A Ghost in the Night

Chapter 14: The Arrow and the Eye

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fire is my enemy

Fire is my road

Fire is where I will be

Sitting all alone.

I will never forget the look on your face when you saw me move towards that which I have cowardly flew. I don't believe I will ever rid myself of that memory. What a shame: that would be the last time I truly saw you…felt you… rather than embrace a shell devoid of emotion. You are like a glass statue: the harder I embrace you, depend on you, need you, the more you crack. Soon you will shatter.

Maybe I was just imagining it, but I thought I saw you grieving when I pushed you away. Did you know then what I feared to admit? Or maybe you feared it, too, just like I did, and tried to deny it access to reality.

We didn't stop it. Oh Sam, how could we? This was a battle you were never meant to fight.

I know that I have made an irreversible decision to face that which strips me from inside. Perhaps I can beat it? Perhaps through some random miracle I will emerge with wounds alone; but wounds that will heal.

My dear Sam: The look of betrayal, guilt and, well… of grief, on your face has caused me more pain than anything I have ever encountered before. It was my fault, all of this. It may be too late, but please understand that I am *trying* Sam, *trying* to return to the master you once knew. To do that I need to break away from the shield you have wrapped around me. I can not confront my demons if I can not reach them.

I must go to them, Sam. Do you understand? They are already clawing at you, Merry, and Pippin, ruining lives that they have no purchase over.

I'm sorry about that.

I will go and battle my demons, my dear friend, but I do not delude myself with visions of victory. No one will win this fight; we will draw, or I will lose and they win.

You didn't understand, did you?

The look on your face was enough to tell me that. Even when the sight was lost by the burst of blue light, stolen from me before I had a chance to cement the memory of your features into my mind, I could tell, in that single flash, of how you truly felt.

I will never see you again, nor Merry, or Pippin; not in that way we had in the past. I wonder: do they understand why I am doing this?

Do I?

I am beginning to see the truth, my dearest hobbit; the truth of how I am supposed to be. I will not pretend that I fully understand-so much is still unclear- but I think I am beginning to figure it out. A smile is something I no longer have the ability to produce, and I will not have my own flaws and inadequacies infect those that I love. You can still smile, Sam. You will no longer be torn in two between me and the life that your heart desires.

Remember that when I leave you.

Think of me as how I was before I changed, for I can not recollect that time myself. I will not return to you in whole again.

But I'll miss you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To any hobbit that had wandered off into the night, the scene they would have found on the Road that led to Waymoot would have been either extremely worrying or funny. They there were, three hobbits, two of which were crawling around in circles, another sat stock still rubbing his eyes, in the middle of the road where any horse or cart could collide with them. It was fortunate that there were no carts around at that night to have done so, for Pippin and Sam, both crawling blindly in circles- Pippin looking for his dropped dagger and Sam for Frodo-made bumping into each other a regular event. Only Merry had the wits to sit still and spend his time nursing his vision back to its former abilities. The only thing he reached out for was the dropped lantern next to his body. They were all making rather a loud noise what with Sam and Pippin hitting each other, and Merry's scrambles for the lantern. They had all heard Frodo's footsteps die away and reached a distance where they could not hear him.

"Ow!" Merry said, his hand flung up to his eyes that were burning inside of his head. "OW! Ow! Ow!"

"What on Middle-Earth was that?!" Pippin exclaimed, creeping forward with his eyes tightly closed, narrowly missing Sam, who was widely sweeping his hands over the area. "Did a star descend upon us?"

"It was no star," Sam said, hitting this time into the backpack, "and it was no Star Glass either. It was that strange blue light again! That's two people now who have said that they have seen it."

"I am one of them," Pippin said. "But it was not *that* bright when I found it: It was barely a fountain of blue glitter before."

Merry started opening his eyes, squinting a little as he repeated the motion. "Who was the other person who saw it Sam?" wincing as his sensitive eyes burned at the light of the lantern. He could see the rough outlines of his friends in between the vivid white blotches that dotted his vision.

"It was Fatty Bolger," Sam said, wondering off the road completely. "I borrowed the lantern from him when he scared off those hunters. He said something about some blue light too, but I saw none of it!"

"The hunters obviously did," Pippin added. "I can think of nothing else that would frighten them away."

"I doubt that would have frightened them," Merry argued, his head turning as it followed Sam's little trip off the road. "It would take more than that to scare them away."

Pippin fell back with a sigh. "A right mess we are in!"

"That we are," came Sam's distant voice. "And my master has…ow!"

"Sam!?" Merry cried, stumbling forward. "Are you alright?"

For a terrifying moment he was convinced that Sam would not answer, that perhaps the hunters had been the ones to cause the blue light and had used it to make off with Sam. But Sam replied shattering the idea before it had a full chance to develop flaws.

"I'm fine, Mr Merry," he said. "I just wondered onto something spiky, that is all."

"Well what is it?"

Sam was embracing the item like a blind man, running his hands over the surface as he tried to guess what it was. He winced and drew back his hand when he felt his skin cut by one end of it. "It's an arrow!" Sam cried. "What on earth is an arrow doing out here? Someone could get hurt!"

"If that is its purpose then it has lived its life! Throw it away and we will not speak of it again."

Sam, however, did not and he stuffed it carefully into his pocket with no real knowledge of why he had not done as his friend had requested. He crawled back in the vague direction of the others, the arrow cutting his flesh as he moved. His vision had lifted enough for him to see the painful glow of the lantern and he headed towards it. He could see Merry sitting by the lantern rubbing his chin, and Pippin still circling unpredictably in tiny circles.

"Perhaps Gandalf has decided to share some more of his fireworks with us," Pippin said, running head long in Merry. They both crashed to the floor, but Merry was quick to push his friend from off him, and after a hurried apology Pippin set off in another unheeded direction.

"I don't think he would aim it *at* us, Pip," Merry admonished, rubbing his arm where he had fallen. Sam joined them back in the circle, and he sat down onto his backside, feeling totally lost and helpless.

"Well that's done it!" He said, depression rising in him. "My master is gone! I can't find him anywhere, and I swear that blue thing headed straight for him after it went for us!"

"You may be right, Sam," Pippin said, and this time it was him that careened off the road.

"Open your eyes Pippin, "Merry ordered. "Open your eyes and see what a good fool you make!"

They both watched him as he came to a stop. After a few minutes he turned, a bemused expression on his face and he crawled back towards them. Merry watched as he came to a stop within the circle, his eyes barely open between the lids.

"Do not be so quick to guess, Sam," Merry said, turning his attention to the problem at hand. He reached up, rubbing his eyes once more to dispel the last few blotches from his vision. "I will not pretend to know what light that was, or where it came from, but I too don't like it. It's…strange…but I do not think that Frodo is in danger from it."

"Well how can you be so sure!"

"I can not," he admitted, "but I think it is time we went back to Bag End."

This was too much for Sam, and his gaze snapped towards Merry, disbelief in his face. "You dragged my master out of bed when he was sick for nothing?" Sam cried.

"It is not that, Sam," Merry said, trying to calm him. "I did not intend to return to Bag End until I had been certain the threat had departed. Think Sam! Frodo is more likely to return To Bag End."

"I doubt that," Pippin put in, entering the fray. "He knows how dangerous it is there. They would find him."

"Then where has he gone? What other place around here does he consider…"

It was like a lightning bolt of understanding for Sam. There was only one other place that Frodo would go within the Shire; but it was neither to Tuckborough nor Buckland that his master would travel. He knew where his master had gone. It would be the place that Sam himself would run to when in danger and not wishing to drag other people into it. Frodo had headed to Woodhall.

For a reason unknown to him, Sam put a hand into his pocket and started stroking the arrow. It did not feel as the make of men's or hobbit, not that hobbits made things such as that; it was certainly something new, but at the same time Sam felt with a sense not gifted to all that it was more important to the mystery than another may have thought. The hunters had fired an arrow, he thought, wondering what was going on. Was this the one they had fired at Frodo? He made a mental note to look at it on his own later. He had no desire to tell Merry and Pippin of his master's assumed location; they had been so uncomfortable about Woody End.

"We will return to Bag End," Merry said, and Sam removed his hand from his pocket when Merry turned to look at him. "Sam, you can use Galadriel's phial. It will help show us the way."

"Well," Sam said, blushing. "I'm not sure if I have a right to use it. I've used it only once and that was only in dire need and with his leave."

"The situation is not dark enough for you, Sam?" Merry said as he reached for his backpack. "I don't think Frodo would have limited your use of the phial to that one occasion."

Sam could find no answer to that. He looked into the darkness, away from Merry's penetrating gaze. The scrutiny did not last long, but during it he felt the arrow like a hot coal against his skin, it cooling only when Merry pulled himself onto his feet and broke the investigation.

"To Bag End then, whatever may await us there."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything was changing.

The moment Frodo had broken away-the second that he took that first step-he could feel the very course of the future set in an indeterminable path that was unknown to all but the Gods. Frodo had not known what to expect-perhaps some hurried escape from his friends as he fought for the key to his emotional prison?- but he could never have expected this. If he had known, Frodo knew he would not have gone onto the quest.

The Shire had transformed again: a wave of fire was spreading from an unknown epicentre, hungered flames were ravaging the green countryside that Sam had fought so hard to replace. Frodo had screamed his denial, stopping as the full weight of the destruction fell in upon him.

It had been a moment of contemplation that he could not afford.

Like snakes they were, only black and slick; as quick as the lighting that forked in the clouded sky above. They sought out his stationary body, wrapping themselves around Frodo's ankles. Only the panicked cry of The Spectre, now powerless to aid him, alerted him to the danger that he was in. Frodo looked down, breaking his horrified gaze upon the countryside, and with a frightened cry he pulled at the strange creatures, battering at them until they snapped backwards, hissing as they retreated to the shadows.

"Hurry! Please, my boy, get up!"

He did not need telling twice. As he stumbled onto his legs again, he caught the sight of a billowing chimney, the smoke of fire that has consumed the goodness of the town of Hobbiton. Once again he had almost stopped dead in shock, but the gentle hissing of the snake like creatures was enough to transform the action into a temporary pacing. The Spectre, still visible amidst the fire that engulfed the Shire was quick to regain his attention, gesturing for Frodo to follow him upon the road that was now wreathed in flame.

"You must run, my boy!" The Spectre shouted above the screaming coming from the burning Smials. "This is not the Shire, my boy. No, " it said, darting around a tree that fell onto the road, Frodo climbing over it as quickly as he could. "This is how you see the Shire, or how you will come to see it if you do not succeed tonight! Come! We must not linger!"

Frodo did not know how he had done it, but somehow he managed to get his legs to match the floating pace set by The Spectre. He was now running at top speed towards Woodhall. The Shire continued to burn all around him: thick, poisonous smoke was raging into the clouded sky where javelins of lightning were thrown in a violent war, some falling short of their targets and striking down into the ground; tiny saplings burst into flame when he passed them, and trees fell deathly ill to some black virus, their branches falling to the blackened ground and spreading like a wave as sand as they turned to ash. Like the dead marches, the advice that was given was to not look at them, and to run; run before it was too late. Frodo was strongly reminded of his dream, once again running from something that he could not determine.

"Hurry!" The Spectre shouted, twirling in the air to look back at his adopted heir. "You can not let it catch you!"

The world around him was melting into the shadow world. Everything was falling into darkness and despair. There was total destruction surrounding him. Frodo could not have gone to help those who cried out even if he wanted to: the edge of the road was lined with walls of flame that prevented any escape. Frodo, despite the advice, could not help but look through the rippling fire, his curiosity once again getting the better of him. He looked away though when his eyes fell upon something that looked suspiciously like human remains.

"That's it! That's it, my lad!" The Spectre encouraged. "There is not far to go now! We have passed the Three Farthing stone! Just keep running Frodo! The illusion has not touched Woodhall!"

However Frodo was not convinced that this was a good thing. Woodhall was about a days brisk walk away from where he stood now and his stretched energy was rapidly diminishing. Besides, the screams of his fellow hobbits were drilling into his mind, torturing what was left of his sanity. How could he hope to endure this? He had not even begun to try and decode his dreams yet, though The Spectre considered this part of the process, and he doubted that he could make it all the way to Woodhall with only his will to drive him there. No one except himself was at stake here; there was no ring to destroy for the good of all, no friend to act strong for; there was only himself, as he was now.

Frodo stumbled, his legs finally giving out from underneath him. He crashed to the floor with a thud, a bitter coppery taste settling from the lip that he had split.

"Get up my boy!"

Those snake creatures were hissing at him again, swirling around the outside of the road as they waited to see if they could move in for the kill. Their red-slit like eyes slashed into the darkness, floating in circles around where his body lay. To his horror Frodo found Arwen's gem, which was imprinted tightly within his hand, was doing nothing to dispel the creatures that attacked.

"Frodo!"

He could not get up. What point was there? He was the only one at risk. The Spectre had said that his surroundings were just an illusion designed to hunt him. His stomach turned when he thought about what may have happened if he had returned to his friends when in this hallucinogenic state: What would he have seen lying in the road? Frodo shuddered. At least he could tell, somehow, deep inside, that his friends were safe and that was all that mattered to him, even if the looks on their faces had awoken something inside of him.

"Fight it, Frodo!" The Spectre cried, battling against the whips of fire that snapped out towards it. "They want you to give in! But you mustn't! You'll lose everything if you do!"

but would he? Frodo thought. Sam and the others were safe, Bilbo was slumbering away in Rivendell, and the Shire would remain as it was. Only he would see it as the decrepit ruin that reminded him of Mordor and it was a sacrifice that he was planning to make if it meant the safety of his friends.

"No!" The Spectre hissed as a snake creature darted from the undergrowth towards him.

Amidst the shouts and crackling of vengeful fire Frodo could barely discern The Spectre and its urgent words of encouragement even as it was dragged towards the very fire that lined the road.

"No!" It screamed again, but it was no use. With a snap The Spectre vanished into the flames.

All that was good fell into silence.

He was alone now.

Frodo lay on the ground, shivering, gripping Arwen's gem with his bandaged hand. "I'm sorry," Frodo whispered, blinking tears out of his eyes.

In front of him one of the snake creatures slivered from the blackened tree it had just infected.

"Run!"

But he could not; he had no hope to fuel him anymore. The others would not be losing much more than a supposed friend who dragged them to hell and back.

"Run!"

The sickly, slimy snake creature slithered around Frodo's ankle, its red eyes shining with a malicious gleam. It looked at him as it tightened its coils around his limb, enjoying the look of abstract fear in its victim's eyes.

"ru…"

The snake narrowed its eyes. With a sudden snap of its body Frodo was pulled towards the edge of the road where a ravenous fire greedily awaited him. Frodo clawed at the ground with his hands, ploughing his fingernails into the earth in an attempt to at least slow the inevitable.

There was one word though that had not yet failed him, and Frodo cried out when he remembered it. He gritted his teeth, clutched Arwen's gem, and in a bare whisper he said just one simple word: "Bilbo."

The effect was instantaneous. He was deafened by an almighty screech that felt as if it had been released by a creature just metres from where he lay. The sudden release had done what no amount of thought could do, and Frodo suddenly snapped himself out of his own self-pity. He groped at the ground, finally freeing himself from the now loosened grip of the snake that was spitting and hissing in disgust.

Frodo jumped, hitting the ground running. He catapulted away from the area, hands now covering his ears to silence the screech of some godforsaken creature behind him. He ran blindly, the fire reaching new heights as he struggled against that presented to him. Someone, judging by the trembling of the earth, was not happy to see him go.

The Spectre was still no where to be seen and Frodo found himself yearning for its presence. Even as a ghost it could offer him advice, lead him on; but it was gone now, dragged away by some creature that Frodo did not want to think about. The energy it had expelled on the mortals had tired it to such a degree that it was now no longer able to protect himself. Whatever plan The Spectre had, if it had thought of one, was lost within the tongues of yellow and red that imprisoned him on a road set to destruction.

The trees that lined the side of the road were all plummeting towards him, and he was forced to scramble over them as best he could. The snake like creatures were not far behind judging by the hissing and spitting, and Frodo was quick to ensure that he spent as smaller time as possible upon the task of clearing it. Indeed the snakes were seeing his escape as nothing but a pitiful break for freedom, and they snapped at his heels when he stumbled or made to fall. They were always rather disappointed when Frodo punched them away into the darkness and they returned each time with a greater thirst for revenge. There were more of them springing from the darkness, some of them jumping out in the distance and simply waiting for Frodo to come to them., their forked tongues flickering with anticipation.

Frodo grit his teeth when bandaged hand, pained neck, and wounded shoulder all flared in sudden pain when, over the brow of a hill, he spotted something that made him stop dead in his tracks.

It was the eye of Sauron and Frodo knew there and then that all hope was lost. Old fears and anxieties were reborn within his soul. Frodo took a step backwards from the eye, finding that the lidless pupil was looking straight at him.

"Bilbo," Frodo whispered, but the eye of Sauron did not reel from the word, not change its form at all.

Every moment that he was still he reminded himself of his vulnerability, but still his body refused to move: he was frozen in shock . At his sudden still state the area around him erupted into raucous cheering of the monsters that lurked deep in the darkness; some even clapped, but Frodo could not attend to their mocking taunts even if Sauron had not trapped him within its sight.

The wound on his hand burned with a sudden ferociousness, in particular the remnants of the finger that Gollum had bitten off. His thoughts returned with the speed of a Dwarf who had just located an underground treasure trove of Mythril. There was not time for Frodo to wonder what to do or whether this was a good idea. If this was just an illusion of his fevered mind-a very good one it must be- then surely that which was in front of him was not Sauron but a trick used to deceive him and in that case…

Frodo took a steadying breath, his body finally complying to his demands as he took another step back from the eye. The monsters around him cheered and clapped, and Frodo saw brief outlines of them as the lighting fell more regularly towards the earth. Murmuring his uncle's name, Frodo sprang forward, the monsters suddenly confused calling in some foreign tongue to each other as he sped past them and towards the lidless eye in front of him.

And he continued to run; even when he reached the iris of the eye.

As Frodo fell to the heat and pain of the fire that consumed him, he had one last fleeting glimpse of his friends, happy at Bag End; Sam busying himself with the garden, and Merry and Pippin loafing upon the lawn; and there was himself too, sat just a little way off from the others, a smile gracing his face as he joked with his three companions.