One Shots » LotR

Precious Perfidy

The world was black.

But it was also gold. A cruel, fiery gold.

And there were things... things moving inside his mind. Voices. Voices that he couldn't escape because they were never gone.

The world was black.

Few considered the force of good and evil. Good and evil... but it was the voices. He couldn't escape the voices.

Gold.

Precious.

He knew they called him Gollum. Although it mattered not... no, it mattered not. For it didn't call him anything. It didn't give him a name. It only gave him orders.

It. Gold. Black. And the voices.

But the gold... the gold he both hated and loved. For it was the color of the sun. It was the color of light, of life, and of redemption.

But the gold was also cruel. It was cold, unforgiving. It was precious.

And he both hated and loved it.

Once... he didn't know what once was. What he once was? Or what his name once was... but it mattered not. Only the precious mattered.

Because he loved it.

Sometimes there were flashes of the days before. Of rolling green hills and laughter by the babbling brook. Of cool rain upon his face and warm sunlight on his back.

The flashes were evil. And he hated them.

Because they reminded him of another place. Of another life, before the precious. Rolling green hills and laugher by the babbling brook...

They reminded him of home.

Yet the world was black. The voices ruled his mind. And the precious... the precious was his only love now. It was his master.

He did not own the precious, no. The precious was his... but he belonged to the precious. He surrendered to the precious. Surrendered everything to the precious.

Then there was darkness. The world wasn't just black now, it was dark.

Dark and cold.

He liked cold things. Cold rock beneath his feet, cold water slipping through his fingers. Cold air in his lungs and cold fish in his teeth.

Cold metal against his skin.

Gold.

Oh, he loved it. Every cold breath taken, every sharp gasp for air, every step deeper into the mountain, and every life that dangled in his fingers... he did it all for the precious.

But he hated it.

Oh, his flesh charred with a fiery hatred for the gold. His soul curdled against the darkness and his eyes sought for light among the black.

It was evil, yes it was. It was cold and unforgiving and... and...

It was precious. It was precious to him.

So he would turn to the voices. The many voices inside his head, screaming for release. They called him Gollum, they cursed his name.

They lied to him. They stole his thoughts and stole his soul. They killed...

But then it was gone.

The cold metal, the glittering gold. The hatred that flowed life through his veins and love that suffocated the breath from his lungs...

It was gone.

Never would he forget the cursed one that stole it from him. Bagginses.

One day... he didn't quite know days. The golden ball of fire rose and fell and he faced the world once more. Even the wind cursed his name, maliced insults through the rocks.