There's an ithildin bracelet on the bedside table, a gift from Queen Arwen along with her necklace. It keeps the room from ever losing light entirely, even after all the lamps and candles go out. There's always a crack in the curtains for the moonbeams to sneak through.
His eyelashes look like cracks, when his eyes are almost closed and they mesh together in a black criss-cross. Cracks in the world. And when his eyes are closed, the world ends entirely.
He sleeps with one eye open, looks up at the sun at midday until purple spots dance across his vision and the darkness is almost, almost burnt away.
Then there's a touch to his hand, skin on skin, and Sam's whispered voice in his ear carried on hot breath. Close your eyes, Sam whispers. It's all right. Trust me.
And Frodo does.
~