A Ghost in the Night

Chapter 10: The Separation

Disclaimer: all characters are property of J.R.R Tolkien and Tolkien enterprises. I make no money from this Fan fiction.

Author's note: This is not a slash story, though I suppose you could read that into it if you had a mind to. I have nothing against slash stories at all, but I did not intend this to be read as a slash, so I'm sorry if you got that impression.

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I only wish for something

to free me from the curse.

Because death can give us nothing

isn't life much worse?

Sam sat, body frozen, in the sanctuary he had hidden. He was silent. Unmoving. His body and mind numb with disbelief. His heart pounding in grief within his chest.

But he wouldn't let himself grieve.

The love for his master was the only thing capable of shattering the chains of fear, shock, and disbelief that locked his body to the ground. Sam could still feel the warmth left by Frodo's hand after he had slipped away, needling the skin like a thousand pinpricks. The echoes of the commotion, the arrow, the weapon unsheathed… The chains broke.

Without even sparing a thought for his own safety, but sparing one for a weapon, Sam pulled himself up on to his feet, his body numb and aching from where he had been crouching. Resolutely he walked up to the entrance, uncaring about the noise he was making. He could hear the voices outside of his sanctuary stop at his actions, but Sam did not care for the suddenly frenzied whispering from the hunters.

He threw his backpack down onto the ground, searching through tearful eyes for something he could wield. In their haste to leave Bag End Sting had been left abandoned on the floor, but Sam was silently determined to use anything that could provide him with protection or at least some means of revenge. His fingers met the cool metal of one of his pans. It was not much, especially against sword and arrow, but it was the closest thing to a weapon that he had.

It was fortunate that Sam had chosen this moment to pick a weapon, for the moment his fingers wrapped around the handle a hand, huge and callused, fired into the cocoon, finding a way with frightening accuracy in the dark towards the gardener's hair. There it clamped, locking the brown silken hair within it's iron clasp, and then it snapped backwards, causing Sam to cry out a little in pain as it dragged him towards the entrance, feet digging futilely into the ground to stop himself tumbling into the capture's grasp. A voice, so close that Sam could practically feel the person's breath rustling the leaves to the sanctuary, began muttering things that Sam, in his enraged state, would not allow himself to hear. Drowned in fear, Sam suddenly snapped, and the pan was suddenly introduced into the predicament, swinging and clanging against the arm that held him without making even the slightest mark. The hand shook him roughly and the grip he had on the pan loosened. Worried that even his vicious sweeps were barely making an imprint, Sam chose another weapon: his nails and teeth, the former proving more effective than the latter which would not reach any flesh to attack. The words of the hunters echoed in his head and suddenly Sam realised something; and it was like a lighting bolt of horror. They had not wanted to kill Frodo. They had wanted to capture him.

As the hand shook him roughly and his body shuddered a little closer towards the entrance, Sam had a sudden vision of Frodo, lying cold and ill, gagged and bound, on the cruel unsheltered ground, the other demon looming overhead with an arrow poised to fire. The image was enough to send streams of energy to his muscles, and he pulled and yanked at the hand with a strength that could not be explained by the adrenaline in his blood alone. Only devotion could ever power him thus.

Even with his frenzied attack he was making negative progress with his captor, who was now tugging so hard that tears were creeping into his eyes. No amount of vicious thrashing could seem to beat the enemy away. Sam panicked. He had not come across an enemy that somehow he had not defeated. Even Shelob, as mighty as She was, had fallen upon his blade; but no victory had ever Sam felt more determined to gain: Frodo was ill, captured and helpless, he convinced himself, shivering as illness ran rampant through his body.

Sam dug his heels into the ground and tried pushing against the direction that the hand was forcing him. He could not do it; he could not escape the thing's grasp no matter how hard he tried. His arms were still clawing desperately at the offending limb, but the only reaction it incurred was a threatening and slightly painful tug on his hair that drew him ever closer to the entrance. With the small amount of grip gone, his feet struggling to reclaim their former purchase, the hand was meeting with more success.

Every moment Sam was pulled closer and closer to the entrance.

Three steps away…

Two steps away…

One…

One more tug and he would be out and within the captor's grasp. Sam fought with a renewed vigour. He could hardly hope to help Frodo if he himself was at the mercy of those brutes outside. Even though Merry and Pippin had said little regarding the identity of their hunters, or anything about them to be frank, the fear in their trembling voices had been enough to convey the danger they were in, setting apart the creatures that hunted them from those they had encountered before. Besides, even if Merry and Pippin were close, which they weren't, Sam doubted they would have been in a position to help. He would have cried for them to take Frodo with them and to escape with him to some safer place.

Frodo…

The fingers in Sam's hair knitted together, preparing to pull the wildly thrashing hobbit out of his fragile sanctuary. Sam braced himself, hand gripping the pan like the hilt of a blade as he felt the arm began to move.

"Ho!"

The arm stopped in its movement at the introduction of the new and foreign voice. Without warning Sam was released, and he tumbled so that he lay half out of the entrance onto his face.

"Ho there! You two! What are you doing around here?! Get away from there!"

Sam dare not move or lift his gaze. The voices seem worried and, after bending down to retrieve something from the ground and a hurried exchange, faded away as they moved further away from him. Sam dared to look up from where he fell and he saw that there was a faint orb of amber light close to the road.

"That's right!" That other voice, sounding reminiscent of a hobbit, cried after two dwindling, scurrying figures of differing heights, for a hobbit it plainly was by the light of the candle that bathed him. "You get out of here or I'll set my dogs on you!"

There were no dogs to be seen, none that were illuminated within the light of the lantern at any rate, and Sam could hear none running around. It was obviously an empty threat.

"Go! Be off!"

Sam picked himself up from the ground. He swept the clinging bits of grass from off his breeches, clicking his tongue at the stains and the scratches on his hands from where he had broken his fall. He paused in this, realising something.

Frodo…

"Master!" Sam cried, and he ran into the darkness, bending over so that his hands swept over the cool blades of grass as he searched for his master's body. "Mr Frodo!!"

But it was useless; he could see nothing in the dark. His master could have fallen anywhere in that area and Sam could have been just centimetres away from him and thought that he was leagues away. Only the stars above would be able to see his folly.

"Come on, you ninnyhammer!" he said to himself, ignoring his still sore head. "Look harder! Leave no stone unturned. He was so light that he could have slipped under one, at any rate!" He dropped onto his knees, continuing his search on all fours.

Sam was unaware that he was being watched, and it wasn't until the sickly grass was bathed within an amber hue that he realised that he had been approached. He looked up from his crouched position, his eyes flaring with pain as he looked directly into a lantern. He turned away, waiting for his eyes to become slightly more accustomed, and when he could see more than yellow spots, he risked looking at the hobbit that had saved him.

"Bless me!" Sam exclaimed. "If it isn't Fatty Bolger!"

Though his times in the lock holes had thinned Fatty considerably, it hadn't taken him too long to reclaim the appropriate nickname. Even in the dim light Sam could tell that he had regained the majority of weight that he had lost. He looked as plump as any hobbit, perhaps even more so. But Fatty did not smile nor give any warm greeting of friendship; his face was set in a solemn expression.

"Is that you Sam? "Fatty asked, raising the lantern so more of their area was lit. "Gardening a bit late aren't you? Did your Gaffer forget to tell you that you need some rest to work?"

"That he didn't," Sam said, standing finally onto his legs, "but I have important matters to attend to. Sir, may I borrow your lantern? It's only for a short while, and I'll return it as soon as can be."

Fatty handed over the lantern without a further question. Sam took it into his hands and lifted it as high into the air as he could reach. He set off immediately travelling over the ground to find Frodo, not bothering to stop and explain what was going on. Fatty shadowed him, pacing concerned behind Sam. When the gardener didn't look likely to begin the conversation, Fatty spoke up, obviously unable to deter his worries for longer.

"Sam," the hobbit said, moving out of the way as Sam circled unpredictably on some unknown path. "Have you seen Frodo at all?"

Sam was about to speak up but Fatty interrupted him. "I'm concerned greatly about him. I was passing by Bag End before-just walking past as you can imagine on my way back from the Green Dragon-when I noticed these two strange, shadowy figures lurking by the bushes. Now they were far too tall to be hobbits, at least one was at any rate, and one of them crept up to the window and was peeping into Frodo's bedroom! Now," he said, stopping when Sam once again headed off in another direction. "I don't know what sort of people you met when out on that quest of yours, but I'd imagine you'd brought back a few you hadn't intended. One of them even started knocking on the door, quite loudly at that. I thought he was going to break the door down.

"Well as you can imagine I approached them- who knows what they were up to- and they scurried away when they realised I was watching them. That was when I followed them you see. I kept a little distant from them and I lost them because my fear kept me so far away. I found them again, but I would have missed it otherwise. I was just walking across this path towards Waymoot-I just guessed the direction really-when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. It was no black rider, but it was something as equally as unsettling. I didn't like the feel of it even for the short time I saw it."

"Was it near my master? "Sam asked in alarm. " Perhaps it was my master that you saw and not some demon?" Sam said, abandoning his search. Maybe Fatty had seen where Frodo had run to or fallen?

But Fatty shook his head, his expression still set. "I wish it had been , Sam. It was odd really, and for a moment I thought it was just my tired eyes deceiving me, but I saw it again, and I knew that I had seen it…

"It was like the flicker of blue flame; like a shower of light that sprung from some unseen hole in the air. It was soft and beautiful but…well…dark, I'd say. I didn't like that energy at all. But I saw them, you see; I saw them rattling around in the blue light and that was when I called after them but I don't know why I was so brave all of a sudden: they give me the cobble wobbles."

"I saw no blue light, if you'll beg my pardon Sir. I was right with those brutes and I could not see a thing, though they could see me seemingly."

Fatty shook his head. "Maybe it was just my tired eyes playing tricks on me. I have been travelling between here and Buckland enough to get tired. But come! Speak of Frodo! How is he!?"

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. "You…didn't see him, sir?"

Fatty shook his head. "I saw no one except those strangers and that strange blue light; a trick of Merry and Pippin's pint, I'd guess."

"But you didn't see my master anywhere?"

"Why should I?" Fatty said. "I thought he was asleep in Bag End. He hasn't looked well recently."

"That he ain't," Sam agreed. "But he was with me but…but…I lost him, you see, though I didn't mean to; he just ran at them before I could stop him."

"This is grievous news!" Fatty said alarmed. "What mischief has taken him?"

"He can't have gone far," Sam said defiantly, as if trying to convince himself. He immediately began searching for Frodo again as if to verify that his master was present by his actions. " I heard him run and it stopped pretty quick."

"That may not mean that he is near, Sam," Fatty said, coming up to Sam and resting a hand on his shoulder. "Besides, those things could have taken him. I can assure you that I saw no one and your search has revealed nothing. If he fell so soon then where is he, Sam? He should be here, lying on the ground, but he is not. What say you to this? I say monster and I don't trust it!"

Sam could have denied that his master had been taken, and he was about to, but he stopped when he realised, with a sickening lurch, that the hunters, whoever they had been, had retrieved something from the ground before they had departed.

"no…" Sam whispered, and he dug his head into his hands. "No! They can't! they've taken my master! And I let them! Ah! How could I let them!?"

"What is that?" Fatty said, pointing to something on the ground.

Sam virtually teleported next to it. He knelt down and retrieved the white blanket he had tied to Frodo just minutes before. Unable to stop himself, Sam buried his face in the blanket, his shoulders heaving as he fought to control his sobs. Fatty stood, silent, not knowing what to say.

"Sam," he said eventually.

"They can't have gone far!" Sam exclaimed, his voice muffled by the blanket. "I'll catch them! I will! I won't let them take my master!"

But Fatty's hopeless expression was draining Sam's determination. He wanted Fatty to agree to his plan, to tell him that there was hope…

But he didn't.

"Sam, we have no idea which way they went," he said slowly. "Even if it were light we would not be able to find them. They travel far more quickly than you and I."

"But…his blanket…"Sam sobbed. "He'll…be cold without his blanket, and he's ill and sick and those brutes… Oh my poor master!"

And Sam wept.

"hush Sam," Fatty eased uncomfortably, but the sobs did not lessen.

"It was all my fault! I should have done something!"

"What could you have done Sam?" he said, shaking Sam lightly. "Nothing! Frodo can look after himself perfectly well, of that I have no doubt."

The guilt was not listening to Fatty's words and neither was Sam. How could he forgive himself? He had let down his master again and all because he had been too dumb struck to move! He had half a mind to go and collect Sting just to run himself through on it. But, he thought, mind settling a little, that would not help his master; he could hardly rescue him when he was dead.

Sam took the blanket away from his face, feeling the soft fabric run between his fingers. Frodo would surely freeze without his blanket to warm him and he doubted that the enemy would think much of hospitality. But what to do? He could hardly find Frodo on his own.

"Mr Merry!" Sam exclaimed suddenly, remembering. "They will help me find my master, or at least they should considering it was then that abandoned us here!"

"Merry?" Fatty asked. "You pin the blame on Merry now? Oh, Sam! Do make up your mind! You'll be blaming the sky next!"

Sam ran the short distance to the entwined branches where he had hidden earlier, reached in with one hand, and pulled out his backpack. He flung it over his shoulder, and without a further word sped towards the road.

"Hey!" Fatty called after him, arm outstretched as if to draw Sam closer. "Come back! I need that lantern to get home!"

"I'm going to use it a bit longer, with your leave sir." Sam cried.

"I didn't give you my…" Fatty whispered but Sam was long gone, the amber globe departing along the road, and the flicker of white from the blanket still dangling from his hand.

Fatty stood, shrouded in darkness, his jaw open in surprise. "Well," he said. "I guess I'll be on my way then!"

Fatty set off, but his foot landed on something sharp and spiky, and he jumped away from it, his hand rubbing the bottom of his foot as he cursed. He hopped this way for a few moments, tears of pain in his eyes, before, angered -this would never have happened had he his lantern!-stormed back up to where the offending item lay. As Sam had done before him Fatty swept his fingertips over the sickened grass blades, stopping when they brushed something cold and metal. He grabbed it, yanking it into the air and throttling the item for no real reason. "Stupid arrow!" he said, his foot still stinging from where it had cut him. "Who are they to leave their litter in the Shire! This is no Shire arrow by the feels of it, and it's certainly not one of them "mens"."

If Fatty had known it he may have gone and followed Sam, for he held within his very hands the very thing that would identify the hunters. But being as dark as it was, and being tired, hungry and still tipsy, Fatty had decided that he'd had enough for the night and he threw the thing as far away from him as he could. It landed soundlessly somewhere near the road. Fatty dusted his hands and nodded, satisfied. "That learned you!" he said. Then, realising that no one was around to hear him, he skulked back towards Hobbiton, leaving the gleaming arrowhead sparkling in the night.