilien sped by in a whirl of green, and the Anduin in the distance looked nothing more than a glittering ribbon. In hardly any time at all Minas Tirith came into view, a small shape nestled amongst the mountains, and Pippin told Merry that they were nearly there.

"Good," Merry muttered, still not opening his eyes. "I'll be glad to feel the ground beneath my feet again."

Meneldor descended in a large spiral, twice circling the great white tower. As they drew closer Pippin nudged Merry hard enough to make him open his eyes, and both hobbits stared wide-eyed at the sight of the crowds gathering on each level, scores of upturned faces watching their progress in amazement.

Finally Meneldor landed with a short hop at the highest level. The crowd there drew closer, watching in wonder as Meneldor crouched low enough for Pippin to slide down from his back. With a grin, the hobbit reached up to pat the Eagle's beak as a murmur rose up from within the throng of people

"The Ernil i Pheriannath has returned!" Ioreth exclaimed from her place at the front of the crowd. "A message came to the Houses after the battle that he slew a troll with naught but his bare hands! He has a way with beasts, look how he has tamed the Eagle as if it were nothing more than a pony!"

Merry slid down as well, though not as smoothly as Pippin did, and he landed on his feet with a thump, swaying on wobbly legs. He tentatively patted Meneldor's back, but looked visibly relieved to be back on the ground again.

Meneldor seemed anxious to leave the crowds of people behind. After promising the hobbits that he would return, he flew out of sight just as several guards made their way through the crowd, forming a path for Faramir, who greeted the hobbits warmly.

"I thought the worst after hearing that you were gravely injured, and my heart is glad to see you on your feet," he told Pippin with a smile. "But it is a surprise to see you both back in the City so soon. I fear something terrible has happened."

"Frodo is very ill," Pippin replied. "His hand is infected, and Strider said he might lose it!"

"The camp has run out of the herbs needed to treat the infection, and Strider says they can only be found here. We need them by tonight," Merry added.

Faramir looked very grave. "Come with me," he said and led them through the lingering crowd to the Houses of Healing.

Once inside the cool stone passages, Faramir brought the hobbits to a small room where several servants were setting out heaped plates of cold meat, bread and cheese as well as ale. The hobbits gazed at the food hungrily, but were ready to refuse it in their haste to return to Frodo.

"You must eat first," Faramir said firmly. "I will not have either one of you race from the City and faint on the back of an Eagle."

Merry paled and swayed on his feet. "Poor old Merry!" Pippin cried, quickly steering his cousin over to a chair and preparing a plate of food for him, which Merry accepted with a small smile. Pippin frowned as he watched; Merry really did not look well, shaken by both Frodo's illness and his dislike of flying.

A gentle hand on his shoulder tore Pippin from his thoughts and he glanced up to see Faramir place a plate before him.

"You must eat as well, Pippin," he said quietly. "I suspect it has only been a few days since you first left your bed."

Pippin smiled gratefully, and Faramir let the hobbits eat peacefully for a few moments before asking which herbs they sought.

"Strider made out a list," Merry said, removing the scrap of parchment from his pack. Faramir scanned it quickly, nodding to himself.

"Let us find the herb-master now," he said, standing. "I know he has been working to replenish our supplies." Faramir smiled suddenly. "I understand that he has also been quite busy planting athelas in the gardens, in order to please the king."

Merry and Pippin smiled knowingly at each other as Faramir led them to the herb-master's chamber, a large room filled with rows of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. A door led outside to a neat garden, filled with hundreds of plants. Merry's eyes widened with wonder at the herbs growing there, and Pippin sighed inwardly, knowing that his cousin would no doubt speak of these plants for many days to come.

The herb-master took up the list and read it thoroughly, noting the instructions Aragorn had scrawled along the sides. "We have all the herbs listed here," he said, much to the hobbits' relief. "The king wishes for them to be freshly picked, if possible, so let us go out into the garden."

Merry spoke rapidly with the herb-master as they walked together to the garden while Pippin lingered behind with Faramir and handed him the folded square of parchment. "Strider wanted me to give you this."

Faramir read the message inside, and smiled to himself. Pausing to borrow a piece of parchment and a quill from the herb-master, he wrote out a lengthy message and handed it to Pippin. "You may tell the king that the preparations will be completed in time," he said.

Once Pippin had securely tucked away the message in his pack, they both went outside. In the far corner of the garden Merry was crouched in the dirt beside the herb-master, clipping a bunch of leafy herbs from the ground.

With them was a golden-haired woman, clad in a mantle of blue and holding open a cloth bag in which Merry deposited the herbs. Pippin immediately recognized her as the Lady Eowyn, and she smiled at him in greeting before going over to Faramir. They walked together, holding hands.

"They have everything here, Pip," Merry said. He thrust the bag in Pippin's face and excitedly named each herb and its uses. Pippin raised his eyebrows, trying to look interested, though he did not have the heart to tell his cousin that they all looked the same to him.

His attention waning, Pippin watched curiously as Faramir and Eowyn spoke quietly with each other. Pippin nudged Merry and nodded toward the couple, and Merry shot his cousin a warning look, though he smirked to himself.

There were just a few more herbs to locate, and those were found easily and quickly bound into neat bundles that joined the other ones in the cloth bag. The herb-master made certain to give them a large supply of each herb, and even included a few others that he thought might prove helpful. Soon the bag was near to bursting, and somehow Merry managed to fit it into his pack.

"Thank you," both hobbits said. The sun was beginning to set, and they looked around anxiously for any sign of the Eagle. "Meneldor said he would return, but when?" Pippin wondered aloud.

"Now," Faramir said, glancing skywards. The hobbits looked up and saw a small dark shape drawing closer; in moments Meneldor had perched on the garden wall and told them that if their task was complete he would take them back to the camp.

"We're ready," Pippin said. Meneldor hopped down from his perch and Pippin and Merry climbed on, this time with Faramir's help. Merry looked longingly down at the ground as he and Pippin said goodbye to Faramir, Eowyn and the herb-master before Meneldor carried them away.

Now that they had gathered the herbs needed to help Frodo, Pippin found more joy in this flight than he had before. He continued to watch in amazement as the world sped by, delighted at how small the mountains and trees seemed from such a height.

"Merry," he called over the wind whipping around them. "What do you think the Shire looks like, from so high up? Do you think you could see any smials?"

"I should think so," Merry replied after a moment, his voice sounding distracted. "Though I'd imagine that they would seem very small."

Pippin twisted around, and saw that Merry was leaning over the side of Meneldor and gazing in awe as the Anduin passed below.

"Merry Brandybuck!" Pippin scolded. "I do believe that you're enjoying yourself. And here I was worrying about you all day, thinking that you were miserable!"

To Pippin's chagrin, Merry actually laughed.

"It doesn't seem so frightening this time," Merry replied. "I think I've grown used to it, a bit."

"That's impossible," Pippin sniffed. "You can't grow used to flying. Gandalf said so."

* * *

It was Gandalf who met them as Meneldor landed near the grove where Frodo slept. The sun had just set, and darkness began to descend on them as the hobbits said goodbye to the Eagle.

"Thank you, Meneldor," they said together.

"You are very welcome," the Eagle replied. "I hope your errand will help your cousin. I shall return tomorrow and see how the Ringbearer is faring." With a flap of his wings he returned to the skies.

"Gandalf, how is Frodo? Is he feeling any better?" Pippin asked him while they were walking.

"No," sighed the wizard. "Frodo's sleep is restless and fretful and his fever remains high. The infection returned, forcing Aragorn to drain your cousin's wound once more. Aragorn gave him a tonic, but without the correct herbs it did not help much." Gandalf smiled a little at the hobbits. "We were relieved when Legolas saw you coming."

"Everything Strider asked for is here," Merry said, gesturing to his pack.

"Very good, my lad," Gandalf said, patting his shoulder. "You and Pippin have done well today. Now your cousin will have the medicine he desperately needs."

By then they had reached Frodo's bed and found him asleep, his face flushed and his breath ragged from the fever. Aragorn quickly left his place at Frodo's side and approached Merry and Pippin.

"I am glad to see you," he said, looking anxious. "Did you find everything we need?"

"Yes," Merry replied, removing the bag filled with herbs from his pack and handing it to Aragorn. "Even athelas!" he added to the king's amusement.

While Aragorn sorted through the bundles of herbs and arranged them on the table, Merry stood at his side, rapidly recounting all he had learned from the herb-master that day. Pippin gave Aragorn the note from Faramir, which the king tucked away to read later as he began crushing some herbs in a bowl.

"It is a relief to finally have these," Aragorn said with a grateful smile. "Wonderful work, my friends."

Merry and Pippin smiled in return and joined Sam, Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli around Frodo's bed. Carefully, they climbed up beside Frodo and sat across from Sam, whose eyes were red-rimmed from crying. Frodo stirred as the bed dipped under his cousins' weight, and his eyes opened, glassy and unfocused.

"Hullo, Frodo," Pippin said softly. "We didn't mean to wake you."

Frodo smiled, recognizing them both, but his eyes slipped shut again. "I know where you two went before," he whispered. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank us, Frodo," Merry replied quickly, but Frodo shook his head.

"I do," he said groggily, opening his eyes once more. "You two have done far too much for me." He frowned deeply, his features clouded by dark thoughts.

"There isn't anything that we wouldn't do for you, Frodo," Merry said softly, smiling in reassurance.

"Besides," added Pippin, "we all know that you would have done the same for us."

Frodo managed a smile just as Aragorn approached the bed, a mug containing a freshly brewed tonic in his hand. The tonic was designed to bring down Frodo's fever and ease the pain in his hand, and it had already begun working by the time Aragorn applied a poultice to the wound.

The herbs were so fresh and potent that they worked quickly, and soon Frodo's fever dropped and pus no longer leaked from his wound. By midnight , the swelling had all but disappeared and Frodo had fallen into a peaceful sleep, surrounded by Sam, Merry and Pippin, who lay beside him also in slumber.

"Hobbits are such surprising creatures," Aragorn said quietly as he watched over them.

"It is part of their charm," Gandalf replied. "I pity those who do not take the time to know them, or who ignore them, thinking them weak." He chuckled lightly. "I especially pity all those who disregard these hobbits. They are truly remarkable."

Aragorn and Gandalf shared a smile and continued their watch, and when morning dawned Frodo woke first, alert and hungry, and surrounded by his friends.

(The Star-verse continues in "Unaligned," which is posted here at Stories of Arda in my 'Postcards From the Shire' collection)