AN: Thank you very much for your warm welcome! I would also like to extend my gratitude for the best author, Aratlithiel, for her great beta. This will be nothing without her corrections and suggestions (which is a lot, if I may say, as my writing was so painfully plain. :) I hope she won't give up on me.
endymion: Thanks for reading it! Yes, this is another one by me and now I have too much to do. LOL. I have to work hard to catch up on everything. Thank you for reminding me of Sauron, too. Hope I won't forget him.
Aratlithiel: And thank you for showing me how to make things such as italics and bold work. Now I can use them anytime I want!
MBradford: Another of my betas! About an alive Gollum, I will say, please
keep on reading!
Kenobi: Thank you for reviewing! Sorry if it takes me too long to continue.
Trust No One: Well *look around* Actually, this is not totally my idea. The great Tolkien inspired me and I elaborate it shamelessly. :)
Krista: Of course it's not going to end here. But it's not going to be very long, either. Not as long as NH, of course. LOL.
aelfgifu: I can't wait! I can't wait everything about ROTK! And Emma, I can see why I can't stop myself being grateful for the day I found you. You will always be my greatest aspirator. You support and encourage me all the time. Thank you!
Chapter 2 – Gollum's Cave
Warning: AU
Frodo was barely aware of his surroundings. His nostrils did not smell the rotten, suffocating fumes. His ears did not hear the grumbling and rolling noises that the crater evoked as it prepared to unleash its fury. Frodo's skin did not suffer the abrading air against its surface. His eyes could not see anything in the murky atmosphere but the two pairs of outwardly bulging eyes that were staring at him, sometimes in deep compassion, sometimes in a diabolical, twisted sneer.
Smeagol had changed back to Gollum. He had become the malicious creature Frodo first encountered before he overpowered it and twisted its oath for the Ring for the benefit of Sam and himself.
Frodo was right, indeed. The eyes adorning the skulking, bony face before him certainly did not belong to Smeagol although he had sworn to Frodo that he was Smeagol and that he would never hurt the hobbit. Gollum had once said something about thief with such hatred in his voice. It was something both Frodo and the creature would be hard pressed to forget.
"I'm not a thief." Frodo's shaking voice was thinner than the air. He curled more tightly in his fetal position.
Gollum froze to hear that. His outstretched arms stopped in the air. What? Gollum, or Smeagol, wondered. Did he sniff fears from this lovely hobbit? Did he really scare him? The trembling voice cracked again.
"Please. Don't hurt me. I'm no thief. I did not steal it. I…" Frodo's previously weak pleas spiraled to a crescendo as he became more and more terrified. Frodo closed his eyes in despair, breath coming shorter and more labored with each intake of the heated fumes. Then quiet.
Frodo ceased his squeaking as he came to realize then, that Gollum did not continue his attempt to reach Frodo. If Frodo could only fathom the turmoil that was going on in Smeagol's mind as he was watching Frodo's quivering form…
I'm no thief! I'm no thief! Well, HE was a thief. Shudders ran through Smeagol.
"Give us that, Deagol, my love."
"Why?"
"Because it's my birthday, my love, and I wants it."
"I don't care. I have given you a present already, more than I could afford. I found this, and I'm going to keep it."
Smeagol fluttered his lids shut. A tear escaped still.
/Smeagol reached out. At first he aimed at Deagol's shoulders. He caressed and kneaded them gently. Then slowly Smeagol sneaked up, brushing away his friend's long, tangled hair, and clutching at his neck. A bit too harsh for Deagol's taste, and he started to squirm away./
"Oh, are you indeed, my love," purred Smeagol and the grip, harder this time, had circled around his friend's throat. It was too late for Deagol to struggle now as the hands closed tightly around his neck and squeezed, denying the air that pulsed hot and full in his suddenly deprived lungs. Deagol's eyes popped wide in disbelief.
"I don't believe that, my dear friend," whispered Smeagol in his most velvety voice. His eyes went cold as he watched his friend's limp frame slowly drop to the ground. Smeagol let him fall. He stooped –grabbing the Ring, sparing no thought of mourning for the passing of his friend. "Thank you. Oh, thank you, beloved," he said dreamily as he put the Ring around his finger.
Frodo observed Smeagol in great wonder as the wretched thing fell feebly to the ground. It seemed to be weeping now.
Yess…! He was the thief AND the murderer. Smeagol thought frustrated. And not only that. He was his family's disgrace. Smeagol covered his face with both of his hands. He deserved all this.
Still with the Ring around his middle finger, Smeagol set back to his house that was situated on the edge of Wilderland by the banks of the Great River. It was the biggest house in the neighborhood and was owned by the wealthiest family there. Smeagol hardly bode inside, though, as he preferred burrowing under trees and plants and tunneling into green mounds. But this was his birthday and he was eager to show the most precious gift he had ever got. As for the /giver/, not once did Smeagol recall on his past existence.
"Grandmother!" Smeagol called out as he stepped into the hall. But that only resulted in echoes bounding about the empty walls.
'Grandmother' Smeagol called her, but that was not truly what she was. The old lady, being 120, was the most respected member of the family, the mistress of the house. A perfect example of a Stoor hobbit – broad, heavily built; skin the color of burnished copper in the summer sun; wide-eyed; hair straight and dark; long of limb, she excelled her family members in her wisdom, caring and protectiveness.
Everyone in the house loved Grandmother, and Smeagol was no exception, although his recent preference for burrowing and reluctance to meet the sun had given her pause as of late.
"Grandmother!" Smeagol repeated his cry, impatience beginning to edge into his voice. This big house was unusually vacant. Where was everybody? Smeagol proceeded to the backyard where there was a nicely tended orchard lined with hedges. Smeagol used to play hide and seek here when he was still a lad, besides going swimming in the river. And when he grew older, Smeagol found out that many adults like to 'play hide and seek' in this garden, too. Smeagol smirked mischievously.
Just like now, the annoying yet intriguing sounds of hobbits taking secret pleasures had made his pointy ears straighten up. Curious ever, Smeagol traced the sounds, tiptoed to a cluster of shrubs, and upon reaching it, Smeagol jumped up over the bush.
"Peek-a-boo!"
Smeagol almost rolled on the soft soiled ground, laughing so hard as his eyes caught the shocked couple.
"Uncle Gorbadoc! Aunt Maiva! What are you doing here?" Smeagol bounced around merrily, imagining what great news he would bring to the judge – the fairest grandmother. Both Uncle Gorbadoc and Aunt Maiva had had very happy marriages – or so they seemed – with their own wife and husband. The fact that they committed adultery would shatter grandmother's heart.
But it was not something Smeagol should worry about. And he was sure many people would find this case as amusing and thus enjoy it as much as Smeagol did.
Now it was not only Frodo who was curling up. Smeagol did, too. His long arms flew to his head, wrapping protectively around it. His legs bent up to his abdomen, a position that almost sent him sprawling to the ground. Frodo, on the other hand, slowly uncurled, and as inquisitiveness won over, he craned his head forward. Smeagol was sobbing freely now. The creature seemed to forget completely about the Ring that was held tightly in his clenched fist. Frodo silently cursed himself for his lust for the Ring, but remained alert – after all, there was always the chance Smeagol might drop it…
/But the time when Smeagol may have been able to release it – whether by accident or of his own accord - had long since passed. Had he known before the Ring had entered his life what damage it would do, he may have been able to avoid Its evil snare. Then he would never have thought of abashing his own kin, meddling into their affairs, taking advantage of people. But it was too late for Smeagol before he had ever even touched the thing and certainly after realizing something incredible./
Smeagol repeated his question to Gorbadoc but wild stares were the only answer he got.
"Who is that?" hissed Gorbadoc, half mad, half scared. He tried to wave away Maiva, who clung tightly to his left arm, terrified.
"W – whose voice is that, Gorba?" spluttered Maiva.
And Smeagol thought both hobbits had gone insane.
"Uncle Gorbadoc, why are you jesting!" Despair sliced through Smeagol's heart. Was he that easy to forget? And all because he was too busy burrowing the underground!
"Aunt Maiva, please!" Smeagol trembled now. "It's…"
"He sounds like Smeagol, do you think so?" whispered Maiva. "But why is he only a voice? He's not dead, is he?"
Finally Smegaol began to understand that the two simply could not see him. He circled around the bush and Gorbadoc and Maiva jerked their heads at the sound of grass rustling at their right, ensuring Smeagol of his suspicion. He approached slowly step by step until he was barely an inch from Gorbadoc's nose. The other hobbit undoubtedly felt Smeagol's presence, too.
"Is that really you, Smeagol?" Gorbadoc's unexpected loud voice sent Smeagol back a few steps. "I know your voice. But… but how can you be invisible?"
A twisted idea suddenly came to Smeagol's mind. When he spoke again, his voice turned harsh.
"That's not for you to know, Gorbadoc! You just be careful. And you too, Maiva!" Courtesy was not something Smeagol cared about anymore as he curtly 'forgot' to address both his older relatives with the usual proper titles. Smeagol snapped again, "And you have no proof whatsoever about who we are. So, do not attempt to do anything to harm us!"
"Us?" shrieked Gorbadoc. "Who is 'us'? Smeagol!" But to no avail. Gorbadoc's voice was fading in Smeagol's ears as the content hobbit walked away.
And so it started Smeagol's sneaking around, eavesdropping, and putting threats to whomever he wanted to. And although he always wore the Ring while doing all the malice, people started to have doubts about him.
When accusing words reached the grandmother's ears, she directly summoned Smeagol. But lack of proof helped him. No punishments could be levied.
Smeagol did not completely come out clean, though. No one in the family placed trust in him anymore. No one wanted to talk, sit, or eat with him. Whenever Smeagol attempted to get near for something as simple as a friendly conversation, people would openly shun him and tell him to keep away. Confused and angry, he would then slip away while muttering to himself and gurgling in his throat.
"Gollum?" Frodo called softly at the tormented soul. "What is it? Tell me what pains you so. Tell me so I might help."
But Smeagol did not heed Frodo's soothing words, full of promises and cruel hope. It was Gollum whose voice now filled his ears.
Gollum! Smeagol's eyes widened at the hated name. He squatted and coughed hard, spluttering away the name. Frodo shrank back in dread.
/"Gollum," laughed some young lads over and over whenever he wandered near them. And so the name stuck. Even the adults called Smeagol 'Gollum'. They had condemned him a pathetic freak. And Gollum returned the ill treatment with more noxious doings, especially toward the females./
Unable to control Gollum anymore and desiring peace, grandmother eventually decided to expel him altogether from Wilderland.
"Hobbitss never knows, preciousss. Smeagol sadss. Sadss. Alone, yess. No friendsss. No sunss. No. Smeagol walkss and walkss." Gollum said it all, hands flailing busily. Frodo could not help feel amazed at this. Gollum decided to talk to him! After all he had done to Frodo!
"Walk? To where, Gollum? Smeagol?"
A wide smile formed on the creature's face, almost splitting it into two. Smeagol recognized how Frodo had trusted him enough to call him Smeagol again.
"Smeagol walkss along the river. Deep, deep into the mountain. And Smeagol found our home!"
Frodo knotted his brow. Could he mean the Misty Mountain? Frodo had heard Bilbo's version several times. That was where the old hobbit met Gollum, err, Smeagol. And – us?
"Your home!" beamed Frodo, hoping that he could somehow twist Smeagol so that he would willingly give Frodo the Ring.
"A cave! Smeagol's cave. No," his eyes suddenly clouded. "Gollum's cave. Ourss!"
Suddenly Smeagol jumped up and loomed over Frodo.
"We hass it! A home! And we are not alone anymore! Hobbitss, masterss, comesss with uss!" Smeagol took Frodo by his upper arms, grasping them tight and fast. Frodo winced in pain.
"Come with you?" he breathed in despair, Gollum's bony fingers digging sharply into his arms as he was dragged up. "Where?"
"To the cave!" Smeagol radiated. "To Gollum's cave!" The creature seemed not to care about who he was anymore, Smeagol or Gollum. He found Frodo's bloodied hand and closed in on the wrist, dragging the hobbit along with unbelievable strength. Smeagol could not care less whether Frodo struggled vehemently or stumbled every now and then.
TBC
AN: Please tell me what you think of this! I always welcome any kinds of feedback. Spasibo!