Bag End Dreams

by Lindorie

Bag End,
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,, 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.