Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, they all belong to Tolkien. The song, called “Gollum’s Song” was written by Howard Shore, Fan Walsh, and performed by Emiliana Torrini. You can hear this song playing during the credits of The Two Towers. This is Gollum’s account of the day he found his precious. Lots of research done, mostly from “The Hobbit” by J.R.R. Tolkien and my Tolkien dictionary and encyclopedia. Please, read and review!
Only he could really make me mad. My angry dreams woke me this morning, dreaming of him who had haunted my dreams more and more. I turned towards my precious.
My love would never flinch at my sight, my precious, just seemingly stares back unblinkingly. Some days when I woke, my hatefulness stabbed at my heart and the bitterness would consume me.
This was one of those days.
I woke up on my rock island in the middle of a lake, which was wide, deep, and deadly cold. Darkness engulfed me, which was as I liked it. Sun and warmth despised me, as I despised it. The Misty Mountains blocked the light from me; with my only love to keep me company.
I’ve lost track of the years I have taken refuge from my former life, which I barely remember. But one day sticks out in my mind, and that one day is what conjures that hatred.
“How issss my precioussss?” I asked my love; gently stroking it’s beautiful sparkling edge. It fascinated me, always fascinated me to no end. It was so beautiful, so round, so perfect in anyway.
“You hungry, my preciousss?” And with that question I leaped into my boat with my love. It sat across from me as I started to paddle the boat with my large feet. I stopped and stared at them awhile, slowly reminding me of the past I once led. A hobbit, or river folk we were known. A member of the tribe of the Stoors. The memories flooded back to me, making me hiss and moan. Thinking about the past brought the idea of light and sun.
“Why does it hisss, Smeagol? Why does it moan?” I asked out loud.
“Because memories hurts us.” I moaned back, always talking to myself because there was no one to talk to.
“Memories of that day, yesssss.” I hissed back to myself. “Memoriessss of him, who wouldn’t share my preciousssss. Who stole it from us, he did.”
“Tell it to us again, Smeagol. Tell ussss of your bravery and strength once again.” I begged out loud to myself.
“No.” I moaned, watching the little fish with hungry big round pale eyes.
“The precioussss loves to hear the story, it does.” I begged.
“What about breakfastes?” I asked out loud, avoiding the story telling.
“Breakfastes can be nice, soft goblin if Smeagol tellsss usss. gollum, gollum.” I bribed myself.
I lost the fight with myself and peered at my precious with love. “They day I found you, my precioussss.” I hissed, thinking of the day when I did.
He always knew how to make me mad. Every day he would do something else to anger me, but we were still best friends, me and Deagol. Maybe it was because neither of us was very well liked in our families, but we spent our time together all the time. We both lived in little holes in Gladden Fields, on the shores of Gladden River. The elves to the south of us from Lothlorien called our river Sir Ninglor. Back then I used to be fascinated by the elves, stopping and staring every time I got the chance to gaze at one. Now I probably wouldn’t recognize one.
My grandmother would tell me the stories of how our people came to reside near Gladden River, about the war in Eridor to the West of the Misty Mountains. In the year 1409 of the Third Age, my ancestors fled Eastward across the mountains and settled on the banks of Gladden. They made a living by fishing among the golden flowers of the Gladden River.
“If only they could see us now preciousss. gollum, gollum.” I hushed myself and continued with the story.
Golden like my precious. My precioussssss.
I woke up that certain day feeling excited and happy. It was my twenty-fifth birthday. I hadn’t come of age yet, but it was a birthday nonetheless. I rolled over to cuddle back in my pillows until suddenly a bucket of water was emptied unto my head.
I sputtered and sat up. “Who did that?” I demanded.
I heard a familiar giggling coming from the opposite side of the bed. “Deagol!” I screamed, leaping out of bed and after my friend. “I’m going to kill you!”
He just laughed and ran out of the room, with me in close pursuit. I was stopped suddenly by my grandmother. “Happy Birthday, Smeagol.” She addressed me, instead of the normal good morning. My grandmother was a stout hobbit, with always a frown etched into her face. Just one look at her made everyone scowl. She was a cross hobbit, and a strict one at that.
“Thank you, grandmother.” I addressed her formally. I tried to run out of her grasp, but she anticipated what I was going to do.
“Breakfast, for my little hobbit.” She shoved me a little roughly towards the table. “Clear the table and serve yourself. I have to feed the hogs.” I heard the door bang.
Just like every morning. I shrugged my shoulders and went to the stove, serving myself up some bacon and eggs, with nice juicy sausages.
“How Smeagol’s stomach growls for grandma’s good food.” I mocked myself.
Ignoring myself, I continued.
I was always an outsider of Stoor society, because of my disobedient and sometimes strange behavior. I didn’t mind, I didn’t want to be exactly like everyone else. But my parents were dead and my grandmother was trying to raise me. And my grandmother didn’t appreciate me being different. I looked at her as someone who went out of her way to oppress me. As a monarch that couldn’t be challenged.
Sometimes I wished I could just get away from all of this.
“Smeagol!” I heard hissing from the window. I leaped up from the breakfast table and peeked out of the window.
Deagol was standing there, looking excited. “Want to go to the River Anduin with me today?”
“Sure!” I said excitedly. “Let me finish my breakfast, then pack a second breakfast, and I’ll be right out.” I promised, then went back to the table.
My grandmother was standing there.
“You will not leave.” she ordered. “I do not want you romping around with that Deagol boy when you could be doing chores around this house.”
“But grandma, its my birthday!” I pointed out.
“All the more reason to do it, my dear.” She sneered and pointed to the floor. “It needs washing, and so do the dishes. The sitting room needs dusting, and your bed needs to be made. You have a party tonight.” She said and left through the front door.
I made sure she was gone and went back to the window. “I’m coming.” I said. “Meet me around back.” Deagol nodded and ran around back.
I grabbed the rest of my breakfast that I could take with me and rolled it in a piece of cloth. I ran back to my bedroom and threw on a regular shirt instead of my nightshirt and pulled up my pants, securing the suspenders. Going barefoot, like all hobbits do, I leapt out of my window and landed next to Deagol.
“I brought lots of food.” He said, holding up a basket with a cloth sticking out of it.
“And I brought the rest of my breakfast.” I grinned and finished the sausage greedily.
“Let’s go!” Deagol urged, pulling at my arm.
“Just so my grandma doesn’t see me.” I said, looking around.
“Let’s go through the woods.” Deagol whispered, a glint of mischief in his eyes. We both made for the woods behind my hobbit hole, and we made it.
“Off to Anduin!” Deagol declared, following the river Gladden. Gladden was a small tributary to Anduin. I followed him eagerly; ready for the next big adventure Deagol and I were going to have. Little did I know it would be our last.
“Oh, Smeagol! What is next? gollum.” I asked myself, urging to go on with the story.
I pulled my knees up to my chin, shivering. I knew what came next, and it always haunted me. Until I looked at my precious. Everything was all right when I had my precioussssss beside me.
Everything. Continie to chapter 2