A/N: This story was written for Marigold's Challenge #29

*That Night in Bree...*

     The night was long and dark. Frodo awoke far after midnight from unpleasant dreams, for a moment wondering where he was and why he was there. He saw his companions lying beside him, fast asleep, and Strider sitting in the doorway, and he remembered. The inn, their journey, the Ring. Black Riders!

     In a split second he felt fear grip his heart and silently chastised himself for being so foolish in the common room the previous evening.

     “Are you all right, little one?” Strider asked, glancing at him questioningly.

     Frodo released his hand from Sam’s protective hold, and sat up. “I was dreaming and I woke up,” he replied quietly.

     Strider nodded knowingly, then glanced over at Merry. “Your friend dreams not.”

     “Merry rarely does,” Frodo replied, looking fondly at his sleeping cousin.

     “Evil dreams often follow encounters with the black breath. Merry surprises me,” Strider explained. “What of your dreams?”

     Frodo shuddered. “They were frightening.”

     “Come, sit by me and we can talk, if you’d like,” Strider replied. Then he laughed quietly when he saw Frodo hesitate. “Am I as scary as all that?” he asked. “Come, I will not harm you.”

     Frodo grabbed his blanket and sat by the Man, his back against the wall.

     “What do you dream about?” Strider asked, watching the hobbit carefully.

     “I dream of evil things. A world of darkness, an eternal night, immortal slaves toiling forever, a hopeless existence,” Frodo explained softly. “I dream of escape from…” he paused.

     Strider nodded as a tear fell from Frodo’s blue eyes. “I understand,” he said, pulling Frodo close to comfort him. “Does it help to talk about it?”

     “Yes,” Frodo responded. They sat silent for a moment. “Strider?” Frodo began.

     “Yes?”

     “Thank you. I’m glad I can trust you, even if you scared me. But you do seem rather dangerous.”

     “So I seem. And it is well for you to be wary. Not all strangers are safe,” Strider said. “Now perhaps that’s something you could write in that book of yours. A lesson in dealing with strangers.”

     “Strider...”

     “Yes?”

     “I’m not really a writer. I just said that to keep them from asking too many questions,” Frodo replied. “I write only a little. My uncle Bilbo is a writer. He writes the most marvelous poems. I wish you could hear them!”

     “Does he now?” Strider said smiling to himself as Frodo yawned. Strider was rather fond of the old hobbit’s poetry. “They are rather marvelous,” he said as Frodo drifted to sleep.

Then he rose and laid Frodo beside Sam, and covered him with the blanket.

“’All that is gold does not glitter.’ Who knew if he was speaking of me, or of hobbits?” Strider thought to himself. “There is more to them than meets the eye.” He gazed down at the four sleeping hobbits, then let his gaze rest on Frodo. “Bilbo will be very proud of you, Frodo Baggins.”

~The End~