Chapter 2: Trust and Love
I watch as Frodo gasps, then sits up, recognizes whatever it was to be a dream and lies back down. After a few moments, he sighs and gets up, taking the watch for Sam. Sam had fallen asleep long ago. We watched him – Gollum and I.
I wince at that. No wonder they think they cannot trust me. I wouldn't even trust me, even now. Especially now. Now that I know what He's capable of.
Frodo walks over to Sam, taking the blanket from his own shoulders and laying it over his sleeping friend. I look down, ashamed to be watching such a display of tenderness. They are like brothers. Sam already hates me. I don't know what's keeping Frodo from it, but he'll soon hate me too, no doubt. Sam snores softly. I dash away a loose tear, looking at the ground in shame and guilt over what I have become.
"Smeagol."
My head snaps up to look at Frodo. His eyes meet mine intensely, almost eerily, in the moonlight. My gaze falters and blurs. I begin to cry. Time seems to stop.
Suddenly, I feel something on my back. My mind races back to the tower and I yelp, only to turn and find Frodo there beside me, eyes compassionate once more.
"Sshhhhh. It's alllllright."
I put my huge head into my lap and sob quietly. "Gollum, Gollum…" Frodo continues to rub my back – why does he not find me revolting as all the others did?
"Shhhh…"
I hate myself. I hate Gollum. I hate the Dark Lord and Mordor and the tower guards and this whole # life! I want Deagol! I want the Shire! Nothing else, just please…!
"Please…!" I catch myself saying. Oh, Eru! Did I actually just say all of that?!
"Smeagol… I'm so sorry. I want the Shire, too – and we'll get back there, after this is over. We'll bring you back. But… Smeagol… I…"
"I know. I knnnoooowww." I moan. Stop crying, I fuss at myself. You'll wake Sam and Frodo will be angry and you'll be left alone again. Alone… so many years… not again! Never again.
"You know,… I have friends in the Shire… Merry, Pippin, Fatty. I'm sure, when – if we get out of this… I'm sure they'd care, too. And I don't find you 'revolting.' It's not your fault; I know what It's doing to you."
I shiver at this and Frodo removes his vest, placing it over me. His eyes search mine again.
"Here. I've got enough on underneath it that I can certainly spare it. I wish you could stand the cloak… poor Smeagol. How long has it been since you've worn anything but that?" He gestured at the cloth, tied around me for modesty.
After Deagol's death and Dark Lord, I don't know why I'd bothered, but… His words echo in my ears… 'how long has it been…?' I realize I can't remember. So many years in the caves, with only Gollum and the Ring… my clothes had fallen apart, deteriorated with time. No one ever cared enough to give me new ones. I had not considered this for so long. It seemed normal to me.
"I… I do not know."
His eyes look to the ground and I can see tears in them.
"I'm so… so sorry. Please… get some sleep, Smeagol."
I wonder, as I begin to drift into sleep, if Frodo's friends are as compassionate as he says. Merry, Pippin and Fatty? I think I may have seen Merry and Pippin before. I try to remember their faces, but fail. I know they were hobbits and I have a fairly good idea that at least one of them was from Tookborough, from their accents. I pull Frodo's vest more tightly around me and eventually drift into black nothingness.
I must leave the Shire. My Aunt told me to leave months ago, but I only used the Ring to hide here, to get food and jewelry to trade for food, and to sleep within the boundaries of my home. But no longer.
Where I once delighted in the sunlight and laughter of the Shire, the sun burns me now and the laughter mocks me. I know somehow that it is the precious. It wants the dark. It hates the laughter of the little ones. I follow it blindly.
What else can I do? I… killed… Deagol. I shall not attempt to deny it. The Ring wants me to follow it. Why not? Could it possibly be any worse than the murder I have already committed? Let it guide me, for my will is broken. Deagol is dead.
I exit the Shire by the River, paddling our boat, the boat Deagol and I had used when fishing, so many times, in this river. I bring it to shore in an unknown land and take off the precious.
I wander aimlessly for a few weeks, hiding from the sunlight, scavenging for food. Eventually I succumb completely to hunger and, when I find a fish at the beginning of the second day, I eat it raw.
I long for the night. Only then can the precious be happy.
In less than a month, I come upon my new home: a cave within a mountain seems to beckon to me. I enter and find it to be a dark, damp place with a few tunnels and a main chamber. A walkway seems to have formed in the rock, a small ledge surrounding a drop of about fifty ells. A large rock sits, balanced on a slightly larger portion of the ledge. On this I spend the night. And the next. And the next.
For years, I stayed in this place. The two spaces and the tunnels of the mountain became my home. Who was I – a murderer – to ask for sunlight? Of what use was it anyway? I would be burnt by it, should I leave the cave. I swore that I would never leave.
Yet another would not leave, either. Gollum plagued me. We were each other's only companions, yet he was a monster worse than I. He delighted in reminding me of Deagol, of taunting me with the precious. As though I would not have been this way without him. After a while, it was hard to tell the difference. Who was Smeagol, truly? Did he even exist?
