“FOOL!”

Although he did not hear it, the admonishment banged in his head and he instinctively covered both ears to ward off its stinging sound. Was this what the orcs called Her Majesty? Frodo knew he should run but his legs did not seem to obey.

“That’s merely a coat! There’s nothing to be afraid of!”

Frodo felt his knees give beneath him but he forced himself to creep sideways. But to where? Everything was very dark. And the harrowing voice was paralyzing him.

“And to you, Frodo Baggins, I give the light of Earendil, our most beloved star.”

No, no. This was definitely not the creature speaking. Frodo almost broke down in tears of relief and longing. The Lady of the Woods, Galadriel. Would he ever meet her again? Would there be any chance at all even to stay alive?

Frodo fished deep into his pocket and retrieved the almost-forgotten treasure, the only thing now that would light the bleakness.

“Aiya Earendil Elenion Ancalima!” cried Frodo, and with that, a bright light bathed the entire cave. The orcs, which were moving toward Frodo ready to capture him again, cowered at once as the light illuminated them. They were even starting to fade.

Frodo turned around, feeling smug, ready to bat away more of his enemies, not realizing who – or what – was standing in front of him now.

It was a spider – a gigantic spider.

“Ahhh!” Frodo screamed, but remembering at once the thing in his hand.

“A Elbereth Gilthoniel!” He thrust the phial upward to the spider’s direction. And it worked. Frodo almost did not believe it. He pushed forward and the spider was forced to back away into the dark

“Earendil!”

This was another voice, not the orcs’ nor the spider’s that was echoing in Frodo’s mind. He froze, looking around.

“Who is that?” he cackled out.

As if from nowhere, a figure appeared and stood right in front of Frodo. The hobbit drew a sharp hiss at the sight of another translucent form. But unlike the ragged and bony shapes of the orcs, this one seemed perfect – and beautiful. The contour of the face, the muscular-build of his body, hidden under armor, and the soft, yielding hair. Everything was flawless. Frodo would have thought he was facing a living being if not for its see-through appearance.

The figure swayed gently.

“Who are you?” It asked with a hollow, shaking voice. “What are you? I’ve never seen a being like you before.”

“I’m a hobbit,” replied Frodo in a no-less shaking voice. “Or a halfling, as big folks usually address my kin. You – are an elf?” Frodo recognized the pointy ears.

“I was an elf. I perished a long, long time ago.” The elf slowly floated nearer to Frodo, brushing one of the hobbit’s ear tips deliberately. “A halfling? Are you half-elf? Our ears are similar and you are wearing an elvish cloak. Though those orcs were mistaken.” He nodded toward Frodo’s chain mail. “That’s dwarvish, a kingly one. Where did you get it?”

But Frodo did not even get a chance to answer for the elf had come up with something else.

“You must be half-elf. Your complexion is as fair and your face as beautiful.”

Frodo blushed at the generous flattery. He opened his mouth to say something in thanks but again he was interrupted.

“What is a halfling or a half-elf doing here?” wondered the elf. “Here in this sticky and filthy place, full of death?”

“First,” Frodo cut him off before he lost another chance to talk. His hands were busy doing up his buttons even though his clothes were in tatters. “I’m a full-grown hobbit, not a half-elf. I can’t explain anything about any resemblance to your people, in the manner of my face. I guess it’s just something in my blood. And my name is Frodo Baggins of the Shire.” Frodo stopped for a moment to take a breath. “As for your question as to why I’m here, I think I’m entitled to ask the same question of you. Why are you here? Or why were you? What brought you here?”

“Arthael. Arthael is my name. I’m from the House of Elrond. But there is no point of discussing my being here. It happened – “

“Elrond!” breathed Frodo in shock. “We also set off from his house. What has happened to you? As far as I know, no one else was with the fellowship, and none save Sam comes with me to Mordor.”

Arthael was as bewildered as Frodo to hear about such things. He inquired what fellowship Frodo meant, who Sam was, and again, the reason why Frodo walked the perilous path to Mordor.

Frodo revealed everything. Everything, even about the Ring. Arthael was a mere spirit. Frodo could not see how he could become a threat to him.

“Sauron’s Ring!” blasted Arthael. “I saw Isildur sever Sauron’s finger and claim the Ring. I thought he had undone It in the fires of Doom. No wonder I’m still trapped here.”

“Isildur?” Frodo tried to recall Gandalf’s story. “You saw Isildur… that – that was three thousand years ago!” In his amazement, Frodo failed to see what that meant to Arthael – how he had suffered these long years, that his spirit could not depart to the Hall of Mandos because the Ring still existed. For as long as It had not been destroyed, the enemies had not been fully defeated. They might even win over the peoples of Middle Earth.

“Yes, Frodo,” replied Arthael dejectedly. “And I’m not proud of that. I saw the future king of Gondor going with Elrond to Sammath Naur but I didn’t know what happened next. But apparently something went amiss. Otherwise you will not be here.”

Frodo bowed his head wearily.

“I know.” He clasped at the Ring. “And I must not fail. For you. For the fellowship. For the Shire. For Middle Earth.”

Frodo could sense that Arthael was smiling.

“You are such a wonder, Frodo Baggins. You have a unique strength that makes it easy to rely on you. Now be swift. Those orcs and the spider can return anytime. Light the phial and use your sword wisely.” Arthael’s words reminded Frodo of Sting and he looked around. It was lying not far from him. Frodo picked it up, then turned to give his farewell and prayers to the elf. But Arthael was nowhere to be seen, although Frodo could still feel his presence.

“I will, my new friend. I will.” And with that Frodo raced to the other end of the tunnel, going even deeper into the darkness.

* * *

Frodo whipped his head around, eyes narrowing to catch any sign of movement. He held the phial high over his head, but there was none. What he saw were the remains of what the spider had fed on and the sharp-edged rocks. Frodo took a moment to breathe and wonder over both Arthael’s fate and his own. What if he was caught and eaten as well? Would he spend the rest of time here? Frodo shuddered at the thought, and again, regretted what he had done to Sam, that he had listened to that traitorous creature, Gollum, and abandoned his only friend.

Frodo stumbled upon a leering skull, almost toppling over it. But he steadied himself quickly. No, whispered Frodo silently, shaking his head. He would not be caught. He could not. There were so many things at stake. Frodo could not afford to lose now.

The hobbit was lost so deeply in his reverie that he failed to notice a stir in the air at both sides and behind him. Not that he would have recognized it had he been more attentive, for there was nothing a mortal’s eyes could see at the moment.

Frodo kept going, trying to avoid the stickiness under his feet, thinking of nothing but a way out of this tunnel, when suddenly…

THWAP!

THWAP!

Twice hard blows struck each of Frodo’s wrists, sending Sting away from his left hand and the phial from his right one. The phial fell far behind Frodo and to his dismay, began to dim. And Sting, which clamored against the wall and plummeted down to his left gave out its blue warning light.

Frodo ignored the pain in his wrists as he gazed, aghast, at the glinting sword. Only one thing screamed in his mind.

“RUN!”

And run he did, regardless of the dark and uneven path he had to face. Panic was overwhelming him. This was a matter of life and death.

Run, run! Run!

But Arthael had been right. The orcs were still waiting, peering through the veil of darkness, patiently awaiting their victim to drop his guard before attacking him. Frodo could never run far enough. The enemies were too many and they stood on guard everywhere.

They let Frodo take a few more steps and then decided to recapture him. It was almost fun to have the helpless one give a little fight.

Frodo felt a hand grab his hair and yank it backward. He was slammed flat on his back, a pained cry escaping his mouth as a searing sensation shot throughout his frame.

He reached his hands out trying to release himself from the gripping steel but instead, other hands caught Frodo’s wrists and pinned them immobile above the hobbit’s head. Frodo writhed in agony.

But all of a sudden, his struggle came to a stand still.

The voice came again.

Into his mind.

“My spirited little one.”

Frodo gasped, and stared helplessly at the dark mouth of the tunnel.

“Ah! No!” He was in despair.

“I will come.” It was the voice again. Don’t you ever learn? Or do you prefer my lovely beasts to tatter the front side of your clothing?”

Frodo felt like he had awakened from a terrible dream, but he began to kick furiously.

“Frodo Baggins!”

Another voice! The hobbit’s jaw went slack, totally nonplussed.

Arthael!

Frodo fought to strain his head, right on time to catch the elf gathering the phial from the ground and tossing it in Frodo’s direction. With a harsh jerk, Frodo snatched himself free from the orcs’ clutches, rose nimbly, and secured the light of Earendil into his clammy hand.

“Go, Frodo! Quick!”

Frodo could not help but turn around to take a quick glance at his savior, Arthael.

“No! Don’t waste any moment! Go!”

And with a loud “A Elbereth Gilthoniel!” once more the phial spread out its majestic fire that led the hobbit away from the dark creatures in the horrifying spider’s lair.

* * *

~ Epilogue ~

Arthael never met the brave young hobbit again, but he would surely hail him to the highest places if he could. Frodo Baggins had released him from the accursed prison of three thousand years. And now he was free, walking into the Hall of Mandos.

Thank you, Frodo.

The End