Frodo walked cautiously into the dim room, following the tracks his own feet had left nearly a year ago. 'Has it only been such a short time?' he wondered, sitting on the same small ledge, in front of the same small window. Rivendell was the perfect place for any mod, and any pastime, as Bilbo had reported in more detail before, even silent contemplation, as Frodo was doing now. He sat quietly, staring out of the small window onto the gorgeous valley below, and remembered the hobbit that had been sitting at this exact spot all those months that should have been years ago.
He had thought he was as weary as one hobbit could be. He had thought he had faced so much already, that he was through with his journeys. He had thought he was going home...

**

Home. Finally, after all this time, he would go back to the Shire. His foothold. The one place in the world he knew would be safe and familiar. The journey had been long, and hard. He had not been prepared for what he had faced; evils beyond even his imaginings. But this was it. After the council later today, the Ring of Power would be in the hands of another, and he would no longer be Ringbearer. He would just be Frodo Baggins, of the Shire, free to go home and carry on with his life. Maybe not exactly the same, he thought, looking at the wound in his shoulder. They may not have told him as much, but he could guess that the wound was not ordinary, and would probably never leave him be. It would be a painful reminder of the evils of the world, something that would remind him, when life of the Shire seemed to boring and frivolous, that there were worse things in the world than simple seeming folk who did not imagine as much as they should.
He sneezed, as the dust from he had stirred in the long abandoned room began to condense, and winced at the twinge in his shoulder. That nothing worse came from his journey was a blessing. He was very well aware of the fact that he nearly died. Less than twenty-four hours away from the all-encompassing darkness he had fallen into left it fresh in his memory. Even the paint hat was still in his shoulder was better than that, than the loss of all feeling, than the disconnected feeling that was his last memory before darkness.
The small view of Rivendell the window gave him was no less beautiful for it's size. He was glad that this was where his journey came to an end. It at least made the journey somewhat worth the hardships, this beautiful land, and the knowledge that the keepers of this place were the best people to put in charge of the ring. Surely they had chosen a wise Elven warrior, or a trusted elf-friend, as the new Ringbearer. No longer would the duty fall to those without proper experience. Yes, it was definitely time to go home.

* *

He frowned at the memories that stirred, drifting with the freshly disturbed dust. If only he had been right all those months ago. If only that had been the end of his journey, he may have been able to bear it. But now... Now he stared out of the small window, and just wished he were home. In Bag-End where he could spend the rest of his days until... until his time came. He just wanted to be back in a comfortable, well remembered place. Quiet footsteps broke his reverie, and he looked up to see Merry examining him, and the room. "Leave it to you, cousin, to find the one room in this place no one has dusted in years. How can yous tand to be in this room? It is so... grey." "Bleak colors for a bleak mood," Frodo responded truthfully. He would not even bother lying to Merry. No response came for quite a while. "This room must have been for storage," Merry finally commented idly. "Oh? What makes you say that?" Frodo asked.
"Haven't you noticed? The ceilings are far too low for this to really be usable by the elves... they must have stored things in here at some point."
Frodo looked up, and only then noticed the ceilings were five and a half, maybe six feet tall at the highest. "Must have been what draws me to the palce. It's comforting in a way..." he mused.
"Although the ceiling could be a bit more rounded," Merry said. "So, what dismal thoughts deserve such a dull setting?"
"Is it so hard to guess?" Frodo sighed. "I just want to go home, Merry," he said. "I want to go back to the Shire and finally have all of this behind me, at least for a time."
Merry nodded, and sat down next to Frodo. "If it were that easy..." he said, tracing his cousin's line of thought like only he could. "Of course, we both know it will not be the same... but what is wrong with wishing?"
"You know, it never occurred to me before this. You and Pippin... your parents... they did not know you left, did they?" Merry's head dropped.
"They did, after a fashion. I told them we would be going with you for a trek. Pippin said the same, or something similar. We did not know at the time that the 'trek' would be go any farther than this valley... or I do not know what we would have said."
"Or done," Frodo added.
"No, that would still have been clear. I would have gone, even if I had seen this fate exactly. We all would have." He gave Frodo a considering look. "Wouldn't we?"
"Yes. I suppose we would," Frodo answered. He looked back at Merry, who returned his astonished look with a smile. When had his little cousin learned so much?