A Great Celebration with a Very Special Guest

The messenger had chosen the wrong time to approach Sméagol.

The night before, he had been in Mordor, for the first time since the Eye had closed forever. The familiar surroundings seemed blunted of their terror, de-fanged, and somewhat unreal. The Black Gate stood open. It had been partly dismantled and would never close again.

The work he was brought to do had been trifling and not worth telling about. He was to creep into a seemingly abandoned storeroom and check for dangerous traps or hidden orcs- he did this, and found none. The task was so swiftly finished that he even- in a fit of madness, perhaps- argued that something else ought to be found for him to do as the Men had taken the trouble to bring him all this way in a horse-cart (and, he left implied, Sméagol had taken the trouble to come, and even if they let him go now his night had been ruined so they may as well use him while he was here). They ended up setting him to various things that Sméagol felt to really be beneath his talents, such as crawling through the window of a locked building to open the door from inside, things an ordinary hobbit or even a small Man could do. But it had all gone well, and then he had conferred with a few Men making a detailed map of the area before leaving- this left him with the impression that he had been very helpful, very clever and knowledgeable, overall valuable and worth his keep, and he thought he had even been calm and polite over it. If he wept bitterly on the way home, it was nobody’s business.

Tonight the world seemed to have had all its colors muted. Smells were not quite what they should be. Sounds were too loud and too startling. Sméagol’s food tasted unpleasant and felt even more unpleasant when it was in his stomach, and the familiar presence of the guards across the yard from his window was menacing. They were watching him- they could cross the yard to him so quickly on those big long legs if he did something out of order.

He sat in his window with his favorite, most comfortable housecoat feeling heavy and itchy on his back, and the wind stirring his lightweight, lank hair so that the faint motion of it bothered his skin, and the smell of the Sun that had soaked into the grass during the day reminding him that he would never walk on two legs in the daylight again.

Then the messenger showed up. He was a fresh-faced boy with wide and somewhat stupid eyes, and he looked anxious.

He has heard of us, Sméagol thought, and he’s thinking we might bite or do something nasty, which he resented, foolish! Sméagol isn’t so important that everyone’s heard of him, the boy only looks that way because he’s in a hurry and he doesn’t know us at all, which he resented just as much.

The messenger bowed, which Sméagol resented even more, and said: “Good eve to you, my lord.”

Sméagol gave him a sideways look and said nothing.

The messenger smelled of sweat. “I have been sent to convey to you a royal invitation. King Elessar is convening a small dinner gathering some days hence. As the final hand in the destruction of Isildur’s Bane, you would be most welcome as an honored guest.”

Aragorn had pulled this sort of stunt before. What was he playing at? He didn’t want Sméagol at his parties. No one did- excepting perhaps Boromir, who often did not seem to think these things through. Sméagol would do nothing at a party but take up a chair, be ugly, make nasty comments and stink. Aragorn kept inviting him knowing he would refuse. Expecting him to refuse. Wanting him to refuse. Making him refuse.

Sméagol showed his fangs in a lopsided grin. “An honored guesst, he says? Then we must go, mustn’t we? Tell the King we will be there, early, with bellses on if he likes. And in our best clothes. Yes. We’ll have our hair combed and all, gollum.”

“Very well,” said the messenger. “Anything else?”

“Ask him to tell us if there will be Elves at the party.”

“Very well. Anything else?”

“Ask him if the nicest people will be there.”

“Very well. Anything else?”

“Ask him if there will be dancing and music.”

“Very well. Anything else?”

“No, you stupid boy,” said Sméagol. “There was never anything else. Loitering where you’re not wanted. Go away!”

If the messenger took this to heart, it was only later, after his relief to be allowed to leave had worn off. Sméagol, it must be confessed, did not feel guilty at all. He sat in the window grumbling for a while after the boy had left, and then he began to feel feverish and went inside to wrap himself up in a blanket. He soon forgot all about the whole thing.

But then Aragorn showed up.

This was the next night. Sméagol was sprawled out in the grass by his window- he felt better tonight but did not want to shut himself up inside, because he found himself starting to worry and fret that he would try to get out by the window or the door and find them both locked. No one had ever locked him in, and it did not make sense to fret about it, but he could not stop fretting, so he must go outside and feel the breeze on his face.

In the evening Eardwulf had brought him a strange thing, a group of rings all locked together that were meant to have some trick by which they were pulled apart without opening them. Sméagol had been unable to find the trick, and after trying too many times for his patience to withstand, began biting the toy in frustration. In the process he discovered that the rings were an excellent texture and hardness for chewing and were without any sharp points or corners that would trouble his mouth. Also, at this time in his life he derived a certain wicked pleasure in attacking something that was Ring-shaped.

In short, when the King arrived Sméagol was lying on his belly chewing on a toy and growling as if he were an animal, and this operation also made him drool a bit. He was half-asleep, too, because dawn was near and he had slept poorly for the past few days, and when he realized he had company, he suspected he had had a stupid look on his face in addition to gnawing and drooling and being shaped like a flattened spider.

Aragorn crouched down to get a little closer. Sméagol backed up halfway into the window and blinked and brushed bits of grass off of his cheek. It took him a moment longer to remember to drop the toy, letting it fall from his mouth with his head hung in shame, like a dog.

“Good morning to you!” said Aragorn as if this was all quite normal. “I am well pleased that you accepted my dinner invitation. I came by to have a brief word with you, as you had passed along some questions about the matter.”

He was dressed in a style befitting a King, and there were people standing behind him who looked like nobles (and they also looked a bit confused to be at Sméagol’s house, but they were too polite to say anything). Aragorn had not slipped away in the dark behaving like a Ranger dealing with an unsavory person, but was stopping on his way to somewhere public, in the role of a King visiting one of his wards.

“Sss,” said Sméagol stupidly. He blotted his mouth on his sleeve.

“Indeed there will be Elves,” said Aragorn. “But not many. To be truthful, they usually have particular people they seek out to speak with at gatherings and are rather unlikely to choose to speak to you unless you approach them. Therefore, I would not fear that you will be harangued by the Eldar.”

“Is that so? It is a dinner-party, he says?”

“Indeed. As for the nicest people,” said Aragorn, “I do not know if you meant you were hoping to see a particular friend of yours. I can tell you that I deem my guests to be of very fine quality. I should hope you agree. You may, if you choose, bring a guest of your own. Boromir has already been invited, but you may invite him again if you wish; he would enjoy that.”

“Begging his pardon,” said Sméagol, “the nice Man- the very gracious King- but, I, I don’t go to parties, so I don’t think I said we would go. Did I?”

“I was told that you did,” said Aragorn. “And that lastly, you asked if there would be music. There will be music- I know not whether there will be dancing. I do not intend to set time aside for that specific purpose or insist that my guests dance. There are always some who choose to dance when they hear music, whether they are given special encouragement or no. If you wish to dance you are welcome.”

“We do not wish- no,” said Sméagol. He had a creeping dread that he had done something stupid.

“Are you fond of music, Sméagol?” There was a soft frown on Aragorn’s face. It was so far from snideness that Sméagol was disarmed into honesty.

“I don’t know any longer.”

“I see. Perhaps you will find out.”

“But,” Sméagol ventured, “we said we would come? Did we, really?”

Now he did dimly remember speaking to the messenger, and he remembered asking the questions- but he had not spoken politely, and any reasonable person would know he was not really agreeing to do anything. The messenger had passed along Sméagol’s sarcastic questions, so surely he had conveyed something of the tone?

(To treat Sméagol with perfect fairness, now, in retrospect, he did feel a bit guilty for calling the boy stupid, even if he was all the more certain the boy really was stupid. He couldn't help being stupid. It wasn't nice to insult people for things they couldn't help.)

“You agreed to attend, yes. I must warn you that my other guests will require light, but I don’t wish you to be in pain or have your eyes troubled too much. You will have a dim corner, not so far off that you can’t hear the others or speak to them if you wish to, but enough to afford you some privacy.”

“Dark- yes,” said Sméagol. He had always thought Aragorn did not really mean him to accept these invitations.

“It is a small gathering and ought not to overwhelm you. My other guests will have knowledge of you, and will not stare. I know you dislike to be watched too closely, and I don’t wish you to feel as if you were invited to serve as a curiosity. But I am afraid I will have to introduce you. That is the treatment afforded a guest.”

Surely Aragorn had not meant him to accept the invitation! He was reminding Sméagol of all the things he did not like about being out in public with other people, trying to call his bluff. It must be a punishment for being rude to the messenger boy, and that was why he’d brought others to watch- to make it more shameful. Sméagol felt an inward pang he could not name. He ought to take the way out and beg off, of course, and slink away. He did not think consciously of swallowing his pride, because in these matters he had not thought he possessed any.

“Gollum! And how will he introduce us?” he asked, rather coldly.

“By your name and whichever deeds of yours you’d like to have spoken of,” said Aragorn. “It will be brief. The main goal of the evening is to have a dinner, which for you will be an early breakfast if you choose to partake with us. If you would rather eat beforehand or afterwards that is well enough, but if you would like to join in the dinner you will be provided with food to your liking. I do not expect you to eat what the others are eating, or to be made to go hungry.”

I changed my mind, Sméagol thought. We was joking. We doesn’t want to go to your silly party with Elves and Men.

“O… yes, thanks ye… no, he mustn’t worry, we will eat before we goes, no one will have to look at Sméagol’s nasty food.” His tone was deferential and penitent.

“Very well! That is entirely your choice,” said Aragorn. “I shall see you a fortnight hence at sunset, then. I don’t believe you know the place, so someone will be sent to guide you. Farewell, and rest well.”

Sméagol huddled in his window and plucked at the grass. He had spent a great deal of time talking to himself over the years, but not as much time listening. Now he wondered if perhaps, somewhere deep inside that he did not want to think about, he wanted to go to the party even if he was certain he would not enjoy it. Otherwise, why had he not taken the chance to say he did not want to go? It wasn’t as if he was shy about being rude to Aragorn.

“O no no, that is not it,” he said hastily, withdrawing into the cellar where it was more private. “No, my precious, we simply would not give him the satisfaction of saying we refused to go. It’s this way, eh? We will make him go out of his way to put aside tables and food for us, thinking we are going to turn up and worrying about what we may do and say in front of his guests- yes, yes! But then we will not come, eh? Make him wait and worry that we will be underfoot any moment, and stay safe in our cellar, gollum! And that will teach him not to go inviting us any longer. He will think, Sméagol almost really did come to the party! I had better not ask him again!”

“But then,” he said with some hesitation, “it will teach him better if I really do go, won’t it? All ugly and sitting in the corner.” He sniffled. “And making nasty noiseses, gollum!” He blotted his eyes on his sleeve.

What would it even be like? He thought about parties he had seen before. He had snuck into orcish victory feasts (and thought the food excellent, particularly the feasters). He had spied on a few small gatherings in Lake-town and in the homes of the Woodmen.

In long ago days Gran had organized village celebrations. There had been tables with food, and lights, and people. So many people. Too many people.

Why did he have no memories of parties where people did not eye him sideways and mutter about him- if they knew he was there at all? Had he always been rotten? Like a molding fruit in a barrel?

These things kept him from thinking as much as he otherwise would have about Mordor, and its dry familiar dust that had clung to his hands, and the desperate foulness that lay over everything, and the orc-smells everywhere- they had died there in droves and been burned. They had left behind the reek of blood and fear. If Sméagol had found orcs, those, too, would likely have been killed. They would have been driven out and slaughtered like rabbits.

The next evening, Sméagol woke before the sun quite went down, and went absent-mindedly through the familiar motions of breakfast and bathtime and dressing- no one had asked to see him tonight and he was free to wear whatever he thought was comfortable. He had just finished putting on his shirt when Eardwulf softly called his name.

“Yes?” Sméagol asked. “Yes, what is it?”

“Why did you not finish your breakfast?”

He turned, blinking. “Didn’t we?”

“You didn’t.” Eardwulf was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking solemn.

“Sméagol cannot be hungry every minute.”

“Yes, you can, when you have a mind to be,” said Eardwulf gently. “You’ve been unusually quiet as well and your eyes see something far away. What are your thoughts?”

Did Men like to kill orcs? Did they think the orcs deserved it? Even if they thought the orcs deserved it, did they think it brutal and nasty to put them to death? Or did they glory in it?

If he dared to ask a Man these questions- and it would be better not to ask- he had better be careful whom he chose. Eardwulf would not think less of him for asking, but he was not a soldier and may not know the answer. Also, he had not wished Sméagol to return to Barad-dur and might try to keep him from going back if he knew-

If he knew what? Sméagol wondered. That we didn’t like it? Of course we didn’t! And perhaps it is best if he says we can’t go back. We don’t wish to!

Yet he didn’t want to talk about it. Instead he said: “The King asked us to one of his parties again.”

“Ah. And that troubles you?”

“Yes,” said Sméagol. “It troubles us because we went and said we’d go, gollum! I don’t know what came over me.”

“You accepted his invitation… I see,” said Eardwulf slowly. He tapped his foot. Sméagol flinched- the sound seemed very loud to him. Fortunately Eardwulf stopped right away. “Why did you accept it? Do you wish to go?”

“No! No, of course not, gollum!” He hissed and put the heels of his hands over his eyes (they felt hot and dry). “It was a little joke, that is all, one of our little jokes- I was being an ass!” He crawled under the bed (hiding under the head of it, while Eardwulf sat at the foot).

“Ah. You said something you didn’t mean to be taken as seriously as it was. Then there is no trouble,” said Eardwulf, quite calm. “If you wish it I can simply send the King a message on your behalf to explain that you did not intend to accept the invitation. Or I can tell him you’ve changed your mind, if you prefer. You are free to change your mind. You do not need to go, if you don’t wish it.”

“Yes, yes, we must say we won’t do it. But we have said no before and he has asked again. He will ask again.”

“He will stop asking if you tell him it upsets you. I could tell him to stop on your behalf, if you prefer.”

“Ought we to go?”

“Do you want to?”

“No, no!”

“Yet you seem unwilling to decline the invitation,” said Eardwulf. “I promise you, you will not be punished or scolded. It was not meant as a binding oath.”

“I don’t wish to go,” said Sméagol, “only, I wonders what it would be like, I do, to be the King’s guest.” He shook himself. “It is a joke, some kind of nasty trick, it is, gollum! He doesn’t want me! Whatever would he want me there for?”

“He has confessed to me that it seems as if he is shamed by you when you are never seen in public.”

“But we are in public,” Sméagol said, blinking. “We sits in our window with it open and people sees us. And we- I goes out into the city and people sees me there too. What more does he wish for?”

“You are not seen by high society,” said Eardwulf. “In the King’s company. Do you recall when Lord Denethor approached you to speak with you? It was a long time ago-“

“O we remembers. Yes, we will remember it always and forever, gollum!”

“Did he not say you were being held captive in the dark?”

“Yes- yes, he did, it was very strange, when the King was letting us go out and about whenever we wanted.”

“But were you not spending most of your time secluded in the dark? I am afraid it is hard to comprehend that you can really prefer the dark and quiet so much- it begins to sound like an excuse for keeping you out of sight. Think what that will do to the King’s reputation. He wishes to be seen as a fair and just ruler who rewards deeds that benefit his people. It would not do for people to believe that King Elessar forces the destroyer of Isildur’s Bane to remain hidden because it would be inconvenient in some way for you to be visible.”

Sméagol mulled this over. “Sss, sss. Or for peoples to begin to wonder what we are. Denethor thought we was doing witchery, or some foolish thing like that.”

“That is so. Lord Denethor was predisposed to fear for his people and assume the worst, I think there are few others who would assume such things- but of course if you are never seen, they might believe you are anything at all. Not everyone could attend your trial and not everyone in the city meets you when you go out visiting.”

“The fool Man, why does he not tell us so? If that is why, I’ll take my medicine and go sit and be looked at,” he groused. “If we would go back to the Shadow-lands for the King we would go to a party for him, even if we has less business being there. Why does he play games with us?”

Eardwulf stood up, took a few slow footsteps to the head of the bed and crouched down to look under the frame at Sméagol, who blinked balefully back at him.

“I think he could not bear to force you,” said Eardwulf. “He dislikes for you to do things you find distressing. Recall that you offered to go to Barad-dur and help the rangers. You had to insist on it.”

Sméagol sighed. It was bad enough to have to do things he did not want to do without people making him beg to do them on top of it.

“Do not think he misunderstands or devalues your willingness to do what must be done,” said Eardwulf. “On the contrary. He knows very well that if he so much as hints to you that you ought to go, you will believe you must go. He desired it to be your free choice. Why do you not wish to go? Do you fear a poor reception?”

“I am not nice at parties,” said Sméagol. “I never was. No, never. Even when I had my own skin around me. Why should it be different now?”

“Why should it not be different?” said Eardwulf. “Indeed you have changed. The changes need not all be in the direction of liking things less. Perhaps you would enjoy a party if you went to it now. Lord Boromir will be there, I expect. You enjoy time with him.”

“But what if I hates the party?”

“I cannot imagine the King would force you to remain at the party if you decided you did not like it, when he did not force you to attend in the first place.”

Sméagol rested his chin on the floor. “Perhaps not. And he said…” He had been about to say that the King had said he’d feed Sméagol at the party but then he remembered something far more important. “He said we might bring a guest!” He poked his head out from under the bed. “Perhaps Eardwulf might come?”

“If you wish it,” said Eardwulf. If he in fact, perhaps, hated parties himself, he could hardly let on now, or his encouraging talk would be ruined. Sméagol suspected nothing amiss.

“Yes,” said Sméagol, “he will come and we will have someone to talk to, it was always so much better when Déagol was there, and we could talk, and make funs of ugly people, and steal things! Not really steal, only take more helpings than they said we could, ha, ha! Sméagol did not really steal anything until after Precious came and started doing things to him. At least nothing much- nothing that anyone missed very much- but he knows better now, and does not steal at all now, but Eardwulf will come with us, won’t he, won’t he? He’ll come and sit with Sméagol and not let him be alone in the dark?”

“Yes, certainly,” said Eardwulf, “only- it occurs to me that Faelon may feel disappointed when he hears of it, for he is young and would find a royal party very exciting.”

“O! Yes, Faelon. He’s only a baby, isn’t he? He must come, then, but perhaps the King will let us have both if we asks. Sméagol does not take up very much space, so it is only fair to let him have two guests, since there is room, eh? And if he wants us to go so badly he will not say no, not when our guests is such nice people!”

“Indeed you may ask,” said Eardwulf, “but I do beg you, if the King only permits one of us, twould only be fair to allow Faelon to go in my stead.”

“Yes, yes. Nice Man, so kind!” Sméagol crawled out from under the bed. “Yes,” he said brightly, “and perhaps-“

He fell silent.

“Yes?” Eardwulf asked.

“Nothing, nothing! It is nothing.” It was not nothing. He had thought for a moment that he could also invite Déagol, and had realized his mistake like a slap to the face.

Sometimes he felt as if he had simply taken a wrong turn heading home in the willow-lands, and had woken up in Minas Tirith, in the strange, warped body he now inhabited; then his memories of the intervening years would come back with a scent or a sight or a familiar voice, and he would have to acknowledge where he had been all that time and what he had been doing.

“Are you feeling ill, polliwog?” Eardwulf asked. “I don’t think the idea of attending the King’s party would put quite that look of pain upon your face.”

“No… Sméagol is old and he has aches.” This was even true. The temperature had dropped suddenly overnight and the cart he had ridden to Mordor in had jostled him, and for both of these reasons Sméagol’s back was painful at the moment. “Perhaps he’d ask someone to send us some willow bark?”

“Certainly,” said Eardwulf. “I must send the King a message about your choice of guests as well. Farewell.”

He went back upstairs with loud, thumping Man-steps. Men shook the world when they walked. They shook the world when they did anything.

Sméagol crawled back under the bed.

The next evening he was given a letter from the King, which said that both Eardwulf and Faelon could attend if Sméagol wished it.

“Of course he said yes. He wants us to have more baby-sitters,” Sméagol said under his breath. “Sss, sss, but we doesn’t mind, because we wants to have them too. Otherwise we may be trampled, so many Men all around. What’s this next part about? There will be more Elfs than he thought would be there, eh?” He read it over again more carefully. Some of the party-guests had been responsible for overseeing Sméagol’s captivity in Mirkwood. “So was the King, my precious. What does it matter to us anymore? Sss! He isn’t getting rid of us so easy. He had his chances.” He dashed off a quick reply saying good Sméagol would be there and would be very good, his very best of all, and would be nice to all of the Elves that the nice King wanted to invite.

Perhaps the King had been insinuating that those Elves would be unhappy to see Sméagol and not the reverse.

“He’ll have to come tell us hisself if he wants us not to come after all,” he grumbled.

The day of the party came. Sméagol woke in the afternoon and could not go back to sleep. Suilorion was stationed outside. Sméagol went out to sit under his table, where he had shelter from the Sun, and asked the old Man if he had liked to kill orcs, because he knew Suilorion had been in the army.

“I suppose I did,” said Suilorion, “when I knew it was my blade that kept them from overrunning my home or slaying my friends! Then I liked killing them very much indeed! When they were fleeing or fearful I felt rather guilty for killing them, but they would have rallied and come back if I spared them so I did not worry much about that.”

“Sss, sss. That is sensible enough.”

“They say you have killed orcs yourself,” said Suilorion. “You must have had a shortsword no bigger than a pocket-knife!”

“No, didn’t have a sword,” said Sméagol. “Baggins did. Bilbo Baggins. He gave it to the Master later on, Frodo Baggins, the one you calls the Ring-bearer.” Their full personal names felt odd in his mouth- he was not sure they would have liked him to speak of them in such a familiar manner. He had only meant to try keeping the two Bagginses apart. The Master had seemed much less likely to really use the sword. “It was a pocket-knife to you, I suppose. To me it looked big enough- it would have taken off my head well enough if he had wished it, gollum! He only let us go because he felt sorry for us. But I had no swords or knifes. I used my hands.”

“Did you like killing orcs?”

Sméagol noted that this was an unpleasant question to ask someone. Perhaps he ought to think a little more about what he asked people in future. “We did, I think. We was angry all of the time and wanted everyone to ssuffer, perhaps. I would not like to kill an orc now. O no! Orcs has enough problems without Sméagol killing them!”

Just then someone arrived with his breakfast on a tray. It was a new person, who looked a little nervous.

“Hello, hello!” Sméagol told her breezily. “What’s that look for, eh? Sméagol doesn’t bite. She’ll come in and put that on the table, won’t she, the poor timid little mouse?”

“I hope you do not fear the mite!” Suilorion added. “He is harmless as a kitten.”

Kittens had rather sharp claws. Sméagol wondered if the woman had overheard him saying he’d killed orcs. “Come in, come in, she needn’t come in very far. No. Jusst here. Thanks ye. Now she can go, she’d like to go.”

The woman left quickly enough, but she dipped a little bow to him before she went. Sméagol shook his head and sat down to eat. He poked at his food a little, and glowered. His stomach was fluttering. “Ach!” he said rudely. “It’s just the King.” But he could not make himself eat a bite.

He went back out to Suilorion, who had dealt two hands of cards. Two hands? Yes- some time ago they had wagered that if Sméagol lost two games of chess out of three, Suilorion would make him learn to play whatever game he wanted. And Sméagol had lost.

“No time for playing!” Sméagol said very politely. “We must get ready! The King’s asked for us. Good night, good night!” He slipped back inside to stare at his food.

Faelon and Eardwulf came soon after that. They said Sméagol did not have to eat if he wasn’t hungry, and his breakfast would not go to waste because Eardwulf’s hounds could still eat it, and if he felt hungry later more food could be brought to him, so he shouldn’t worry.

They filled the washtub and Sméagol scrubbed himself very well, as he knew he must really be clean and not simply play in the water- the Men had to stop him scrubbing when he began to make his skin raw. They helped him into his best clothes and brought him out the door.

Sméagol burst into tears. “I can’t!”

There was a brief moment of silence as his two minders conferred without words.

“Yes, you can,” Eardwulf said calmly. In secret, they might, perhaps, have both been planning to call things off and go apologize to King Elessar if Sméagol said ‘I can’t’ one more time, but Sméagol did not know this and did not say it. He dried his eyes and followed the two Men, hanging his head as if he were going to his own execution.

When they reached the area, there were groups of people lingering outside, talking and laughing. Sméagol drew back, trembling and looking from face to face, all of them bright-eyed and happy, and utterly overpowering. Finally his gaze landed on the brightest, the happiest, the most noble face in the group.

Sméagol did not intend to escape from Eardwulf and Faelon. He liked to have them near, after all. He just went straight to where he wanted to go with no care for whether they were following, and quickly left them behind.

He also did not realize that some of the people there were intended to keep guests from going to certain places. There were two women in his way, and he slipped between them like an eel, thinking they just happened to be loitering where they would block his path. Just past them was the Lady, sitting at a table and talking with someone next to her. Her laugh was like silver bells, ear-splitting and yet irresistible. When next she looked down, she saw Sméagol grinning up at her like an eager dog. If this sight inspired any feeling in her less pleasant than affectionate surprise, she successfully concealed it.

“Why, it is Sméagol!” she said. “I am so pleased to see you. I was told you were coming, and I have been waiting for you.”

“O!” said Sméagol. “She remembers us, my precious. She thought of us. She waited for us. She wants us.” He sank in on himself with his hands and feet tucked under his body in the kind of satisfied manner that usually only cats manage to achieve.

“Indeed I do,” said the Lady. She signaled to one of her friends sitting nearby, and this friend gave up her chair. “Please take a chair, Sméagol, I cannot see your face as I would like to when you huddle at my feet, and I would rather the destroyer of the Ring not be so low down.”

He hopped up onto the chair, forgetting, in his eagerness to draw near, that he preferred his face not to be seen. Up here, her presence was palpable like the warmth of a fire. His heart shuddered within him and for a moment it nearly remembered what it was to look at the sunset, or gaze up at the face of the Moon, and find the light beautiful.

“I hope you do not think I have forgotten your tutor,” she said. “I wish to be certain I have found someone who will be suitable, for it would not be well to trifle with your time.”

“Yes, yes, of course, these things takes time, of course!” Sméagol himself had forgotten about the tutor at the moment. “But she is still looking? How long is she staying in the City, my precious?” he asked, forgetting in his excitement to ask her instead of himself (after all he did not know the answer).

She laughed merrily. “Why, a long time, I should hope. I am sorry I did not tell you. I live here.”

“Forever? Forever and ever?”

“Not forever and ever, for all things must end one day.”

“Of course, yes. All things.”

“I hope I shall be here a long time.”

“Sss, sss, will she not be lonely?” He swung his paddle-feet. “There aren’t any other Elves that lives here. Just visits.”

“Are you lonely for hobbit-kind, Sméagol?”

“No,” he said, rather surly. “Yes, we are, but not for anyone who is still alive. Our sort is gone, forever. No one to be lonely for anymore.”

“I see. That is a hardship,” she said. He expected her to offer up the Shire-hobbits who were not the same thing at all, but instead she said: “My people are leaving for the sea. The home I knew will not remain, and would not be there if I tried to return. And so my past is gone, and I have chosen to follow this city of Men into the new age that is coming. There is more future remaining for Men than for Elves in this world.”

Sméagol had never thought of Elves as people whose families could go away and leave them adrift and alone. Without thinking he caught up the Lady’s sleeve. “Why are they going without her? Gollum! Did they not want her? Did they not like her?”

“We parted on good terms,” she said. “There was no strife. It is only that they must go- and I must remain.”

He saw his hand fastened on her sleeve. He had been using his hands to help him balance and they were smudged with dirt. “I’ve dirtied her sleeve,” he said.

Her voice was soft. “Your touch is not evil. It cannot tarnish me.”

He let go of her sleeve, or rather, it slipped from his grasp- he felt a little dizzy.

She went on speaking: “I have strayed from your question; yes, there will be times when I miss my people terribly. But the people of Gondor are my people now as well. Are not those your people just over there, Sméagol? They look as if they would join you if they could.”

He looked up, squinting in the light. Eardwulf and Faelon were standing nearby. They couldn’t get in close to the Lady because her friends had taken all the available chairs. “O! Yes, just standing there. What is to be done with them, I wonder? Is there more chairs?”

“Alas! There is no room for more chairs at this table,” said the Lady. “I fear I am keeping you to myself. We will have more opportunity to talk later on and I ought not keep you from your place. There is a table set aside for you and your friends, and I see you are flinching in the light. Go to your people and let them lead you where you will be more comfortable- do not fear, you and I shall meet again very soon!”

“Yes- yes, Lady,” he simpered, and slunk off to meet up with his minders, patting their shins. “We didn’t forget about them, did we?”

They led him away. He followed with his eyes closed against the light- he could navigate by sound and feel perfectly well, especially with someone to guide him.

“I did not know you were such a great friend of Queen Evenstar,” Faelon remarked in awe.

“Queen?” Sméagol asked. “O yes, she said so. She said she is a Queen. Ss. We forgets sometimes.” He went silent, and for a moment lost himself in his surroundings, which felt more real and solid with his eyes closed. The grass had a cool, damp smell, sour to him and a bit strong. Just ahead was the milder scent of stone and the sounds of footsteps in that direction had a harder impact. He would feel the stone under his hands soon and would have to be careful he did not put them down too forcefully or jam his fingers.

“Sss, sss,” he said. “She is married to Aragorn, isn’t she?”

“King Elessar? Yes,” said Faelon.

Sméagol turned this over in his mind the way he would turn over a rock, getting the weight and the texture of it. “Whatever would she want to marry old Strider for?” The Lady- no- the Queen’s motives were as far out of his reach as an angler’s were to a fish. She existed in a realm above his and moved in a different medium.

“They are in love,” Faelon said.

“Love,” said Sméagol. “I don’t know anything about love. O no! It sounds oddly when I even says it. Love. Sméagol doesn’t have anything to do with that!”

His hands and feet felt stone tile beneath them now and the voices around him echoed so that he could not now tell where people were in relation to himself. He huddled close to Eardwulf, who was at his left side.

“Is that so, Sméagol?” said Eardwulf. “I know you do not love in the way that makes people choose to marry, but if you had not told me otherwise I would have thought you did love in your own way, and fiercely, too.”

“What makes him think so?” Sméagol asked in surprise.

Eardwulf was saved from a long, patient, difficult explanation by someone almost stepping on Sméagol. All Sméagol knew about it was that Faelon was suddenly talking to someone in a tense manner. “Be more careful where you put your feet, I beg you; here is the destroyer of Isildur’s Bane. He is troubled by the light and cannot see to avoid you.”

“What is it?” Sméagol squeaked. “Who is there?” He squinted upwards, but there was a profusion of torches in the area. He could only see that it was an Elf.

“It is only I,” the Elf said merrily. “A thousand pardons I beg of you, Sméagol. You have a talent for making yourself difficult to notice, even to keen eyes. I intended no harm and certainly I should not wish to make your feet any flatter by treading on them. You are looking remarkably clean and brushed and fat. You prefer the husbandry of Men to that of Elves, I deem.”

“I suppose,” said Sméagol. “I was very ill when the Elves had us, very ill, and did not even know it; it was a madness. Gone now. It sounds as if he knows us. I do not remember you, very nice Elf. I hope Sméagol did not bite him.”

“What very fine manners the Men have taught you!” the Elf laughed. Sméagol winced. The sound of Elven laughter still hurt his ears. “You are like to exceed them for politeness at this rate. I am afraid you did bite me, but I have forgiven you. Now I must rejoin my friends- farewell!”

“Good night, good night!” He turned towards Eardwulf. “Who was he?”

“I know not,” said Eardwulf. “A tall Elf and fair-haired. Many of the Eldar are tall and fair-haired. Let us make haste to our assigned table, little one, before someone else is less cautious and more drunken than he.”

The table was tucked into a dark corner as Aragorn had promised, and lit only by candles. Sméagol could see the faces of his companions again.

“They’ve put out a high chair for us,” he noted.

“I suppose it was easier than a low table,” said Eardwulf.

Sméagol perched in the chair and leaned his elbows comfortably on the table. “Now what?” he said.

“I know not,” said Faelon. He was looking into the lighted areas of the room where Sméagol could not see, and his face showed that he was intrigued by what he found there. “I have never been to a gathering of this type before.”

“We wait,” said Eardwulf quietly, for Sméagol’s ears and not the young Man’s. “We wait and listen to a few remarks made by important people, and then we wait again. If we are lucky, someone remembers to bring food to our table. We eat, and wait to be dismissed.”

He had explained some of this before but had not sounded quite so dour. “Yes, yes,” said Sméagol. “Has he been to a party of the King’s before?”

“Only the gatherings hosted by Lord Denethor when he was Steward.”

“It may be different,” said Sméagol. “The King is different, and he is strange, isn’t he?”

“Yes, perhaps,” mused Eardwulf. “I expect the food shall be better.”

Just then, musicians started playing beyond the light. Sméagol listened intently. He decided in the end that he did not like music. At least, not this sort of music.

He discovered that someone was standing at his shoulder, and looked up in fright to see Aragorn.

“I am sorry, Sméagol, I thought you knew he was there,” said Faelon as Sméagol scuffled and hissed. “I didn’t wish to disturb you. I could tell you were listening to the music…”

“Certainly I did not intend to frighten you,” said Aragorn quietly. “I apologize.”

“O yes! It is nothing, he mustn’t mind it,” said Sméagol in the tone of someone who is actually quite put out and doesn’t want to admit it.

Aragorn’s voice was low and serious. “I would like to introduce you. May I introduce you?” He had asked Sméagol but he looked at Eardwulf for some reason.

“Introduce us, sss,” said Sméagol. Going in he had decided that he would do whatever Aragorn wanted, but now he had to actually go and do it. “What’s he mean? What will he do?”

“I wish to tell my guests your name and how you helped Frodo Baggins on his quest.” It was rare to hear Frodo called by name, instead of ‘the Ring-bearer’, and Sméagol leaned in closer at the sound of it. “Is that acceptable to you?”

“Yes,” he said cautiously, noticing Eardwulf’s nod of approval.

“That is good,” said Aragorn. “I would like also to bring you out where my guests can see you for a moment. Then you may come back to the table.”

Sméagol did not at once reply to this. Of course he didn’t want to be where Aragorn’s guests could see him, but he had been mad enough to come- he would be mad enough to go all the way. “O yes,” he said, “yes, whyever not?”

“Very good. Then I shall do so now. Come with me, please.”

“Now?”

“Now seems to me the ideal time, so that you need not wait, and can be released from your obligations. Come here, please.”

Sméagol followed him into the brighter part of the room, closing his eyes against the light. When they stopped, Aragorn announced: “Friends! Look to me. All who are present tonight are honored guests, but there is one among us who must be afforded special honors, for without his deeds we may all yet be facing the shadow of Sauron.” He turned to Sméagol, who was huddled at his feet, wincing to hear the name of the Eye spoken so openly.

Aragorn made a gesture. He was gesturing for Sméagol to climb up in a nearby chair, but Sméagol could not see him very well, hadn’t noticed the chair, and was accustomed to Eardwulf and Faelon gesturing that way when they were inviting him to be helped up onto something or carried down the stairs.

O no, I don’t know him well enough, he thought, and I don’t think I likes him well enough either, but I suppose he is the King and I dursn’t balk him in front of all of these Elves. He held out his arms to be picked up. Aragorn hesitated only a fraction of a second. It was just long enough for Sméagol to wonder if he had misconstrued things terribly, but before he could realize that this was indeed what had happened, and put his arms down, Aragorn had changed course and picked him up.

He was wonderfully gentle! He knew where to place his hands without either being too forward, or being too timid and barely holding on and making Sméagol feel like he was on the verge of being dropped on his head! He knew to lift slowly and not swing Sméagol around like a dead cat! And in the next instant he had set Sméagol down on something and released him. Sméagol could feel the force of eyes on him and knew he was visible. He trembled.

“This is Sméagol of the Anduin,” said Aragorn in a clear, kingly voice. “He safely led the Ring-bearer through the Mere of Dead Men and brought him undetected into Mordor. On the Ring-bearer’s order, Sméagol’s hand cast Isildur’s Bane into the fire, and without him the War of the Ring would have been lost.”

A cheer went up. It was a small gathering by a King’s standards but to Sméagol the cheer was deafening. He huddled and trembled. Was the cheer for him? For Aragorn? For Frodo?

He scrambled backwards, and collided with a Man’s warm hand. “Calm, calm, Sméagol!” said Boromir. “If you can withstand the Black Tower I would hope you can withstand a little cheering- if only for one night! Have you not earned it?”

Sméagol continued to tremble. The cheers were abating.

“What is the matter?” Aragorn inquired.

“Loud,” Sméagol said in a tiny voice.

“I suppose that is why this is the first time he’s appeared in public so,” a distant voice said. “And he just so happened to choose tonight.”

“Indeed,” said Aragorn. “And it is well. I and mine owe a great debt to the sagacity of King Thranduil in the care he took of the creature at my request.”

“You mean you are glad I let him escape!” the voice announced. “Prettily said, but twas not so simple as that.”

“My friend,” said Aragorn, “you mistake my words. I was thanking you for taking him in. If you had not, if I had been forced to bring him elsewhere, I doubt he would have been in place to assist the Ring-bearer. It is a matter of great import to me that he was- not only for the sake of my people but for myself, for Frodo Baggins is my friend and Sméagol was there to guide him when I could not be.”

No one was mentioning Shelob. Sméagol felt a little bit sick.

“Very well!” said Thranduil. “That is all true and well spoken enough, if incomplete; yet there remains the fact that he would not have been there had he not escaped. He left a trail of my people wounded or dead in his wake as he departed, but I must treat fairly with him- the violence was the doing of orcs, not Sméagol, and likely they would have attacked at that time or a little later, no matter whether he was being held with us or not. And I am sure Sméagol saw himself as a captive to escape and not a patient to be cured, whether or not you, I, Mithrandir, and my guards believed otherwise.”

“You may ask him, if the question weighs on your mind,” said Boromir. “He is here now, and listening.” His hand still rested on Sméagol’s back- his was the light and wary, almost awe-struck touch of someone who has been favored with the attentions of a wild animal.

“Indeed I may ask,” said Thranduil. “Sméagol, what have you to say about the hospitality of the Elves?”

Sméagol sobbed. “Gollum! They was nice, very nice Elves but we was not a nice Sméagol and we ran away, now Sméagol is very sorry, gollum!”

“You need not apologize to him!” Boromir said. “Your situation was strange and difficult, and he understands it well enough. He is only making merry.”

“Indeed,” said Thranduil. “Although I am afraid the creature somewhat tempers my merriment with his manner. Calm, Sméagol! You cringe as if you expect the touch of the whip. Have my people ever dealt with you thus?”

“No, n-no,” said Sméagol. “Sméagol doesn’t like to be looked at.”

“Then you may depart,” said Aragorn.

“Yet a moment more,” said Thranduil. “I should like Sméagol to know I have forgiven and pardoned him before you take him away. He looks as if he fears meeting a Silvan blade if he strays from his minders, which he need not fear. I might mention the matter of a litter of orc-babes, but although he found them, he did not make the decision to send them to the Greenwood.”

“No, that matter is between you and I,” said Aragorn. “Sméagol is blameless in it, unless you choose to blame him for learning the same lesson of pity that has preserved his own life.”

“We must toast to him!” a laughing voice cried from the crowd. “May Sméagol live long, may his eyes be ever bright, may his grip never lose its iron, and may he lose neither the sharpness of his teeth nor the even sharper edge of his tongue, so long as he is under the protection of the house of Telcontar!”

“And may he eat heartily and hunt well,” another Elf chimed in, “so long as he hunts within the borders of Gondor!”

“May all this be true,” said Thranduil’s voice, “for so long as the Greenwood lives free from the yoke of Sauron, which shall be as long as it stands… and for so long as Sméagol and his deeds are held responsible to King Elessar, and not King Thranduil!”

Sméagol burst into bewildered tears.

“That is all I shall require,” Aragorn said, “come here, now.” He carried Sméagol back to his table and set him down. “Well!” he said. “I tried to warn you my guests may be raucous. I did not think it right to turn you away if you wished to attend regardless but I feared you did not realize what that might mean.”

“May we go home now?” Sméagol quavered.

Aragorn looked solemn. “If you wish it. I had hoped you would stay long enough to enjoy some part of the evening. No Elves will speak to you any longer, and dinner is about to be served. There is a fresh grayling for you.”

Sméagol nibbled his lower lip. It would seem like failure if he left now, though surely he could ask the fish to be brought to his room.

“The Elvenking did pardon you,” said Aragorn. “I did not make him do so- indeed I would not have the power to. He does not pardon easily, or without long thought and consideration. And you will not be brought into the public eye again. That was all I shall require of you, and you may sit here now, and enjoy the company of your own guests.”

“O very well,” said Sméagol.

“Excellent! Now, I must go and give King Thranduil his proper introduction. Yours was first, because I deemed it more important.” He walked off and vanished into the light.

Sméagol rubbed at his eyes. The political situation of Gondor was so far beyond him! “What was all of that about, Eardwulf?” he asked. “It sounded as if the Elves was being nice to Sméagol, but then it sounded as if they was making fun.”

“I cannot be certain but it struck me that the Wood-elves do not make a distinction between those things,” said Eardwulf. “Their talk is riddling, though not in the manner of riddling you enjoy, I fear.”

“Ach! We’re glad we fetched up with the Men instead, and the King did not send us back to Mirkwood.”

“I take that as high praise,” said Eardwulf. “I am glad you fetched up here and were not sent away, as well.”

Aragorn was still introducing Elves. Sméagol listened with half an ear until Eardwulf and Faelon stood up and faced to the West, saying nothing. That was the Standing Silence, which meant they would all get to eat soon.

As the Men sat down again Sméagol asked: “Isn’t Eardwulf from the horse-lands? We thought only the Gondor-Men had to do that.” 

“My father was of Rohan. My mother was of Gondor, and I was born here. But, as it happens, Rohan also lies somewhat to the west. Therefore I may participate in the ritual honestly.”

“Of course, of course. Did the Elfs stand? We didn’t look.” Really he was wondering if he was going to look like a bad sport for not standing up.

“There are no Elves to the west of me, so I did not see them,” said Faelon. “But their own home is to the West too.”

“Is it? We thought Mirkwood was northly. Greenwood, it’s the Greenwood now.”

“It is, but… I am not sure how to explain…”

He was not forced to, as someone came by then with plates of food for the three of them. Sméagol at first did not eat. He was painfully conscious of how disgusting he must look when he ate. But then Eardwulf and Faelon began to eat their food and Sméagol realized very quickly that no one makes pleasant noises when chewing, and no one looks elegant with one’s mouth stuffed full (particularly those who get their food trapped in wiry beards as Eardwulf immediately managed to do).

Also, he was hungry. Sméagol had missed his breakfast and his stomach was growling loud enough for anyone nearby to hear, which he could not help, and even the fact of his hunger seemed unpleasant and shameful. If he was going to be unpleasant whether he was hungry or fed, he may as well be fed. He just took small bites and chewed with his mouth closed- as well as he could. His nose was a little bit blocked up. Allergic to Elves, perhaps.

Aside from the excellent grayling, there were eggs and bits of meat, and it was all very nice- but then the Elves began to turn up.

“They claim you are Sméagol,” the first one said. “The face is like enough but the Sméagol I knew would never allow a comb upon his head! If the Men are treating you forcefully, signal so to me by blinking.”

Sméagol was fairly certain this was a joke but it was not one he found very amusing. “No, gollum, they are very nice, very kind and gentle Men, and do not even put ropes on us or drive us out into the sunlight, gollum.” In fact he had asked Faelon to comb his hair.

“Oho!” said the Elf. “Perhaps you are the one controlling the Men. But I see from their faces that they do not like this talk. And their hands are not even scarred by fangs.”

“It is easy to avoid being bitten by creatures you are not provoking to anger,” said Eardwulf.

“Naturally! A happy union this is! I shall trouble it no more.”

As he left, Sméagol remarked: “The King said no more Elves would speak to us. He cannot stop them, eh, can he? He is not the King of Elves, only of Men.”

“That is so,” said Eardwulf. “Although there is only so much freedom the Elves can have in his kingdom. Perhaps they will tire of this game and stop coming.”

The second Elf said: “Well! It is Sméagol, I hear; I have seen him before but I have not seen him with so much flesh on his bones.”

“We eats the scraps from everyone else’s dinners and they says it is not as expensive as it sounds, gollum,” Sméagol said. “We has a fresh fissh to ourselfs tonight because it is a special occasion, they tells us.”

“A special occasion indeed! Did our food not suit you so well?”

He dimly remembered rejecting the Elves’ food even though he was hungry, because they had handled it and left a noxious odor on everything. He was still troubled by their scent, but not so badly as before. The blocked-up nose did help a bit. “Sméagol was very ill before and could not help some of what he was doing, but now he is better and is very sorry, nice Elf, yes, we hopes we was not too much of a bother.” He pulled his food a little nearer to him, to show in the politest manner possible that the Elf was being a bit of a bother to him by making conversation when he preferred to eat.

“You were as much of a bother as anyone could manage at your size,” said the Elf, “and all who must deal with you were daily grateful that your Creator allowed you to grow no taller. Your apology is welcome, but I see that I am not! I shall seek pleasanter companions.”

The third Elf appeared when Faelon was cutting Sméagol’s portion of veal into pieces that were a little smaller.

“Sanity has not departed Gondor!” the Elf laughed. “Sméagol does not have his own knife.”

Eardwulf said nothing but tucked a steak-knife into Sméagol’s hand. Sméagol hesitated a moment before he realized what he was intended to do. He started clumsily trying to cut the meat.

“I see I was mistaken.” The Elf sounded merrier than ever. “He was bad enough with only the blades in his mouth. I shall depart somewhere safer!”

Sméagol set down the knife. He was hurting his wrist by messing about with it.

He was beginning to wonder if there was no one at this horrid party who was not an Elf, but the next guest was a noblewoman of Mannish kind. She had a paper fan that she was waving at her face as she peered at Sméagol. He thought she may be trying to wave the smell of him away.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” she said. “I have heard tell of you. You visit shops alongside Lord Boromir on occasion, do you not?”

“We does,” said Sméagol. “Yes, Sméagol goes about with his beautiful friend who is so kind to us. Why does she ask?”

“I would be so very honored to receive you some night when you are on your excursions,” she said. “My home is in the Fifth Circle.”

“O, is it? Perhaps the nice lady may tell Sméagol where to find it.”

She gave him directions and a brief description, and hinted that she had all the things Boromir liked, although how she knew what the Man liked was beyond Sméagol. He bade her a polite good-bye.

“But the Lord Boromir is very busy,” he said sweetly when she was out of earshot. “Sméagol goes visiting alone most nights. She will be jusst as happy to see him alone, eh?”

“Perhaps not,” said Faelon. “I am not so sure she was- that is, I-”

“We won’t visit,” said Sméagol. “Won’t even tell Lord Boromir about her, gollum! Peoples used to invite me over to get something they wanted from Gran. I went alone, of course. Ha, ha! They hated seeing my twitchy little face turn up by itself.”

Faelon looked a bit disturbed.

The next Elf was for Faelon. She was one of the most foresty Wood-Elves, a short and deeply freckled one that almost looked like a sapling herself. She appeared at Faelon’s elbow. “Well met!” she said warmly. “I have marked thee for thy kindness to Sméagol, who has ever tried the patience of my people; thou must have patience to rival the Eldar, and I like that very much. I may say thy face and form please me also. Wilt thou join me in a dance?”

“I am pleased by your words, milady,” said Faelon, blushing, “but the creature may have need of me…”

Sméagol made a rude noise and gave him a dismissive wave. He had by this time eaten most of what had been set before him and had slid down into a little heap in his chair. “Sméagol doesn’t need nothing,” he said. “He ought go and dance with the Elf, and then he can tell his little friends he has done it. They will be jealous!”

“Sméagol!” said Faelon. “I think I may be a little older than you think I am…”

“Sss, sss, no,” Sméagol slurred. “Ask her if she thinks you are old. She is three thousandses of years, or something like that."

"Older," the Elf laughed.

Eardwulf joined in mildly: “Do not fret yourself about your duty, Faelon, for I can attend Sméagol perfectly well, and there are others who could help me if I needed it. He shall want for nothing and is generous enough to release you to enjoy yourself.”

“Thy friends have done thee the good turn of taking away all of thy excuses,” said the Elf, now gently pulling Faelon to his feet. “Come with me, and see why the Elves of the Greenwood have their reputation for merriment!”

Faelon did not return. Sméagol kept nibbling at his food and sinking lower into the chair.

“I wonder if you and I were mistaken to nudge him into leaving with that uncanny maiden,” said Eardwulf. “We may never see him again.”

“She will tire of him,” said Sméagol, now eye level with the edge of the table, “like a shiny toy that a baby puts away. They are rather silly, these Elves.” He could no longer reach the food from this position and was wondering whether he wanted to bother sitting up.

A figure had appeared at his side, one taller and brighter than the other Elves, and with leaves woven in his hair. Sméagol flinched.

“Silly is not the kindest word you could choose, nor the wisest, but it is far from the rudest,” said the Elf, and from the sound of his voice, it was Thranduil himself. “Indeed there is a change in you. I confess it is not yet enough of a change that I would invite you to my own parties- but I doubt that upsets you very much.”

“We’re sorry if we bit him,” Sméagol said.

“You were never given the opportunity.”

“He said he was given the little orcses, how are they? Does he still have them?”

“Yes, although I do not tend them personally. When I last saw them, they were hale and hearty,” said Thranduil. He was holding a large goblet of wine, which he now began to swirl around in his hand. “They are rambunctious and grow quickly, and we do not yet know what will become of them when they are full-grown. But for the time being they appear to be happy, although the happiness of orcs is a murky thing. Does this knowledge please you?”

“O yes,” said Sméagol, beginning to weep. “They may be the last. They may be the only orcs to be free.”

“They may be,” said Thranduil, looking at him oddly. “It seems the change in you is deeper than I guessed. I have heard you have been asking to come to my realm and visit these orcs you are so taken with. Do you think you would be welcome, after you repaid our kindness with hatred, and departed in bloodshed?”

“No,” said Sméagol, “No, gollum, we didn’t invite ourselfs! We wouldn't invite ourself.”

“I told him he might go,” Eardwulf said tersely.

“You?” Thranduil asked with a searching look. “What authority did you have to make such a promise? I see you are entrusted with much, but I doubt you are in a position to treat with kings.”

“I am not, your Majesty. The creature was grieving the absence of the children he cared about, and I offered that he may one day see them again, for I have authority to see to his needs, and I believed my King would have authority to fulfill my promise if he deemed it right.”

Thranduil considered this for a long moment. Then he put the wineglass to his lips and drained all of it, in one continuous long drink. It took him some time. When he was done, he said (without the slightest sign of being out of breath): “If you plan to ask your King to approach me in the matter, wait until I have had a glass or two more.” He glided away.

“I do not want to go back,” said Sméagol.

“You would not need to enter his realm,” said Eardwulf. “Someone could bring the young orcs out into the wood to meet you. He would not deny you that.”

“It is such a long way!”

“You would not have to walk it.”

Sméagol sighed.

Some time later there was a heavy sound nearby, shaking Sméagol awake and making him notice he had been asleep. That was rude, to sleep at parties. Very rude. 

Boromir had sat down in Faelon’s empty chair. “I beg your pardon!” he said. “I have not asked leave to sit here. May I?”

“Does he think we would say no?” Sméagol answered, nonplussed. He rubbed his eyes and wondered whether anyone had found out that he'd been sleeping.

“I have been having such an interesting talk with the Elvenking,” said Boromir. “The Shadow lay heavily upon his people in much the same way as it did here in the City of the Tower. It seems the Elves of Mirkwood turned to merriment to mask the solemnity of their duty, rather than taking it as their role to be dour. I wish my father were well enough to speak with them. They would have much to learn from each other. My brother, at least, is profiting from the evening.”

“O! Is he here?”

“Yes, he is discussing trade possibilities. He has quite a head for figures, and for seeing opportunities for cooperation.”

Sméagol nodded bemusedly and pressed his fist to his mouth so that he would not yawn. He must not yawn. And belching was right out.

Boromir continued. He took no more notice of Sméagol’s lack of attention than if he had been speaking to a post, and he might as well have been. “The burden faced by Thranduil and Denethor may have been my own. It would have been my own if the world had gone on as it once did. And yet I think I never once expected the role of Ruling Steward to fall to me. I never believed in a future beyond the war, beyond Denethor’s rule. My brother did, and I see now tis he, in fact, who was the more sensible brother all along. For what does it profit a Man to never believe in success or betterment, and to be unable to know what to do with it when it arrives? And thus it is that Gondor’s fated king was named Hope!”

Sméagol reached for a juicy-looking scrap of meat on his plate, then hesitated with his hand in midair. He was quite full. Now, that was what he had never expected- a respite from hunger.

“But I have not even let you get a word in edgewise, my friend,” Boromir laughed. “You have made it at last to one of the King’s gatherings! What think you?”

“Very nice, yes,” said Sméagol. “They played a nice song about the River a bit ago.” That was the only song he had liked, but at least he had found that he did not hate music after all.

“Ah! That song,” said Boromir. “Faramir was found of it as a youth.” He did not say that he, himself, liked it. “But I see you are tiring. I myself find these events fatigue me more than they once did. Others are drifting away, it seems- you may as well whenever you wish. Yet I am glad you did not depart before I had an opportunity to speak with you. I would like to say as well that my men were pleased with your conduct in Barad-dur. There will be more work for you if you accept it.”

“Works, yes, yes.” He rubbed at his eyes. Even with them closed he could see a faint afterimage of the lights reflected on Boromir’s face. He looked every bit of the noble retiring hero. Sméagol looked like a bloated tick.

A soft, gentle voice spoke beside him. “You do not look like a bloated tick. You look like a very old hobbit who wants to sleep.”

It was Aragorn. Sméagol had not known he could read minds!

“I cannot,” said Aragorn. “Alas, it would be helpful, but it would also be more responsibility and care than I may wish, I suspect. But you, Sméagol, say more of what you think aloud than you realize. Especially when you are halfway asleep. Do you wish to return to your own bed? Or shall you join some of our Elven friends in the custom of sleeping underneath the table?”

“I had thought the Eldar were resistant to the effects of strong drink,” Boromir remarked.

“They are. They have brought very strong drink with them,” said Aragorn. “From Dale, I believe. I did not provide it. The party is over, Sméagol. You can go home now. Twill be no mark on you.”

“Yes,” said Sméagol. “Yes, I don’t want to stay any longer. I can’t keep my silly eyes open anymore.”

Eardwulf gently gathered him up into his arms.

“Farewell!” said Boromir. “I shall see you two days hence in the evening as usual. And for now I shall go and see how loose Thrandil’s lips have become. His talk intrigues me.”

“Be cautious,” said Aragorn. “He is like to your father in cunning, as well, and I do not think he is actually drunk. Sméagol, would you be so good at to bid farewell to the Queen on your way out? She promised she would speak to you again and would dislike to seem false.”

“We will, yes,” said Sméagol. “We says yes to everything these days.”

“I shall be cautious what I ask of you, then,” said Aragorn. “She is over here.”

Queen Evenstar was sitting with her friends at a different table now, and chatting comfortably with them in the Elvish language that was sometimes spoken in Gondor. Sméagol’s knowledge of it was limited to a few pertinent things like ‘bath’, ‘food’, ‘no’ and the like.

She looked up with bright eyes when she saw him. “Why, it is Sméagol! Hello, little one. Are you leaving so soon?”

“I’ll stay if she wishes it,” said Sméagol.

“Please, do not remain on my account. We may speak longer another time, perhaps. You may send me a letter any time you wish, as well, and then we may speak without needing to arrange meetings. Thank you for attending tonight. It is unjust to leave you out of our joy when you have done so much to bring it about. Goodnight!”

“Goodnight,” said Sméagol, who, unfortunately, was too sleepy to remember that she might not like him to touch her face. Her cheek was soft as mouse-fur. She touched his cheek in return. Her eyes were warm when she looked at him and a great deal warmer when she looked at Aragorn.

Outside, the cool breeze woke Sméagol a little. He found Aragorn still beside them. Aragorn’s quiet face had been touched by the Elf-queen’s eyes and the almost fanatical loyalty of Boromir. The Master had liked Aragorn, too.

Sméagol clenched his teeth tight so he would not speak without meaning to. He was thinking: Very well, he is a good Man, a real one; but I still don’t like to talk to him because I never know what he’s driving at!

“Are you well?” Eardwulf asked quietly.

“Yes,” said Sméagol. “More yesses from Sméagol. He is agreeable today.”

“So I see,” said Aragorn. “Tell me truly; did you enjoy yourself?”

“It’s truth he wants,” said Sméagol. “O we had a good enough time, lots of nice food. Yes, we did, and we made everyone else miserable just as we said we would. Lots of Elveses coming up to complain. We warned him and he asked us anyway.”

There was a strained silence. Sméagol rested his head on Eardwulf’s shoulder.

“I watched you most of the evening,” said Aragorn finally, “and when I could not watch you, Faramir watched you in my stead. We saw you seated at your table, with your head down, keeping your hands and your tongue entirely to yourself. I promise you, Sméagol, if anyone disliked your presence, that person is the one at fault and I may have to have words. Eardwulf, was anyone cruel to him?”

“No,” said Eardwulf. “Not by intent, at least. Some of the guests had joking words with him that he did not understand. Sméagol, they did not dislike you or resent you… I think they did not know what to make of you. If anything perhaps they were a trifle annoyed that you behave so well for us and would not for them.”

Aragorn sighed. “I had wished that you and the Greenwood Elves would not attend the same party… but some good came of it. If there was any fear that they would desire any recompense from Sméagol’s past deeds I think they have been cured of that wish by the sight of him now. What of you, Eardwulf? I sent a Sylvan hound-trainer to speak to you but I am afraid he was waylaid by the wine. I did not see him at your table, although I did see that noblewoman who watches Lord Boromir so closely…”

“Yes,” said Eardwulf. “I am afraid she is seeking out his favorites.”

Sméagol drifted off to sleep then. He had taken no wine himself- even back in the River-days wine had tended to stop up his nose and give him a headache. But he had been around it and smelling it all evening and had half convinced himself he was tipsy as well as overfed.

He half-woke in his own bed, to voices by his window. “When I speak to him frankly, he sees lies and half-truths. When I make a joke he takes it as the soberest truth and his hackles rise. What am I saying amiss? What makes him distrust me so?”

“He is slow to change an impression,” said Eardwulf. “Tis not impossible. He liked me very little when first we met. But I do not think he hates you, my King. He does not allow anyone he dislikes to touch him. If he hated you, or feared you, he would have flickered away into the crowd when you stooped to pick him up.”

“Or used his teeth.”

“Perhaps. I have taught him that anyone who touches him against his will has earned his teeth.”

“I wish it was a lesson he did not need to learn.”

“I beg your pardon for speaking but I think we may be heard where we are. He often sleeps in fits.”

Aragorn laughed bitterly. “I am found out. I had hoped he may believe my earnestness if he overheard it and thought he had discovered it on his own. Let us depart- I must return to my own gathering…”

Their footsteps departed.

He had given Sméagol a present for Yule, a nice rock with a nice note.

Sméagol pulled his blanket over his head. He had felt the stab of guilt in his chest too often. He was tired. So he would just let Aragorn walk away. Just as he had let Bilbo Baggins, and Frodo Baggins, and Sam Gamgee, and all of his own family walk away after he had been nasty to them, and none of them would ever, ever come back.

He ran out the window. Strider was not called Strider for the fun of it- Eardwulf was having trouble keeping pace with him, and Sméagol had to sprint and jump to catch up.

He grabbed hold of Aragorn’s trousers. He was dressed very finely- Sméagol had not really taken notice of it before. Aragorn wore a shining necklace and had an Elvish scent to his clothes, but not like the Wood-elves. Aragorn had his own Elves that he had married into, and he was wearing their things, Sméagol thought, as long ago people had come into Gran’s gatherings with their other families’ things, to show that their kin mattered too.

“What is it?” Eardwulf asked.

“I did listen,” said Sméagol. “I’m sorry. Not for listening, not for that, he was standing just outside our window after all. I’m sorry I didn’t trust him. It is awful to work very hard and not be trusted- it is horrible- it is cruel. I don’t want to be cruel any longer.”

“Then you are not!” said Aragorn. “Being cruel requires that you choose to be so.”

“I thought- I thought- gollum, gollum! I thought it might all be a misstake and he’d say he doesn’t really want us.”

“I do not make mistakes of that nature,” said Aragorn. “I do want you. I was pleased to have you at my party and I will be pleased if you attend another. Have I made things a little better?”

Sméagol nodded and whimpered.

“There! That is settled,” said Aragorn. “I am not angry with you. I know well why you do not trust Men, for not only orcs use thumb-screws, and too many people use their words cheaply for me to expect you will believe mine on first hearing. I ought not have been so impatient. I think I ought to apologize as well. Good night, Sméagol.”

“Good night.”

He went back inside and listened to the footsteps fading away into the distance.

I did it, he thought. I was different in time, and didn't wait for later on when it didn’t matter anymore. He felt strange. 

Sméagol was still not hungry when he woke up, although when he found that food had been left for him he managed to eat most of it anyway. Then he dragged himself over to the writing-table for a leisurely session of trying to remember some of the songs he had heard at the party and write them down. They must be written down somewhere already, of course, so it did not matter. Sméagol was beginning to think he might be writing for no real reason or purpose, and only because it pleased him in some way he could not name.

Faelon stumbled in blinking, with his hair mussed.

“O, good evening,” said Sméagol. “Where is Eardwulf?”

“In bed, I suspect,” said Faelon. “Tis morning.”

By this time, Sméagol couldn’t breathe through his nose or smell anything. “It is?” He squinted at the shutters of his window. Pale light was filtering through the edges. “Ach! What are we going to do in the daytime?”

“Go back to sleep, perhaps,” said Faelon, with a look of tired longing. “I’ve brought your bath- the tub is upstairs.”

Sméagol took a closer look at him. “Has he not had any sleeps?”

“Not even one.”

Sméagol stared at him. “How many Elfs did he dance with?”

Faelon sat down rather heavily beside him, and leaned in close, putting his head near Sméagol’s in very much the way one puts one’s head close to a dog or cat to tell it a secret.

“I couldn’t tell them apart,” he whispered. “I don't know how many there were."

“They are funny little urchins, the forest-Elves,” said Sméagol. They were wild and a bit silly- they were as different from the Queen and her type as Sméagol’s family had been from the Shire-hobbits.

Sméagol may be a hobbit after all, he thought. Sméagol is comparing himself to Elves. Sméagol is very tired.

Faelon looked very tired. Sméagol turned away from him and continued quietly writing. As he had thought might happen, he soon heard sleep-breathing from the young Man. He'd dozed off where he sat.

The sound of his breathing brought Frodo’s sleeping face to mind, unbidden, unexpected and unguarded-against. Sméagol found that his own face was wet. Along with all of the other new tricks he’d learned, like making nice to Elves, he had picked up the art of weeping silently somewhere along the way.

He shook his head at himself and went upstairs to take his bath. He had to be presentable for the next fool thing the Men wanted him to do.