hobbit_holidays | It's Halloween night, soooo,

Title: A Not So Harmless Gift
Author: White Gull
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Summary: Frodo and Rose share a chilling encounter

The whisper-slap of cautious feet beat an almost unnoticed rhythm in Frodo's sleeping mind. He shivered and rolled more securely in his blankets. Step. Step. Step. The quiet tread continued. Orcs slipped past the flet where Frodo tried to rest, orcs and more orcs, trying to be quiet, but as noisy as a rushing wind. Then, silence. The many passageways of Brandy Hall were echoing with hobbit footsteps. Hobbits running, hobbits strolling, hobbits with watchful eyes that Frodo tried so desperately to ignore as he snuck along with his bag of stolen mushrooms. Ah, alone at last. Furtive, slapping feet followed unshakably through the maze of Moria. Then, flat footfalls blended with the sound of choppy waves against rocks lining the riverbank. Closer and closer they came, until the frightening sound of them was right atop Frodo. He jerked awake, trembling and sweating in his feather bed. The familiar comforts of Bag End surrounded him and slowly, his heart stopped its pounding. It was just a dream!

Or was it? Just outside his bedroom door came the soft rustle of passing feet. Frodo frowned and threw off his covers, reaching noiselessly for his dressing robe. He opened the door silently and peered down the hall, into the recesses of the smial. He thought he just caught a glimpse of a flitting shape disappearing around a corner. He followed swiftly.

Frodo rounded the corner and wished that he'd thought to light a candle. The interior windowless passages of Bag End were very dark. Ducking into a spare bedroom, Frodo found an oil lamp on the dresser and lit the flame with a spark from a nearby tinder stone. By its light he searched the remaining passage. There was no one there.

Frodo returned to his room, but sleep was not soon in coming. Sam had been away in Tighfield on restoration work for only two days, but each night Frodo's rest had been troubled by the same thing, unexplainable footsteps. They troubled his dreams; they troubled his wakeful tossing and turning. They were his imagination, or so Rosie said. She had not heard a thing.

Squeezing his eyes tight shut, Frodo wished he could squeeze his ears tight shut as well. The footsteps were beginning again. He pulled his pillow over his head.

It was no use, the footsteps sounded both in the hall and in his mind, moving this time towards the parlor. Frodo rose again, grabbed the lamp he'd not extinguished, and, ignoring his dressing robe, followed on the heels of invisible feet. He pulled up short in the parlor. This time, the feet were not invisible. Rose stood beside the low-lit fireplace, her hair falling in sheets of gold to her waist, her skin glowing as if a-flame beneath her translucent nightdress.

Frodo was so surprised that he felt he'd been punched in the stomach. It took several gulps of elusive air before he could speak, and even then he didn't know what to say. She hadn't seemed to notice him, and he had the thought that maybe he could just slip away and try to pretend this embarrassing encounter had never happened. Perhaps embarrassing was too mild a word. Provocative, electrifying and unforgettable all vied for choice as adjectives. Breathing was still difficult. He took a step backwards.

She spoke. "Cold," he heard her say.

"What?" he asked, though he'd heard quite clearly.

"Let me out!" Rosie said, in a tone that was nearly a whimper.

A thrill of fear gripped Frodo's heart in an icy fist. The voice was not Rosie's.

He took a step closer to her, then another, and raised the lamp in his hand. Rosie's eyes were vacant and staring, not at him, not at anything. He stepped close enough till he could see her pupils were not constricting at all with the light. "Rose," he whispered.

"I want to go home," she cried. "Where am I? Where's home?"

Frodo set the lamp on the mantle beside them and took her arm, shaking gently. "Rose."

Rose trembled, and her breast began to heave in deep, gulping sobs. The sight sent a lightning strike through Frodo's flesh, but his heart was chilled with fear and worry. He put both hands on her shoulders and shook her. "Rose!"

A shudder passed through her, and suddenly, her blue eyes were staring straight back into his own, from right in front of his face. "Stars preserve me," Rose gasped, looking down at her state of undress and his own. "What am I doing here?"

Frodo released her and stepped back, trying to catch his breath. The muted flame had left her body, but now, Frodo noticed with a frown that it shone from a spot just between her breasts. "Rose," he managed to whisper, "what are you wearing around your neck?"

"What? Oh," Rose stammered, and pulled a necklace out from beneath her nightdress. The blue stone, inset in finely tooled silver, was undoubtedly glowing. She jerked it off and flung it to the floor with a tiny scream. "It's the necklace Sam gave me just before he left for Tighfield! Oh, Mr. Frodo, what is it?" she squealed, as he bent to pick it carefully up.

Frodo didn't know, and didn't attempt a guess. "Where did he get it? Did he tell you?" he asked instead.

"On his trip, he said," Rosie quavered. "The Downs, or some such place, I think he said."

Frodo's frown increased, then his brow cleared in sudden understanding. With one swift move, he smashed the necklace upon the marble mantle. The blue stone shattered into a hundred pieces, but Frodo and Rosie didn't care, they both stared in frozen amazement as a wisp of light grew in brilliance and size until it formed the shape of a young woman. Once, twice, she twirled in delight, and the same voice Frodo had heard from Rosie's lips whispered, "I'm going home!" Her twirling increased until she was a bright, spinning blur, then the light broke into a thousand shimmering flecks that disappeared on their rise to the ceiling.

After a few moments of deep, steadying breathing, Frodo murmured, "I must speak to Sam about such gifts. He will be devastated to learn the nature of this one."

And Rosie replied, "Would you? Just don't tell him I don't like the robe he gave me last Yule." And with a blushing smile, she whispered "Thank you," and disappeared like a ghost down the hall.