Dreaming of Home by FrodoBaggins_88
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings.
“Mum! Father! Wake up! It’s time to decorate the house for Yule!” Frodo yelled, eagerly jumping on his parents’ bed.
“Oh, Frodo dear, let us sleep a bit longer!” Primula moaned, looking up through drooping eyes first at Frodo, then at the sky. It could be no later than five ‘o clock, yet here was her son as full of energy as ever.
“But, you promised!” Frodo protested.
Yawning, Drogo said, “Not this early in the morning….” He rolled over to his side, putting his right arm under his head, situating himself to go back to his peaceful slumber that had just been disturbed.
Frodo’s face fell but a moment as his mother lay back down to sleep. Then, he remembered Oliver’s words: Last one to have their house decorated has to buy everyone a gift. It was not that he would not love to give everyone a gift, but he did not have enough money to buy them. “Please, mum! Father! I do not -” Frodo stopped in mid-sentence.
“Do not what, my lad?” Drogo asked, rubbing his eyes and beholding his son’s forlorn face for the first time that day.
“Don’t want to have to buy everyone a gift. I have not the money.” Frodo got off of his knees and lay down on his belly between his parents, his elbows propping him up.
“Why would you have to do that, love?” Primula mumbled, already half-asleep. Just a few more moments, and…
“I -” Frodo stopped, annoyed, when he heard his mother snoring. She had asked a question and he could not answer.
“Tell me, Frodo-lad.”
“Yes, sir.” Frodo cast his gaze toward the bedpost opposite of the side his father was on. He knew his father would call him foolish to have agreed to such a thing. Nevertheless, it was agree to either do so or be ridiculed for being “chicken” for as long as the other lads remembered their pact. “I have to get it decorated first. Or else, I might have to buy everyone a gift.”
“Why’d y’ agree to such a thing?” Drogo asked, his eyes twinkling.
“I had to.”
“Why? Did they hold a knife to your neck?” Drogo teased with mock concern.
“No. I just had to.” Frodo began to examine his hands as though they were the most interesting objects in all of Middle Earth.
“Ah. I see now. Come now, lad. Give me half a moment, and I’ll be out. We shall let your mum sleep. She’s not been feeling well of late.”
“Why not?”
“Something,” Drogo replied, not wanting to reveal all the details to his son.
“Please, tell me!” he begged, giving his father a puppy-dog face.
“You will soon know. It’s nearly time.”
Frodo awoke with a start from his dream world of memories as Sam once again prodded him to go on. “It’s nearly time, Mr. Frodo,” Sam muttered to himself before turning to Frodo and saying slightly louder, “Sorry t’ wake y’, sir, but we best git goin’.”
Frodo sighed and stretched. “I reckon you are right, Sam,” he replied as he looked warily up at the darkened sky. It was dawn, and they had to go. Frodo hated being awakened during the middle of his dreams of memories long gone by. They were fading, growing weaker and fainter each time, though Frodo did not wish to admit it. He could barely remember anything. He rarely had dreams about them anymore, but they were replaced with horrendous dreams of orcs capturing him and bringing him into Mordor, where he would be tortured and killed, and all that he, Sam, and the rest of the Fellowship had fought for would come to ruin. Who was he to carry this great burden? Who was he that every hope of the success of the Quest rested upon his shoulders? He was but a hobbit of the Shire, a Halfling, of little worth in many of the eyes of men. Why could he not cast it into some mire into which no normal creature would dare to go? Why could he not turn back?
No, he must go on, impending death and failure looming over him. He knew in his heart that he would fail. Already he was giving into the Ring. Its faint callings, Its desires were becoming his own. He was hopeless, bound to give in at some point. He was too weak, no matter how much he tried to hide it from Sam. They had been going in circles for days, too many to count, too many to distinguish; they all blurred together in his mind. They needed a guide. No studying of Middle Earth with Uncle Bilbo could have prepared him for this as he poured over each map Bilbo had hung in his study, in the hall, in the entryway. They would die; Sam would die, and all his suffering and all his loyalty would be in vain.
“Mr. Frodo, is somethin’ botherin’ you?” Sam asked, looking back from his spot higher up. Frodo rarely hung behind. Something was different about his mood today. He had been in high spirits the past few days. “Is it the Ring?”
Frodo looked up defensively. “Nothing is wrong, Samwise. Continue on.”
His ears caught something’s noise from behind, but quite frankly, he did not care. He knew they would be caught soon enough, whether by Gollum or by some host of orcs. Frodo continued for a few minutes, focusing solely on walking.
“This looks strangely familiar.” Frodo heard Sam say.
“That’s because we’ve been here before. We’re going in circles.” He declared hopelessly, his eyes dampened. Why did they even continue? Why had they even left Aragorn and the others? He should have known they would never be able to find their way. They were only two hobbits that had never before left the Shire. A few more steps, a semi-steep climb over a hill.
“Ugh. What’s that horrid stink? I warrant there’s a nasty bog nearby. Can you smell it?” Sam complained, or so Frodo viewed it.
“Yes.” Frodo took a few steps to catch up with Sam. “I can smell it,” he replied, looking sullenly up at Sam. “We’re not alone,” Frodo added, trying to alert Sam of the fact that Gollum was nearby.
Sam stood confused for a moment. Then, he realized what was meant. “We’d best find somewhere to rest, Mr. Frodo,” was all he said, knowing that it had been quite a few hours already since they had rested. Perhaps a good rest would help his master. But, he would not sleep himself, not with that nasty Gollum around.
“No, Sam, we must continue onward.”
“Please, sir? At least jus’ t’ stop ‘n drink some water an’ eat some Lembas?’
“Alright,” Frodo conceded. Sam needed rest; even he needed rest, but he could not bear to sleep, not if he would lose yet another memory.
Frodo awoke and stretched. It was so warm. Why? He looked around; a fire was lit in the fireplace. He got out of bed and dressed. Today, he was to help Sam mow the lawn – if Sam would let him. He walked out of his bedroom and to the kitchen, where Sam was sitting in the kitchen, watching his mother make the breakfast.
“Good mornin’, Mr. Baggins,” Mrs. Gamgee greeted.
“Good morning, Mrs. Gamgee. Samwise.”
Sam looked back at Frodo. “Good mornin’.”
“Breakfast is nearly ready, sir.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Gamgee.” His eyes shifted to the slightly younger lad who had seated himself across the table from Frodo. “So, Sam, what chores do you have today?” he asked, curious, as he wished to help. Bilbo had told him there would be no lessons that day.
“Well, I reckon I ought t’ mow that there lawn, seein’ as its growin’ so tall, an’ perhaps help my pa around, sir.”
“It sounds like you have a lot of work then.”
“Not too much for me to handle, Mr. Baggins.”
“Frodo, please.”
Mrs. Gamgee looked back and her son’s eyes looked at her questioningly. “Mr. Frodo,” she mouthed.
“Yes, Mr. Frodo.”
“What do you say if I help you with the lawn?” Frodo offered, hopeful. He had not had to mow a lawn since his father had died and he had come to Bag End. He missed it, to some extent.
Sam looked at Frodo, unable to speak. He reckoned he could not rightly say ‘no’ to his master, but it was not proper for the master to do the servant’s work. Mrs. Gamgee sensed this and turned around. “That’s mighty kind o’ you, Mr. Baggins, but y’ see, your uncle mightn’t like it.”
“He would not mind, ma’am. He said I can do whatever I wish today, and this is what I wish to do – help Sam with the cutting of the lawn.”
“Then, I reckon y’ can do it, sir.”
Frodo smiled. At that moment, Mrs. Gamgee placed his breakfast, consisting of eggs and buttered toast, in front of him. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“You’re welcome. Now, I know it ain’t rightly none of m’ business probably, but beggin’ your pardon, I wonder where your uncle gone off t’.”
“He’s probably in his study writing, ma’am. In fact, I believe that is what he said he meant to do today. He wishes not to be disturbed when he is in his study, as you know.”
“Yes, sir. Now, might you eat? Your breakfast will git cold.”
Frodo smiled and began to eat. Soon, he was done, and Sam was at the door holding two scythes. Frodo took one from him and headed off after saying, “Thank you again, Mrs. Gamgee.”
“You’re welcome. Be careful, you two!” she warned, her motherly instincts coming into play….
Frodo gripped the scythe in his hands after feeling the metal to make sure it was sharp enough. Then, he brought it back, high above him and whacked it down through the grass. The now loosed pieces of grass were picked up by the breeze that went by at the moment. A definite difference in length. Then, he took a step forward and repeated the process. A few minutes passed by and he wiped his brow and gazed toward Sam to see how he was doing. The lad did not even seem to be sweating, but then again, he was a great deal away.
“Mr. Frodo!” he called, and Frodo dropped his scythe and ran to his friend.
“Mr. Frodo,” Sam whispered into Frodo’s ear, and Frodo stirred. “I’ve a plan t’ git that Gollum. He’s nearby us, up in those cliffs, sir.”
“He is?” Frodo whispered back, eyes opening reluctantly.
“Yes, sir. Now, I figure we could act like we are sleepin’ an’ when he gets near enough, we could grab him and catch him.”
“Good plan, Sam.” Sam blushed. Frodo closed his weary eyes and began to drift off. He might never get time to rest again between this desolate place and his destination.
The End.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Thank you for reading. 🙂 Please, leave a review
