Of He That Prides Solace
Rooted deep within the hardened shell of the Misty Mountains, a creature by the name of Gollum dwelt. His history, or all that is told of it, is brief and sorrowful. What isn't known, however, is irrelevant. All one should mark in this poor cretins past, is the introduction of an evil presence, which in turn ignited one within himself; the ring of power.
The ring used it's influence to bend minds that veer towards corruption to it's purpose. Through Gollums hands, Deagol, his very own cousin, met death, and in turn, Gollum fled. He came to identify the damp depths of the Misty Mountains as 'home', not seeing that the only thing that kept it so was the ring itself. There, within the cold rocks, Gollum would sit, crooning to his 'precious' and mumbling little flatteries upon it. It was his all. He let the treachery work it's poison on his will for countless years, until so attached he became to it, that he could hardly be considared an individual any longer. He was another division of the ring, it owned him--gave him words, ideas and plans. It even altered his appearance to that of a gangly beast of darkness--parelling the very ill he had become within.
And then there was the dreaded day, that the very thing that kept his wretched being in it's sad state of glee, left. The ring found it's way into the hands of another in whom it hoped, would lead it back to it's original master; Sauron. But no being after Gollum would fall so heavily under the ring's influence, and that was it's fatal mistake. Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire, took the inanimate presence that was the only shard of joy in Gollums miserable life.
Not able to deal with this irreplacable loss, nor the conscience that having no ring would result in, Gollum set out to retrieve it. He worked to recapture his precious from Bilbo, then moved on to pursue Frodo. Ever- scheming. There was no time for conscience, nor compassion, not for so sacred a thing. Within the ring, all of his soul had been kept, and within him, the blackness of the ring would forever burn. The ring was something he could not be without, something he could not forget, ignore nor reject. It was his, through some parasitic bond that the corruption had formed between them all those dark years in the mountains.
Justified are the unsavoury and distrustful acts of Gollum. While his inner good strove to be manifest, too vast a desire was their for the addictive ring. We can love him for he tried. We cannot hate him for losing so difficult a battle, only pity. The lone presence of a battle justifies his very being, and invokes deep sorrow for such a defeat. We can but only understand such a beast that strove to be...and who also strove to forget; for is that not who, in fact, we all are?
Rooted deep within the hardened shell of the Misty Mountains, a creature by the name of Gollum dwelt. His history, or all that is told of it, is brief and sorrowful. What isn't known, however, is irrelevant. All one should mark in this poor cretins past, is the introduction of an evil presence, which in turn ignited one within himself; the ring of power.
The ring used it's influence to bend minds that veer towards corruption to it's purpose. Through Gollums hands, Deagol, his very own cousin, met death, and in turn, Gollum fled. He came to identify the damp depths of the Misty Mountains as 'home', not seeing that the only thing that kept it so was the ring itself. There, within the cold rocks, Gollum would sit, crooning to his 'precious' and mumbling little flatteries upon it. It was his all. He let the treachery work it's poison on his will for countless years, until so attached he became to it, that he could hardly be considared an individual any longer. He was another division of the ring, it owned him--gave him words, ideas and plans. It even altered his appearance to that of a gangly beast of darkness--parelling the very ill he had become within.
And then there was the dreaded day, that the very thing that kept his wretched being in it's sad state of glee, left. The ring found it's way into the hands of another in whom it hoped, would lead it back to it's original master; Sauron. But no being after Gollum would fall so heavily under the ring's influence, and that was it's fatal mistake. Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit of the Shire, took the inanimate presence that was the only shard of joy in Gollums miserable life.
Not able to deal with this irreplacable loss, nor the conscience that having no ring would result in, Gollum set out to retrieve it. He worked to recapture his precious from Bilbo, then moved on to pursue Frodo. Ever- scheming. There was no time for conscience, nor compassion, not for so sacred a thing. Within the ring, all of his soul had been kept, and within him, the blackness of the ring would forever burn. The ring was something he could not be without, something he could not forget, ignore nor reject. It was his, through some parasitic bond that the corruption had formed between them all those dark years in the mountains.
Justified are the unsavoury and distrustful acts of Gollum. While his inner good strove to be manifest, too vast a desire was their for the addictive ring. We can love him for he tried. We cannot hate him for losing so difficult a battle, only pity. The lone presence of a battle justifies his very being, and invokes deep sorrow for such a defeat. We can but only understand such a beast that strove to be...and who also strove to forget; for is that not who, in fact, we all are?
