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It had been over a year since he'd moved back into Bag End and into a life of the Shire, but Frodo felt nothing like he once did. Before, he had felt a happiness and a hearts content in the summer breeze of the Shire. He could read atop an old oak with the perfect boughs in which to settle, he would find himself sitting on the porch discussing his old uncles venture with Sam, with his gardener always speaking admirance of the elves he'd love to someday see, and later they'd make plans to meet with his cousins at the Green Dragon, where late at night the two could always be found dancing atop a table while belting a tune that brought many a similar warm memories back to him. He'd make his way to Bag End half stumbling through the night, but at least sure of the path he'd taken so many times before. And when making his way to the feather downed bed he longed for, he could see a flickering light from his dear Bilbos study, always so deep in his retelling of that fateful journey sixty years earlier. The sun beams down on his face late next morning and another beautiful day is ahead.
These are the thoughts that swam through his head in the time that followed his return, when everything had settled. He kept grasping at the feeling of content these memories had once brought him, tried to find himself having similar days, but he felt nothing but melancholy and a dread that had formed a knot in his stomach ever since his rescue from Mordor. So Frodo sat there in a state near frozen in anxiety and a lump in his throat, only resolved when a brief notion of a thought of Bilbo at his old age makes all that was welling up release in a choking sob. He cried at not feeling what he knew he should've being back in the shire, he cried at the rapid aging of his beloved Bilbo, for what time has he? At the empty feeling that he felt of the place he called home, and this darkness looming over him containing all the terror and burden, betrayal, and resentment he felt on his journey just over a year earlier. But like all great waves of emotion this ebbed and he soon felt a bit more clarity if not numbness as he nodded off staring at the dusk sky.
A couple days later he found himself with Sam, the hobbit he found most comfort in, up on a hill overlooking Hobbiton, and Sam spoke, "Mr.Frodo do you ever feel out of place in the shire? Like once you left you could never quite fit in again? and a strange relief washed over Frodo with the realization that he was not alone in this feeling, (However different their individual answers to this would come to be) Frodo spoke "everyday I find myself wishing for a day like the ones we shared back before it all, but I find dwindling hope that a day like that will come". The two stared at their hometown, many busy with their produce, some savoring the sun. "Bilbo has aged greatly since his parting with the ring" continued Frodo "The elves.. they're leaving this world for the age of men has come, and they've invited him to come along, one final adventure" Sam stared at him, again Frodo spoke "I think about Bilbos birthday all that time ago, and my regret in not leaving with him, my love of the shire held me back.. but I feel as though I'm ready now" Frodos eyes met Sam's and he was surprised to see them filled with tears "oh Sam I never wish to leave you.. nor the others but-" Sam interjects "Mr.Frodo, I know better than anyone, but perhaps yourself, the pain you went through with the ring and I've seen the shadow it still cast upon you, even here in the shire. I cry not to try and keep you to this place which no longer brings you a sense of home but to show you my sincerest hopes that your next venture brings you to a place in which you feel the most deserved joy and content". And with that they both found themselves quite inconsolable but perhaps more at peace than they'd been in quite a long time.