In His Worst Nightmare
sam
In his worst nightmare he had to fight his way through heaps of stinking, blood-soaked orc carcasses, with Sting glowing a faint blue sheen in his trembling grip. Through dim passages strewn with more mangled bodies, his feet squelching in thick puddles of blood; up steep staircases, stepping on armor-plated dead orcs, he struggled on. The putrid stench of the place and his own growing sense of despair dried his mouth and made his limbs weak, but he carried on. The noise of fighting orcs had died down and the place was still, save for the faint crackle of the crude torches along the wall. He paused on doorways of shadowy rooms furnished with lengths of coarse ropes, thick chains and rusty manacles hung from mysterious wheels and pulleys, while whips and clubs lay on floors black with dried blood. Bile rose in his throat as he imagined what the orcs would have, could have done to Frodo in the time it took him wandering lost in the bewildering maze of the Tower of Cirith Ungol. He shook his head to clear the image and steeled himself to go on.
Until he found the ladder to the trapdoor on the ceiling. He climbed up, still carrying Sting in one hand. His head emerged in a room lit with blood-red fire, with two more dead orcs on the floor before him. He pulled himself up cautiously but nothing stirred in the room. Then he saw Frodo.
The Ring-bearer looked so small curled up on top of a heap of filthy rags damp from vomit and urine and blood. He approached slowly, horribly dreading what he would find. As he knelt near the broken body, he began to sob uncontrollably. Revulsion and shock paralyzed him and he could not make himself touch the maimed remains of his master. Somehow he knew, without having to see it, that Frodo's fair face had been savagely mutilated, that the orcs had inflicted a horrible number of wounds on his body, wounds designed to cause him the utmost pain so that the only option for him was to take the lightless paths into death. He was dimly aware that he deserved a punishment for abandoning his master, for not doing what he had sworn to do, to stand between Frodo and aught that might try to harm him. But even his guilt was submerged by the dark, cold knowledge that Frodo had died.
Rose—awakened by his thrashing and sobs—always rescued him from the nightmare by soothing words and gentle arms around his shaking body. It always took him a while to realize that he was lying safe and comfortable on the soft feather-bed in his room, with warmth spreading from the fire across the room, and Rose's comforting presence beside him. The dream was always so vivid, leaving him with a chilling sense of loss that only the Sun and a hard day in the garden could dispel, but he always remained subdued and somber a day or two afterward.
But there were nights when he had vague, gentle dreams that left him with a sense of peaceful restedness upon waking. He remembered nothing of those dreams, save the smell of the Sea and Frodo's smiling face when he said, quite clearly, "Your time may come. Do not be too sad, Sam."
There were always tears in his eyes when he woke from those dreams, but not tears of sorrow. And when he worked on his flower beds later, he would often pause and realize with a smile that he had been singing.
A/N: When I began to write Sam's nightmare I realized that Sam saw little actual torture when he entered the Tower of Cirith Ungol, and since dreams oft consist of memories, I had very little to go on and my spirit flagged. But when I was re-reading the book to get the feel of the interior of the tower, I came across these passages:
"…the orc-cries came from the tower… Sam shuddered and tried to force himself to move. There was plainly some devilry going on. Perhaps in spite of all orders the cruelty of the orcs had mastered them, and they were tormenting Frodo, or even savagely hacking him to pieces…
…He would have welcomed a fight—with not too many enemies at a time—rather than this hideous brooding uncertainty. He forced himself to think of Frodo, lying bound or in pain or dead somewhere in this dreadful place. He went on. (The Tower of Cirith Ungol, The Return of The King)
These passages gave me the boost I needed. I think it is possible for Sam to have nightmares where he re-lived the terrors of his own imagination. Also, I think he saw quite a lot that he did not describe in the Red Book, especially when he sorted through that gory pile of orcs to find some decent garment for Frodo.