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Frodo had no choice. He was only a dreamer. Dr Gandalf injected him with the elvish elixer, and counted backward from three. At one, Frodo lay sprawled on the couch. Now, thought Gandalf. He carefully lowered the Augmentor to Frodo's temples.
Dr Gandalf smiled placatingly at Ms. Galadriel, the elvish lawyer Frodo had dragged to this session, interrupting and even threatening their work. "He is Voluntary, as you can see," he offered. "Quite a troubling case. You heard how he talked about his 'Precious."
"But you say he's not psychotic?" Galadriel regarded him through narrowed eyes. The wizard practically stank of his own self-regard. Galadriel looked at the diplomas over his desk. She'd bet his doctorate from the Moriah School of Mining was honorary.
Ignoring the advocate, Gandalf prowled about the room, studying Frodo from different angles as he lay crumpled on the couch, the Augmentor pulsing softly. "Something harder this time," muttered Gandalf, glancing at the spectacular view of Mount Doom through his handsome office window. Something noble. Worthy of my powers--of Frodo's powers, he amended himself grimly. Something to bring peace to Middle Earth. Impulsively he leaned to Frodo's hairy ear and whispered, "The Dark Lord! Remove him from his Dark Throne!"
Frodo's eyes twitched under his lids. He murmured something just below the threshold of Gandalf's hearing. A subtle change in the room's light made Gandalf look up suddenly. Mount Doom was erupting. Rivers of orange flame licked the broad dressed foundation stones of the Misty Mountains Oneirological Institute. Screaming wraiths twisted in the firey wind, while orcs by the millions marched up Saruman Street.
Frodo lay supine, his breathing unchanged. My god, thought Gandalf, reaching for the Augmentor with trembling, grey fingers. He dreamed as I asked. The Dark Lord is off his throne. But not deatroyed. He walks among us in downtown Rivendell and all the cities of elves and men.
Frodo opened his eyes. "You changed something, didn't you?" he gasped. He gave the window only a glance, as if he already knew what he would see. He closed his eyes again. "You're no good at this Dr Gandalf, you let your ego make choices for the world." He bolted upright suddenly, grabbing Gandalf's bony wrist in a surprisingly strong embrace. "Galadriel! Where is she?"
Gandalf looked stupidly at Frodo's hand. Something was very wrong. "What do you mean?"
"Galadriel! The Voluntary Treatment advocate! She was just here! How can you not remember?" Frodo buried his face in his hands. Could even he remember Galadriel? Had she been an elf when first he met her? Or might she have been a dwarf that time? Frodo became aware of a strange lightness to his hands as he wearily rubbed his eyes. "The Ring! Damn you, Gandalf! What did you make me dream?" He wept. "What if I never dream the Ring again?"