Disclaimer: I do not own Smeagol, or the movies "What Dreams May Come" or "Return of the King." Nothing in this story, this chapter specifically, is mine.

As you can see from the chapter's title, this part of the story will be told from Smeagol's point of view. I just want to warn you, specifically those of you who weren't a huge fan of Gollum's "Fish-eating scene" in ROTK, this chapter is a bit more morbid than the others, and I guarantee you things are going to get grosser in time.

What Dreams May Come

Alive without breath
Cold as death
Never thirsty; ever drinking
All in mail, never clinking

We smiles to our self, running a long finger through the mud before us, singing the words silently as we draws the image. We shivers absent- mindedly, huddling closer to the rock wall beside us, holding our Precious closer. It is cold out, and we sinks into the mud, always having to shift our feet to stay up.

"Nasty, slimy, grimy it is," we had told it, not wanting to crawl inside.

But it did not care. "Is dry, Precioussss," it hissed to us. "Not wet and stinging like filthy rainses. Is dry under rocks, it is."

We'd only grunted, but decided to consent to its suggestion. The rain was coming down hard, blinding our eyes and dulling our ears. Too difficult to spot juicy grubses in the dirt, or tasty, crunchy little eggses in the trees. Too difficult to see other things, too. Other creatures, and not the tasty little ones. Bigger, meaner things that might think Smeagol is tasty also, like the rotten beast that we'd met the day before.

So we'd agreed to hide under a rock ledge and wait out nasty rain. "To get out of rain," we'd told it, "Out of rain and into mud, Precious."

Drowns on dry land
Thinks an island
Is a mountain;
Thinks a fountain
Is a puff of air

We had only had fish twice since we'd left home, the second occasion being a rather bitter-sweet experience.

Food had never been a huge problem, not as bad as we'd feared it would be. Insects were a main source; we found them everywhere, and had eventually learned to distinguish a few that tasted somewhat better than the others. Eggs were good, also, and almost as easy to find.

But we wanted fish.

Many days we'd spent crouched in the bushes, watching foxes and bearses catching them by the river, observing their movements. Their habits.

We'd decided to make our move one day. Bears would always sit their fish aside in piles and turn their backses to catch more. We had become accustomed to stealing from other hobbitses back home, and had taught our self to be sneaky and silent.

And of course, we had our Precious.

We had come to discover in a matter of days that it could make us unseen to the other hobbits. Make us invisible, concealed against the wallses. We could disappear into thin air, just by placing Precious on our finger.

Stealing the fish was no task. We sneaked down easily, picked up our prize without making so much as a sniffle.

"Musn't be greedy, Love," it said to us in our head. "Only takes one. He might notice if more go missing, the old brute. Be quick! He can smells us!"

But we had crawled away just as easily as we had approached, and spent the night eating our fish in triumph.

That was our first taste of fish since our banishment.

The second time, howevers, did not go as easily as the first.

We'd found the fish on the bank by the river; stranded itself, it had, now lay dead and rotting on rockses. But no matter. Fish was still fish.

So we'd crawled down to it, began eating it. The flesh was warm, baked in the sun, and it was squirming. Squirming with bugses and maggotses, but we cared not, Precious. We always ate nice crunchy bugs. And flesh was juicy, so juicy. But not as sweet as first one.

Our mistake was that we had rushed. Too excited by fish to be cautious; we went down in plain sight, forgetting to put on the Precious.

We was lucky that we was sitting by the river, eating juicy fish, when we saw the other creature's reflection in the water. We barely escaped, plunged into water and swam away, but not before getting a slash or two to remember our foolishness. It was a bear, we thinks. All happened too quick to recall.

That was the rotten beast we had met the day before.

O! So sleek! So fair
O! What a joy to eat
We only wish
To catch a fish—

"So juicy sweeeeeeeet!" we finishes, grinning down at our drawing in the mud. It is a fish, so juicy and sweet. We can almost tastes it in our mouth as we looks down at it. Oh, how we wishes to taste fish again.

"It likes fishes, Precious?" it asks us.

"Yes we does," we replies, eyes fixed on our picture. Eye is too small; fish have bigger eyeses. We fixes picture, presses fingertips deeper into mud, turning them to make our little hole rounder

"Yes, Precious," we muses to our self. "Very much." We smiles down at it now, and we suddenly remembers old days of fishing. Fishing by the lake. Oh, so long ago, it was. We can barely remember.

"Then why does it scavenge like this?" it asks us. "Sneaks and steals like filthy animals. Why doesn't it catch fish? It likes to catch fish."

We are taken back by its suggestion at first. Why didn't we catch fish? We would spend entire days doing nothing but fishing, always coming home with just enough for supper. Entire hours would be spent, all on catching one fish. But we liked it just the same. Now, with all the time in the world on our handses, we haven't spent a second fishing.

"We doesn't know how," we responds. "Not anymore. So long since we've tried. And takes so long, Precious. So long, and Smeagol doesn't have time. He has to watch for bearses, now, he does."

It spits into the mud, smudging the edge of our picture. "Smeagol needn't fear stupid bearses. Smeagol has been watching them for weeks and they never sees it. We has Precious, Love. Gollum! Gollum!"

"But how does we catch fishes? We has no more hookses. No more lines."

"We doesn't need them. Smeagol has seen bearses catch fishes with their mouths! Smeagol wants to be like animals, it can catch fish like animals!"

And so, once rain had quit, we set out from our shelter and went down to the river.

We were crouched on the rockses, Yellowface beating down on our back, burning and blazing. It was always burning now. Always scorching, sweltering, eating away at us as we lay on rockses, writhing and clutching Precious in our hand.

We hated it, feared it almost. A great, blazing Eye, lidless, glaring down at us furiously. We hated it.

"We sees them," we says, tensing slightly. "We sees fish."

"Then what does it wait for? It wantssss fishes, doesn't it, Precious?"

"We wants them," we agrees, shifting our feet. We glances up at Yellowface, trying not to look into it.

We can feel it tensing, the Other. Tensing inside us. Growing impatient in heat.

"Why does it wait, then?" it asks. "Why does it sit in nasty sunses; filthy Yellowfaces? It should go, go quickly and catch fishes. They does not see it; it's invisible. They swims right up to rockses! It should KILL them!"

But we does not go. Instead, we sits on rocks, watching the fishes. They swims by slowly, lazily, peacefully unaware of the danger above them. We closes our eyes, tries not to look up at Yellowface...

We shakes our head, our throat tightens suddenly.

"No. Not fair. Not fair, Precious!"

"What?" Its tone rises into a menacing growl.

"They does not see!" I whimpers. "They does not know! They is helpless!"

"It is no different than when Smeagol fished with hookses!" it growls. "They did not see then either. And Smeagol has killed fish without hooks before! Hasn't it?"

I says nothing, and can feel its satisfaction growing.

"Yes, it has. It was pushed in, it was. Fell into lake. It dragged nice fish out of water and KILLED it!"

I hunches down further, shrinking into a ball as I pulls arms and legses closer.

"Killed it!" it crows. "Killed it! Just like. It killed. HIM!"

My eyes opens wide, gazes ahead into space as I raises my head. For a moment, we doesn't move. Only stares. Hands begin to tremble. Throat tightens more, almost choking. Vision blurs. We squeezes eyes shut and lowers head.

"No..."

"Yessssss," it hisses, grinning cruelly. "It KILLS him!"

"No, no..."

"It's a MURDERER!"

"NO!" I cries, shaking my head. "We doesn't murder it! We doesn't! Leave us alone!"

"It's a liar! And a thief! It IS a murderer!"

"No; not a murderer!" we insists, close to tearses. "We..."

We stops. Our head is humming, ears buzzing with agony. We inhales sharply, tries to speak again. "We didn't want to hurt him."

We breaths in slowly now, tries to calm our self. "Smeagol didn't want to hurt him," we says again. "Smeagol not a murderer. ...He tried to kill US."

"Yes, it did," it muses. It continues to grin, and we knows it doesn't believe us.

"He tried to kill us first!" we insists. "Smeagol had to kill him. Smeagol would have been killed himself if he hadn't."

"Yes."

"It was ours, Precious," we says in a firmer tone. "OUR Precious. It came to us on our birthday, it did. He had it; wouldn't give it to us. Tried to kill us when we wanted it back!"

"He was triksy," it says, finally agreeing. "Nasty sneaky little hobbit, he was. Smeagol is better off without him. Better off without all of them. It doesn't need them."

"No..." I says softly. "We doesn't need them."

"We has Precious. We needs nothing else."

Even as it speaks, we begins reaching, feeling for the Precious on our finger. We can feel it, so round and smooth, cool against our fingers. We suddenly grows anxious, we has to look at it now. Quickly, we pull it off and hold it up. It shines so beautifully in sun, it does. So brightly in our hand, it gleams.

So beautiful.

Drawn to it, we are. Strokes it with long fingerses, turning it in our hands.

"It's our, it is," we says turning our head. A tremor runs up our spine suddenly, welling into our throat.

"Gollum!" we coughs, shuddering as we continue to gaze at it. "Gollum! Gollum!"

Another shudder, and eyes close tight.

"They cursed us," we growls. "Murderer. 'Murderer' they called us. They cursed us and drove us away!"

"It had to kill, Love," it hisses. "Had to kill to survive."

It glances down at fishes. "Now is not the time to be squeamish. It still must kill to survive. Smeagol mustn't be losing his nerve now, mustn't be week."

"Not week," we says, perking up. "We catches fishes!"

"Then puts on the Precious," it says to us, whispering, "and catch them!"

We slips Precious back on our finger, sees our reflection disappear in the water. Carefully, we leans forward, silent as can be. We casts no shadow, fishes do not see. We is just above them now, our face only centimeters from waters.

We must kill to survive.

A fish swims by beneath us. It does not look up; it cannot. We starts to reach for it, but stops. Too far away now, it is. We would only scare the rest off if we tries to catch it. Let it live for now.

We reaches out, instead, for a rock jutting out from the water. Slowly, we leans our weight on it, suspending our self over water. Fish are directly beneath us now. Juicy, sweet fish. Oh, how we longs for that taste once more.

Another fish is coming; it swims so easily, so unsuspecting as it approaches us, approaches death...

We must kill to survive.

Fish is below us...

A cry of anger, hands dart downward. We slips from our position, into water. Fingers clasp slippery fish scales, tightens.

It slides through!

We scrambles wildly. Fish is bouncing off rockses, getting away!

"No!"

We lunges at it again, tries to snatch it back up. Too slippery! It squirms! Hand slams down on fish, trying to stop it. It sails through air, propelled by the force of our blow.

Sails through air and lands on rockses.

Once more, we lunges, eyes spinning madly, fingers snapping, saliva foaming.

"Fish!" we cries, the words to our song coming out in a confused mess. "And we only wish! So juicy sweet!"

Pounces. Grasps. Grip tightens. Got away before, but not this time! We has it, Precious!

Head snaps forward, teeth clamp down. Tear fish from our hands and shakes it, shakes it madly in our jaws, and it squirms. It squirms harder, and we shakes it harder, harder and harder, until squirming stops.

The fish falls from our mouth, thumps lifelessly on rocks at our feet.

Dead.

We breathes heavily, sides heave for air. We've done it, precious. We have caught our fish at last.

Eyes gleaming, it smiles down at our prize.

"So much simpler, isn't it, my love? So much easier to kill. We doesn't have to wait for silly bearses, wait for them to turn their backses. We kills to get fish. We kills to get what we needs."

I cock my head to the side, looking down at our fish with a coldness I have come to know so well now.

"Yes," we murmurs thoughtfully. "Much easier to kill, Precious."

We stoops down suddenly, our nose just over the cold, slimy flesh, smelling its sweet scent.

"So much easier."

* * *

"So dark it is, Precious," we says, squinting into cave. "Freezes, it must."

"Does it rather burn, Precious? Die and rot in nasty sun like filthy beasts? Be blinded by Yellowface, crawl blind on the road, eating dusssst?"

We gazes warily into darkness, fearing it. We does not know it, Precious. It is not home. We knows only that it is not home, it cannot be safe.

But this is not our home, we thinks to our self, We did not know woodses when we left our old home, left nasty hobbitses. But we learned to call it home, learned to feel safe in it, safe from Yellowface, and from Whiteface at night. It was our home, and now we was leaving it behind once more.

"Cold be heart and hand and bone, cold be traveler far from home," we chant softly, trying to see into the shadows. "They do not see what lies ahead when sun has faded and moon is dead."

We looked back, I remembers. Looked over our domain one last time, saw the trees swaying, leaves rustling. Saw grass rolling in the wind, like waves in our river. We saw our river, too, we did. Saw the fish swimming beneath its surface. We could see the rocks where we'd first stood, where we caught our first fish.

The wind was blowing harder that day. We remembers how cool it felt then, blowing softly against our skin, cooling the Yellowface's burns. A parting gift, we'd called it.

And then we had looked away, turned back to darkness in caves, and crawled inside. We hadn't looked back as we'd disappeared into the shadows.

Because we knew, deep in the back of our mind, that we couldn't.

* * *

It watches us, it does. Eyes empty, unseeing, but gazing into ours. Fish is alive, but does not squirm, does not fight.

Only watches us.

Slowly, we bring it up to our mouth, biting down just as slowly. We feels nothing as we pulls it away, tearing flesh. We feels nothing now.

Still, it lives. Its pulse beats in our fingers, but slower. It is dying in our hands, but slowly. We does not spit out its head, we simply holds it in our jaws, looking down inside the half we still hold. We can see its heart beating, forcing black blood towards the opening we have made. The black liquid bubbles, mixed with saliva, and drips onto ground, into water, leaving tiny black swirlses on the surface.

Without a word, we relaxes our jaw, unmoving even as we hears its head bounce on the rocks at our feet, rolling out of sight.

Then, as slowly as we had before, we brings the fish to our mouth, and silently, we begins eating it.

Rock and pool
Is sweet and cool
So nice on feet
We only wish
To catch a fish
So juicy sweet...