Dreaming at Dawn
by Diamond of Long Cleeve

Disclaimer: Frodo and Sam are not mine. Darn it!

She had floated into his mind like a dream.

On one of those last terrible days, before the Mountain and the fumes and the darkness had taken over. When his mouth had been so parched with thirst he couldn't swallow. When he and Frodo had huddled together in a small sweating heap, their bodies pressed so close that the smell of their skin was the only comforting sensation in a world become black and seared with pain. When he could no longer think of anything at all, just of getting himself and Mr Frodo doggedly step by step to that vast brooding shadow of a Mountain. And his will had driven his feet forward although he could no longer feel them.

The only reality was the Mountain, looming before them. And after that was only darkness.

And then, in dusty, parched fragments of dreams, he had seen her. Or thought he had. She appeared before him, standing as cool and fresh as a flower on a pitted crater of mud, her light brown curls blowing in a non-existent wind, the memory of a summer breeze from the Shire.

Oh, the plump softness of her mouth. And that cascade of soft ringlets down her back. Creamy skin. Strawberries and cream. A rose with dew fresh on its petals. She was a shimmering mirage. She was a summer meadow. She was the Shire. She was his Rose.

Sam, she cried. Oh, come back, love, I'm waiting for you.

Rosie, he had whispered, his voice cracked.

Ah ... now he remembered. Bathing in the pool at Bywater, sunlight glittering on the water, him and Rosie and her brothers and his sister Marigold, all shrieking and splashing each other on a summer's afternoon ...

Rosie!

'Rosie!'

Sam woke suddenly, in a sweat. He had thought he heard someone calling. He clutched at his neck, fumbling for he didn't know what. The Ring! Where was the Ring?

He stared about him. The room was full of cool blue light. Silver was gently flooding through the great window. He could feel his heart beating. And suddenly he was awake, properly.

'Stupid ninnyhammer,' he muttered crossly. 'Daft dreams ... dreaming about that blasted Ring.'

He scowled to himself. This was not the first time he had dreamt of being burdened with the Ring, having to carry it himself across the wastes of the Black Land.

'You're burnt and gone, you cursed thing,' whispered Sam fiercely into the blue air. 'So don't you come back and trouble me nor my master no more.'

Across the room, Frodo murmured in his sleep. Sam rubbed his own sleep from his eyes. Frodo was moving underneath the sheets restlessly, moaning slightly. Sam studied him. Swiftly he rose from his own bed and trotted across the room, glancing again at the window. A light breeze stirred the curtain. The growing light heralded dawn. It must be about half past four, Sam reckoned. He yawned.

He sat down gingerly on the edge of Frodo's bed and gazed tenderly and thoughtfully at his sleeping master, who was still muttering, his eyelids twitching. His breath was coming in short panting moans.

Sam reached out his hand and gently laid his fingers on the top of Frodo's head, in a calming gesture.

'Frodo,' he whispered. 'Hush now.'

Frodo suddenly groaned out loud and twisted away from Sam's hand. 'No,' he moaned into the pillow. 'No - don't let them - no - get away from me - don't touch me.'

He was struggling against a hot dark swirl of nothingness, fighting his way up, as if he was drowning ...

'Frodo ... Mr Frodo. Wake up. Wake up now, sir.'

Arms were round him. He was shuddering and gasping, as the dream broke, fragmented, became grey morning light.

'It's all right, master. Your Sam's here. Hush now.'

Sturdy arms encircled him, solid and comforting. Frodo continued to gasp and shudder, but gradually his ragged breathing steadied. Without realizing it, he clutched at Sam, and Sam held him close, and then Frodo's body went limp in Sam's arms.

Sam rocked him gently, child-like. 'You were having a nightmare,' he whispered.

Frodo groaned. 'Yes. And it's still all around me. The foul taste of it. The Orcs ...' his voice trembled. 'I could feel them, Sam ... smell them ...'

'Hush now, sir. Don't think of it. They've gone. They can't hurt you no more.'

'Yes, gone,' said Frodo. 'All gone. They must have all died in Mordor. Sauron's troops. They're ashes and dust. Consumed in flames.' His voice rose unsteadily.

'Sssssh.' Sam stroked his hair. Frodo buried his head in Sam's shoulder and his body shook.

They lay together quietly, Sam continuing to stroke Frodo's hair. Dark curls against sandy curls, white silk against cream linen.

The light grew stronger. Birds were singing in the dawn. A cockerel crowed, somewhere down in a lower circle of the City. The two hobbits, motionless for a while on the bed, watched the pale light spill into the white bedroom.

'It's Mid-Year's Day,' murmured Frodo, his head cradled against Sam's breast.

'Aye,' said Sam. 'And the weddin'.'

'The wedding of weddings. A wonderful day is ahead of us,' said Frodo. 'For us, and for the City.'

A chuckle rumbled in Sam's chest.

'What?' said Frodo, amused.

'I was remembering Gimli and the Lord Eomer arguing last night,' chuckled Sam, 'while we was banqueting in the Hall of Feasts. They was having that argument again about the Lady Galadriel being the fairest lady who lives and how Gimli had wagered he would make Eomer eat his words. It was all in jest, like. The Lord Faramir was sayin' how he would have to join in the wager too, because he saw the Lady Galadriel in the procession last night and he agreed with Gimli and you and me, that she was the fairest thing he had ever seen, but he told them both that their wager weren't valid until they had seen the Queen Evenstar today in her wedding finery, and and then he said that anyhow his White Lady of Rohan was the fairest lady on the earth, so the wager was off after all. You should have heard them. I think Master Gimli had had plenty to drink by that time.'

Frodo laughed. 'Oh, I heard every word of that conversation. And I couldn't help noticing that the Lord Eomer's chalice was deliberately kept half full while he and Faramir kept on generously replenishing Gimli's glass! But honestly. How can you compare the beauty of the Morning with the beauty of the Evening? Galadriel is the fairest lady to live on the earth. And so is Queen Arwen. But it's quite impossible to compare the two.'

He fell silent. He was thinking of the depths of Galadriel's eyes, of her grave and glittering gaze above the rippling water of the Mirror. And then he remembered the way in which Arwen's calm grey eyes had pierced his heart, when he had first seen her in the Hall of Fire at Rivendell. There was a whole world within their eyes: Arwen's and Galadriel's. Ageless wisdom, and power, and something else ... something which touched the wounded soul, as if one had been touched deep inside by light.

Sam was quiet too. But he was thinking not of the Queen's raven-black tresses or Galadriel's waterfall of silver-gold hair but of Rosie Cotton's cloud-soft billowing curls.

Frodo stirred, and Sam loosened his clasp around him. They both sat up, stretching and yawning, and Frodo lay back with a relaxed thump among his pillows. His face was pale and tired, with dark shadows beneath his eyes, but he looked more peaceful. He watched the pale light grow stronger in the room.

'Bilbo hasn't come,' he said, his brow furrowing. 'I was longing to see him. I asked the Lord Elrond about it. He said Bilbo was very peaceful, but too tired now to make a long journey.

'He'll want to write all about it when we comes back,' said Sam, comfortingly. He too had been puzzled - and troubled - by Old Mr Bilbo's absence among the wedding party which had arrived the previous night, but he didn't want Mr Frodo fretting about it. It was not a day to be troubled by dark thoughts or dreams.

'Indeed not,' said Frodo. 'Away with them.'

'How did you know what I was thinking?' exclaimed Sam, astonished.

'Sometimes I sense things,' said Frodo, smiling slightly.

Sam pressed a light kiss to Frodo's hand, shaking his head.

Frodo yawned and stretched his arms luxuriantly above his head. 'I'm so tired but I'm not sleepy,' he said. 'There's so much to look forward to today.' His eyes were bright and restless. He sat up suddenly. 'I want to look out over the City as the sun rises, Sam. Will you come with me?'

'I will,' said Sam. 'But just you be sure to get some kip for a couple of hours before we have to be up and stirring again.'

Frodo patted his hand. 'My caretaker,' he said, smiling.

The house where the Hobbits were staying was in the second highest circle of the city, close by the Houses of Healing. This was a location particularly appreciated by Merry, who still liked to wander in the Gardens of Healing He was, in fact, garnering much herblore from the loquacious herbmaster and, of course, the wise woman Ioreth, whose chatter seemed to amuse Master Meriadoc as much as it informed him. He reckoned she talked more than old Barliman Butterbur at Bree, and that was saying something.

The Hobbits were situated, naturally enough, on the first floor. Both Frodo and Sam's room, and Merry and Pippin's, faced south-west, looking towards the River and far-distant Pelagir, which could be seen on a clear day.

The house was still asleep. No sound came from Gandalf's room - Frodo suspected that he wasn't there anyway. He was probably up and about somewhere on wedding business. Soft breathing could be heard from Merry and Pippin's room. Quietly, not making a sound, Frodo and Sam padded through the cool hallway and out through the front door.

The house was on a raised level above the Wall, so they had a wonderfully clear view of the Anduin, and the mountains beyond, over the white domes and turrets of the seven-circled city. The front courtyard had a little alcove and they sat themselves there, shivering a little in the fresh morning, wrapped in their elven cloaks which caught in their shimmering folds the clear light of dawn like pale water.

Several leagues away, the broad silver gleam of the Great River wound its way into vague distances towards the flat horizon where the Sea waited. Gulls wheeled and cried over the city and darted away again. They were a long way from the sea, Frodo thought, away from their true home. But then, so was he.

A golden light glowed over the Ephel D?ath far away. The sunlight first broke like a wave upon the dark teeth of the mountains: then the Sun arose, emerging from a dusky pink bank of clouds, and Arien's chariot climbed into the sky.

'Oh,' said Frodo softly.

He looked above and around him. Behind the city rose Mindolluin's great blue purple-shadowed mass, scarfed with snow and veiled with clouds. Frodo strained his eyes. His breath caught in his throat. Yes - there were Eagles circling around the very crown of the mountain, dark shapes gliding effortlessly on the upcurrents.

'Sam,' he whispered, clutching Sam's arm, 'Look. Look there. Our friends the Eagles.'

Sam drew a breath. 'Well, I never,' he said. 'Do you think they've come to watch over the City, like?'

'On this day of days, I'm sure they have,' said Frodo. 'Do you know, Sam, that Faramir told me that he and the Lady Eowyn heard an Eagle sing, the day that Sauron fell? It came flying over the City, and it was singing. It was singing. I wonder which one it was? Gwaihir and his brothers.'

'They're marvellous creatures, so they are, Mr Frodo,' said Sam reverently, watching the Eagles.

Both hobbits were gazing up towards Mindolluin still when soaring above them in the Citadel the pearl-white Tower of Ecthelion flushed gold, painted by the first fingers of sunlight.

'What a sight that is,' said Frodo. 'I want to hold it in my heart forever.'

'The banners are breaking all over the city now, Mr Frodo,' said Sam breathlessly, looking about him. 'I can hear people coming and going. Yes, the Guards are up. What a day this is going to be!'

'And thank the Lady of the Stars that we have lived to see it, Samwise.'

'At one point, sir, I didn't think we would.'

'You never lost hope, though.' Frodo looked down and pressed Sam's hand. 'You had enough hope for the both of us.'

'Just about, Mr Frodo,' said Sam. 'Just about.'

Frodo smiled and turned his gaze away to the Anduin once more. Sam watched him. All the shadows had fled from Frodo's face He looked peaceful and calm again, Sam's serene young master. Not quite so young-looking now, but just as beautiful.

'Have those bad dreams gone now?' said Sam.

Frodo nodded slowly. 'In this fair city, in this place of healing, the bad dreams don't last long. The light has driven them away.' He glanced at Sam. 'They might return, you know,' he said frankly.

Sam's throat felt tight. 'I realize that, Mr Frodo. I saw what that thing did to you.'

'But we're alive,' said Frodo. 'We're here. We got through.'

'It'll take us a little time to get it all, Mr Frodo,' said Sam. 'And being here has surely helped. And once we get home, it'll be easier still.'

Frodo sighed. 'I'm not sure, Sam. Somehow I think coming home will be hard for us: I'm not sure why. But don't let's think of that today. Let's just enjoy each moment as it comes.'

Sam fidgeted. Frodo glanced at him. He seemed to be pondering something. 'Sam?' he said questioningly.

'Ah, it's nothing,' said Sam. 'It's just that - I had my dreams too. Not bad ones. I mean, they were good dreams in a bad place. I had them in the Black Land. Sort of kept me going, as you might say.'

Frodo's gaze became very attentive. He said nothing, but his blue gaze on Sam was warm and affectionate.

Sam said finally, 'I had dreams about Rosie.'

'Rose Cotton,' said Frodo. 'Well, that doesn't entirely surprise me.'

'Not that she's exactly my Rose,' mumbled Sam. 'I didn't have time to ask her before I left, see.' His words seemed to be coming out in a rush, and his thoughts were even swifter. Ah, Rosie ... she might have been his Rose, if only he'd asked, he was sure of it. But he'd had a job to do first. And now it was done, and his master was safe, and the world was safe, and he could dream of her again. If it wasn't too late, that was.

Frodo looked demure. 'I'm sure that Miss Cotton would be most interested in the return of Samwise the Stout-hearted. Especially when she sees him dressed in the garb of the King's realm.'

'Oh really, Mr Frodo,' said Sam, embarrassed. 'Samwise the Stout-hearted,' he muttered, grinning and shaking his head. 'Well, I dunno about that, in all truth. I dunno if she'll be pleased to see me back. I've been away too long.'

Frodo's smile faded. He gazed at Sam.

'I'm sorry,' he said.

Sam looked up. His master's face was pale and wan. The sensitive features were sharply profiled in the morning sun. Frodo was pale and handsome -- although still too thin for Sam's liking. They had been to practically every feast in Minas Tirith for weeks because Merry and Pippin insisted on fattening Frodo up. But he was still too thin for a hobbit.

'You were away too long looking after me,' said Frodo, unsmiling.

Sam looked at him in wonderment. 'Well, there wasn't no other choice, was there?' he said. 'Neither of us could help it that the road was so dark.'

'No,' said Frodo. His voice was sad and gentle. 'No, we couldn't help that. And but for you, Samwise, I would have died.'

Sam's throat felt tight again. 'Don't talk of it, Mr Frodo. I'd do it all again.'

Frodo put his arm about Sam and rested his head on his shoulder. 'My dear Sam,' he said simply.

Then he raised his head and smiled as he drew a deep breath. 'Well,' he said. 'The city is stirring and I think I need to sleep again for a bit. I feel very tired, after all the feasting last night, and because of not sleeping too well in the early hours. And Merry said he wanted to be up and about by eight.'

'And Mr Pippin's got his morning duties,' said Sam.

'We've got our wedding gear all ready, haven't we?' said Frodo. 'The clothes Lady Eowyn had made for us.'

'All pressed and hanging up with not a spot or a wrinkle on 'em, sir.'

'It's going to be such a glorious day,' said Frodo.

Back inside their bedroom, Sam watched his master fall asleep, as he had done countless times. Frodo's face was peaceful. He was soon breathing quietly and easily, all traces of sorrow and pain in his face now smoothed away.

The morning sunlight flooded the room with gold and gilded Frodo's sleeping face. Sam reached over and kissed his brow.

'Sweet dreams, Frodo,' he whispered. 'May we both find our hearts' desires, you and me. Sweet dreams.'

As sleep also took him, once more Master Samwise dreamed of his Rose.

Text © Diamond of Long Cleeve