A/N - All characters and situations belong to the wonderful world created by J.R.R. Tolkien.  I just borrowed them to help me get to sleep last night.

Near But Far Away

Awareness slowly came back to Pippin, awareness filled with a crushing weight upon his chest that was more than memory. He had been crushed by a Troll during the battle, and now his body was paying for it with aches and pains that made him wish for the return of the sweet oblivion where he had been.

Pippin strained his ears to pick up any sounds from within what he could sense was an unfamiliar tent. But there were none. Slowly, he opened his eyes and blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the bright light that streamed in the opening to the tent. Once he could see clearly, Pippin turned his head slowly, clenching his teeth as he did so to in order to brace himself against the pain.

There were three other cots in the tent - one empty, and two with the wasted forms of two dead hobbits. Frodo and Sam. Pippin did not have to feel for a pulse in order to see that they were dead. Frodo and Sam did not move a muscle, and little wonder. Their bodies were so withered that it looked like there was no muscle beneath their skin.

His brave cousin. It was a miracle that their bodies had even been recovered, Pippin thought as the tears began to slide down his cheeks, dripping unchecked onto his pillow. Pippin shut his eyes tightly, unable to bear the sight any longer, and wished that somehow, Merry could be there, even though he knew that Merry would still be recovering in the Houses of Healing from his own injuries.

Slowly, Pippin forced himself to gaze at the bodies that had sheltered the bravest souls he had ever known. And then, if Pippin's eyes did not deceive him, Frodo's chest softly rose and fell. Pippin blinked again. And Frodo's chest rose and fell again. And so did Sam's.

What a fool he had been, so quick to bury these two! Pippin urged his body to rise from his cot and move beside Frodo and Sam. Now that he knew they were alive, he had to check on them, feel the warmth of their skin, their breath filling their bodies with the life that Pippin had been so quick to dismiss. Straining, Pippin fought his own body to move, but it was a futile effort.

It seemed as if every single muscle in Pippin's body cried out in agony as he tried forcing them to move. Falling back onto his cot, Pippin was winded from the effort. He tried twice more, and failed twice more. Each time, his urgency grew, only to be replaced with frustration at the failure.

Frodo.

A cold sweat broke out over Pippin's skin, and he felt all clammy as his breathing began to come in short frustrated gasps of breath, each one ripping through him so strongly that he knew his ribs must be broken.

Had his eyes played tricks on him? Were Frodo and Sam really moving? They seemed so still ... he had to get to them, to help them somehow...

If only he could reach them!

Terror seized him, sweat beading across his forehead. Pippin felt his heart racing, beating more quickly than the Uruk-hai had forced Merry and him to run. Fire burned inside his torso, its heat coming off him in waves. His heart was going to explode unless he could stop himself from getting so upset. But the more he tried to check his emotions, the more upset he became that he was so close to Frodo and could not reach him. A sharp pain seized his stomach, gripping at Pippin's sides, making him wince in pain.

His breath was coming faster now, quick and shallow, bringing with it the sickening sound of a hobbit gasping for air, gasping for hope. His head began to reel as he tried to reach his hands to his chest and clutch at the pain that would not stop.

Mercifully, the dizziness he felt at last consumed him.

Pippin fainted.