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The days of travel for the Fellowship were long and suffering. From the day they had left Rivendell, hard and as fast as was possible they pushed in their days of their journey, over hard terrain of rocky hills with quick meals, little shade, and less peace and rest.
When the sweet respite of night did come, exhaustion hung heavy over all, as it was not only the physical strain which caused the weariness, but rather the emotional strain of their quest which often brought about a solemn atmosphere.
Though it was the lack of sleep which was so contradictory to the fatigue each felt, though all carried it as a heavy burden upon them, that caused the deepest struggle within them. For though none could ignore the sleep which begged to take them over, worry for the future of the fellowship and how the quest may have turned out stood stronger.
This often left many of the fellowship to have little sleep at night, and push through the tiredness during the day; though this can only continue on for so long until such a thing is impossible to ignore.
It was in this manner that the camp of the nine members was silent and solemn as they stopped one night, the meal being taken from their provisions without the spattering of conversation they often engaged in, instead all staring unseeing to the small fire which was started before them.
Now, as in usual succession to each of their nights, one would remain awake and alert throughout the time of the night, always vigilant for approaching threats which the others would need to be roused in preparation to fend.
Though the silence stretched on this night, for whether it was because of the exhaustion which slowed their minds, or if it was because none exactly cared to volunteer for the first watch, none could truly say.
A gruff clear of his throat Gandalf made, the wizard having had a skeptical gaze trailing over his companions for some time. “The night is still young, best you all take your rest before we are to start out once again tomorrow; I shall have the first watch.”
Merry and Pippin lay down with a small nod immediately at his words, the others seemed a bit more hesitant, or entirely unaware he had even spoken at all.
Aragorn raised his gaze from the flames, though his eyes were distant and the skin bruised and dark beneath them, still he sat a bit straighter, as the first watch was normally his to claim. “I will take it.”
“Never mind.” Gandalf stood, taking up his staff and settling to a boulder a few paces away, so that his gaze was not hindered by the flames. “Have your rest, and I shall wake you for the next watch.” He had settled in his mind to do nothing of the sort, though he might have said anything just then to urge the man to have his rest.
Though Aragorn hesitated for a moment, he nodded and lay back, shifting to have his sword close by his side, his hand resting near the hilt in case of danger in the night.
One after the other the rest of the Fellowship followed Aragorn's lead, laying back to search out the coveted few hours of sleep which seemed would come at last, for length of time without proper rest will allow such a thing, no matter the unease they felt.
Legolas was the last to remain sitting straight, his fingers stroking the wood of his bow at his side, a sweet melody he sang in his own tongue.
The Elvish song, of which the Prince often sang out, carried on the breeze in his soft tenor tone, aiding the drowsiness of all and helping them into their sleep, for there is little in the world which carries a sweeter, more peaceful tone than an Elf's songs.
Though still, at length, even Legolas stifled a small yawn and lay down, his bow he laid at the side of Aragorn's sword, taking up a similar position the Ranger held at his side.
The night continued on, with the half moon within the star spattered sky rising proudly above the encampment, casting slight light over them, it being enough to still remain peaceful for those who slept, though also shedding enough light to give a fair amount of sight about them to the Wizard who sat and watched over them.
Gandalf sat unmoving upon the boulder, the few hours he had promised Aragorn having passed already, though he made no noise and allowed them their rest, satisfied for the fact the other eight finally slept for the first time in a few days.
His wood-carved pipe he held between his lips, puffing out perfect smoke rings and other artistic shapes, feeling quite content to simply sit and rest, rather than taking any sleep himself.
A brow he raised as soft mumbled words drifted to him in the Elvish tongue, turning his ever vigilant gaze to the encampment, raising a brow as he found Aragorn and Legolas speaking in low tones.
A shake of his head Gandalf gave, making to stand to urge them back to sleep, though he paused, a brow raising as he watched the two a little more closely.
Upon further inspection of them, and the longer he listened to the mumbled conversation, he realized they were indeed still asleep, as the conversation they shared in had no rhyme nor reason to it, and was merely nonsense in which they answered in one to the other.
Though Aragorn may have seemed awake, as his eyes were half open, it was indeed that he was fast asleep upon his side, answering the nonsensical words of his Elf companion, who slept soundly upon his side facing the man with his bow held now close to his chest.
Gandalf gave a small chuckle around the stem of his pipe, settling back as he had watched and listened to the pair for a time, finding great humour in the most random of absolute drivel they spoke back and forth.
Now, this little interaction drew Gandalf's attention to the camp, as well was his curiosity piqued, having his gaze traveling over the rest of those about the camp.
To the left of Legolas, lay Boromir settled upon his back, his head propped slightly beneath his cloak, and his arms out to the sides; now this would have seemed a strangely sprawled out position, if it were not for the reason for it.
At each of his sides, lay Merry and Pippin at each of his sides, using the man as a pillow and a seeming source of heat, for they were curled as close to his sides as they could manage.
Pippin held Boromir's tunic bunched in his hands, his curly hair splayed over the front of his shoulder, breathing easy and comfortable as he slept peacefully.
Merry, at Boromir's other side, nearly lay fully on top of him, with his head upon the man's chest with his one leg slung over him, a small trickle of drool staining Boromir's tunic.
Now, it may have been guessed Boromir might not have cared for being pinned down so, though this was indeed not the case, for he slept rather peacefully, with his arms wrapped about the bodies of the two hobbits, keeping them comfortably close to him.
Gandalf gave a small shake of his head, a larger puff of smoke rising from his breath as he huffed a chuckle, feeling quite confused on just when that had happened, for he was sure they had fallen asleep a fair distance from one another, though they all seemed comfortable enough, and so he supposed they were good for each other's comfort.
To Merry's left side, lay Gimli son of Gloin, laid flat upon his back, his hands folded over his middle, and his head thrown back without any buffer against the hard ground. His mouth hung fully open, snores of a horrible sound gurgling from the Dwarf's throat, accompanied by a series of whistles and snorts as he shifted or swallowed, the noise of it being so it was indeed a wonder the others slept so soundly through such a din.
Now to the final two Gandalf's gaze trailed, with Sam laid out with his head resting upon his pack, which seemed as though it might have been entirely uncomfortable and horrid on one's neck, for the Hobbit had insisted on packing in his pans, and so it left him to be laying upon nothing but cold iron. Though this did not seem to bother the gardener any, for on he slept with his mouth parted slightly, small snores coming from him in soft whistles.
At Sam's side, with his head resting upon the stomach of his dear friend lay Frodo, sleeping soundly upon his side with his hands curled close to his chest, holding the arm of Sam close to his chest as though it were a stuffed toy of comfort a child may take to their bed. His features were soft in relaxed ease, being soundly asleep to the point it may be a difficult thing for any to wake him, allowing the burden of the ring which rested in his pocket to be released from him, if only for a night of rest.
It was a deep relief for Gandalf to see this, for the burden lay heavy upon all, though most on Frodo, leaving the Hobbit to often early grow sick with the exhaustion it caused; though not tonight, for now he was released from it for a few hours, and was drawn into the sweet embrace of peaceful rest.
A smile was bright over the Wizard's features, the edges of his gray mustache tilting up a bit with it, for not only the humor of the separate sleeping habits of each brought him great joy, but the peace they were all allowed in that night. For it had been quite some time indeed since he had ever seen such a thing from any of them, and it did him well to know they were at peace.
Back to the lands before him Gandalf turned his gaze, continuing on his watch as he brought his pipe back to his lips, continuing to puff out gray smoke rings of which he would send dancing as different colors into the dark sky, the smile he held remaining about his features throughout the remainder of the night and into the next day, though none could bring the reason for it from him.
Needless to say, Gandalf indeed did not wake any to take over the watch, nor did he in the coming nights of when he would insist to take the night's watch.