Chapter Seventeen: Languidness and Luminescence
The first day of the quest had drawn to a close, and all of the Company, save one, were asleep. Frodo, kept from slumber by both the harsh wind and his own thoughts, was wakeful.
He looked at all his companions as they slept. Gimli's closed eyes were barely visible amidst his thick hair and beard. Legolas's fair face was turned towards the moon, which washed them all in pale light.
Boromir was the most restless, twitching and turning every minute or so. Aragorn lay motionless, but one hand was closed tightly around Anduril's hilt. Gandalf slept sitting up, his breathing steady. Merry and Pippin huddled together under one blanket, their mouths slack from fatigue.
Last of all was Sam, who lay directly next to Frodo. His lips were barely parted and his hair fell about his face. "He looks so peaceful," Frodo thought. "My sweet Samwise."
Leaning over, Frodo lighly brushed Sam's lips with his, very gently so as not to wake him. Sam stirred a little but did not awake.
It was as he had said to Arwen, Frodo thought. "You must not think that there is nothing left…It will do you no good to dwell on the dismal possibilities." If there was no hope, than there was nothing.
"I love you, Sam," Frodo whispered in the darkness. "You are my light."
And then Frodo crawled back under the covers and fell asleep, hope in his heart and love in his eyes.
This is the end of The Language of Kisses, Part One in the Language Series.