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...