Dreams of Hope, Dreams of Despair
Author's Note: I am an addict of Frodo and Sam together, not as slash but as true friends. The last chapter of LotR has always broken my heart. I've already brought them back together in my story The Last of the Ringbearers, which tells of Sam's coming to Valinor. (Shameless plug.) This is an alternate ending to the story of these two hobbits, in which Frodo returns to the Shire after nine years of separation. This is completely AU, but I've done my best to justify my departure from the work of the master and make the premise of the story believable. I really just wanted a chance to write another reunion scene.
Disclaimer: I throw myself at the feet of the Master, the Creator, the Great One, our beloved J.R.R. Tolkien. He is the possessor of all that is great, glorious, and good. I am only playing with the wonderful world he made for us. All characters and settings shall be returned unbroken, I hope.
Chapter 1: In Dreams We Will Meet Again
"But in dreams
I still hear your name
And in dreams
We will meet again."
-In Dreams, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring Motion Picture Soundtrack
The sparkling, rippling, silvern song of flowing water wove itself in and out of Sam's dream, twining about him in a more tangled web than the twisted threads of story themselves. Soft tendrils of mist formed an ethereal carpet beneath his feet, and all the colors about him seemed muted, shrouded. Before him rose a great curling wave of fog, obscuring the other from sight. Sam blundered frantically through the thick, moist air, searching desperately for the mist-shrouded figure that he somehow knew would be standing somewhere nearby. All of a sudden, the mists lifted, and Sam gave a gasp of wonder as he saw the face of the other person standing there beside him. Frodo was smiling at him, smiling as he had not done since before the Quest. A pang of longing stabbed through Sam's heart as he thought back to those glad and carefree days. He remembered sitting for hours at the kitchen table in Bag End listening spellbound to old Bilbo's tales of the Elves, toasting chestnuts and apples on the wide, warm hearth with Frodo, walking all over the Shire at his friend's side. Frodo wrapped his arms around Sam, and embraced him tightly, whispering in his ear, "When the leaves turn to gold, look for me. I love you, Sam." And then just like the mist had moments before, he vanished.
***
Sam awoke with a start. He'd had the dream again, the dream with Frodo returning home to him. He gave a great, shuddering sigh, and roughly dashed the tears from his eyes. His master had been haunting his dreams for nearly a month now, and Rose was beginning to worry about him. He could see it in her eyes. To tell the truth, he was beginning to worry about himself. He got up and tiptoed past the room where Elanor, Frodo-lad, Merry, Pippin, and little Daisy in her cradle slept. He walked blearily into the warm, sunlit kitchen, where he sat in one of the old bentwood chairs.
He started a second time as someone knocked loudly on the door. Young Tim Smallburrow stood there, is hair in compete disarray, holding a large parchment letter sealed with wax and red ribbons clenched tightly in his plump little hand. The lad was positively squirming with excitement, but Sam gave him no chance to exercise it. He promptly shut the door in the hobbit boy's face, not caring about the rudeness of his actions, merely thankful that a reply had come at last. When he'd started having the strange dreams, he had written to King Elessar and Queen Arwen. At long last, their reply had arrived.
Queen Arwen Undómiel to Mayor Samwise of the Shire: Greetings.
My dear Samwise, it is eminently possible that Frodo is attempting to reach you through your dreams. This is an ancient magic, and is often the cause of what is known as foresight. Your companion Olórin, whom you knew as Gandalf, is a master of this particular form of communication, and it is probable that Frodo has achieved it with his help. I would suggest that you listen to what Frodo is trying to tell you. My best wishes are with both you and him.
Namárië,
A * U
Sam drew in a long, deep breath. Frodo was trying to speak to him. He felt rather as if he had seen a ghost. He sat in silence, trying to collect his wildly roiling thoughts. To find his master, friend, and dearest companion againwell, he had been dreaming of it for years! And somehow he knew, as surely as he knew his own name that he needed to be standing at the Grey Havens on the Twenty-second of September. He rose with a sigh, and went to go inform Rosie that he'd be taking a journey. He knew she would let him go, go to attempt to mend the heart that had lain riven in his breast since that fateful September day nine years before. And he went also to deliver his message of hope to his friends, who needed it as badly as he did.
***
"What! Sam, I know you want him to, but Frodo isn't coming back! I thought you'd moved on!" Pippin nearly exploded, feeling his own hard-won composure slipping as the subject of their long-absent friend was broached. Sam drew back a little, bit his body language spoke of nothing but determination.
Merry stepped to his friend's side, and murmured comfortingly, "Pip, I know it's hard to believe, but this isn't just some dream of Sam's. If the Queen thinks that it is important, well, she is the Lady Galadriel's granddaughter, after all. I'm sure she knows more about such things than we do."
Sam felt that it was high time he put in his oar. "It doesn't matter if it's true or not," he shouted. "What matters is that Frodo might come back! There is a chance, and I'm going to be there to greet him if he does come." His voice suddenly softened, becoming more than a little wistful. "It's a chance," he repeated.
"Yes, it is," Said Merry. "And we'll take it. Give it a go, Pip."
Pippin nodded his grudging agreement, internally promising himself that he was not going to get his hopes up only to have them dashed. If Sam wanted to break his heart all over again, well, that was his business. He wasn't going to get exited over a dream.
***
As twilight fell on the twentieth, Samwise Gamgee set out from Bag End, accompanied by Masters Meriadoc and Peregrin. The two youngest Travelers rode side by side, their gay laughter rising up to tickle the very stars. Sam, however said nothing. He almost envied Merry and Pippin their easy gaiety, which he seemed to lack. At the moment, his heart was troubled and pensive. "Any moment,' he thought, "any moment I may see Frodo. He could be back in Middle-earth. Butis he really coming?" He was assailed by doubt as he rode on into the Tower Hills, wondering if he was merely the victim of wishful thinking, or if it was possible that Frodo was really there. Was he a fool, to put so much meaning into a simple dream? He did not utter anything but monosyllables throughout the long ride, losing himself in his own dark and doubting thoughts.
***
The next night, as Pippin curled up beside the dying fire, Merry sat himself down beside Sam. "Do you really think he's coming?" he asked quietly. Sam only nodded. "Sam, I know you want to believe this dream, but what happens if it turns out to not be true? I've not forgotten the months after Frodo left. Can you stand to go through that again? Maybe you shouldn't be so sure. The higher they fly, the harder they fall.'
Sam looked up at his friend. "Merry, I have to believe the dream. Let me keep some hope, please. Hope is all that I have left, ever since he's been gone."
Merry shook his head, obviously worried. "Alright, Sam, you keep your hope. Just remember what I said." With that, he crawled into his own bedroll, which sprawled next to Pippin's, who was already snoring.
And so it was that three grey-clad hobbits, heavily laden with dreams, hopes, and many fears, rode up to the faintly shining gate of the Grey Havens just as the sun began to set on the Birthday of the Ringbearers. They clattered through the elaborately carved gateway and were confronted by the great vista of the sea stretching out before them. The blood-red sun was slowly being quenched in its foaming waves. The eerie wailing of the sea-mews struck a note of sorrow in the hearts of the three hobbits, who had not heard it since the Sailing of the Ringbearers, nine years ago that day. All the world seemed to be holding its breath, wondering what would came next, whether it would be joy or despair.