The darkness began to fade. Color slowly returned to his vision.
Frodo rubbed his eyes to clear away the remaining darkness and gazed in
amazement. His bed? He looked at the covers intently, studying them to
make sure they were his. Then, slowly, he touched them. Their soft
texture insured him that the covers were indeed his. But a question
quickly rose to the young hobbit’s mind.
Had he been dreaming? Was the terrible affair with the Ring and
the Dark Lord all a nightmare? He checked his shoulder to see his wound
from the Morgul blade. There was not even a scratch upon it. Frodo was
amazed. It must have been; it must. He looked out the window and could
see the green hills of Hobbiton rambling on and on until they ended at
the river. As he listened, he heard birds singing merrily and children
Frodo then heard a familiar voice coming from the kitchen. Could
it be? He jumped out of bed and scampered out to the kitchen where he
was met with a familiar face. Bilbo was just checking the kettle while
whistling when Frodo burst in.
“Ah, Frodo, my lad,” greeted Bilbo cheerfully, “you’re just in
time for breakfast. I was hoping you would wake up in time.” The older
hobbit began to pour the tea. As he poured, Frodo studied him. Bilbo
seemed to be the same age as the day of his disappearance. However,
before Frodo could learn more, Bilbo caught him gawking at him.
“What are you looking at? Come sit down before the food and tea
get cold.” Readily, Frodo sat down to a meal with his uncle. Together
they talked about the ways of the community and how the garden was
doing and other hobbit-ish things. Frodo enjoyed every minute of it.
Not for several months had he ever felt so free.
He then left Bilbo to wander down almost forgotten paths and
byways. Soon he met up with Sam, Merry, and Pippin on their way to the
Green Dragon. Frodo joined them and they spent the afternoon at the
pub. Soon the sun began to fall behind the rolling hills and Frodo
began his journey home.
As he reached Bag End, he could see a small light coming from the
side garden. He turned down the garden path and came upon Bilbo next to
a campfire. The old hobbit’s back was to him as he approached so Bilbo
was unaware of Frodo’s presence until he entered the ring of firelight.
“Frodo, you’re back,” he cried greeting his nephew. “I was just
enjoying some time under the stars. They remind of my adventures with
the dwarves. Come,” he motioned to the space beside him, “let’s share
this moment together.” So Frodo sat side by side with Bilbo staring
into the small fire.
But as he looked into the flames, things began to change. For some
reason, the fire seemed to grow in size. He turned to Bilbo to ask him
if the fire had seemed to grow. However, when he looked to where his
uncle had been sitting just moments before, there was merely empty
space. Suddenly, his gaze was brought back to the fire for he thought
he heard something. He saw the forms of horses in the fire, black
horses with riders. Then, to Frodo’s horror, the shapes grew into the
forms of the Black Riders and they were galloping towards him. Trying
to back away, he found that he could not. But soon the Black riders
merged into a single line and stood upright. The fire, as well, had
grown to tremendous size. Finally, Frodo recognized what the fire had
become. The small campfire had grown to the Great Eye. Quickly, he
closed his eyes and cried out in terror.
Suddenly, he felt cool air on the back of his neck. Frodo dared to
open his eyes. He was lying in a nook in the Emyn Muil. Sam was bending
“Mr. Frodo, are you alright. I heard you cry out so I came to check on
“It’s alright, Sam. I’m fine now. It was only a dream, only a dream.”