This was written for the Anniversary Challenge for the PippinHealers e-list, in which each paragraph was to begin with the letters in HAPPY ANNIVERSARY PIPPINHEALERS.

RUDE AWAKENING

His ribs were aching abominably, and his knee was throbbing. Not fair, he thought--he had done everything Strider had told him to yesterday, staying off his feet as much as possible, in between serving at the feast to honor Frodo and Sam, and he had not objected to any of the other limitations. So why should he be so uncomfortable this morning?

As he sat up, he glanced across the tent to Frodo’s and Sam’s cots. It was such a relief to see them sleeping naturally, Frodo curled to one side, and Sam with one arm thrown over his head and snoring softly. The deep healing sleep they had been in before had been frightening, and Pippin had occasionally wondered if they would ever wake. He turned and looked at Merry in his own cot. He would have preferred that Merry be curled up next to him, but Aragorn had said Merry was not getting enough rest that way.

Perhaps he was right. Merry seemed to start at Pippin’s slightest movement before. Now, though, he lay so that he was facing Pippin, but there was no interruption of his gentle rhythmic breathing. Pippin sighed, and turned to stand up. He really needed to find the chamber pot. He slid carefully off the edge of the cot, trying to be careful not to put too much weight on his bad knee. He winced, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Pippin!” Frodo’s voice was sharp but soft. “What are you doing? I can tell you are hurting--you should get back in the bed!”

“Yes. Well. I have something else I need to do that is rather urgent!” He bent over and pulled out the large white vessel from under his cot.

And Frodo’s face flamed, as he realized what Pippin was up to. “I’m sorry, Pip. But after hearing what Gimli said about you last night, I was worried.”

“Never mind, cousin,” said Pippin amiably, as he finished his task and carefully slid the chamber pot back under the cot. He dropped his nightshirt, and went over to Frodo’s bed, limping only slightly. Frodo scooted over, and Pippin climbed up to snuggle next to his eldest cousin.

Now that Pippin had his arms around Frodo, he found himself worrying at the thinness of the slight frame. He could actually feel Frodo’s ribs. He frowned. “I suppose it’s only to be expected that each of us will be worrying about all the rest of us for a good long time to come,” he sighed.

“I guess you are right, Pip. But it hurts me to realize all that you went through on my account.”

“Very likely, Frodo, you goose, as you always were one to blame yourself for things over which you have no control. Besides, though Merry and I left the Shire on your account, we had other reasons as well for the things we’ve done.” Pippin put one hand up, and smoothed the dark curls away from Frodo’s face. “You need a haircut.”

Eyes that had a moment before threatened to spill tears were suddenly sparked with amusement, and Frodo had to bite his lip to keep from laughing aloud and waking Sam and Merry.

Realizing to his joy, that in all the ways that truly mattered, his young cousin had not changed, Frodo returned Pippin’s gesture.

“Silly Took! That is what I am supposed to tell *you*!” he hissed, chuckling as softly as he could.

“And you might as well say it,” said another voice, “for it is perfectly true.” Merry was also now standing by Frodo’s bed. Sam, however was still sleeping soundly.

“Really,” chuckled Merry, “logs have nothing on Samwise Gamgee. I don’t think I’ve ever known such a sound sleeper.”

“Yet there were days and nights, Merry, when he did not sleep at all, watching over me.” said Frodo fondly. They all looked over at Sam, and Merry and Pippin exchanged a look that showed how grateful both of them felt to the gardener.

Pippin’s stomach, however, chose that moment to make a statement, and prevent them from becoming too maudlin.

“I do believe I should go and fetch us all some breakfast.” said Merry. “I am afraid, Frodo that it will just be breakfast, not first nor second--we are still on war rations at the moment. Though that may change. I hear a new supply wain is due perhaps as soon as this afternoon.” He went over by his cot, and slipped into a shirt and breeches. He would not be needed to attend on É omer for a few more hours, so he did not put on his livery or armor. Then, with a cheery wave, he ducked out of the tent.

Pippin remained with Frodo for just a moment longer, just glad to have the knowledge that his dear cousin was alive and well. However when Frodo’s stomach rumbled as well, Pippin chuckled. “I don’t know about you, cousin, but I don’t want to break my fast in my nightshirt. I am going to get dressed.” He sat up and swung his legs over the edge, and forgetting himself, stood up a bit more quickly than he had when he first wakened. It was a mistake. His knee buckled beneath him, and with a cry of agony, he found himself abruptly on the ground.

“Pippin!” Frodo cried out loudly and quickly jumped down from the cot to his younger cousin’s side.

In a flash, Sam was there as well, awakened by his master’s cry of distress. “I’ll get some help, Mr. Frodo!” and he darted from the tent, nightshirt and all. All Pippin could do was sit there and bite his lip and try not to cry. His knee felt as though it had been stabbed with a knife.

Now Frodo held onto Pippin tightly, rubbing his back. “It‘s all right, Pip,” he murmured. “Sam will get Strider! He’ll be here soon.”

He was right--in only a few moments, Aragorn entered, Sam trotting by his side. He was followed by an anxious Merry, breakfast tray in hand. Merry put his burden down on the nearest surface, which happened to be his own cot, and rushed past Aragorn to Pippin’s side. “Oh, Pip! What have you done?”

“Easy, Pippin,” Aragorn said, as he knelt next to Pippin. He took the left leg in both hands, and then reached up to probe the knee. Pippin bit off a cry of pain, and Aragorn shook his head. “You jarred it, Pippin. What did you do? Put your weight fully on it when you stepped down from the cot?” Pippin nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Aragorn stood up, picking Pippin up carefully in one graceful movement, and carried the injured hobbit to his own cot. He laid him down carefully. As Pippin, biting his lip nodded, Aragorn propped his leg atop one of the large pillows. “It is swelling again. I think that you will be spending the rest of the day in your cot--and perhaps tomorrow. Do you still have some of the salve you were putting on it?” Pippin shook his head.

Leaving Pippin’s side for a moment, Aragorn stepped out of the tent and hailed a passing Guardsmen, whom he sent to the Healer’s tent. Soon the Man returned with the salve, and some other items Aragorn had sent for; in the meanwhile, Merry had lit the brazier and begun to boil some water, so that they could brew some willow-bark tea for Pippin’s pain.

Embarrassed at all the attention, Pippin tried to apologize. “I’m so sorry! Please forgive me--I didn’t mean to cause all this fuss.”

“Really, Pippin,” said Frodo, stepping over to put his hand on his youngest cousin’s head, “It’s quite all right. If you have to stay put in here today, you won’t be running all about at Aragorn’s beck and call. We shall have an excellent chance to catch up. I don’t believe that you and Merry have told Sam and me everything yet, and I want to know the full story.”

Soon the cousins and Sam were arrayed all around Pippin on the oversized cot, sharing out the breakfast on the tray. The pain in Pippin’s knee faded to a dull throb, as they all talked and ate. He was going to have to remember about that knee from now on…