When the darkness falls around the smials and hobbit holes of the Shire, and little lads and lasses shiver under their blankets, worry chattering their teeth, hobbit parents take over for the comfort of the light of day. Offering warm glasses of milk and a biscuit, they tuck little ones under their covers, leaving a small lantern lit to illuminate the night and help banish nighttime fears.

But some children know better, and insist that in the shadows, beneath the beds and in closets, lies a more substantial darkness, a blackness with form and intent. There is no name for such vileness, only a word that encompasses all the fear and terror it evokes: Monsters.

A word that is whispered with terror in daylight and never in the night. A word that leaves the younglings looking over their shoulders as dusk approaches, unconsciously standing closer to older relations or siblings just as frightened. A word that older hobbits laugh at, and tweenagers shake their heads at even as they shudder in remembered fear that is not so distant.

But for some hobbits that word is more than an abstract. It is a word with a face, with a voice that growls low in its throat and sounds like boots scraping over loose gravel. It is a hulking form that smells of rotten garbage and dying flesh, with hands that are scaled like a fish and cold as ice.

For some hobbits, Monsters are very real indeed.

Peregrin Took lay silently in the darkness, the sounds of his sleeping companions comforting against the blackness. Frodo, Merry and Sam huddled together next to him, arms and legs entwined as they slept fitfully.

It had been a long day of marching over endless rocks and bushes that tore at clothing and bare hobbit feet. The Big People were pushing them, forcing them to walk at a pace that left legs aching and backs sore, and had them almost asleep before they even lay down. Even a fortnight into the quest, they were unused to it.

A rustle next to him had Pippin sitting up, heart in his throat, eyes staring into the darkness as he tried to make out what creature was creeping up on them.

“It’s just me, Pippin,” Aragorn soothed quietly, kneeling down next to him. A shadow with form in the pitch. “It is time for our watch.”

The ranger was watching him a bit oddly as he regained his breath, so Pippin nodded and untangled himself from the blankets and bodies. Merry stirred, reaching out blindly in sleep as his cousin stood.

“Go back to sleep,” Pippin whispered, bending down to gently squeeze the questing hand. Merry sighed and settled down once more.

“Have you slept at all?” Aragorn asked softly as they headed over to where Legolas stood with Boromir, waiting for their relief.

It was chilly out, and though Legolas did not feel the cold, the other three did. Boromir stomped his feet to keep them warm and Pippin wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chill. He wished the others were not using his cloak as a blanket, but he would not take that extra comfort away from them. Aragorn wrapped his own cloak tighter about himself, making a mental note to include Pippin in its warmth once they settled.

“A little,” Pippin murmured, his attention already on the terrain beyond their camp, eyes scanning the night for unseen dangers.

“All is quiet,” Legolas reported as he and Boromir started to their own sleeping rolls and rest. “All that stirs tonight are the usual nighttime animals.”

Aragorn nodded, absently touching the elf’s shoulder as he passed, then taking a seat on the rock the two had just vacated. Pippin scrambled up next to him, the shadows under his eyes mostly hidden by the dark. He did not see the worried glance the ranger sent his way.

It had been a long time since Pippin feared the night.

“What troubles you, Master Took?” Aragorn finally asked, his eyes looking into that troubled face with worry. He had never known this hobbit to be so silent for so long, and had seen the worried glances the others had been casting each other throughout the day as he failed to chatter as he normally did.

Pippin started, smiling sheepishly as he shook his head. “It is nothing, Aragorn.”

“If it troubles you to where you cannot sleep, it is something,” the other persisted gently. “You need to rest, to gather your strength. The hardest part is yet to come.”

Pippin shuddered slightly, eyes looking beyond the trees and the darkness, to a point that Aragorn could not see.

“I have not feared the darkness since I was a wee lad,” he finally murmured, more to himself than to his companion. “But now I fear the night as though it were a great enemy.”

Aragorn was silent for a moment, trying to find the words to answer this surprising statement, when Pippin continued.

“I used to lay awake at night, terrified of closing my eyes. Then Merry came to visit and let me sleep with him, and it was all right for a little while. But when it was time for him to leave, I was so afraid again, and told him so.” He smiled slightly at the memory, for the first time turning those green eyes to the ranger. “He told me I did not have to fear the night, because he would always be there to protect me. Even if he was not there with me, he would be in my dreams, and would keep everything at bay.”

He sighed, looking down to his hands, which were twisting around themselves without him seeming to notice. He frowned, clenching them into fists. “But some things even Merry cannot make better.”

There was a long silence in which nothing seemed to move. Nothing at all.

“No,” Aragorn finally agreed, the barest of whispers. “But the nine of us can.”

Pippin met the other’s eyes, and for a moment that utter silence between them returned. Then a rustle, no more than what the wind would make as it passed among the branches, and Pippin was on his feet, eyes scanning the darkness, body near quivering with strain. Aragorn stood as well, trusting to the hobbit’s hearing, feeling his body tense as he, too, heard the rustle where there was no wind.

He heard Pippin catch his breath, felt rather than saw the other take a small step backward in fright.

“What is it?” he demanded, placing a strong hand on Pip’s shoulder, feeling the muscles tremble. His other was resting on his sword, ready to draw it. “What do you see?

There was the barest of pauses before Pippin’s voice answered, firm despite his obvious terror. And when he spoke, the ranger felt a shiver run down his back.

“Monsters.”