1 Walk On
Part 2: Nightmares
[NOTE: Italics indicate dreaming.]
The rest of the night passed uneventfully for Frodo. The supper was wonderful – a meat stew with vegetables – and far better than anything he ever had with the Boffins. The bath he also found wonderfully refreshing.
Twilight had enclosed upon Middle Earth when Bilbo finally forced Frodo to go to bed. He argued that he was a tweenager, that he was fifteen years old, that he didn't need to go to bed, and that he wasn't tired, but it was to no avail.
"I'm sorry, dearest Frodo, but what would your relatives say if I kept you up to the wee hours of the night?" Bilbo asked.
Frodo attempted a smile as he trudged off to bed. "Good night!" Bilbo called after him. Frodo bid him a good night and went into his room.
The bed was neatly made, and the small circular window near it was open. Fresh, cool night air was flowing into the room. He walked over to the chest of drawers and pulled out a freshly cleaned nightshirt. He slipped into it and crawled into bed.
He closed his eyes, trying to drift off into sleep. He could not rid the thoughts that flooded his mind. A feeling of dread was upon him in knowing that he only had thirteen full days left at Bag End. After that, it was back to his life - a living, breathing nightmare.
Frodo was never one to have feelings of pity for himself, and for that reason he complained never about his life to Bilbo. He was also, however, frightened for himself. Sometimes he found himself wondering if he would live to see the next day. He knew that was a ridiculous thought, but at times the beatings were so bad that he wondered.
Whenever these thoughts crept into his mind, he would push them out. He thought himself incredibly selfish for even thinking such things. It wasn't so bad after all, was it?
He rolled over onto his side and fell into a reluctant slumber.
***
1.1 "Are you working out there, boy?" Frodo could hear him calling, and he was very suddenly deadly afraid…
"Yes, yes I am!" he shouted back. He bent over to pick a long weed that was sticking out of the garden ground.
There was rustling…he was coming…quickly Frodo dropped to his knees and desperately picked weeds out of the ground…he was working…
Sweat started to pour down his face as he neared…in the past seconds he had made a large heap of sickly weeds next to his feet.
He was standing over Frodo now, watching him work…Frodo quickly and earnestly picked at the weeds. The pricklers on them were starting to cut painfully into his fingers…blood was flowing freely now…
"Can you not work any faster?" he barked.
"I'm trying," said Frodo with a tint of anger in his voice. He immediately regretted his tone…hoping beyond hope that he hadn't caught it…
But he had. There was a sharp blow against the back of Frodo's head, and he grabbed him by the top of his curly head, dragging him up to his feet.
Frodo saw Griffo's face clearly - large, fat, and oily, mumbling some words at him, occasionally hitting him across the face or pulling at his hair. He could hear his own voice, begging him to stop and leave him alone…but then he fell to the ground…how strange… he continued to fall beyond the ground, and he could still hear himself calling for help….
***
"Frodo…you're safe, I'm here…" Frodo could hear the voice, seemingly so far off, yet so close…
"What?" Frodo heard himself say. His voice was hoarse and he nearly choked when the words came out. "Who…where…?", Frodo opened his eyes. The world was spinning and he felt slightly sick. He could see Bilbo standing over him, his kindly face creased in worry.
"I could hear you screaming down the hall, my dear boy," he said softly. "Whatever were you dreaming about?"
Frodo could feel himself blushing. He sat up quickly, eyeing Bilbo. He could see the fear and concern in his eyes.
"I…" Frodo started, but then faltered. He didn't know what to tell his dear uncle. "I…I…didn't mean to startle you, I'm sorry…what time is it?"
"It's nearly three in the morning," Bilbo said gently. "Don't worry over me, dear Frodo, for I am more concerned about you than I am with myself."
Frodo felt the fear from the dream start to dissipate…the corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile. "Thank you, Bilbo, I'm very thankful for that…"
"There's no need to thank me," he replied with a kind smile. "Now, why don't you tell me what your dream was about?"
At this Frodo paused. "I was falling," he said faintly, "and it wouldn't stop. Someone was yelling at me and…" He stopped, unable to continue. The memories were too painful…he couldn't let Bilbo know…
Bilbo sighed and sat on the edge of Frodo's bed. He put his arms around Frodo's shoulders, and Frodo leaned against him, feeling very at ease.
"You do know that you can tell me anything?" Bilbo asked quietly. Frodo nodded.
"I know, Bilbo, but I can't remember what terrified me so…." Frodo said. "I would just like to try to go back to sleep, even if I cannot. I am very tired."
Bilbo hesitated for a moment, but then carefully pushed Frodo back down into the bed. He drew the covers up over him, and Frodo closed his eyes, breathing softly and slowly. Bilbo leaned over him and placed a soft kiss on his brow.
"Sleep well," Bilbo said, "or at least as well as you can."
"You too, Uncle," Frodo said.
Bilbo got up off the bed and walked over to the door of the small room. Frodo rolled over, trying to get into a comfortable position. Bilbo hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but then left, shutting the door swiftly behind him.
Frodo immediately opened his eyes. He knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep any more that night. He was often plagued with nightmares, but never at Bag End.
He hated the nightmares. They seemed so real. Sometimes they were of his parents dying, or of his tormentors at 'home.' Sometimes he even saw Bilbo hitting him across the head, telling him he was no good….
He shook that out of his head, instead trying to concentrate on something else…one of Bilbo's tales, anything else…
But he could not forget. Nothing could make him forget.
He felt ashamed of himself, ashamed that he had screamed aloud that night. He felt ashamed of everything.
He lived in fear of his relatives, even his dear Uncle Bilbo sometimes. At times Griffo was nice enough to him, but at others he would beat him mercilessly. If he wasn't working hard enough, as in his dream, he would be beat. If he said something out of place, he would be locked up. If he said something spiteful to his cousins, Griffo and Daisy's children, he would be starved for days at a time. Bilbo often commented on how underweight he was. He had always been a bit thin, but he had started to lose a tremendous amount of weight recently. He didn't want to tell his uncle because he didn't want to worry him. But he was also scared for himself, and what Griffo would do to him if he told Bilbo what Griffo did to him. He didn't know what to do, and he was scared.
He stared up at the ceiling, thankful that he was there to stay and be safe – at least for a little while.
Part 2: Nightmares
[NOTE: Italics indicate dreaming.]
The rest of the night passed uneventfully for Frodo. The supper was wonderful – a meat stew with vegetables – and far better than anything he ever had with the Boffins. The bath he also found wonderfully refreshing.
Twilight had enclosed upon Middle Earth when Bilbo finally forced Frodo to go to bed. He argued that he was a tweenager, that he was fifteen years old, that he didn't need to go to bed, and that he wasn't tired, but it was to no avail.
"I'm sorry, dearest Frodo, but what would your relatives say if I kept you up to the wee hours of the night?" Bilbo asked.
Frodo attempted a smile as he trudged off to bed. "Good night!" Bilbo called after him. Frodo bid him a good night and went into his room.
The bed was neatly made, and the small circular window near it was open. Fresh, cool night air was flowing into the room. He walked over to the chest of drawers and pulled out a freshly cleaned nightshirt. He slipped into it and crawled into bed.
He closed his eyes, trying to drift off into sleep. He could not rid the thoughts that flooded his mind. A feeling of dread was upon him in knowing that he only had thirteen full days left at Bag End. After that, it was back to his life - a living, breathing nightmare.
Frodo was never one to have feelings of pity for himself, and for that reason he complained never about his life to Bilbo. He was also, however, frightened for himself. Sometimes he found himself wondering if he would live to see the next day. He knew that was a ridiculous thought, but at times the beatings were so bad that he wondered.
Whenever these thoughts crept into his mind, he would push them out. He thought himself incredibly selfish for even thinking such things. It wasn't so bad after all, was it?
He rolled over onto his side and fell into a reluctant slumber.
***
1.1 "Are you working out there, boy?" Frodo could hear him calling, and he was very suddenly deadly afraid…
"Yes, yes I am!" he shouted back. He bent over to pick a long weed that was sticking out of the garden ground.
There was rustling…he was coming…quickly Frodo dropped to his knees and desperately picked weeds out of the ground…he was working…
Sweat started to pour down his face as he neared…in the past seconds he had made a large heap of sickly weeds next to his feet.
He was standing over Frodo now, watching him work…Frodo quickly and earnestly picked at the weeds. The pricklers on them were starting to cut painfully into his fingers…blood was flowing freely now…
"Can you not work any faster?" he barked.
"I'm trying," said Frodo with a tint of anger in his voice. He immediately regretted his tone…hoping beyond hope that he hadn't caught it…
But he had. There was a sharp blow against the back of Frodo's head, and he grabbed him by the top of his curly head, dragging him up to his feet.
Frodo saw Griffo's face clearly - large, fat, and oily, mumbling some words at him, occasionally hitting him across the face or pulling at his hair. He could hear his own voice, begging him to stop and leave him alone…but then he fell to the ground…how strange… he continued to fall beyond the ground, and he could still hear himself calling for help….
***
"Frodo…you're safe, I'm here…" Frodo could hear the voice, seemingly so far off, yet so close…
"What?" Frodo heard himself say. His voice was hoarse and he nearly choked when the words came out. "Who…where…?", Frodo opened his eyes. The world was spinning and he felt slightly sick. He could see Bilbo standing over him, his kindly face creased in worry.
"I could hear you screaming down the hall, my dear boy," he said softly. "Whatever were you dreaming about?"
Frodo could feel himself blushing. He sat up quickly, eyeing Bilbo. He could see the fear and concern in his eyes.
"I…" Frodo started, but then faltered. He didn't know what to tell his dear uncle. "I…I…didn't mean to startle you, I'm sorry…what time is it?"
"It's nearly three in the morning," Bilbo said gently. "Don't worry over me, dear Frodo, for I am more concerned about you than I am with myself."
Frodo felt the fear from the dream start to dissipate…the corners of his mouth tugged up into a smile. "Thank you, Bilbo, I'm very thankful for that…"
"There's no need to thank me," he replied with a kind smile. "Now, why don't you tell me what your dream was about?"
At this Frodo paused. "I was falling," he said faintly, "and it wouldn't stop. Someone was yelling at me and…" He stopped, unable to continue. The memories were too painful…he couldn't let Bilbo know…
Bilbo sighed and sat on the edge of Frodo's bed. He put his arms around Frodo's shoulders, and Frodo leaned against him, feeling very at ease.
"You do know that you can tell me anything?" Bilbo asked quietly. Frodo nodded.
"I know, Bilbo, but I can't remember what terrified me so…." Frodo said. "I would just like to try to go back to sleep, even if I cannot. I am very tired."
Bilbo hesitated for a moment, but then carefully pushed Frodo back down into the bed. He drew the covers up over him, and Frodo closed his eyes, breathing softly and slowly. Bilbo leaned over him and placed a soft kiss on his brow.
"Sleep well," Bilbo said, "or at least as well as you can."
"You too, Uncle," Frodo said.
Bilbo got up off the bed and walked over to the door of the small room. Frodo rolled over, trying to get into a comfortable position. Bilbo hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something, but then left, shutting the door swiftly behind him.
Frodo immediately opened his eyes. He knew that he wouldn't be able to sleep any more that night. He was often plagued with nightmares, but never at Bag End.
He hated the nightmares. They seemed so real. Sometimes they were of his parents dying, or of his tormentors at 'home.' Sometimes he even saw Bilbo hitting him across the head, telling him he was no good….
He shook that out of his head, instead trying to concentrate on something else…one of Bilbo's tales, anything else…
But he could not forget. Nothing could make him forget.
He felt ashamed of himself, ashamed that he had screamed aloud that night. He felt ashamed of everything.
He lived in fear of his relatives, even his dear Uncle Bilbo sometimes. At times Griffo was nice enough to him, but at others he would beat him mercilessly. If he wasn't working hard enough, as in his dream, he would be beat. If he said something out of place, he would be locked up. If he said something spiteful to his cousins, Griffo and Daisy's children, he would be starved for days at a time. Bilbo often commented on how underweight he was. He had always been a bit thin, but he had started to lose a tremendous amount of weight recently. He didn't want to tell his uncle because he didn't want to worry him. But he was also scared for himself, and what Griffo would do to him if he told Bilbo what Griffo did to him. He didn't know what to do, and he was scared.
He stared up at the ceiling, thankful that he was there to stay and be safe – at least for a little while.