Author's Note: I've no idea where the idea for this story came. I was basically lying in bed, when the idea for not only this story, but another as well-that I hope to have up very soon-came to me. So...here it goes.

Disclaimer: Have I not made it clear? I own nothing.

A Promise of Home

The ride to the Grey Havens was spent in silence. Frodo thought it was best, for he could not endure the friendly chatter of the hobbits. It would make it harder for him, and it was already unbearable.

The road was long, but it held a sense of finality; it was finally coming to the end. There were no more journeys, or dark roads and paths to travel in an un-ending nightmare, and hopefully, there would be no more pain.

He longed for that, most. He longed to be able to forget the pain caused by the blade of the Nazgul lord, forget the journey and the whispers of the Ring. He wanted the emptiness left in him to be gone.

A part of Frodo hoped the farewell would be quick, and that he could forget his friends and they him. But he knew that it was not to be that easy. He would always remember them, just as surely as a part of his heart would be left in the Shire, with her woods and hills, the little rivers. The way she smelled of honey in the summer, and how she gave off an air of peace.

Peace. So simple a word, so simple a thing that he could ask for and be denied. His greatest wish was to go back to the way it was before the Ring; back to before it all began. Back to when he had known peace, and knew nothing of Dark Lords, or magic Rings, or anything so dark and evil that he had encountered on his journey.

The Grey Havens were something out of a dream. Bathed in golden light of the setting sun, the way it held the whispered promise that all would be well. It was something out of an old legend, really. An old song or tale that he had no right to be in; for fear that he would taint it.

Beside him was Merry, brave and calm though tears pricked his eyes as he gazed upon the old wizard saying his farewell. He was muttering something, and Frodo strained to hear the words.

"The road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began

Now far ahead the road has gone

And I must follow if I can…"

"Bilbo's old walking song…" He murmured. Merry turned to him, blushing through his tears.

"I didn't realize I was saying it allowed. Sorry."

He turned towards his cousin. Why are you sorry, Merry? I should…I should be the one who is sorry. For wanting to keep it; for trying to keep it. And…and for leaving you all."

Merry gazed at Frodo, and a sudden realization dawned on him. But he daren't say it allowed.

"I sometimes wonder if there was ever another verse to that song," he murmered, gazing at the great ship, painted gold in the fading light. "I always forgot to ask Bilbo, caught up in his tales of adventures and dragons and monsters. But…I always have wondered if there was a verse that spoke of warm homes, and friends. On where roads can't sweep you away and get you all caught up in things that aren't meant for hobbits. A verse that speaks of warmth and the smell of summer, and joy…one where the shadows of the darker roads can't touch you."

Frodo turned to gaze at Merry, wonder in his eyes. The younger hobbit was still gazing at the ship, and sea and the setting sun. He placed his hands on his cousin's shoulders, forcing him to turn to face him.

"I don't think there ever was such a verse, Merry. I don't think that the road has ever spoken of the promise of home and warmth, where the darkness can't get you and the whispers don't exist. I don't ever remember the promise of home."

Merry smiled sadly, and Frodo drew him into an embrace. "Perhaps you can make a verse like that, Merry. Perhaps you can tell of the end of the road, and the promise of home. For isn't that where all roads lead? Home…

Promise me, Merry, that you will make a verse like that. That you will always remember, that no matter what road you travel down, it will always lead to home. One way or another. Please, promise me."

Merry felt his tears falling, understanding at last what was to come. He nodded mutely, and Frodo could ask no more of him. Smiling a sad smile, he turned away, embracing his friends once more, and kissing Sam's brow. He at last turned away from them, and took the wizard's hand, boarding the ship, and heading off to a land beyond the sunset, and the golden light. A land so far from home.

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Merry watched the ship sail away, tears flowing freely down his face. Frodo's road would never lead to home; he would wander in strange lands forever, down strange paths so twisted that he would never be able to come back.

He understood now, why Frodo wanted him to make a verse that spoke of home. He never had anything but broken hopes and dreams on his path of nightmares, none of them did. He wanted others who may come after all of them were long dead and faded into legends and stories to have a song that spoke of hope and warm halls and laughter and light. Of a home where one could find peace. A song that promised all roads would lead to home. That all roads must end.

He smiled through his tears, smiled at the sea and the ship upon it. Smiled at Frodo, already so far away, and finally murmured the words he could not say before.

"I promise Frodo. I promise."