Thanks to Wild Iris and EvilReceptionistofDoom for pointing out a couple of mistakes and/or how to improve this story.
Frodo had not felt so well, so free, in months. With the wind in his hair and the smell of salt about him, he lay on the hard wooden deck of the ship. He heard a slow, repetitive thump; someone was walking toward him.
"You are well?" the wizard asked, his voice blending with the soft rushing of wind and the splashing of the wavelets against the sides of the ship.
"Yes." That was all, for a while.
He managed to push himself up onto his knees, slowly.
"Gandalf," he said weakly. "Will I ever see them again?"
Exactly 100 words.