Disclaimer: All the characters and settings belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. This story is my way of working out or interpreting ideas and concepts already present in The Lord of the Rings. This is done for enjoyment, and for sharing, but not for profit.

~ * ~ * ~

Author’s Note: I have long felt that one detail or theme in the rich mythological background of the story of the Ring is this: the ancient tradition of King and Sacrifice. Tales of that tradition can be found throughout the mythologies and histories of Europe, Africa and Asia, and one example can even be found within the Arthurian legends. Whether or not Tolkien intended to allude to it in his own mythology is unclear, but I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he had done so.

Since viewing the movie of The Return of the King, I have had a few dreams involving Frodo. Some were merely peculiar and not worth mentioning here, but this one was directly relevant to both the above paragraph and to this ongoing series of Frodos Dremes. I have now transferred the telling of the dream to Frodo himself.

 King and Sacrifice

Despite the fact that Gandalf usually timed his visits to Bag End around noon, when the sun was at her zenith and most hobbits were in that practical but sociable place between elevenses and luncheon, on this occasion he arrived quite late.

He had even missed tea.

But whereas this deplorable sense of timing might have disconcerted most of the sober-minded inhabitants of Hobbiton, there was no look of affront on Mr. Bilbo Baggins' face when he opened the door.

"Ah -- do come in, my old friend. Gandalf! Just when I thought we wouldn't see you around here again, up you pop!

Gandalf smiled as he stooped to cross the threshold and, as was his wont, Bilbo continued to chatter as he padded towards the kitchen.

"Wonderful timing too, I must say. Just got a stock in of Southfarthing, the best as I am sure you remember; although you still haven't told me where the Dwarves get theirs from... Shame on you -- after all this time we've known each other!"

As Bilbo pottered about in the kitchen (after all, a true greeting between friends when a hobbit's home is visited must be accompanied by food and preferably lots of it), Gandalf gingerly settled himself down by the fireplace and looked around. There still had been no change in Bag End, unless it be a slight increase of clutter. He did, however, notice a new map in the making and perhaps a few more books scattered about.

"And how is Frodo?" he asked as Bilbo came out of the kitchen. "Such an engaging lad. It was good to meet him the last time I was here."

Bilbo smiled and shook his head. "He's gone and caught that nasty flu that has half of Hobbiton down sick. No more sick than many, but sick enough, poor lad. He's on the mend now though -- the fever broke last night."

"From what I remember of him," said Gandalf, "he will not doubt be reading long before he's allowed out of bed."

Bilbo chuckled. "No doubt. In fact it's easy enough to keep him quiet. A new book does it every time. But I am sure he'll want to see you! You had better visit him before he hears your voice and comes padding out before he ought to!"

Gandalf smiled.

"Though," Bilbo said musingly. "It would do him a bit of good to see you -- and not just for cheering up. He had an odd dream last night and it's quite unsettled him."

"A dream?" said Gandalf curiously. "What sort of dream?"

Bilbo paused for a moment and frowned. "I don't rightly know. That boy has such an active imagination that I'm not surprised he has all sorts of dreams. But this one was stranger than most. You might understand it, my friend, better than I."

"Why do you say that?"

Bilbo hesitated. "It's just that the words he used, the things he described -- they weren't out of any of my books. And they were mighty strange even for Frodo to come up with. No... You had better listen to him yourself."

"Well, then," said Gandalf mildly. "I think we need to go and put the poor boy at ease."

~ * ~ * ~

The bedroom was only lit by a fire in the small grate, but the candle Bilbo brought with him helped throw off the gloom of the gathering dusk.

Frodo was lying on his side huddled under the blankets, face pressed against the pillow. But as Bilbo and Gandalf settled down into the chairs and watched him, he opened his eyes cautiously.

"Hello, Frodo," Gandalf said.

"Gandalf!" Frodo unsteadily propped himself up on one elbow. "When did you come?"

"Only a few minutes ago. I hear that you have been ill."

Frodo nodded dispiritedly and then lay back down again. He wriggled a little closer to the edge of the bed and gazed at Gandalf.

"Bilbo tells me that you had a rather strange dream last night."

Frodo's gaze darkened slightly and he shuddered.

"Would you care to tell me about it?"

Frodo glanced towards Bilbo and he hesitated.

"Come on, Frodo-lad. He might be able to throw some light on the matter. You never know."

Abruptly, Frodo seized a second pillow which had been lying behind him and pulled it in front of him under the bedcovers. He held it tightly, close to his body like a shield. He breathed hard from the small exertion.

Gandalf waited.

"It was long," Frodo said at last, "but I only remember one part -- the last part." He paused.

"Go on," prompted Bilbo after the silence grew too long.

"The last part was short. But..." he fell silent again and shifted his head a little. He gripped the pillow in front of him a bit tighter.

"If you'd rather not..." began Gandalf, but Frodo interrupted him.

"No no, I will." He took a deep breath and then -- "I was in a great hall. There were many people there. They were Men -- very tall! And everyone knew who I was. Everyone knew my name. But I don't know why. I had done something, I think. Something important, and I was famous for it. I knew what it was, in the dream, or at least I knew that I knew what it was. But since I already knew, and they already knew, then nobody told me, myself. So I don't know now."

Frodo stopped then. "Did that make sense?" he asked anxiously.

Gandalf and Bilbo looked at each other. Then Gandalf chuckled a little. "I think so. Awake, you do not know what you knew in your dream."

"Yes," said Frodo, relieved. "That's it. But I didn't know what it was in the dream either. There was... the idea of knowing, but nothing said about it."

He thought for a moment. "Then more people came and gathered around me. And then I was lying down on the ground." He frowned. "No, not on the ground. On some... low bed."

"A pallet?" suggested Gandalf.

Frodo considered this. "Perhaps. I don't know! But it was meant to be there and I was meant to be lying on it. But I don't know how I got there. Perhaps I laid myself down on it, or perhaps some of the men carried me to it and laid me on it.

"But everyone watched me, looked at me. I was very important and they were glad to see me. But it felt strange to be lying down when everyone was standing and looking down at me."

Frodo closed his eyes wearily then as if the talking had tired him out. But just as Gandalf was about to suggest that Frodo rest, the boy opened his eyes.

"I forgot to tell you something. I was lying in front of a very large chair. It seemed very important and it was carved. I was lying so that my head pointed towards it. But then I realized," and his voice grew quieter, "that they had covered me with a... a..." he faltered. "What did you say it was, Uncle?"

"I thought perhaps you were talking about a kind of tapestry," Bilbo said uncertainly.

"A tapestry," Frodo repeated. "It was like a blanket, or a big one, but the cloth was strange: thick and heavy. And it was embroidered with some kind of special pattern which had many colours in the middle. This pattern was important and I knew it. But I don't know why!" His voice rose in frustration.

"It's all right, Frodo dear. That's the way dreams are," said Bilbo soothingly. "You don't always know why."

"The me in the dream knew. But he didn't tell me! I could only accept what was happening. But no-one ever told me!"

"And what did happen, Frodo?" asked Gandalf gently. Frodo's eyes were unnaturally bright and he was flushed. Best to get him to finish the tale quickly, Gandalf thought to himself. The sooner the lad could settle down, the better.

"Then he came. And he cared for me. He liked me very much and was grateful to me. I liked him too -- he was gentle and kind. But he was terribly important too, and he had duties.

"Then someone, maybe more than one, knelt and leaned over me. The kind man stood beside them, waiting. And then these people started to move their hands over me, over the... tapestry. They didn't touch me, it was like they were sweeping something away from me, through the patterns, and away from the patterns... into him!

"They did this for some time. And everyone was waiting. It was almost as if they were holding their breaths, waiting. They were fond of me, they really liked me, but something was changing.

"And then they were finished -- but everyone was so glad, for the kind stern man was filled with what they had taken from me. Everyone was so happy, for he was now the King!"

Silence fell over the little room, and the only sound that could be heard was Frodo's laboured breathing.

"What did they take from you?" asked Gandalf gently. Oddly enough, he felt the first stirrings of unease -- not the concern he felt for Frodo's strange intensity, but a vague sense of disquiet at the meaning of the words themselves.

Frodo looked at him and shivered. "They took what made me, me. Before it finished, I had been complete. I wasn't happy, but there was something that filled me. I had a place, a life... purpose... I don't know. But when they finished, I felt lost. Emptied. Alone. And now all the kind people who had cared for me left and went to him, the King, and they loved him.

"I mean," Frodo amended with a small sigh, "they still liked me and knew who I was, but something was lost. I was left alone. I didn't matter anymore. It was as if I had done what I had set out to do, but I wasn't allowed to be filled by it. Instead, it was my fate to be left aching and empty and... abandoned. I had served my purpose and helped the King, but I had to give of myself to make sure he could be a strong king.

"I gave until I was empty, and he took until he was full.

"It was the only way things could be."

Silence settled once more over the room. The fire crackled and the candle flame flickered. Shadows leaped and danced about the room. Frodo lay flat and small in the bed, his face once more pressed against the pillow.

"Did anything else happen?" asked Gandalf slowly. He leaned forward, a puzzled frown upon his face.

Frodo shifted his head slightly so that one eye, bright with unshed tears could be seen over the mound of pillow.

"Only that later, I was left standing beside the ...pallet... as people rushed and pushed past me to greet the new King. There was such joy and happiness, but none of it was for me. I didn't belong any more.

"Nobody realized, or cared, that I was there. I had become invisible."

Gandalf looked at Bilbo for a moment and then studied Frodo thoughtfully. "That is an uncomfortable thing to be, isn't it," he said mildly and then paused (hesitated, Bilbo thought) before speaking again. "Do you mind if I asked you what this king's name was?"

"How do you know I knew his name?" asked Frodo perplexed.

"Oh, it was just a thought," Gandalf said casually. He leaned back in his chair.

This time Frodo was the one regarding the wizard solemnly. Then he finally answered. "He was named Elessar, of the house of Telcontar."

~ * ~ * ~

"That was an odd dream for a young hobbit to have," Gandalf commented later when he and Bilbo were comfortably settled in front of the fire in Bilbo's study. Frodo had been given a new book to read and so had willingly and rather gratefully agreed to be distracted by the prospects of new wondrous tales. Meanwhile the traditional game of "chasing smoke rings" gathered steam in the study.

"It was, wasn't it though," Bilbo said as he removed the pipe stem from between his lips.

"Does he often have such strange dreams?"

Bilbo frowned. "I wouldn't say so, no. Mind you, he hasn't been here long enough for me to know. Fanciful dreams, yes, and many of them. But ones like this," and here Bilbo shuddered slightly, "--it's enough to put me on edge.

"Funny he should talk about being invisible though," and here he chuckled. "Would make you think he had been thinking too much lately of borrowing my ring to go off exploring." Bilbo chuckled. "I daresay it would come in handy if he were so minded to go mushroom stealing again."

"It possibly would," said Gandalf absentmindedly. Then suddenly his eyebrows quirked upward. "Mushroom stealing?"

Bilbo nodded ruefully. "I'm afraid Frodo had become a bit wild at Brandy Hall. A lot of free time on his hands and no immediate family to look after him. Always a nice lad, mind you, politer than many, but he needed settling down. Which he seems to have done quite quickly since he's come here."

He was quiet for a moment as he drew deeply on his pipe and sent two small smoke rings into the air in quick succession. Hobbit and wizard watched as they drifted, ever expanding, towards the ceiling.

"Gandalf?"

"Yes, Bilbo?"

"Why did you ask him about the name of that king? A rather odd question if you don't mind me saying so."

"Oh, well," Gandalf said mildly, "I just thought it might be interesting. That's all." And with that, he briskly sent a smoke ring into the air which tumbled end over end and yet did not lose shape.

~ * ~ * ~

But it was after he'd said goodnight to Gandalf, that Bilbo brought a cup of hot milk to Frodo's bedroom, only to find a weary and subdued hobbit staring at the small fire, book long forgotten.

For books and their tales may be wondrous in the telling, but some dreams cannot be brushed aside: not by a sensitive hobbit with a highly developed imagination; nor by a young soul that may thrill to the possibilities of the new and unknown, but just as easily might fear the threat of the unfathomable, and of abandonment.

The end (of this vignette)