The Language of Touch by Marauder

Part Two in the Language Series

I do not own them here or there

I do not own them anywhere.

I own them all! (no, only joking)

They all belong to Mr. Tolkien.

Note: Yes, I know that Smeagol and Deagol have accents over the e's , but I can't get my computer to do them.

Chapter One: A Voice In The Darkness

Though three beings lay in the gully, the breath of only two could be heard. Gollum's breathing was shallow and hissing; occasionally he twitched in his sleep, flexing his spindly fingers. Sam's breath flowed more steadily. He slept sitting up, having succumbed to his weariness while keeping watch.

A few feet away, Frodo sat tense and restless. He also breathed, but it would require exceptionally sharp ears to hear it, for it was shallow and soft. He had woken up only minutes before to find the other two asleep.

"Poor thing," he said, looking over at Sam. He walked over to where his beloved lay and rested his hands on his shoulders. Gently, Frodo eased Sam onto the ground.

"I hope he won't be too hard on himself when he wakes up," said Frodo, caressing Sam's hair with one hand. His years of living alone had taken away any qualms Frodo once had about talking to himself out loud. "After all that's happened, it's little wonder he can't stay awake. Ninnyhammer indeed! If anyone's a ninnyhammer, it's you, Frodo Baggins, because you've had chance after chance to tell him how you feel and you still haven't done it. I don't know what you're waiting for. You ought to have told him when you tried to leave the Company and he followed you. He could have died! Even if it isn't romantic, Frodo, he loves in some way, and he's not the kind who will think less of you if you tell him what's on your mind."

Sam rolled over in his sleep, causing Frodo to draw his hand away. "No more excuses, Frodo! When he wakes up, you'll send Smeagol away on some errand and then you'll tell Sam. And that is final."

With that, Frodo crawled back under his blanket and pulled it over his head. Just as he began to drift off into slumber, he heard a loud hiss. He jumped up, but then sat back down when he realized that there were still only the three of them in the gully. "It must have been Smeagol," he thought. "Probably dreaming of fish." He let out a sigh of relief and got back under the blanket.

"My precioussss…."

Frodo's hand leapt to his breast and clasped tightly around the Ring. He could feel the swift beating of his heart.

"I want my preciousss…"

"Well, you can't have it, you nasty vile creature!" cried Frodo. "It's mine! Bilbo gave it to me and it's mine!"

The part of his mind that still belonged solely to him heard his words and was ashamed.

"Calm down," he told himself when the madness had passed. "The poor wretch can't – " He stopped short.

The creature had referred to himself as "I". Not "we". He spoke as one person, not two. But who had spoken? Smeagol or Gollum?

"I miss my precious."

The voice spoke simply and clearly, all traces of hissing and guttural noises gone. "Smeagol," thought Frodo to himself. He sat up more and stared at the creature.

"I remember," said Smeagol, his eyes still shut and his body no longer twitching. "I remember when I first saw Deagol."

"Deagol?" thought Frodo. The name had some place in his memory, but he could not think of what it was. So many unfamiliar names had reached is ears in the past months.

Then he remembered. Deagol had been Smeagol's friend, another Stoor. His murder had been Smeagol's first.

Part of him had no desire to hear whatever sad and sordid tale the creature had, and wished to flee. But the part that dominated rooted him to the spot.