Disclaimers: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. J.R.R. Tolkien does.
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My details and descriptions have been a bit on and off recently. I'm going to attempt to get it back once again. And in order to do that, why not have a character-driven story to go off of. With that, I present to you this story, where Frodo is alone most of the time with his thoughts. Should be interesting…
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Frodo slept fitfully that night. It had been a day since the wizard in the grey robes and grey brimmed hat, Gandalf the Grey, left Bag End for information – maybe? It didn't matter because the second Frodo's head hit the pillow, he dreamt of being in a setting with lavish gold walls of stone and marble. The soft rugs were also gold, while the floor shone clear as crystal. There was so much food. Red juicy strawberries, bluish blueberries, red soft cherries that weren't too sweet, and scores of orange crisp carrots and green vegetables, to the meats that were well done and pulled apart in one's mouth. The punch fizzed with intricate delight. Oh, his mouth watered at the thought… and it wasn't over. There were various cakes that were moist and sweet in his mouth. Oh, he wanted it all, but he couldn't…
"Frodo?" said a feminine beauty with dark hair and a warm smile. Her dress was red, red as the sweet raspberry pie.
Frodo's eyes shot open. Was someone calling his name? No. He was back inside his curved drywall bedroom, where the walls were painted beige, the vases were designed with flowers, complete with green plants of all shapes and sizes. Even his oak writing desk and beige dresser still shone the simplicity, compared to the dream he just endured… eh, loved. But what did he know? He was alone… alone…
Alone. All alone? Where was everybody? Did they forget about him? Surely not. Everything looked the same. Everything looked… normal. No wait. He was alone. At least his bed still felt soft and warm. The sheets were white, but warm to the touch and comforting. The cover retained that deep red color, but had the appeal of a juicy red apple or a delicate red rose… yes, the red rose. He glimpsed at the window. The full moon shone through so bright and livid. Yes, it was time to go to sleep now…
The next dream Frodo endured was different in tone. There were black drapes along the windows. The moon was large and full, enough to reveal the many grey craters on its surface. The night was young, but growing old. The window was so long, complete with its square oak frames, painted a light brown shade. He didn't want to leave, and yet… there was that dark-haired woman. She was pale. As pale as the moonlight. Again, she was dressed in red, but this dress was flowing along her body, as opposed to poofy, like it was in the first dream.
"Frodo…" the woman's voice… it was livid… it was flowing like a great ocean… it was… it was…
Frodo's eyes snapped open. The moon had moved back away. He lay back, looking up at the curved ceiling, set right by the large dark oak beams. He loved Bag End and all its essence, all its being. The house was alive. He knew it was. The only thing that didn't make sense were the dreams he was having. He needed to get up… and he did, rushing into the bathroom with his head swelling from the dream he had. He finished up, returning to his bedroom and not resting until he was back in bed, his mind slipping quickly into the folds of another dream…
His third one was much more different. Very cute and fluffy. He was caught in the darkness. There was the moon again, moving a little further back. All around him was a green forest with a blue hazy fog. The fog had an inky grey tone, but it was enough for him to see through. Just what was in this fog he didn't understand.
"Whoa!" He cried, jumping back enough for scores of white bunnies to move past him. Wait. Bunnies? He meant rabbits, surely. No, his mind was giving him the signal and in a hot flash. They were bunny rabbits. He couldn't shake off the thought. There was the woman again, draped in a white silk and dressed in a red gown. The red looked more like blood, deep as red and dark as night. She looked menacing, and yet her hands pressed against his cheeks like ice.
"Frodo…" the woman's cries were heard once more. Only Frodo found himself slipping into a coma-like sleep. He couldn't wake up. He was trapped. The woman was still there, still present. She extended her hand out to him. "Come with me. Trust me."
There was a reluctance in Frodo's eyes. A reluctance on whether or not to trust the only woman who put him into a coma, and then not tell him why… or perhaps he was bound to figure it out on his own. He didn't know which was real and which…
"Come on," the woman persisted, keeping her hand stretched out in front of him.
"Why should I trust you? Will I get out of this coma?" Frodo asked, curious but also concerned. Very concerned. How was he to get home?
"You'll just have to trust me," the woman said, her grey eyes gazing into his blue ones. Frodo heaved a sigh. He didn't have a choice.
"All right," he said, taking her hand. In one easy effort, he was brought to another location. There were the rabbits again. Only they looked different. And there were so many of them.
"Would you like to know what they are?" the woman asked him. Frodo didn't know how to respond. The woman answered instead. "Plot bunnies. They take every good story and twist it in such a way that one can never tell what they'll do next. It's quite intriguing."
"I'm not following," he said, uttering a true statement.
"That's because you don't know the true nature of dreams, yet," the woman insisted. "Here. You are in deep sleep and what may seem like two hours will only be five minutes. Trust me. This won't take long." She moved her free hand in the air. "I'd like to take you to another location, one where you'll see how the dreams are done."
"How—" Too late. Frodo was jerked forward. He was back in the lavish foyer with the grand staircase behind him, draped in gold wreaths and garland, and as white as marble. It truly was a wonder to behold, but not as wonderful as the grand ballroom, with all its gold embroidered curtains and lavish balcony. And there was the banquet, complete with its buffet tables and chairs. Oh, how he wanted to eat… no! The woman grabbed his hand. "Ow! What the—"
"Shush!" the woman shushed him with an index finger on her red as rose lips. "Come with me. Now. I have something else to show you." She reached for him, pulling him towards a makeshift bulletin board. Frodo was stunned, as soon as he got his bearings. There was a diagram mapping itself out in white chalk, or so he knew it was chalk… wait. How did he know this? But there it was, making out circles, attached to lines.
"What is this?" Frodo asked the woman, confused.
"This is the dream world. And this is what I've been meaning to show you," the woman answered, pointing to the diagram. "This is what we call a Venn Diagram, in this case mapping out the dream world as we speak. You see dreams aren't always what they're meant to show. Sometimes the dream connects with other dreams. And if one goes into the dream world long enough, they will see the good and the bad that the dream world has to offer. Sometimes we won't get the full story in one sitting. Other times we will, but that isn't always easy." She added with uncertainty, but knowing too, "And here is where our paths meet. I am Snow White and you have entered my dream. But now it is time that you must leave me alone and this dream, or I fear you won't wake up. Do you understand?"
"You're Snow White." Frodo was baffled, but in a good way. Was he supposed to know her? "How do I know you? How is this possible?"
"It was only a matter of time before you found out. But now you must leave. I will show you the way." Snow took his hand, guiding him out of the ballroom and into a dark room, where a bed, the same bed Frodo slept in, and was still sleeping in, was present. He wanted to say some more things to Snow, tell her how much he cared… nope. He couldn't say that. He was pulled onto the bed, back to the dream world…
His eyes shot open. It was daylight. He was in his bed, sweating bullets. It hadn't been five minutes… how long had he been asleep? His eyes were adjusting. The moon was still full. It was still nightfall. He felt his forehead. It was so hot. His heartrate sped up. He needed to relax. He needed to get back to sleep. He needed water, but he felt rested. Rested enough to go back to sleep. Water sounded good right now. He got up, moved into the kitchen with its sink, the fireplace that was now doused, and the glasses. He pulled one out from the cupboard, filled its contents with pure, crystal liquid and drank until his insides weren't so heated. He felt better now. Better enough to fall back to sleep.
And he slept peacefully that night, with one more long dream involving him and Samwise Gamgee, a brown-haired hobbit, out in Bag End's garden, planting rose seeds and drizzling them with fresh, clean water. It was a good dream that made all the difference in the world. Frodo wouldn't have traded it for anything, and that was good. It was good enough to rouse him, welcoming the morning air as any hobbit should. And that was all right with him.
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Thanks for reading. :)