A Ghost in the Night
Chapter 11: The Prisoner
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.
Tee hee….soon the DVD wil be mine! etc etc…soon…must watch twenty four seven….All hail Dear Abbie and melody songsinger, fellow great people.
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Those who die and perish
are set free from grief and pain.
Those who live are left to cherish
memories never to be lived again.
The road to Waymoot was a straight but well hidden road. The hills of Tuckborough concealed the road from any prying eyes that may have been watching, but the same safety was not applicable to the north where only fields stretched out until they met Bindbole wood. Hobbiton looked over the road for the first part, but still many travellers dared not risk the dangers that crept along it. The road had become something of ill omen, being as it was the road that led towards the putrid lock holes that many a hobbit had been imprisoned in. "You'll be off to the West Farthing," had become a favourite saying of many hobbits, and was usually used to convey a situation that could only end with dire and dark consequences. The road was still one that many did not wish to walk, preferring to go around another route-usually the road that led up to Rushock Bog from Hobbiton itself, or to somehow cancel or postpone the trip. Only the most stouthearted hobbit, or impatient as was more common, would dare risk walking upon the blackened grass. As Sam had said to Frodo earlier: not even Galadriel's gift was prevailing against the destruction, and this, above all else, labelled it as a road to avoid.
It was an unusual thing indeed to see anyone walk the road during the day never mind during the night, but the road was proving to be well travelled indeed on the night of March the 13th. Merry and Pippin were stood in the middle of the road discussing something near to Waymoot; and Sam was running up the road as fast as he could leaving a sparkling trail of tears in his wake, Frodo's blanket fluttering in the breeze behind him; Fatty had just moments ago fed the darkness with the arrow he had found and was making his way back. But there were two more creatures walking upon the road that night, and one of them was not travelling it through his will alone. They were slightly off the road, hidden in the shadows that Tookbank cast upon them, struggling against the iron grip that had clamped upon his arm.
"Let…let me g-go," Frodo begged, pulling his tightly imprisoned arm away from his captor. He pulled against the momentum of where he was being dragged; deeper and deeper into the darkness his captor took him where no one, even if they had ventured out onto the infamous road, could see him and his struggles; he was being led away from civilisation, away from where anyone could help him. Yet it was not his own safety that concerned the ill hobbit; it was for Sam that he cried for.
The grip on his arm tightened and he felt himself being pulled just as he tried to turn back from where he and Sam had been hiding. Ever since his capture Frodo had been pulled away from his endangered friend at a pace that his weakened body could not maintain. Not once, even when he stumbled did The Spectre release the grip upon his arm, or slow down it's pace; it just led him onwards into the darkness of the night.
"l-let go!"
"I can't do that, my boy," The Spectre whispered, its incandescent hand glowing even brighter as it tugged at Frodo again.
"b-but…Sam…" Frodo whimpered, stumbling again as The Spectre pushed him harshly forward, his ill laden legs buckling. He turned his head towards the vague direction where he fancied that he had left Sam. "He…he's in d-danger….I…have to help…"
"You can't, " The Spectre stated simply. "Come!"
But Frodo was having none of it and he fought with all his might against The Spectre. It wasn't like he was asking much he thought; he only wanted to know if Sam was safe or not. He had no way of being sure that Sam had escaped those that hunted them. He himself would have been made a captive was it not for The Spectre's unexpected intervention.
Frodo recalled the moment within his mind, running over every flaw he had performed. When he had heard that the hunters were after him and not Sam, Frodo had been racked with a devastating guilt: here he was placing Sam's life in danger once again! This time he had been determined not to allow it and, knowing Sam would do it if he did not, had flung himself out of the cocoon of branches with not the faintest trace of a plan on what to do next. Indeed there was little that he could have done: he had no weapon and his fevered body was slow to react to anything but pain and discomfort.
It shouldn't have come as a surprise to realise that he was going to be captured, but as he stumbled, body barely moving, he felt two strong hands clamp down onto either shoulder.
"Got you."
But then a cry had been given and everything had fallen into chaos; for who should decide that moment to include themselves in the fray but The Spectre.
Frodo had always seen The Spectre appear as a strange fountain of blue light that was encased within his uncle's body, but even as The Spectre materialised by his side he noticed how solid and real it looked compared to normal. Its dazzling brilliance was short lived, but it was enough for the hunter to release his grip upon him in surprise. Frodo had even been pushed away and onto the ground, though why the hunter should relinquish his grasp and not regain it was a mystery to him. He had fallen rather painfully a few metres away but he dared not to move, especially when he heard an arrow whiz above his head. There had been frenzied whispering and Frodo, feeling very faint, had taken advantage of the moment of confusion and hoisted himself away. But then he heard the thicket of branches disturbed, and the sound of pans clattering together, and Frodo remembered that Sam was still trapped inside the cocoon with no where else to go.
With an effort Frodo had pulled himself onto his feet, intending to go back and fight the hunters off and allow Sam to escape, but The Spectre, appearing before him looking faint and indistinguishable, had been quick to stop him. It had recklessly grabbed Frodo's wrist with it's hand, The Spectre's limb erupting in a dazzling shower of blue sparks as it touched his fevered skin, and started pulling him away. The Spectre had not let go of him since then.
"P-please…," Frodo begged. "p-please…let…let me rest…"
His pleading fell on deaf ears; if anything The Spectre tightened its grip upon his arm as if expecting him to make a sudden run for it. Frodo gritted his teeth, wishing that he had that option.
"We must go far," The Spectre said, it's voice weaker than before. "They will follow us I fear, and I can not afford to lose you again this night! Tonight you will come with me! We must go on!"
"I…I…can't…"Frodo said, and is if to prove it he crashed to his knees. In the light of The Spectre Frodo could see his surroundings light up, and he dropped his one free hand to stop him from rolling into a rather putrid looking puddle ahead of him.
"Nonsense!" The Spectre chided, that part of Bilbo Frodo had known for years coming out in that word. It tugged at his arm, this time literally dragging Frodo across the ground. "We go on!"
But Frodo could not find the energy to do so. He felt horribly weak, extremely tired, and his excessive temperature was feeding hallucinations of the murdering river.
"I….can't…" he whimpered, cringing as his body knocked into some naked tree roots. "Please…I…I...c-can't…"
The Spectre paused, and Frodo took the time to breathe in the short break that he had been given. Even though his eyes were closed in exhaustion and fatigue he could physically feel The Spectre's gaze roving over him, trying to discern the truth. The grip upon his arm was suddenly relinquished, and Frodo gently soothed the sore wrist with his hand.
"I do not have long to show you what I must," it said, bending down so that it was eye level with Frodo. Frodo met his gaze as best he could, his chest heaving as it struggled to capture the oxygen he required. For the first time he noticed how very cold it was and he shivered, wondering where the thick blanket had gone that Sam had tied around his neck. "Like the moon I will be hidden when the sun arises and I will not come to you again."
Frodo gasped as he felt a sudden wave of discomfort shudder through his body. He abandoned his sore wrist and immediately sought out the sparkling gem around his neck, gripping it with simple desperation. Still Frodo could feel The Spectre watched him, but the gaze was less penetrating than before, and it was kindness, not control, that shone in the gradually fading features.
"Frodo, my boy," The Spectre whispered, its tone kind yet clear. "The illness will pass and me along with it. You must see what I have to show you."
Frodo looked up at The Spectre, shock in his eyes. "You're…you're the o-one making…me ill…?"
The Spectre sighed, and it turned its head away. "No," it whispered, it's tone sombre. "I'm afraid that this,"- and The Spectre gestured towards the hand around Arwen's gem-"is all Shelob's doing. But do not look so down, my lad! Every cloud has a silver lining, so they say, and I like to think that is what I am. I am using your illness as a conduit, Frodo."
"B-but…why…why… Her?"
"Because of your dreams Frodo."
Frodo didn't follow. His confusion must have shown on his face for The Spectre resigned himself to explain.
"You may think them nightmares Frodo, but really they are truths that you refuse to admit to yourself. Only Shelob's poison has the power to release your subconscious fears and weaknesses; it is Her power after all to bring despair to all those who have encountered Her. It is time to face who you really are."
Frodo had half a mind to tell The Spectre that he barely had the energy to face staying awake, never mind confront dark secrets he had long since buried under a layer of denial. He groaned, his hand encompassing Arwen's gem all on its own accord. Just the idea of delving deep down into his very soul was something that made him feel physically sick.
"I can't…"
"You must Frodo!" The Spectre insisted sharply, suddenly flying to its feet. "You must! For your own sake you must! Had it not been for this running around we could have done this at a time when your illness had weakened, but I have already used too much of my energy in revealing myself to those that hunt you. Ghosts are not meant to have any power over the living Frodo. We are meant to guide and lead, not to exert our powers over physical items, but that is what I have been forced to do; you would not have left your friend had I not done so."
The Spectre sighed as if tired and wanting to sleep.
"I can't afford to reveal myself again. I am weary, Frodo; too weary to use my powers to show myself to those who are not supposed to see me. I have but this night to do my task."
Frodo was certain that The Spectre had become melancholy by the measurement of the life it had. Frodo did not know what would happen to The Spectre after it had completed its task. He wasn't sure if ghosts had the ability to feel emotions such as fear and sadness, but the wistful gaze of The Spectre's eyes was enough to raise the questions. The moment of sadness was gone as quick as it had came, and it turned so that it faced Frodo once more.
"I can drag you no further, Frodo. You must continue by your will alone. But do not come to a decision so quickly," It said, noticing that Frodo was about to do just that. "Let me tell you this: if you do not come with me tonight and discover the meaning and purpose behind your dreams then you will be haunted for the rest of your life; but not by Spectres such as myself that seek to aid you, but by memories-poison they are if left-that will not be long repressed. A little effort tonight will free you from the prison you have yet to see. You may continue to live a lie if you wish my lad, but remember this: If you live a lie you will become as corrupt and empty as that which you tell. The choice is yours."
As usual it was Frodo's curiosity that dominated all else.
"You…I…can s-see…you…but…no-one…else…can?"
"I can reveal myself to others if I choose to, but it drains me to do it."
The dizzying burst of light that The Spectre had possessed upon their first meeting had all but extinguished now, and the features of his uncle that were so prominent before were now weak and barely distinguishable. It must have used a great energy, Frodo thought, to have become so faint in such a short time. It was still a being of magnificence though, and Frodo was silently awed as it reached down a hand towards him.
"Come."
Frodo shuffled on the ground, attempting to pull himself onto his feet. He knew The Spectre wanted him to follow but this "little effort" was momentous. His fatigue-laden limbs were not listening and his eyes kept closing on their own accord. He felt The Spectre was asking a sheer miracle for him just to remain awake never mind face his darkest fears. He shook his head. The Spectre still reminded him too strongly of Bilbo, and he couldn't help but feel that he had let him down by not being able to fulfil his request.
"I'm…I'm sorry…" he said, his eyelids falling again. "I…I…can't…I…I…"
And Frodo collapsed completely onto his side. Against the ground he thought that he heard The Spectre growl in annoyance. Sure enough Frodo could see the bright blue flame even through the closed lids as The Spectre began shaking him roughly. He cried a little, swatting weakly at The Spectre in hopes that it would leave him to rest.
"Rest…I…need rest…"he mumbled, shying away from the touch.
"Rest?" The Spectre queried as if not sure what that was. "If rest is all you need then I will provide it."
The touch of The Spectre's hand was like a thousand tiny lightning bolts as it lay rest on his forehead. Frodo cringed, holding his breath when the light burned so brightly it began hurting his eyes even through the closed lids.
"This will stop your nightmares for a while, my boy. It is only a temporary recluse. You will feel no different when awake, but after a sleep I'm sure you will feel a little better. The dreams had been depriving you of proper rest; this will stop that."
Frodo cried out softly. It was a truly strange sensation to feel the power seeping into his own body. The sensation slowly ebbed away and the blue light dimmed. Frodo still felt very weak. "come!"
"But…"
"Frodo!?"
Frodo stopped, his eyes fluttering open. Had someone called him, or were his hallucinations now expanding to the tortured cries of his dying parents?
"Frodo!?"
That was Pippin's voice. But how had he found him way out here in the sheltered undergrowth? Maybe The Spectre had assumed another form to coax him onto its quest?
"No! I can't be disturbed! There is no time!" said The Spectre, its voice still mirroring Bilbo's. "Hurry lad! We must leave!"
The Spectre's hand flared into dazzling droplets of light as it fell onto his wrist and locked there.
"Please…" Frodo said weakly. "J-just…let….let me sleep."
"FRODO!"
Yes it was definitely Pippin's voice; there was no mistaking it. The next thing Frodo knew his arm was free again and his hand fell back to the floor with a dull thud. For a moment he lay still, waiting for something to happen, not knowing which possible option he may prefer.
Then he heard it: Pippin was running towards him, and he felt a pair of warm hands lift his body gently from the ground.
"Frodo? Cousin can you hear me?"
Frodo struggled to open his eyes. He could see Pippin, swimming in and out of focus, staring down at him with great concern.
"Frodo?" Pippin asked upon seeing the thin line of blue between his eyelids. "Are you alright?"
"P-pip?" Frodo managed.
"That's right," he said, relieved, a smile growing on his face. "Right hot and bothered you have made Merry and me!" He chided, but there was no malice to his words for he spoke softly and reassuringly. "We were surprised to find you had wondered off from us. But Frodo, where is Sam?"
Sam…
Frodo raised a hand and gripped Pippin's hand. "They…they came…"
Pippin's face blanched.
"They?" he choked. "You didn't see them?" he said ambiguously.
"Sam…he…they tried…"
Even these simple separated words were proving far too taxing for him. Pippin must have noticed for he hushed Frodo gently. He bent down fully, wrapped his arms underneath Frodo and lifted him from the ground so that he carried him like a small hobbit child so that his head was resting in the crook of Pippin's neck.
"T-tired…" he murmured, closing his eyes once more. He felt much more comfortable now that he had another's heat to warm him and he leant in towards Pippin's embrace, feeling it briefly tighten in a gesture of comfort.
"You try to sleep then cousin," Pippin said gently. "I am sorry. We should have carried you straight from the off."
Frodo did not have the energy to argue, but he was determined to convey that this shouldn't have been the case. He whispered "I'm fine" and hoped it sounded authentic. Pippin, however, laughed.
"You're always fine cousin!" he said happily, and Frodo could feel that Pippin was heading back to the road. "But what you say and what you are differ greatly. We know of your illness so why hide it? Try to rest. I will carry you for as long as I may."
"S-sam…"
"…is fine I'm sure."
But Frodo was quick to detect the hesitant way in which Pippin said that. He felt that he could have slept for weeks, but he refused to allow himself to do so. Sam; he had to know if he was well. Frodo knew enough of his dreams to know that they would be wrought with nightmares if he didn't see Sam well with his own two eyes.
"S-sam…" Frodo murmured.
The gentle rocking of Pippins movements was incredibly lulling and although he fought it as well as he could Frodo could no help but fall into a peaceful sleep.