A/N: I originally thought this would be a much scarier story, but I was guided (by the ghost if I may say so) in a different direction which I like a lot better. A favor to beg, please, when you do review, can you tell me whether I am clear enough as to who the ghostly presence is? Many thanks!

As far as disclaimers go, I'm borrowing shamelessly from some of the adorable disclaimers from other kindred spirits - you know who you are :) - Don't own any of these people, some however seem to own me; I just get to think about them day and night. Enjoy!

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A summer’s day in the Shire, 1418....

“Do you believe in ghosts, Sam?”

The young gardener looked up in surprise from the picnic lunch he was sharing with his master. He shivered a bit even in the warm day. Frodo was looking off into the distance, his eyes focused on Sam knew not what, perhaps something visible only to his friend. He’d seen that look before when at times Mr. Bilbo would tell of his adventures or read tales out of books and Frodo would listen with a smile on his face and a happy, distant look to his eyes as though he was actually watching what was unfolding as opposed to merely hearing it. Sam loved to watch him look like that, but Frodo wasn’t smiling this time. The gardener had watched more than a little fretfully for some weeks now as his master had become more quiet, as though thinking hard about something that was bothering him. The younger hobbit had wanted to ask, but always stopped himself as he knew it was naught his place to do so, or so his Gaffer would maintain. Now amidst the mushroom salad that lay forgotten in Frodo’s lap and the apple cider noticed only by the bees, Sam thought he might get his answer, even though the very idea sounded creepy, and he wondered if he truly even wanted to know anymore. He swatted at one of the bees, then said in reply, “No, Mr. Frodo, I don’t.”

Frodo continued to look off and Sam wondered again at what he was seeing. “I didn’t think I did either,” the elder hobbit said, “but now I don’t know. I’ve been having the queerest dreams and sometimes after them, I actually feel like there’s someone in the room with me.”

Sam shivered again. “Maybe you’re just hearing things that you wouldn’t have if Mr. Bilbo were still around.”

“No, it’s not a noise. It feels like an actual presence.”

Frodo began to fiddle with something in his pocket and Sam looked at it worriedly. Mr. Bilbo used to do the same thing. There was something different at times with his master since Mr.Bilbo had gone away, sometimes the thinnest shadow laying over Mr. Frodo’s light, that could not be explained away simply because they both missed the absent hobbit who was so dear to both of them. And it came whenever his master put his hand in that particular pocket.

“Does it feel frightening?” Sam asked, trying to distract his master from that fiddling. He was was surprised when a small smile tugged at the edges of Frodo’s mouth as he removed his hand. The wisp of shadow disappeared and the sun came out again.

“No, it’s actually comforting. I’ve felt it several times before in my life, like it was watching over me, protecting me. Last night was the strongest I’ve ever felt it.” Frodo’s voice trailed off for a moment before resuming. “I don’t know why, but I think it’s preparing me for something, Sam, that I’m not sure I want to do or am strong enough to do.” His voice dropped low. “I’m frightened actually of what it will ask of me.”

“What are your dreams like, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked.

“There is a giant eye and lots of fire. Sometimes I can even feel the heat and I wake up sweating. Sometimes I hear a voice. It’s some sort of Elvish, I think, but I don’t understand it. Sometimes it feels like the eye is looking right at me and I feel so exposed. I try to get away, to hide, but I can’t. I’m so afraid it’s going to find me and hurt me.” Frodo shook his head. “I know that doesn’t make a bit of sense. Maybe I’m just inheriting Bilbo’s old title of Mad Baggins.”

Sam clutched Frodo’s hand. “Of course you’re not, Mr. Frodo, but those dreams sound just that awful. No wonder you’ve been looking like you haven’t slept right for a week, begging your pardon. I wish you had told me before. I could have made you some tea or stayed with you or something.”

Frodo smiled at the gentle reprimand. He had often felt that Sam believed his sole reason for being put on the earth was to take care of him and Frodo had always been touched by that. He had never considered Sam his servant and wished that Sam would not feel that way himself, but he knew that wasn’t something of which he could easily convince his gardener. He looked up into that round face, so full of concern.

“I’ve already tried tea,” he said, “but the dreams are just getting worse. Then I wake and I feel that presence. It’s as though it’s there to comfort me and strengthen me for I don’t know what, but afterwards I can sleep again. It almost feels like its holding me like my parents used to when I had bad dreams.”

Sam looked a little relieved at that. “Then maybe that’s all it is. You’ve been thinking about them and then you have the dream and you remember them comforting you.”

Frodo shook his head and Sam frowned a little. “No, it’s a loving presence, but it doesn’t feel like I remember them. It’s something even stronger. I can’t explain it. I wish I could.”

He began to fiddle in his pocket again and this time drew out the Ring and stared at it. Sam felt the shadow return, even a coldness touch his heart. “I have a feeling it’s all connected with this somehow,” Frodo said. “It’s been growing in my mind as the dreams worsen.” He continued to look at the Ring as if mesmerized and then said softly, “Sometimes I even think it is staring back at me.”

Sam looked nervously at the Ring. There was something queer and creepy about it and no mistake. He was glad when Frodo shook himself and put it back in his pocket again with a sigh. “I wish Gandalf would come back. He’d know what to do.”

“That he would, Mr. Frodo,” Sam agreed. “Maybe he’d even explain about that presence you felt.”

“Maybe.” Frodo paused, then said softly, “I’m so small, Sam. What can I do? I just want to be a hobbit, nothing more. I don’t want to be...to do...” He trailed off, looking off once more into the distance.

Sam squeezed the hand he still held and Frodo turned his gaze back to his friend. “I don’t know aught of what this means neither, Mr. Frodo, but I know you will be strong enough. And I know I’ll be with you for whatever comes.”

Frodo saw in his friend’s eyes the love, devotion, quiet strength and commitment that had been his constant companions for nearly thirty years and in that moment, he knew Sam was right, but only because Sam would be with him. His fears quieted, though they did not cease entirely. He squeezed his friend’s hand. “Thank you, Sam.”

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” the younger hobbit asked. He was a mite frightened of what that would entail, though he also knew he would not sleep right himself if he didn’t know his master was all right.

Frodo smiled, seeing both the nervousness and determination to stick by his side in his gardener’s eyes. “Yes, Sam, I think a little company would be welcome, if you have a mind. Thank you.”

Sam returned his master’s smile, then he motioned to Frodo’s forgotten, half-finished lunch. “Now, you go and finish your salad, Mr. Frodo. The bees shouldn’t be the only ones enjoying it.”

Frodo laughed the full, rich laugh that Sam had always considered the most beautiful sound on earth and the creepy feeling that had invaded their peaceful lunch fled in its wake. “Yes, Sam,” Frodo said and obediently dug his fork back into his salad.

The dinner they shared that night Sam filled with cheer as he did the smoke afterwards outside the front door of Bag End. It was late when the younger hobbit said good night to his master and went toward one of the spare bedrooms.

“Good night, Sam,” Frodo returned. “Thank you for staying tonight.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Frodo. Good night.”

The elder hobbit took the tea Sam had made him into his bedroom and set it carefully on the nightstand. He changed into his nightshirt, settled himself in bed, then sipped the tea slowly, silently hoping that the dreams would stay away. He read a little, then dropped off to sleep, the book still open on his chest.

In his dream, he stood on a vast, rocky plain, devoid of any life. In the distance, he saw a tower with a red light coming from the top of it, rotating slowly, looking, he knew with increasing fright, for him. He cowered and tried to hide, but in that blasted plain there was no hiding place.I’m so small, Sam. But not so small that the eye could not find him. He felt its gaze pass toward him, then through him, as though a hot poker from the fireplace had pierced him. He struggled and distantly heard himself cry out, but there was no escape.

And suddenly he understood the voice he had never been able to before. “You cannot hide! I see you! There is no life in the void...only death...”

Then Frodo felt himself lifted up toward the eye with a terrible, inexorable speed. The burning orb filled more and more of his vision until it became his entire world. He moaned and thrashed in his sleep, trying to escape, but it was of no use. Then he passed through the center of the eye and was absorbed into it. It became him and he became it.

Frodo woke screaming, nearly right into Sam’s ear. The younger hobbit had rushed in when he heard his master cry out the first time. He put down his hastily kindled lamp and placed it beside the bed out of reach of Frodo’s thrashing limbs. He clutched both of his friend’s hands and tried to calm his trembling as well as his own. He felt a presence all right, but it was nothing like his master described it. “Get out of here!” he cried to it. “You stop hurting him!”

“Did you see it, Sam?!” Frodo asked in a hysterical voice, staring into his friend’s eyes and clutching Sam’s hands tightly enough to hurt. The younger hobbit barely noticed. “Did you see the eye?! Burning me, consuming me. If this keeps up, there’ll be nothing left of me. Nothing!”

Sam fought to keep his voice level. “No, Mr. Frodo, I didn’t. You were dreaming again. It’s over now. Your Sam’s here and it can’t hurt you no more.”

The gardener looked defiantly around the room, as if daring the presence he had felt to gainsay him, but it had faded away. The young gardener kept speaking gently until he saw the wild, hunted look leave his master’s eyes.

Frodo let go of Sam’s hands and suddenly threw himself into his friend’s arms, listening to Sam’s steady heartbeat and feeling it calm his own racing one. “Oh, Sam, it was so real, so terrible. I don’t know what it means, but it’s watching me, it’s going to find me, I...”

Sam held his master gently but firmly. “Shhh now, Mr. Frodo, shhh,” he soothed. “I’m watching you too. It’s going to have to get past Sam Gamgee first if it wants to hurt you and you know that’s naught going to happen.”

He waited until Frodo’s breathing had calmed before he spoke again. “Did you feel that other presence again?”

“No, not tonight. Maybe because you were here, it didn’t need to be.”

Sam wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. “I’ll stay here with you the rest of the night,” he said.

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said.

He let Sam go and laid back down into bed. Sam pulled his master’s blankets up to Frodo’s chin, then snuffed the lamp, settled into a chair at his master’s bedside and took Frodo’s hand.

“Good night, Sam,” the elder hobbit said as he wrapped his fingers around his friend’s. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

“Good night, Mr. Frodo. I don’t plan ever to be anywhere else.”