The Rape Of Smeagol

"Why does it cry?"

"Who said that?" Smeagol lifted his head from the rock where he lay crying and stared around with wide, frightened eyes. He was alone.

"My precious," said the voice. "They are nasty and tricksy and hatesful to you."

"Who are you?"

"I am your friend,"

Head swiveling on his neck, Smeagol turned this way and that, trying to see where the voice was coming from. Whoever it was seemed so close, but he knew they couldn't be. "My friend?"

"Yes, precious, your friend. Why does it cry? Is it lonely? Hungry? Lost?"

"Yes, yes," cried Smeagol desperately. He was tired, terrified, and so bitterly alone. His family and his tribe had cast him from the protection of the river side village. They called him a sneak and a thief and his grandmother had driven him with shrieks and blows from her hut as the villagers gathered. His humiliation was unbearable and he tried to think of other things. The ring, his birthday present from Deagol, was all that he had and he kept locked tight in his fist. Did the voice want his ring?

"No, no, precious, I do not wants it." /Gollum/ "The light is bright. It hurts our eyes. Come, precious, come away from the cruel white light. I will lead us to dark places, secret places, that no one knows of where we can eats and sleeps away from the cold light."

Smeagol crawled a little ways through the woods, his knees and hands digging through mounds of piled, brown pine straw. He kept turning this way and that, trying to find the owner of the voice. His eyes grew tired from straining to penetrate the shadows. "Where are you? I cannot see you."

"I am right here, precious." /Gollum/ "Come on, follow me, precious. I will show you how to catch nice, fat, wriggling fishes. There is a pool and in the middle of the pool is an island. No one comes there; not nasty orcses or hatesful peoples who will try to steal from you and beat you." /Gollum/

"How do I know you are not trying to trick me?" Smeagol's voice was small, doubtful. He was afraid of the voice; afraid whoever it was would hurt him, as had the villagers. He feared the voice would leave him alone again.

"I would not tricks you, precious, no. I am your friend. Why does it not believes me?"

Warm, soft hands stroked over Smeagol's back and he relaxed and stopped shivering. Fingers trickled through his thick, curly hair, messaging his scalp. For the first time in days, he felt warm; safe. He curled into a tight ball and lay for a time on his side, enjoying the caresses. The hands moved to his shoulders and gave them a light squeeze.

"Come, precious, away from the cold light. Come with me to the mountains, yes, the roots of the mountain is where you should go. There no one can take your pretty gold ring."

Smeagol came up with a start and he clutched the ring defensively against his thin chest. All ready he was thin and pale, even though he had only been away from his village for a few months. "I do not wants to go with you." He said, finding his own will.

/Gollum/

"You will try to take my ring. It was my birthday present," lamented Smeagol when his new friend did not reply.

"They are coming, precious, nasty, spiteful orcses. These woods are not safe, no." /Gollum/

"Orcses? What are orcses? He did not know what they were, but they sounded terrible.

"They will take it, yes, they will and they will hurts my precious."

"No. No." Smeagol scrambled up to his feet and staggered and slipped among the pine. His large feet flapped as he rushed hither and yon through the woods, paying little head to where his feet led him. He ran until he was out of breath and sank to his knees. He lay there, weeping until hands touched his shoulders and needed the thin flesh, offering him solace and warmth at the same time.

"Come, precious, come with me to the roots of the mountain. I will be your friend." /Gollum/

Lifting his head, Smeagol stared at the full moon sinking in the cloudless sky. Soon the sun would rise and the brilliant golden rays would sear his eyes and burn his skin. "Yes, yes, precious."

/Gollum/

~*~ End ~*~