Disclaimer: This little piece of fiction is only that; fiction. I am in no way making any money off of this, only writing it for my own pleasure. All characters, places, and much of the wording belong solely to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Introduction

Meriadoc twisted on his side for the fifteenth time this night at least, he surmised. The ground was damp and cheerless and much harder than any land he had slept upon heretofore. It was ironic, really; all those nights as a lad he lay out under the comforting stars with Pippin (and on special occasions his dear cousin Frodo would accompany him) and he never gave any thought to the firmness of the ground. Now it was as if even the earth itself secretly contrived to be a nuisance to him.

He sighed, annoyed, and rolled on to his back again. He frowned as he gazed up into the sky. The solace of the stars was not with them tonight. Nor any night past while being in this place, he recalled. The inky blackness of the heavens was far too unsettling. It was odd how greatly one missed something when it is taken away. A silent appreciation for the little things was something Merry was quickly becoming accustom to. The nightly noises of the camp were stirring all around him; uneasy horses stomped and snorted, soft murmuring of the soldiers who's turn it was to keep watch, the twisting and turning of some of the other troops who were probably having the same problem as Merry. And yet, it somehow made him feel very alone and cut off from everyone. He twisted his head around to find Dernhelm, who had departed from him for the evening and had not yet come back. Dernhelm was, in reality, the only person of the camp who spoke to him. And even then they were only discreet whispers. But for this there was a perfectly good explanation....