A fifty-second fic by Iorhael

Beta by Marigold

Notes: I got the idea from both the book and the movie. The setting is in the marshes. It is what Frodo experiences when he plunges into the marshes. You might say it's a bit horror story, but maybe not. But if you want to see how Frodo feels when he meets those spirits, please do visit my fic.

Rated: G or PG

“The fog is awfully thick. Perhaps we should wait a bit and see if it clears.”

Sam tilted his head a little and glanced around, trying to catch sight of his master and the skulking creature they had adopted as their guide. Neither of them could he see.

“Frodo? Mr. Frodo? Gollum!”

The gardener swept his arm around to thwart off the fog but in vain. It stirred not, even fastening around him, clutching at his skin, embracing it as if wanting to be one with him. Sam gasped slightly, drawing back with both arms flailing now, making a vain effort to grab something as he stumbled backward when a cluster of shrubs caught him on his foot.

“Ah!” he shrieked, half in pain, half in fury. Then he heard a loud splash as something heavy plunged into the water. Sam’s heart dropped to his toes.

“Mr. Frodo!”

~ * ~ * ~

“A soul’s joining us!” A scarcely perceptible (by a mortal ear) squeal was shaped from down beneath the surface. It sounded strangely merry, as if the owner of the voice was actually happy.

“Where? Where is he?”

In a fleeting moment, several specter-like figures were seen floating up out of the darkened bed of the marshes. Their features were those of skulls, bare of any skin to cover the ivory brows, noses, and teeth. There was no sign of life in them save for the lights in their dead eyes. But for a moment something stirred in them as two orbs of blue, neither glaring with light nor dead, stared back at them.

“Oh…” A sigh emerged from each of those sets of bared teeth.

~ * ~ * ~

Sam rose dazed from the ground with a grunt, making sure all of his belongings he brought with him were still intact inside his pack or hanging on it, rubbing at his sore behind and elbows raw with fresh injury. Briefly, stunned by his fall, he forgot what he needed to do before he was jerked back to the memory of the splashing sound. Sam’s eyes stared wildly around at the thinning mist. He felt thankful for the retreating mist, before realizing that he could only see that creature Gollum.

“Gollum,” Sam called out in dismay. “Where’s Frodo?”

The evil creature crawled closer to Sam, almost hopping on his hands and feet. “Where’s nice Mastersss?” he hissed. He looked around too, just as Sam, with anxiety Sam was not certain was genuine or not. “Master? Nice master is lost!”

Sam scowled at Gollum. “He’s not lost, you – you nasty swine! Don’t you dare…” Tears pricked down his cheeks and Sam brushed them away – he did not know whether he was upset for having shed tears so easily or if he was feeling despair. Sam turned to the direction where he thought he had heard the splash, frowning at the lack of ripples of water on the surface in that place.

~ * ~ * ~

“Who are you?” asked one of them but there was no reply from the one staring with apprehension. “Why is he not answering?” he turned to the others.

A floating apparition came from behind. Lights were in their eyes and sneers across their mouths. But there was grief in the indistinct voice. “He looks afraid. What of?”

“I know not myself,” whispered the other, who then swam upward closer to Frodo followed by his companions. A hitching sound emerged from the hobbit amidst the choked whimpers he had been emitting. Panic suddenly overcame him and Frodo thrashed about. The shadows closed in on him, groping at him, pulling him down.

The one closest to Frodo tried to quiet him. “Ssh. There’s nothing here for you to fear. You’re safe.” Frodo heaved. The hands were damp and cold around his arms, neck, and ankles. They were all around him now.

“Let go of me,” thought Frodo desperately.

“We will not,” replied one of them, startling Frodo. It seemed that they could hear his mind. “You belong to us now. You are one of us.”

“No,” Frodo struggled. “I’m not dead yet.”

Soft, understanding laughs surrounded him. “We understand. ‘Tis all new for you. We will teach you to accept all, dear one.”

“I’m NOT!” Frodo screamed in his head as he felt a grip fasten on his locks. “Let me go!”

There were hesitant murmurs surrounding him but to his disappointment the clutches were not loosened. But something happened subsequent to his scuffle that silenced those lifeless creatures.

The Ring slipped out of his shirt.

There were soft, astonished murmurs around him, and Frodo was nevertheless frozen too. He squirmed to reach the Ring to put It back beneath his clothes but he failed by reason of those iron grips circling around his arms. Some of his captors were not merely surprised. Groans of ire were becoming audible. Frodo shook, terrified at what the creatures might do to him.

“The Ring of Power! He has the Ring of Power.” The voice was no longer gentle. “He must be Sauron’s emissary. We must stop him from bringing It to Him.”

In his fearful state, Frodo could seem to think of nothing that might help him.

“We keep him; that will be enough,” said another.

“No! We have to seize the Ring from him and hide It somewhere. It cannot fall to Sauron again.”

“That won’t help,” thought Frodo, unconsciously speaking in his mind. The dead turned to him quickly.

“What? What do you mean?”

Frodo writhed against the clutches, his nose hurting and his throat clenching, feeling himself fading from the lack of air. He could do nothing but try to send off thoughts: he was not an emissary of the dark power; he was not to claim the Ring. He was sent to undo It, that was all…

Frodo could not hear anything but he could feel the tension was lessening amongst the phantoms even though they had not released him yet.

The creatures swayed; the water bubbled. A face approached him.

“What are you, lad? You look like an elf but you are not built like one.”

“I’m a hobbit,” thought Frodo quickly. He would die soon. He could feel that.

His answer did not help much for the ghosts were simply silent. Perhaps they had never heard of a hobbit before, thought Frodo. He twisted again with what remained of his energy.

Frodo was more than ready to beg once again for them to let go of him when some roars vibrated through the water and he looked around, trembling even more than before.

“Never release him!” A different voice croaked from behind. And not only that. Rumbles of marching strides and wild growls followed from behind.

“The orcs!” whispered one who held Frodo. “They must not lay their hands on you. They will slay you.”

Frodo was near to reflexively gasping for air, and that would be his end. He had to surface now. Let me go, he hissed silently. Please! Before it is too late, and all is lost!

Some hands tightened yet some others started to slacken. Frodo wrenched away, his feet kicking down to give him more strength. Go! Let me go!

All of a sudden a hand pulled him, but this time upward, plucking him out of the water. Splashes of water spattered around Frodo as he struggled to jerk himself up. His wet clothes made him heavy but eventually, planting his heels to the ground, Frodo managed to get to a higher place.

Panting heavily, Frodo looked around. A misshapen creature met his eyes.

“Gollum?” gasped Frodo.

~ * ~ * ~

“They are all dead. Dead,” said Frodo dreamily, lying upon Sam’s lap, his hair slowly smoothed by the gardener’s callused hand. “There were elves, men, even orcs.”

“But sir,” cut Sam. “They died thousands of years ago – I heard the tales told by Mr. Bilbo.”

“They don’t want to be there,” continued Frodo as if Sam did not exist. “They send their lights to whoever passes their way, hoping to be saved. But they never can be, for it’s not a living light that we see but a fell light. A fell light is in their eyes, Sam,” said Frodo as if he were in a void. Sam shook him gently.

“We can save them, Mr. Frodo,” he said softly. “It’s the Ring that has held them down there for so long. We can save them by destroying It. You can.”

~ * ~ fin ~ * ~