Nighttime. Cold. A chilling breeze hits your face.

Your mind is drowned in the sound of the chirping of grasshoppers. They seem to be widely attracted to the fire. The last thing that keeps you from breaking apart is the fellowship. Aragorn, Gimli, Legolas, Sam, Frodo, Pippin, Merry and Boromir - their warm presence.

The adventure has been rough. The day had been weary: running from orcs, protecting Frodo all over and over, and dealing with hobbits' "second breakfast" -Dreadful, although you still appreciate every single one of them.* Thanks to them, you are now sitting by the fire on a log. Setting down a camp from wood branches Legolas was willing to find.

Time flew fast - or slow. It depends. But now that the gossip of hobbits is quiet enough, and Gimli seems to mind his own, bickering with the "pointy-eared." Aragorn looks up at you, sitting before you.

"Are you okay?"

He reaches out. Your focus is slowly coming back from the clouds. His rough fingers, even a little dirty from everything today. His brunette hair—curling in gentle waves. His features are rough, yet you still find them enduring enough. His eyes-oh, his gentle gaze.

"What's on your mind?"

He asks. His gentle voice hits your ears. He's waiting for your answer.