Disclaimer: Tolkien constructed more than a narrative, he built this world.
Frodo sniffed the air… drying hay, sweetly arid, breezes redolent with roasted meats and the Green Dragon’s finest ale… headily mixed to make the mouth water.
Opening his eyes – it was all really here… Rosie, smiling, curls a-bob as she turned her head to Sam like a sunflower. Pip and Merry persuaded to sing yet again as more ale was offered. Frodo smiled. Strider had won his lady. The West had won their war… this was his triumph, summer in The Shire… safe in the sunshine…
It was only after nightfall, when dark dreams came, that he doubted who’d won.