AU: I don't know from where exactly this idea came to me, I think it's that after I saw TTT I couldn't help but run around pretending I was Smeagol and talking like him … (Everyone : O.O) Right …. Anyway, It's Smeagol blabbering to himself pitifully. I find his schizophrenia kind of amusing and scary at the same time. The thing at the end is the song from the credits, called "Gollum's Song" It's my favourite song.
In a land where naught a living being had crossed for a very long time, three silent figures slept under the waning light of a moon not unlike our own. Trapped and nearly lost in the dead landscape, they lay quiet and inconspicuous. The moon washed over them, and an occasional shadow passed near, but the living were not seen in the swamps and marshes, where the water was grey with the faces of the undead and the soft land was riddled with fire and ash.
Two of these figures were sleeping. One creature's sleep was troubled, and it tossed and turned in the blackness, it's grip tight around an object chained around its neck, glittering like a star in the night. The other slept lightly, its mind still vaguely alert and on guard. Next to it lay a pile of pots and pans and a rucksack.
The third, unlike the other two, was wide awake, it's lantern-like eyes glowing. It hid in the shadows beneath a great cliff, overlooking the dark marshes. Its head was on its knees, and its arms were wrapped around its skinny legs. It possessed nothing but a loin cloth around its middle and six black, chipped teeth. It rocked back and forth steadily on its heels, its motions quick and alarmed.
An occasional mutter or grumble came from its throat, but it was only gibberish. Sometimes a "fisssh" or "preciousssss" was audible, but the creature was mainly focused on talking nonsense to its hand.
As it rocked, it looked longingly into its palm and stroked the air gently, as if there was something it held that no one but the creature itself could see.
"Smeeeeeeagol. Why does it cry, Smeagol? Preciousss, yess, it is the preciousss …."
The creature suddenly looked up, and something flickered in its eyes. All of a sudden, it was looking at a mirror image of itself.
"Go away," Smeagol, or Slinker, moaned. "We don't wants you anymore."
"No preciousssss," Smeagol replied to himself, but this time, there was something different in the creature's voice, and an evil glint in its eyes was visible in the dying moon light. "We never left you, preciousss…. we will not go … we are always with you, yesss …we are you …"
Smeagol recoiled, repulsed, from the invisible phantom before him. "No … we serve the master of the preciousss … we don't needs you any more."
" We survived because of me!" Stinker hissed, repeating the words he had uttered from the previous time they had met.
"We not listening," Smeagol whispered, covering his torn ears with his large, flat hands. His voice suddenly rose. "The cold hard lands, they bite our hand, they gnaws our feet … but stream and pool is wet and cool, so nice for feeet!"
"Shhh, preciousss!!" Stinker hissed, and Smeagol's hands went to his own throat. "If nasty hobbitsess hear us talking of the preciousss, they kill us!!! They choke Smeagol! No, preciousss, we must kill them first, yess; throttle their throats when they're sleeping, yess, wring their filthy little necks; and then, precioussss, oh yesss, then we take the preciouss, then we be the master."
Smeagol's massive, lamp-like eyes rolled around in their eye socket's, filled with fear. He slowly withdrew his hands from his bony neck, and looked up at the invisible Stinker in front of him. The he brought a finger to his mouth and began to gnaw on it uncertainly.
"Yes, preciousss," said Smeagol slowly. "Yess …" But then doubt filled his eyes and he frowned. "No, no precioussss, we serve the master, master is good, master is our friend …"
"Hobbitses are filthy and tricksy!" Stinker spat, enraged. "We must take the preciousss, and then …" Smeagol suddenly reached for his own weakness. "And then we can have all the fishesss we wants, preciousss."
"No!" Smeagol moaned, falling backwards, his body twisting and contorting into unnatural positions. He finally stopped and curled up, his back to his imaginary self. "Poor poor Smeagol," he whimpered. "All we wants is fisshess, yes, fisshess and the precious…." He let out a chocked sob and suddenly began to hum an eerie tune. "Smeeeeeagol ….. why does it cry, Smeagol? Poor, poor Smeagol …"
His body language and voice changed suddenly, becoming a harsh whisper, and his hands grasping thin air till his greyish-green knuckles went white. "Then TAKE the precioussss … we must take it …"
"NO!" Smeagol shouted, rising again to face Stinker. "Master made us swear on the precious! We swears, we swears! We swears to serve the master of the preciousss … Go away! Leave, and never come back!"
Stinker narrowed his eyes at his other self. "What? We tolds you, we won'ts go away."
Smeagol sat up straight, a madness in his eyes. "Leave … and never …. come ….BACK!!!"
"Poor Smeagol," Stinker said. "Without the precious, we's is nothing! We must have it. Kill the hobbitses. Yes, we wants it, preciousss, we wants it, we wants it!!!!"
"But there are two hobbitses," Smeagol whined in a last effort. "They wake up and kill us, yes precious, they choke poor Smeagol to death!!!"
"We wants it preciousss. We must have it."
And Smeagol seemed to find no words to this statement. He gurgled, protesting, and hissed, but each time he inched closer to the nearest sleeping figure, the figure with the glittering chain.
"No precious, no, not now preciousss, not now …" Smeagol whispered pitifully as the hobbit stirred.
"Not now, eh?" came the response. "Maybe not now, preciousss, no, maybe not … maybe we waits, yesss? We waits, we waitss, we have our fishes, eh? Yesss…. Then we take back the precioussss …"
Smeagol gulped and shrunk down pitifully, and finally willed his limbs to carry him back to his perch under the cliff. He crawled beneath the shadows and curled up, whispering and hissing softly.
"Not now, preciousss … after … after, poor Smeagol … yess, precious …"
And so the shadows withdrew from the land and a sky the colour of dust replaced the velvety blue of night. The hobbits woke, and were once again on their way through the Dead Marshes, led by Smeagol-Gollum, who's eyes barely left the golden band, grasped tightly in the hands of a young hobbit.
Where once was light,
Now darkness falls.
Where once was love
There is no more
Don't say goodbye
Don't say I didn't try
These tears we cry
Are falling rain
For all the lies you told us
The hurt, the blame
And we will wait to be so alone
The lost can never go home
So in the end
Ill be what I will be
No loyal friend
Was ever there for me
Now we say goodbye
We say you didn't try
These tears you cry
Have come too late
Take back the lies
The hurt the blame
And you will wait
When you face the end alone
We're lost, we can never go home
You are lost
You can never go home.