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Casting off their winter lethargy the wildflowers, the heather and Ladybelles especially, were pushing through the melting snow. Frodo glared at them all, all the beautiful, fresh growth, with exasperation. “Master Halfling?” Boromir asked with concern as he hoisted his shield over his shoulder. All the other hobbits were entranced by the greenery. Even Aragorn and Gimli, stoic to a fault, both of them, had their heads held high and their hoods back as they breathed in the changing air. Legolas was singing.
Frodo smiled to let Boromir know that it wasn't grief or fatigue or...anything else that weighed him down at that moment. “This has been the worst winter of my life,” Frodo explained with exaggerated gloom. “And now it’s over. The cold, the hunger, the struggles through the ice and the murk and the gloom are all behind us.”
“You should be happy, then!” the big man declared. "The victory is ours."
Frodo gave an woeful sigh and Boromir smiled and waited for it. “No. Losing an enemy is almost as bad as losing a friend. There’s just too much left unsaid.” Frodo shook his fist at the innocent flowers while Boromir threw back his head and laughed outright.