Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tolkien, etc, etc, no money will be received by me from this fanfic!

Frodo sat on a rock, his breathing labored from the swift pace Gandalf had set that morning. His mind wandered back to the happy days when he had been a tween living in Bag End. It had been everything he could have wished, save for his parents to have lived. But he had been happy then; there had been so much joy in those days, and all pains were bearable. He glanced about him, and saw desolation on every side. He had a task to do. This he knew, but he grieved to know that the carefree days of life in the Shire were gone…immensely unlikely to return. And even should happy days return, they would never be like those that had already gone by. Frodo sighed. The sorrow of knowing those joys were truly gone overpowered the actual memory of the joy. Not that he regretted the happiness of those joys; far from it – still, at this moment, to remember caused more pain than fond feelings.

Frodo heard Boromir gathering his weapons and securing his pack; Sam was checking Bill's feet to make sure nothing had become lodged in them. All were preparing to set out again. Taking a deep breath, Frodo sent up a silent prayer to Elbereth for strength to not hinder the speed of the Company this afternoon. His breath caught in his chest, and the memories swelled – he firmly grasped them, mentally, and set them to one side. He could spare no time now to contemplate such things. The task at hand took first priority; namely, standing up and continuing across this endless land toward the dreadful land called Mordor.

"Pippin, come here and let me fasten your cloak properly. Sam, is Bill all right? Let me get that, Merry, you needn't bother with that this time." Frodo would keep going, no matter how long it took, and he would do what was necessary. But his heart was back in the Shire, in the quiet of Bag End where he could find peace…yes, even though he had little hope that he would ever again return there, the heart of Frodo Baggins lay in his little study in Bag End and was unlikely to be truly at peace anywhere else, even Rivendell or anywhere else that was vast and beautiful. He allowed himself to keep a shred of hope that one day he would return there, his task accomplished. For he knew that without hope, he would not get far.

He smiled, hearing Sam argue that no, the weather was not, in fact, worse than it had been the day before. Ever the optimist, that Sam, he thought to himself.