Disclaimer: If I owned any of this "Lord of the Rings" stuff, I wouldn't be sitting here, writing fanfiction. I own Arwith. Steal her for your own use, and I'll send small, furry animals to eat your socks.
Also, I'd like to say thank you to iccle fairy, the first person to review my fic. Iccle Fairy, we thank you!
"You know," Merry commented nonchalantly, "it may just be that my imagination is attempting- and succeeding- to fool me. But it occurs to me that the trip back to the Shire from Gondor wasn't nearly this long." Sam turned at face him. "The last time, we'd all been tramping about the whole of Middle Earth. After that, I can only imagine how short the ride home must have seemed.
"Of course," he continued, now sounding just a smidge irate, "it probably would have helped if we hadn't gotten ourselves lost." "Don't get started on that again!" Pippin called from further down the line, sounding offended. "I've told you twelve different times, that was not my fault! I can't help it if a falling tree branch spooks my pony. I certainly can't help it if the pony then decides to gallop off with me still on it, not listening when I tell it to stop or to follow the rest of you."
"In Pippin's defense," said Frodo from the other side of the line, "we probably shouldn't have stopped by that apple tree." "Or by all those berry patches," added Merry. "Alright, fine," sighed a frustrated Sam. "But," he added somewhat challengingly, "what about that mushroom patch?" The three other hobbits looked at each other, their mouths opening and closing with nothing sensible coming out. In a desperate attempt to draw the attention elsewhere, Frodo quickly looked ahead. "Look, I think we're almost there."
The trip thus far had gone accordingly: The sun overhead was refulgent, yet it lacked the necessary heat to cause any discomfort. There was a cool breeze, but it wouldn't bite. The surroundings were placid. Thankfully, it wasn't blasé. All in all, it made the trip calm and peaceful without causing any distressing amount of boredom.
The troop urged their ponies forward at an increased pace. They were traveling up a hill and had just reached the apex. They quickly stopped and stared at the panoramic view. The hill took a steep drop down. The canyon quickly faded from growth and vegetation to boulders and gravel, and then from the hard, cold gray back to its original soft, warm green. The valley was bare, all but for a river with a town on it.
That, and a magnificent city that thrived on a hill in the center. The city was a most impressive sight, gargantuan in size and beautiful to behold. Towers, buildings, and all manner of architecture existed there. At its apex, there was an extraordinary castle, decked with steeples, banners, and flags depicting a silver tree.
The four hobbits stared at the majestic vision for what seemed like an eternity. Slowly, they each turned to face each other. The similar beam on every face expressed a parallel appreciation for what they each saw and remembered. "Gents," Pippin said, a hint of loyalty in his voice, "welcome back to the White City."