A Ghost in the Night

Chapter 18: The Spectre Departs

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

Author's notes: 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.

This chapter is a little shorter than the others but you will see why I ended it when I did when you get there. Tee hee hee….I am evil…

Okay, um chapter 19 has been written but it is being amended because it doesn't make any sense J .This story will probably end up to be about 21/22 chapters, depending on how much I can write. I'm trying to make the last chapter very angsty for poor Frodo, and you'll see why when you've read it. I love angst J.

Thanks very much to the wonderful support of Dear Abbie, melodysongsinger, and the wonderful Frodohealers group for providing mountains of luscious stories. Also a HUGE thank you to Nicole Sabatti who has come up with a marvellous plot line for LOTR that she is letting me steal. She could have written it so much better, but she's so lovely that she's passed it on to me to ruin…

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It's better if I walk away

And concede that I lost the fight.

Let the future be what it may;

I'll watch the sea tonight.

"Frodo?"

Frodo did not reply. He was sprawled on the ground, tears spilling from his eyes. Sam…that was Sam?* His* Sam? That broken figure that spoke words of such hatred… Sam?

"Frodo? There is little time. There are still things we must discuss."

The Spectre seemed to be speaking from great distance, but the cold imprint upon his arm was evidence that it was right alongside him, gently trying to rouse him from his deep despair that threatened to drown him.

"Frodo?"

He didn't answer.

The Spectre considered him.

"How did you come to the conclusion that the stranger was Sam?"

Tears were falling from his eyes, but inside he felt utterly dead and his grief was beyond any cry that he could have given. He heard himself speak back to The Spectre, but he barely understood what he was saying.

"He was gardening," he said, voice deadpan. "He was trying to save the flowers. That's what Sam is doing now; he's trying to restore the plant life in the Shire."

"That's right," The Spectre said, gently sweeping Frodo's hair out of his eyes. "I knew you would figure it out. You're an intelligent boy, Frodo."

It stopped talking.

"Frodo," it began again, hesitantly. "Do you know what he was gardening?"

"Flowers," said his voice.

"Yes, but did you notice what sort?"

Frodo did not answer. The Spectre sighed.

"The other parts…" Frodo heard himself say in a whisper. "He blames me…for what happens…he blames me…blames…" Whilst he mumbled, he curled up tighter into a ball, burying his face into his hands. The tears would not stop.

"I never said it would be easy, my child," it said gently. "You have done more than I could have ever expected. Is this why you punish yourself? Do you think Sam blames you for what happens to the Shire?"

The wind swept hauntingly through the trees, chilling the small huddled hobbit that clung to the world on a rope as thick as a strand of hair.

"My fault….everything…I failed on the quest…I couldn't stop the killing...i….failed…them…"

"You are mistaken," The Spectre said, and it forced him to sit up straight, but Frodo was like a bag of potatoes and slumped as such. The pitied gaze The Spectre gave him was strong enough to be detectable through his tears and numb pain, and he felt a small piece of hope grow within him when he listened to the melodious voice.

"But…I f-failed…"

"No, Frodo," The Spectre said, wiping his tears away, smiling with the strength of the stars. "You did not fail. The ring was destroyed, was it not? Does it matter that its destruction came about other than you had expected? I think not. The Quest succeeded-you succeeded-and you need to remember that." It stopped once more, taking the time to gently shake Frodo so that it was certain he was listening.

"Frodo, the dreams you have are a manifestation of *your* thoughts and feelings, not of others. You *think* Sam blames you for the destruction of the Shire. Why? Because you failed to destroy the ring as you'd planned? No. Because you see yourself as the one responsible for taking Sam into Mordor? He followed on his own volition. Because you are taking up Sam's time when he should be treating the Shire? Yes, I think that is where your guilt is born. You did not wish to take up more time- time you had no purchase over."

Frodo, feeling a sliver of warmth vibrate through his body, continued to silently sob. It was true: he did feel guilty over taking up his friend's time when they had their own lives to lead. He had tried to avoid it as much as he could, especially when he felt that a friendship as strong and beautiful as that which he held with Merry, Pippin and his beloved Sam was an item he no longer deserved.

"You have nothing to blame yourself for Frodo, unless you count your stubborn insistence to punish yourself over things that have been. Release yourself from the prison, my child; reach out and take the key!"

It was with an effort that Frodo pulled himself back together so that he was now sitting, unsupported, upon the hard ground. He felt exhausted, and the feeling of weakness from Shelob's poison continued to flow through his veins and disorganise his thoughts and emotions, but still he felt a little stronger than before: he no longer felt as if he was dangling over the edge of a precipice, but moved away from its edge and was content with the decision he made.

"He wanted me to save him," Frodo said, wiping his eyes with his hand. "Sam….he said I could stop it for him…but I couldn't for myself…"

"He was talking of the future, my child. Frodo, you and Sam are so close that you are nearly one entity. He can feel when you are not well before you can. He would sooner jump off a cliff than abandon you to anything that may harm you, to leave you to drown in your own despair. But by doing so, you are taking up his time, and you are dragging him down with you."

Frodo started, but The Spectre raised a comforting hand and its expression was still soft, and welcoming. "You think this, Frodo. Sam is torn between you and another. He can't hope to decide, but you can: you can let him go."

"I can stop it," Frodo said. "But how I do not know. The Shire is my home and I…"

He raised a hand to Arwen's gem, embracing it with a gentleness that was torturously light. But the second that his skin landed butterfly light onto the metal, he knew what he had to do, like he had known it the moment the offer had been given. For a moment he saw Arwen's face, beautiful and caring, as she offered him the gem. She knew then what he refused to admit. Middle Earth was no longer his to enjoy.

"That is your own doing Frodo, and something that can't be reversed. You won't let yourself enjoy that which you have saved, and thus you feel separated from it, as the dream with the canyon told you. The dream of the Mount Orodruin was a replication of your blame, how you desired the end to be and the consequences you placed upon yourself because you did not do it this way. The dream where you were running from the darkness was because you realised that you could not hide from it for longer, that it was catching up with you. And then the dream with Sam…I'm sorry."

And the Spectre meant it, every word. There was a thin slice of a golden disc peeping from over the horizon, and the sky was becoming a mixed golden and yellow colour. Tiny clouds, tinged pink, were chasing each other slowly over the sky, heading west towards the sea.

"I have a few questions," he said, feeling strangely new. "In the dream with the canyon, the children playing on the other side…" The Spectre nodded, but it was beginning to dissolve into blue particles around the edges. "That was Merry, Pippin and Sam, wasn't it? When we were younger…before the ring…"

"It was," The Spectre confirmed. "You have been reaching for those days for some time now but you must realise that they are gone."

"But how do I save Sam? You say he is torn in two? But between me and what?"

"The flowers, Frodo. What were the flowers that he was trying to protect?"

Frodo looked at The Spectre in confusion, but The Spectre smiled, its arm drifting away on the breeze and its body beginning to show signs that it was about to do the same.

"How do I let him go?" Frodo asked, wishing that The Spectre would help him with decoding the information, though, as suspected, it did no such thing except look startlingly sorrowful. . "Maybe I will be able to stay here now I have faced my fears."

"Maybe," the Spectre replied, that sad glint still in its eye. "Maybe not. You can try Frodo, if you wish, but remember that there is another place waiting for you, if you desire to go." At this The Spectre pointed towards Arwen's gem. "Do not stare out of your window at the havens which yet you can't see. Live your life, Frodo. You are no longer the Ring bearer."

Frodo smiled weakly. He groaned when a wave of dizziness washed over him, and the illness returned once more. He suddenly felt very cold, and he could do little about that until he was back at Bag End. The Spectre smiled sadly, and it stepped away, now barely more than a swarm of shining blue fire flies, its voice lingered on the breeze.

"You have done well, my boy. Perhaps I will see you again when you come over to the havens. I will greet you, if you ever get there. So long my lad!" it said, blue particles now swimming wildly in their weakening shell. "My, but it has been so good to see you! Take care lad! Think about your dreams for you will not experience them again until October the sixth. Remember, my child! Remember the key that is around your neck, and most importantly remember that what your dreams have told you! You have something yet to do, my son, I know it!"

And before Frodo could do anything but stand up and reach for him, before he could even say a word, The Spectre finally vanished, a shower of blue glitter raining from where it had previously been floating. Frodo stared, mouth agape as the last piece of glitter was swept away towards the west.

And then he was alone again, the suns warmth like a blanket over his body, covering the cold feeling left by The Spectre's hands upon his.

He knew he couldn't hear him, that it was too late, but Frodo, staring towards the west, hand embracing Arwen's gem tenderly, said: "I will see you soon, away over there in the Havens. Goodbye, and thank you."

And whether it was just his imagination, or whether he was sick and tired and was hallucinating, he swore that as he turned back towards the road he heard someone reply.

Frodo suddenly shuddered, and he was broken from his reverie from the gentle yet cooling breeze that swept continuously over The Shire. He smiled weakly, wrapped his arms around himself, and began making his way towards the road, his legs occasionally buckling as he reached hilly ground. Upon reaching the road he could not help but look back towards the field, and once again he embraced Arwen's gem. He did feel better, at peace, and he knew when he recovered that he would be a new person.

But others had something else in mind.

Frodo had felt better, but the second he hit the road it was a sudden plunge back into the darkness that he thought he had forever left behind. The poison of Shelob did not like being forgotten, and it had returned now in full force, making him once again feel completely wretched and weak. The world around him was starting to spin. His neck was now hurting him so badly that he could not even move his head. With just a soft moan, Frodo collapsed onto his side, shivering, as he heard the fierce hissing of the beast from long ago.

He sought out Arwen's gem immediately, and he closed his eyes, scared to open them in case he saw Her. He shuddered when he felt thick, cool, slimy cords being wrapped around his limbs, and he was positive that a spiked fang brushed his arm. He kept telling himself that he was in the Shire, that he was no longer upon the stairs of Cirith Ungol where dark monsters lay in wait, but he could not do it, and when he felt that bubbling hiss that he feared, he screamed Sam's name.

Everything was spinning, falling into a world of complete darkness and despair. The cords….they were getting tighter, and the victorious gloating of that creature was chilling him to the bone. He dare not open his eyes, even though his imagination was so vivid it was as if he was back there again; at least his imagination had some form of ignorance, some possibility that it wasn't real. If he opened his eyes and he saw Her…

He bitterly wished that someone was with him, and through his intense fears and screams, Frodo thought he heard someone call his name, and then hands, far too big to be a hobbits, were grabbing him roughly from the ground. He felt himself, though he was sure that he was still wrapped in cords, being thrown over someone's shoulder, but from the time it took for him to be thrown over he knew that it was no inhabitant of the Shire.

It was something else.

Struggling futilely against the tight grip that held him, Frodo once again called out for Sam, and against Her. Perhaps they were in league somehow?

Frodo felt the grip upon him tighten, and someone said. : "Quick, before the others try to stop us!" and suddenly they were bounding across the road, Frodo screaming for Sam, and his captives gloating as they ran.