Precioussss….
The word swam around his head, consuming his thoughts. He tossed back and forth, feeling the tug of the word. It was not just a word but a feeling, an emotion that pulled him onwards.
Precioussss…
It came again, taunting him. With each thought he remembered the gold ring, that carried the weight of the world. It so easily slipped on his finger, the smoothness wrapping around his skin. He no longer felt naked without it…
Preciousss….
It slipped on his finger completely, making him leave the realm of men entirely. He could see and feel and smell as they did, but they could not see him any longer. He felt powerful.
Precioussss..?
With a simple tug it came loose and fell from his finger. As that world slipped away and he was no longer hidden, he felt naked and powerless once again.
Preciousss..!
The word urged him to find the ring, find it for it was all that mattered. Without it, who was he? A weak, frail creature whose mortality was starting to take hold. His body slipped in and out of his possession, being tugged different ways. He was beginning to lose complete control, unable to control his arms and legs.
He called out at the thing that controlled his body, trying to regain some sort of power back from it.
"Gollum!"
He yelled at what controlled his body, and upon speaking its name he had it back. He could control the body and arms again, but they were weak and frail – almost useless to him.
"Who has done this?" he asked to the one that snatched his body from him. It was always there, he could feel it.
It replied with two words. Words that held so much meaning and so little at the same time. They made no sense to him, but he knew they were the reason he was weak and dying.
"Shire. Baggins."
The creature snarled back at him and snatched his body back into his control.
"Where are we?" Smeagol asked as he awoke from his dream.
It had been a dream that sent a chill through him, waking him up. The feeling lasted for a couple of seconds after he had awoken, only for it to disappear a second later. As he looked around, seeing what was around him, the dream slipped from him entirely, never to be remembered again.
"I don't know, preciousss," the other voice replied before coughing out the word Gollum. That word: precious. It sparked anger in Smeagol, giving them the strength the walk on.
Around them was a field of green, with trees interspersed throughout, giving Smeagol cover as he slunk from one shadow to the next.
"Where are we headed, precious?" Gollum asked.
"I know not," Smeagol replied, scratching his head. As soon as he did, excruciating pain flowed through his body. He fell to the floor, convalescing in pain. It consumed him – unable to think of anything but the pain that emanated throughout his body. After a minute, the pain slowly subsided, but it was a reminder of how weak he now felt. He needed the precious to give him strength.
Smeagol looked around him as the pain abated. He was under a tree, the shadow protecting him from the sun. He felt the other presence inside him, could feel his confusion as well.
"Where are we?" Smeagol asked.
As the sun lowered behind the misty mountains, Smeagol lay perched against a rock, his body tired. He rubbed his eyes but instinctively missed the sore part of his head. It throbbed, making his head pound, each pulse a reminder of what to avoid.
As his eyes drifted to sleep, Smeagol could see the outline of a Hobbit in his mind. He had curly hair and a sword in hand. Smeagol felt powerful compared to thew weak Hobbit. But Smeagol liked games and seeing someone try to escape him. And so, they played a game. He could barely remember what the game entailed, but he could remember the Hobbit asked Smeagol what was in his pocket.
"Your own pocketsess?" Smeagol had asked. "We don't know what's in your pocketsess, preciousss."
The Hobbit smiled. "Then I win," he announced and jumped about.
But how could Smeagol possibly know what was in his pockets? Gollum didn't even know, and he was the smart one. Gollum was just angry.
Suddenly, the Hobbit's sword began to glow blue. His face changed form happy to frightened within a second, and his hand dug into his own pocket. It dug deep, looking for the thing that would help him escape – it would help him be powerful.
"He's got the preciousss!" Gollum coughed.
Before Smeagol knew what was happening, Gollum had pounced at the Hobbit, trying to get at his pockets.
But the last thing he saw was the light of the blue sword before the hilt hit him on the head.
And that was the last thing he would ever remember.
"Shire! Baggins!" Smeagol yelled out to the darkness. The words tumbled through his head, awakening him, and forcing him back into reality.
"Where are we?" Smeagol asked.
"I don't know, preciousss," Gollum replied.
Around them the floor was just rock and sand. But those last few words lingered in his mind. "Shire. Baggins." At the very thought of them his feet were moving, and he was heading in a direction he did not know of. All he knew was that he had to find what was stolen from him.
He passed by a rock, thinking only of "Shire" and "Baggins" when a sack was thrown over his head. He was lifted high and could feel the rocking of a horse as he was taken somewhere.
"Where are they taking us?" Smeagol asked.
"I don't know, preciousss," Gollum replied.
The sack was pulled from his head and he could see orc's crowded him, ready to prod him with sharp weapons, to make him tell them what they needed to know. Behind them stood hooded figures that felt like death.
But Smeagol didn't know anything they wanted to know. He only knew two words that slipped out of his mouth. It seemed as if that were what they wanted to know for as soon as he said them, the Black Riders sat upon their horses and headed out into the night.
The two words were:
"Shire! Baggins!"