A Ghost In The Night

Chapter 20: Visions of the Future

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.

Obviously chapter 19 was as bad as I thought it would be…Tiggovon, I love you for your review, but it is obvious that I was a little *too* subtle about revealing the identity of the hunters as people were not sure who they were. Curse you chapter 19!Curse you to the very bowels of Shelob's lair! Then She will eat you! Yes, She will…

Ok, to those people who were still confused regarding the hunters…I pretty much just tell you in this chapter. So, if you still want to try and figure it out then don't read this chapter, which is terrible anyway. I'm really sorry about that. Don't worry, though; that chapter has, as you have read, been banished to the land of Mordor.

                                    Many thanks to DearAbbie for putting up with me, melodysongsinger for showing me where to get the key to happiness, and to the wonderful Frodohealers group and all of its members for writing such excellent stories. Thanks guys!

~~~~~~~~~

There can't be shadow without light,

No smiles without some tears.

No beautiful moon without the night,

No courage without fear.

-

"Come back here, Sam!"

"I can't, Mr Pippin, I've got to find my master!"

Pippin ran in front of him again, stepping backwards as he tried to plead with the gardener.

"You can't see Legolas or Gimli, Sam!" Pippin cried. "Merry seems to think that it would be a bad idea, and I agree with him!"

"But why?" Sam asked, but he continued walking regardless, spending time to send a cheery wave to a young bunch of hobbits that bid him good morning.

"Begging your pardon, but you will answer my questions later, when my master is back at home and resting. Now, if you don't mind…"

"You can't see them Sam. They'll hurt you with their words…you can't possibly hope to understand what they require of you…"

"What they require of my master, don't you mean," he said, once again darting around Pippin as he jogged along the road. "My gaffer always says that you need to be wary of things, Mr Pippin, but you've taken it a bit too far. If it's aid they want, it's aid they'll get, but not when my master is ill and wounded. He should be at home in bed, not running around the Shire."

Sam stopped abruptly, and Pippin was forced to skid to halt, stumbling as he stopped his movements. Sam faced him, and no longer was he the servant, but a powerful friend of unknown courage and power, as tall as the mighty trees that had grown under his touch. Pippin, amazed, took a step back, but he did not move out of Sam's path. "Even if all the elves in the world need to see my master now," he said, taking a step forward, Pippin gallantly standing his ground, Sam's voice barely above a whisper, "they can see him when he's rested and not without his Sam there to make sure they don't ask too many questions."

And suddenly Sam shrunk, and he was himself again: a simple gardener that was concerned for a friend's wellbeing. He started jogging again, but Sam had not been the only one to acquire strength from their quest, and Pippin, though looking terrified and grim, grabbed his arm, stopping him, his own size greater than before.

"Sam," he tried, digging his heels into the earth to slow the gardener. "You must listen." He squeezed Sam's arm, but his tone was simple and factual, and Sam, spell bound, heeded it. "If they find you…if they ask you…" Pippin stopped, trying in vain to find the right words to say. Sam, still with his weight pulling against Pippin, looked concerned, confused, and torn. "They mean no harm but harm they will inevitably do…Frodo…I fear how he will take it if at all…"

Pippin shook his head. He looked towards the ground.

"Then I must be there to help him," Sam countered, pulling his arm away from Pippin completely, and he turned his back and began walking away.

"You would not be able to either," Pippin said grimly but Sam did not stop. "I know what they seek. Sam, do you want to lose this?"

Sam stopped in his tracks, a mask of understanding hiding the confusion he obviously felt.  "What do you mean?"

Pippin watched him for a moment, noticing how the gardener stood against the back drop of the shire, embraced so tenderly by the gentle golden rays of the crisp morning sun. The trees around them swayed and sung in the melodious breeze, glimmering like miniture stars as blades of sunlight ran up leaves of flawless green.

"This?" Pippin said, gesturing towards Hobbiton; the flowing rivers, glorious greenery, and idolised environment of their home.  "Are you so willing to throw it all away?"

Sam looked at him, his small fringe tickling his forehead as the wind lifted it.  "Mr Pippin…?"

"Sam, you must listen," Pippin pleaded, stepping forward and clasping Sam's hands within his own.  "If they ask you, you will die in spirit, you will be haunted with memories that you can never escape, be pulled down into darkness, lose everything you have come to love…" Pippin stopped, taking in the feared yet determined look upon the gardener's face. "Do you want that, Sam?"

They stood that way for a moment, the sound of children's laughter dying upon the breeze, all falling into relative silence.

"All I want," Sam said after a moment, and Pippin held his breath, "is to find my master. If I've lost him, I've lost everything else, too."

 "Oh Sam…" Pippin whispered, but Sam did not heed him.

"I'm sorry Mr Pippin," he said, and he pulled his hands gently away from Pippin's. "It's my duty as his friend."

"And it is my duty as yours," Pippin countered, unmoving from his position, "to stop you."

"And your duty to Merry?" Sam countered just as swiftly, "where does that lie now?"

It was hard to silence the Took, but silenced he had been. Sam did not smile, for he saw it as no victory. "I'm going to find my master. Then, and only then, we will talk of where our duties lie."

And Sam turned, this time hesitant as he jogged away, but Pippin made no move to stop him, and he stood frozen to the spot, gently fingering the pipe in his pocket, remembering that time in Isengard so very long ago.

"Merry," he whispered.

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

Many moons had passed since Frodo had seen his two former companions, yet they seemed weighed down and burdened, as if years of torturous trials had interlaced themselves between meetings. It was not the look of them, for they looked as ever they did, glorious and honourable, but they felt different, as if some inner shadow ate at them from underneath the cloak of skin. Even Legolas, so rarely troubled, looked worried; more so, it would seem, than Gimli, who in turn looked like he had just found out that a recently acquired store of mythril was nothing but dirt.

"Frodo," Gimli greeted, and he bowed low so his beard, longer than it had been, brushed against the ground. "Long have we searched…"

"Then continue to search!" Merry interrupted.

"We have no need," Gimli countered, gifting Merry a mingled look of mild annoyance and desperation. "For we have found the one we came to see! Why search for something that is found?"

Merry went to counter attack Gimli's words, but he fell victim to a sudden bout of coughing and could not answer.

"Frodo," Gimli started again, ignoring the harsh coughs of the shaking hobbit near to him on the road. He bowed again, and Frodo, still on his knees, found the gesture strangely unnerving. "We have sought you for many moons now. Will you deny us now?"

"I did not realise that I had denied you at all," Frodo said, forcing himself up onto his feet to warmly shake the dwarf's hand, but before he could reach for the offered nicety, Merry once again grabbed him, pulling him back from the open hand.

"Merry!"

"Leave him alone, Gimli."

"But we need to speak to him. It is of the utmost importance!"

Gimli turned to Legolas, who had down nothing more than watch in mild amusement from the sidelines, though his face was unusually pale and worried. They all turned to him, Frodo and Merry clinging onto each other for support, Gimli to invite him into the argument; but Legolas just continued to watch and he offered little input.

"Indeed," he finally said, his voice like bird song in the morning, but he continued to stare at Frodo in particular in an unusual way, as if assessing him.

Gimli shook his head. "I'll never understand elves," he mumbled, then he turned back to the hobbits, and Frodo felt Merry tighten his grip upon him. Frodo squeezed him back.

"Ring bearer," Gimli said causing Frodo to flinch unexpectedly and Legolas to narrow his eyes in contemplation. Even though he quickly looked away he could feel the Prince's eyes upon him, his boring stare more noticeable than any shout that he could have issued at seeing his reaction. Gimli, however, continued regardless. "We need…"

"You need nothing!" Merry interrupted again, and suddenly he was in front of Frodo, shaking hand wielding a heavy blade, an undercurrent of weakness running under his tone as he struggled to retain his wits.

"You know of our needs, Merry," Legolas said in a strangely struggled way, those piercing eyes never leaving Frodo's face.

"That I do," Merry admitted, paling, right hand trembling as if the illness was centred there, "but you know not of ours."

Legolas merely continued his scrutiny of Frodo, but Gimli, sighing, said: "Then tell us, dear hobbit! Our ears are open!"

"Are your hearts and minds open, Gimli, son of Gloin?" Merry asked, sword gradually falling victim to gravity, body steadily sinking. Frodo found no words within himself. As before he had thousands of questions, too many to even pick one among the masses, and he raised a hand to his forehead to steady himself, the Prince's gaze increasing in amount by ten fold at the movement.

"What do you mean?" Gimli asked, looking bewildered.

"Ears will not help my cause or yours," Merry argued, his arm groping around him to verify that Frodo was within distance. "You must listen with your heart and mind alone, for then you will understand our plight." His hand blindly collided with Frodo's own and he grabbed a tight hold on his cousin. Frodo, ignoring the vain attempt at creating a barrier between them, moved forward, and he placed an arm around Merry's shoulder to support him, though he had not much strength to give.

"Hobbits," Gimli muttered, and he shook his head again. "I'll never understand you either."

"And we will never understand dwarves," Frodo said lightly," or Elves, or any other creature than our own, though it is not through lack of trying we are like this."

 "Let no blame be taken," Gimli replied.

Legolas stepped forward, his Elven bow glinting in the sunlight from where it peaked over his shoulder. His feet made no sound upon the earth, nor were any imprints left in the soil. He glided towards Gimli and stopped, saying nothing, eyes still like piercing arrows. Frodo looked towards him, trying to ignore Merry's increasingly taut body at the Elf's proximity, and as their eyes locked together Frodo felt a sudden darkness explode within his heart, a weight so crushingly strong that he could no longer breathe. A picture suddenly flashed before his eyes: Legolas, bloodied and bruised within some dark and evil place, Gimli's axe, the handle bloodied and broken, abandoned on the ground beside him as the elf wept bitterly, face contorted in pain and rage...

Frodo stumbled, Merry grabbing him before he fell, the eye contact between them broken.  The stumble, though causing Merry to cry out his name, and Gimli to raise his heavy eyebrows in a gesture of surprise, had succeeded in breaking the link between them, and Frodo gasped, his eyes automatically snapping back to the Prince as he regained himself; but there was nothing lurking within those blue depths now, and no vision assailed him. Legolas merely continued to watch, but he seemed more sorrowful than before, and Frodo was left to wonder over what he had just seen.

"Look Gimli," Merry said, increasing his hold on his cousin, Frodo now returning the elf's piercing glare from over his protective arm. "You can not do this. You say you wish to hear our needs, well here they are: You must leave." Merry's voice was desperate, thickly dripping with a plea so heartfelt that a wave of uncertainty washed over the usually stubborn dwarf.

"I don't understand," Gimli confessed, admitting his bafflement, hands sweeping into the air in a gesture of slight exasperation. He sighed and sat down on the earth, legs crossed, as if expecting a long explanation. "Why are you being like this? We only mean to ask Frodo and Sam some questions. Why are you acting like we mean to slay them? We mean no such thing! I don't understand why you insist on keeping them from us, which is why," he said, looking towards Legolas, who in turn looked away towards the west, and Frodo, following his gaze, was left to wonder why he was acting so unusually, "we decided to talk to them directly."

"Directly?" Merry questioned. He looked towards Frodo, who nodded, and sat down himself, sighing in relief as he did so. Frodo copied him, though Merry was quite adamant that he not sit any closer to Gimli than he. "You abducted him, Gimli!"

"We did no such thing. We only required to speak to Frodo alone and we could ill do that when you are Pippin were buzzing around stopping our questions."

"Our need is great," Legolas murmured, sitting down himself, his golden hair falling like a breath of sunshine against his perfect features, his words not pleading but factual. His next words were spoken to all in general, but Frodo was sure that his words were meant for him alone. "I would ask nothing which may harm you."

"What harm could come from questions, lest they not be asked?" Gimli asked his friend, leaning on his hand as he turned to look at him, the sunlight that filtered through the trees chasing over his metal helmet as he turned. "We need to ask them or we shall be the ones in peril."

"Good intentions can herald worse results than poor intentions," Legolas replied, looking towards the ground, fingers playing with a small flower that trembled in the weak breeze of the morning, licking up the sunlight that flooded brokenly through the canopy above them.

"So you understand?" Merry asked, hopeful, hand stretched out to plead his case with actions. He placed a hand on Legolas' and the Elf smiled. "I believe so."

"Well I do not," Frodo said suddenly, turning so that he shot a look of annoyance at both the dwarf and elf. "And I would greatly appreciate an explanation."

"You have had ours," Gimli said, leaning back on his splayed hands. "We were driven to rather ruthless tactics to try and gain access to you." At this he paused, and he looked up into the sky, hand straying to the glimmering axe that stuck out from his belt. "We did not mean to scare you in the trees," he said, and he looked down, a smile fighting its way onto his face. "Sam did not seem too pleased that I was trying to pull him out of there, and he would not listen to a word I said. I did confess our identity then, but he seemed too shocked or angry to listen."

"He was both upset and angry, as you would be if you had…" Frodo stopped himself before he said anymore. "I…we have all had a lot to deal with on our return to the shire," he said in a way of an apology. "There is still so much to be healed within our land. Wisdom can not always penetrate anger or anxiety."

"Still, I was rather unnerved myself," Gimli said, laughing, leaning back as he relaxed further. "Legolas here…you should have seen him…jumping around like a dwarf on a mythril pile!"

Legolas, who seemed locked in a dream world which he exited only by his own choice, was suddenly awakened, and he gifted Gimli a look of annoyance that he had not been seen since Rivendell.

"There was something here," Legolas said quickly, slightly defensive. "I could sense it even if you could not."

"Aye," Gimli agreed, looking across at Merry as if to convey without words the insanity of his friend's words. "I saw nothing! Why you insisted on dragging us away from the trees I'll never know. Why, I almost left my lucky axe behind! I had to push you away so I could bend down to retrieve it."

"There was something there," he repeated again, his tone lightly injured and dented. "Frodo, did you see it? It appeared just after I had put my hands upon your shoulders…"

"Speak not of it!" Gimli ordered. "You have talked of little else save that blue light for what seems like hours! I saw none of it!"

"A blue light?" Merry asked, interested, hand gently squeezing the elf's. "We saw it too. Like one of Gandalf's fireworks, it was, only far less friendly." Merry turned back around to Frodo, and Frodo felt himself tense. "Did you not see it cousin? It followed you after it attacked us."

Merry waited for an answer, and Frodo, his heart pounding slowly, did not know what to say. For some reason he did not want to let others know of his experience that night. He watched Merry, cerulean eyes meeting lightly grey, wondering what he should say, and if he did, how much. In his mind he heard The Spectre's whispering voice, remembered the decision to go to the Havens, an image of it flashing in his mind like lighting, but then it was gone, and Merry was looking at him with the utmost concern, and his face seemed pained and withered.

"Cousin?"

"I…saw…"he stopped, and briefly looked away, hoping to find courage in the surrounding area. Finding none he looked back at his companion.

Why was it The Spectre induced such fear in the others? He had not found it frightening much, lest when it got angry with him. Why did they see it as a thing of evil when all it had done was try to help? He looked away from Merry, unable to look at such pain and knowing he had caused it, the feeling of guilt that he had felt earlier that morning returning in full strength. He focused his eyes upon his hand again, and began pretending that he was busy rewrapping it.

"It is a simple question," Gimli said, his naturally hardy voice grating against the silence. "You do take long in answering, my dear hobbit."

Frodo continued to look at the ground, unable to see the look on Merry's face, feeling the painful raking of the three pairs of eyes that surveyed him. Merry's warm hand upon his shoulder was the only thing that brought back his attention. He looked up, and as he did he could feel the link between them, and he saw himself briefly on the edge of the rope, dangling over the lip of a cliff, Merry clawing at the rope as he struggled to pull him back up, but being pulled towards the precipice himself…

"I saw…"

Legolas had become most interested in the exchange, his gaze subtly darting from one to the other, his blonde hair being blown lightly across his shoulder in the breeze.

"I saw…" the vision faded, and Frodo realised how long he had taken in answering. He raised a hand to his head and groaned lightly, deliberately allowing the cloak of confidence to slip and the full depth of his illness to be momentarily revealed so as to blame his hesitant reply upon it.

"Frodo?" Merry queried, hand lightly shaking his shoulder and he realized in that moment Merry had not been fooled. "Did you…?"

He cut Merry off with a swift embrace, his eyes still kept deliberately lowered so as not to meet his cousin's gaze.  Merry returned the embrace hesitantly, and had he looked up Frodo would have seen Merry look at their two companions with such sorrow and desperation that Gimli looked away with guilt, feigning a sudden interest in a near by pebble, and Legolas dipping his head, apologising to him without words being spoken.

"I saw nothing," he mumbled from Merry's shoulder, and in his head he heard the cry of a seagull, and the waves gently lapping at a far away beach. No longer did he feel a painful attachment to his friend, but the arms that encircled him felt void, almost like a ghost was the one embracing him, and inside he felt hollow.

"I saw nothing."

And the rope was severed by Frodo's hand, and he plunged into the unknown, Merry left embracing a limp and now weightless rope. Not that Merry knew this; he only felt a distance between him and his cousin, a wall too high to clamber over. He felt, and he squeezed Frodo tightly to make sure, that he had already lost him.

"Ha!" Gimli cried, and the mood that had unknowingly been produced was broken. "You see, Legolas! Nothing! No silly blue light did our hobbit friend see!"

It was meant as an idle jest and Legolas saw it as such, but he did not reply, and he looked back towards the west in a thoughtful manner.

"You," Gimli said, and his voice was softer now, a hand placed reassuringly on the Elf's knee "are too concerned with your father's request. It is a lot to ask of us, but I will not be the one to deny the King of Mirkwood and his son."

"My father's request," Legolas mumbled, looking back at the earth, his hand sweeping back his golden hair so he could see more clearly. "Yes, it is a lot to ask. More, I think, than we can deliver…"

Merry, who was still clutching Frodo within his arms, looked at them in warning.

They fell into silence again, Legolas haunted by something, and Gimli trying in vain to comfort him; Merry and Frodo sat with their arms around each other, but both feeling as if they were holding nothing but a memory.

"Merry," Legolas said eventually, his gentle voice slightly trembling. "Will you allow us to speak to Frodo alone?"

Merry's head snapped up so quickly that he could have broken something. "You said…"

"We will not ask him," he said quickly, picking himself up from the ground, brushing his leggings from the small amount of dust that clung stubbornly to the material. "We came here to seek aid, but I see now that it would be a sacrifice too great." He sighed deeply, and for a moment he seemed dimmer, not as incandescent as usual, like the dipping light of a star as it struggled to survive; but then he was himself again, his light returning and his presence as awe inspiring as ever it had been.  "Gimli," he said, turning towards his friend. "We must rely on what we already know. We will not ask this of Frodo or Sam."

"It is your choice," Gimli said, but he seemed as if he yearned to disagree. "If you think it will not aid us…"

"It will not," Legolas replied, and he looked at Frodo in a queer fashion. "I have seen that now. Only a fool would sacrifice the moon to the night."

"Very well," Gimli sighed. "You speak to Frodo. I will tend to the other hobbit."

"I do not need tending," Merry said, his cracked voice betraying his words. "I am perfectly fine."

"As am I," Frodo said weakly, still mildly annoyed that everyone there seemed to be treating him as a firework that may explode at any minute. Besides, no illness whether it be the evil tormenting of the ring or the promised poison of Shelob could ever quench his ever active curiosity. "I can handle any question you may decide to ask."

Legolas and Gimli just looked at each other, a slight smile touching their lips. Gimli shook his head, and he pulled himself over to Merry and placed a partially gloved hand upon his right arm. "Of course," he muttered, prying the blade from the white and trembling fist that still held it. "You are fine."

Merry struggled at bit, trying to pull his arm away from Gimli's grip, his left hand futilely swatting at him as he dug in a small leather pouch on his belt. But he could not remove his arm, and Gimli, easily trapping it, applied a few athelas leaves to the wound, Merry hissing inadvertently, eyes scrunched up as he attempted to quell the pain. Legolas walked towards them, and before Frodo could ask what troubled his cousin, Legolas gently bent down and gripped his left shoulder. This time is was Frodo's turn to hiss in pain, and Legolas quickly relinquished his feather light hold upon him.

"Frodo?"

"I am fine Legolas," he said, but his hand continued to hover above his shoulder, protecting it from any further intrusions. "You just…took me by surprise…"

"You are not well," he stated, his lilting voice barely audible over Merry's struggles and Gimli's reprimands to keep him in place. Their little battle had earned their attention, and both Frodo and Legolas turned to watch them, Legolas adopting the faintest hint of a smile when Gimli dropped the athelas after Merry had swung successfully at him.  "Or Merry," he said, watching the rapid rising and falling of the hobbits chest, and the near falls into unconsciousness. "You should both be resting."

Frodo opened his mouth in realisation, noticing the livid scar that ran up to his cousin's elbow for normally the mark was less noticeable, hidden under fabric or paled beyond anything but close scrutiny, but today it stood like night against star. Then, broken away from his hypnotic trance on the limb by Legolas' last words, he scoffed, wondering if Legolas knew that the only reason they were out was because of him and Gimli.

"I need to speak with you, Frodo," Legolas said lightly, bending down so Merry and Gimli were hidden behind him. "I have just a little I wish to say."

"You may ask me," Frodo said, shivering a little now that the shock had passed. "I will answer as best I can."

But Legolas just shook his head and ruffled Frodo's hair in an affectionate manner. "No, little one, it will serve no purpose now."

"I will not self destruct, Legolas," he said more stiffly than he intended.

Legolas was set to answer, but Gimli's gruff voice stole whatever words he was about to say. "Legolas?"

"Yes, my friend?"

"Urr…"

His tone was not one Frodo liked, and it was at that precise moment that he realised that it had gone quiet again. With a bound that Frodo did not expect himself capable of he leaped towards Gimli, noticing, with a growing ice like dread, that Merry was laying still in Gimli's arms and was not struggling at all. With a strength that came from nowhere he was with his cousin in an instant. "Merry!"

Frodo clutched at Merry's right hand; it was cold to the touch. "Merry!"

"Gimli?" Legolas asked, his eyebrows furrowed at the picture. "What did you do?"

Gimli shifted a bit, but he would not relinquish his hold upon Merry, and he collected him into his arms like a child, holding him warmly against him. "He just sort of collapsed…" he said weakly. "I think it was long overdue."

"Is he…?" Frodo asked, gripping his friend's hand like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

"He is sleeping," Gimli answered in nothing more than a whisper, gently draping the end of his cloak over the hobbits sleeping frame. "He is sick and wounded."

"Oh Merry," Frodo whispered, his voice broken and shattered. "I'm sorry."

He bought the hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "I'm sorry," he said again, lowering the limb to the ground, Gimli too struck at the action to know what to say, and Legolas too calculating and wise to waste his time trying to think of inane words of support.

"Frodo?" Legolas said after a moment, looking towards Gimli in hopes of communicating his intentions without words. "We need to speak to you."

Frodo, pale and shivering, guilt drowning his heart within his chest, nodded numbly. "Very well," he said simply. "What do you wish to know?"

TBC…