Originally written in 2006 for the drabble meme.
Sam awakens in the grey light of dawn alone.
“I’m here, Sam.”
Frodo stands at a narrow window that faces west. A chill breeze stirs the fine lawn of his nightshirt, moulding it to his too-thin frame.
“You’ll catch your death.” Sam brings him a blanket, and wraps it around him.
“Do you smell the salt on the wind?” Frodo’s voice sounds far away. “It comes from the Sea.”
Sam shivers, and Frodo starts like one awakened from a dream. “You’re cold, Sam-love. Come, let’s go back to bed.”
You can’t smell the Sea in Minas Tirith, Sam thinks.