Bag End Dreams
by Lindorie
Bag End,
Hobbiton,
The Shire,
April 1, 3020 S. R.
Sam awoke with the sun pouring through the window.
He had slept long, but was, for some reason exhausted, still, and confused.
Strange dreams had troubled his sleep, which was not that unusual, not since
he and Frodo had come back with Merry, Pippin, and the others from the Quest.
He often had nightmares, though they lessened with time. No, these dreams
were not nightmarish, but puzzling. Riddles…in the dark, even.
He rose and dressed quickly and went to the kitchen
where he began preparations for breakfast. Frodo was not up yet, but would
be soon. He put a kettle on to boil and set about slicing potatoes and onions
and frying them in a pan with sausages. Bread was sliced and butter and a
pot of Mrs. Cotton’s strawberry jam were taken from the cupboard and placed
on the table.
He had just put the tea in the pot, poured in the
hot water to steep when Frodo stumbled into the room, and sat heavily in
his seat. He looked like he had not slept in days, though Sam knew this was
not the case. Perhaps he had been plagued with his bad dreams. Usually he
heard him cry out when that was the case, but he had not heard anything.
Clearly he had not rested, though.
“Mr. Frodo, sir, you don’t need to get up, if you
aren’t ready. There’s nothing here that won’t keep or that can’t be made
again easy enough. If you don’t mind me saying so, you look like you haven’t
slept in a month of Mondays, as my old Gaffer would say.”
“I don’t think I would sleep, Sam, even if I tried. I was plagued by the strangest dreams last night.”
Sam’s face lit up. “Me, too, sir. Dreams about
things and places I ain’t never heard of. Strange they were, too. Meant nothing
to me. Strange names, strange places.”
Frodo looked at him incredulously. “Sam, I had the same dreams! Strange names and places. What do you think it means?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Frodo. I just know that I started
out thinking about the talk we had near Cirith Ungol, when we were resting
and talking about the old tales. Do you remember?”
“Yes, Sam, my dreams started the same way, wondering if we would ever be put into tales and stories.”
“That’s right! And then when we met up with Strider,..er,
I mean, the King, and they sang songs about us and all! And all of a sudden
I saw pictures of all kinds of places and people, some of them dark and others
light. Somes what had dark hair and eyes and others with brown skin, and
red, and yellow.”
“Sam, this is very strange, indeed. My dreams were
exactly the same.” Frodo poured them both a mug of the strong tea that had
been brewing. “There were strange names, too, names I didn’t know or understand;
Tonawanda, Flensburg, Wylie, Columbus.” He paused to catch his breath. “Albany,
Laredo, and some place called I-da-hoe.”
“I remember that one, too, Mr. Frodo. Reminded me of Po-tay-toes, it did! And Thisted, Dublin, and what is Pa-ki-stan?”
Frodo shook his head. “I don’t know, Sam, but I
think they must be important for some reason. There were wooded places with
trees like I’ve never seen before, and green flat places with canals and
lots of people riding some strange wheeled contraption. Moved without horses,
it did and with only two wheels.”
“And those places with almost no plants at all
or just scrubby bushes and stuff like through the Emyn Muil. There were places
with high mountains, too, kind of reminded me of Hollin with the Misty Mountains
nearby. Kind of pretty. There were places by the sea, too. What was that
one place…Bergen?”
“Yes, Sam. That one looked cold, too, all white
and wintry.” He shivered and took a large swallow of his tea. “I think I’d
rather be in Auckland, right now. It seemed warmer there.”
“What could it mean, Mr. Frodo, both of us having
these dreams and all. Do you think that people there know about us somehow
and about the Ring?”
Frodo smiled at Sam. “I don’t know, Sam. I don’t
see how they could. Middle-earth doesn’t have any places with names like
those. I’ve never seen them on any of Uncle Bilbo’s maps, and I don’t remember
seeing them on the maps of the Elves that Elrond showed us.”
Maybe you should write a letter to Stri…, er I
mean, King Elessar. He’d know. He’s been all kinds of places. Or Gandalf!
Maybe he’d know.”
“Perhaps, Sam. If you want me to, I will, but I doubt they’d be able to tell us anything more.
“I wonder, Mr. Frodo. Wouldn’t it be something
if there were great bunches of people who were telling our story. People
in places what we never heard of, reading and hearing about all that happened
these past few years. Wouldn’t it be something?” Sam’s face was bright with
wonder, thinking about the possibility, his eyes wide and unfocussed. He
was dreaming of far off lands and exotic names. Frodo looked at him and smiled.
Good old Sam. He would always look at things positively. There were some
ways that Frodo expected that Sam would always be child-like and that’s part
of what made Sam so special. What would he do with out Sam? He thought once
more of the conversation on the way to Cirith Ungol. ‘What about Samwise
the stouthearted?’ he had said then. ‘Frodo wouldn’t have gotten far without
Sam.’
No, indeed, Frodo wouldn’t have gotten far without Sam.
