Chapter 1: A Poor Excuse for a Burglar

“A gate fit for a King, I said! And better!”

“It is already more magnificent than any we have built for ourselves!”

Gimli struck the plans for emphasis. “Not so! I have looked on Moria, on Khazad-dum! That was a monument to the efforts of the Dwarves! We must strive harder! This is not merely a present for the King of Men, it is a memorial of the defeat of Shadow! It is the entryway to a new age!”

Dwalin folded his arms over his chest. He had heard this before. “That is well and good but you must find a new way of going about it.”

“I am certain what I have in mind is possible. It has been done before.” 

“Not for an age- the knowledge is lost.”

“It must be found, then.” Gimli bent over the plans again, stroking his beard. The rest of his crew was still assessing what material would be available, how the rest of the Wall had been built- so the joins would be seamless- what needed to be shipped from home, and what was ready to hand in Minas Tirith- he must get these details hashed out before they finished, so the work could begin. It may feel as if he had ample time, but he suspected the hour of judgement would be closer at hand than it seemed.

A hand appeared on his wrist. He looked up. Dwalin was staring at something behind him and pointing. Gimli turned, his hand going towards the handle of his ax, and saw a small hooded figure upon the wall overlooking them.

The figure turned and flitted away.

“It could not be Bilbo,” Gimli exclaimed. “Bilbo is in Rivendell!”

“Indeed it could not be,” said Dwalin. “Yet it looked so like him! And I thought he might be wearing my old cloak!”

“It was a cloak of some kind, to be sure.”

“He has turned up in unexpected places before! He is expert at it. I am going to have a closer look. Was that not a hobbit?”

“I believe it must have been!” A child of Men would have had the same stature but not been so swift and silent. “I doubt it is Bilbo, but I should be glad to see any hobbit. Let us seek him! And perhaps he will have some pert advice for us that proves to be of use.” He could easily imagine Merry or Pippin making some remark on the problem that presented a new solution, if thoroughly by accident.

They ran out of the yard and into the street. No one could be seen, but Gimli felt eyes upon him.

“I would not have thought a hobbit of my acquaintance would flee,” he said. 

“Perhaps we advanced upon him too suddenly. Or if it is Bilbo Baggins he may have some game or trick in mind.”

“Dwalin! Did the creature not appear to be seated atop the wall? There are no stairs.”

“What does it matter?”

“It may matter a great deal.” Gimli spun about and searched the shadows. “I fear it is not a hobbit at all! Do you remember the tale Bilbo told of the creature Gollum?”

“Yes, he told it in such a manner that I could not forget it. Why do you speak of it now?”

“That very Gollum resides now in Minas Tirith!” 

“What? How?”

“He traveled with Frodo and Sam- do you not recall? And at the end of the Quest he was rescued here, and granted pardon for his pains, and here he stays. He is reputed to climb walls and watch the goings-on of the city from his perch. And he wears a hood drawn over his face. He is hobbit-sized.”

Dwalin was also peering into the shadows now, and put a hand to the handle of his own axe. “I had never thought to see Gollum myself!”

A voice spoke from the shadows. “And you’re not seeing him now! Are you? Ha, ha! Forgive Sméagol, his little joke. Good evening, good evening! It’s a pleasure, yes, to meet them, and what are their names?” A slight figure, slouched and bent, hooded and cloaked, emerged. “My name,” he said, with a hint of an edge in his voice, “is not Gollum.”

“Are you not the creature who was called Gollum by Bilbo Baggins?” Dwalin asked.

It must be. It was astonishing how accurate Bilbo’s impression of the thing’s voice had been. Gimli had always assumed the hobbit was exaggerating. 

“Sss. I am,” said the creature, and launched a torrent of words. “The same, the very same wretch! Dreadful, we was. Yes, and I deserved to be called whatever he wished to call me, I suppose, gollum! Ach. But it is not my name, no, never was, jusst a nasty nickname we didn’t ask for, my name is Sméagol, and I like that much better. I have done nothing to you, and Baggins told me before he left that he was not angry with us any longer, the dear hobbit!” He held his head at an angle, almost coquettishly. “Then, we may be friendly, eh, mayn’t we? And not use nasty nameses? Sméagol will be very polite to you.”

“If you seek to be polite why do you watch us?” Gimli demanded. He did not see that Gollum had any right to call Bilbo a dear hobbit, even if Bilbo himself had claimed a sort of reconciliation. “We would receive you civilly if you sought us openly. Why do you choose to lurk in the dark?”

“O!” Gollum cringed. “Begs his pardon, begs his pardon! We- I did not mean to be nasty by it. Sméagol did not mean anything by it, he didn’t want to bother the Dwarfses at work, that is all. I like to watch them work. They are so clever, and- we likes the songs they sing. They are working outside, in the yard, and not hidden, so I thought I may watch. We thought, they would not like Sméagol to interrupt. He may watch and not trouble them. But they do not wish it? We will not watch any more if they do not wish it!”

His words were entirely too smooth and glib. “Indeed! I would prefer you did not.”

“We will not, not ever! Never watch again!”

“That is best,” said Gimli. “In future you ought to announce yourself.”

“We will, we will,” said Gollum, clasping his hands. “And Sméagol wonders- he wonders- the Dwarfs knows Baggins?”

“Bilbo Baggins is a cherished friend of mine,” Dwalin announced.

“O! And he thought- even for a moment, just a moment, in the dark, he thought I… might be Baggins?”

“I am sorry I ever thought so!” Dwalin declared.

“Yes yes he must be,” Gollum babbled. “After a look at us. Not like Baggins at all. But for a moment, you thought… I was a hobbit? Just for a moment?”

“It was very dark,” said Gimli. 

“Yes, very dark! And Sméagol was hiding. Not very like a hobbit, when he sees us proper.” He seemed to deflate slightly, and there had been little enough of him to begin with. “Of course not, my precious.”

His hood was drawn low, and his face was nothing but a blur of shadow with flickers of light in the location of eyes. “I confess one thing,” said Gimli. “I have not seen you proper, as you say. You are hiding yourself beneath a cloak.”

“Yes, yes,” said Gollum, “he likes us better that way, much better!”

“Perhaps so! But I cannot judge if I have not seen you.”

“Does he wish to see us? It is not nice.”

“I would rather see you plainly, nice or no.”

Gollum fidgeted. “I likes it better when I am not seen of course. It is why Sméagol wears his hood even when it is stifling and suffocating. But he owes you, because he was watching, and because he was cruel to Baggins who is their friend. I must.” He reached trembling hands to his hood and pushed it down onto his shoulders. 

Gimli had been braced for something much worse. To his mind Gollum looked something like an undersized, elderly mountain-goblin, one a bit paler and thinner than was usual, and with big shining eyes. Of course Bilbo had not seen him closely- he had only known that something with glowing eyes was pawing at him in the dark and moving about in the water- and his poet’s imagination had oversold Gollum, perhaps.  

“Has he looked enough?” Gollum asked.

Dwalin made a face. “Yes, more than enough.”

“I am satisfied, and would release you with no anger between us,” said Gimli.

“Yes!” He flipped the hood back up. “I’ll go. Not angry. No watching,” he said, and began to walk away- on all fours, stalking like a cat, with his head hanging. Now he looked decidedly odder. “No watching. But they doesn’t like us to interrupt either. But no watching,” and he muttered his way off into the dark.

“Alas!” said Dwalin. “I wish it had been Bilbo.” 

A quick reply came from the dark. “I wish it too. Ha, ha! Sorry. Sméagol is leaving.”

Gimli made an investigation of the shadows surrounding the yard before he was content that Gollum was really gone.

His first sight of the room was a sea of Mannish faces, all very much alike- then one point in the sea resolved itself into an elf, Legolas. Legolas was striding towards him. “Hail, friend!” he cried, and clapped Gimli on the shoulder. 

“And where have you been hiding?” Gimli answered. “Under a table in the wine-cellar, no doubt!”

“Alas! Not for as many hours as I would like.” 

“And you did not invite me!”

“A dreadful oversight! Come, sit with me and we will make up for lost time. How goes the work?”

“Ah!” Gimli shook his head. “I confess, Legolas, it falls short. And in this, I feel that falling short is no better than failure. I must make a masterpiece!”

“I should like very much to see this masterpiece of yours. What is keeping you from completing it?”

“That is the worst of it. It is thievery! Thievery and treachery!”

He brought his fist down on a table he passed, thinking it empty, but a motion caught his eye, and he was looking into the frightened eyes of Gollum. He was seated at the table, alone, and cringing into a chair that happened to be the same dull brown color as his tunic.

“What is he doing here?” Gimli asked, blinking. 

“He’s eating,” Gollum said in a quavering voice. “Fishes.” He pointed to a dish before him. 

“Sméagol attends dinners often,” Legolas said, laughing. “He is bribed with fish, as I understand it. The King does not wish him to be thought of as a prisoner, and strange rumors begin when he is never seen.”

“Yes, yes,” Gollum said, “we do not like the Sun and we stays indoors and then people thinks the King has us shut up for being ugly and nasty. So then we comes here and peoples see we are ugly and nasty enough but we are not shut up for it. Sss. But Sméagol has forgotten his manners; good even-ing, Legolas.”

“Good evening!” 

“And who is his friend? A very fine Dwarf.”

“Do you not know Gimli?”

Gollum shook his head a little. “No, not at all! But I will now, if he introduces himself. My name is Sméagol. Sméagol doesn’t shake hands because his hands is cold. And they are covered in fish just now, gollum. But we’re pleased to meet him, we are.”

“We have met before, I fear,” said Gimli. “But it seems I must beg your pardon, for on our last meeting I do not believe I told you my name.”

Gollum nodded. He looked quite confused. “We has met before, my precious?”

Legolas was not to be deterred. “You must know Gimli! He is one of the Fellowship of the Ring.”

The word ‘Ring’ had an immediate effect on Gollum, and upon beholding it Gimli began to understand the strange spell of pity the creature cast on those who beheld him.

“A friend of Master’s, is he?” The words cost Gollum obvious effort. “Our friend too, then, Sméagol’s friend.”

“But you do not look minded for conversation,” said Gimli. “My friend and I will leave you to your fish.”

Gollum nodded and cradled his forehead in his hand. 

“You have met with Sméagol before, then?” Legolas asked as they walked away. 

“So have you, I see! I am surprised to find you friends! Even if you are an unusually palatable Elf.”

Legolas laughed. “We are not close, but I simply refused to be anything other than friends. I see him now and again when he is at these dinners. He is quite polite in his own way.” 

“It is an odd enough way! I saw him in the city some months ago- Dwalin and I saw him at a distance and for a moment we somehow managed to take him for Bilbo Baggins. We were soon corrected on that front. I have not seen him since and do not plan to seek him out in future.”

“I confess I feel somewhat of a sense of gratitude to Sméagol! If he had not done me the kindness of escaping my father’s dungeons I would never have traveled to Imladris when I did, and I would not have met you.” His smile was like the woodland sun- an acquired taste, but worth the acquisition.

“I suppose not- and what a shame that would have been!”

“But we were speaking of your masterpiece, and treachery.”

“Indeed, yes. I want to incorporate a feat of engineering I saw in Moria but it has proved difficult to tell how it was accomplished only from my memory. I believe there was record of it that we could use, but it was stolen! Stolen, I say!”

He brought his fist down on the edge of the nearest table.

“Stay your hand!” said Boromir. Gimli looked up to see him seated there, alone. “The table has done you no wrong. Hail, Gimli!”

“Greetings, Boromir!” Gimli clapped him on the back. “I seek the King to make a report. Is there much luck of finding him at his own banquet or is he too much crowded by other favor-seekers?”

“Go about pounding on tables and you will find the King’s,” Legolas suggested with a smile.

“He will find you, I deem,” said Boromir. “Sit with me, both of you! I have been keeping a space for you. The King will come to us when he is able, he is fain to speak with you both. Tell me- how fares the work?”

Gimli and Legolas took seats. Boromir could be difficult to speak to, at times- he no longer wished to dwell on battles past, and often resisted speaking of the journey they had traveled together. Gimli did not like to dwell on the events at Amon Hen himself, but privately wished Boromir could put the matter past him and speak of other points of the Quest without making things strange. That had not happened and Gimli could not force it. So he kept to safe subjects: Boromir was happy to speak of the city, and happy also to speak of the land of Gondor, its mountains, its stone, and that of neighboring Rohan. He could never hear enough of this land he loved so and the plans for its restoration, and Gimli never tired of speaking of those things. He began to hold forth, and the time passed swiftly until Aragorn came to claim his seat at the table, with Arwen beside him. Gimli greeted her courteously, taking her fair hand, and all exchanged pleasantries. Then Aragorn asked for the update on the work.

“Alas!” said Gimli. “I have grand plans for your fair city, but they have been hindered by an old crime. I speak of the villainous Dourhands! Know you of them?”

To his surprise Aragorn nodded. “I have read of them- I thought it my duty to know a bit. They dealt badly with your kin.”

“If you would forgive me,” said Boromir, “I have not heard of these Dourhands. I fear I am no scholar and in years past was not concerned with any affairs other than those of Men, and Men living outside my own country were fortunate if I remembered their existence, at that.”

This was the invitation Gimli had expected but not received from Aragorn, and he took it at once, explaining the Dourhands to be a villainous clan of Dwarves, barely deserving of the name- they stole and scavenged and betrayed, they allied themselves with orcs and foul creatures! And, most pertinently, they had taken many volumes of build-craft lore from the libraries of the House of Durin in a conflict some centuries ago. Gimli believed that they had taken the volumes that contained what he needed to know for the Gate he wished to build. 

“Alas for the evils of the past!” Arwen said when he concluded. “It grieves me to hear you feel your stores are incomplete, friend Gimli, and yet I have perfect faith in you to create a masterpiece with or without this lost lore.”

“Your faith gratifies me.” Yet he felt unsatisfied. He looked to Boromir, a Man who seemed equally unsatisfied with the words of others.

“Could you retake your lost lore?” Boromir asked. “Would you need soldiers?”

“That is the trouble of it- I know not where they have housed the volume I need, nor which volume it is. If I did, there would be soldiers enough among the Dwarves to retake it!”

“I would not look for strife,” said Legolas. 

“Nor I,” said Gimli. “I would not go to war with the Dourhands over such a thing, not in truth. Ah, but I would like to repay them for their deeds!”

“Naturally,” said Aragorn, and deftly changed the subject. 

Gimli had really planned to let the matter lie- as it seemed to have no purpose or hope in it, and merely tempt him to brood over ancient misdeeds as his friendship with Legolas had taught him not to do.

It was by happenstance that he found the exact location of the exact tome he needed, during the course of other research. After much counsel with his advisors, he did what would have once been unthinkable and left for a diplomatic meeting with the chieftain of the Dourhand fortress to ask for the tome to be returned peaceably.

This meeting ended poorly.

“Nay, Boromir,” said Gimli. “I do not wish to slaughter them with the Gondorian army- even though it tempts me! That was not my request. Let me put it more clearly. When I was at the fortress, I saw that it was easily breached, and the words of the chieftain made it clear that the tome had been stolen, and he would not return it, and our people will never be friends. In short- although I dislike anything that speaks of underhandedness, I feel we are justified; I feel that what I am in need of is a really first-class burglar. He admits the tome is ours. Let us retake it, and he will have no answer he can make.”

Boromir looked unexpectedly pleased. “You know of course that a hobbit dwells in Minas Tirith- and one remarkably able to do what you ask.”

Gimli was unsure the creature deserved the name of hobbit, but as all of his most trusted friends had chosen to forgive Gollum and treat him with respect he must honor their judgement at least so far as to be civil, and as it was surely in Gollum’s power to creep and steal, Gimli deemed it would be worthwhile to at least speak with him. And that led him here, to Gollum’s dwelling place.

Twas a tiny one-room cabin. Gimli had been given to understand that there was more space underground. Outside, there sat a guard, who merely told Gimli that Sméagol was expecting him and bid him enter.

Gollum appeared at the door. He wore no hood, for the first time in Gimli’s experience, and the orcish resemblance in his features struck Gimli again. An inkling of a plan began to form in his mind- so long as he could secure Gollum’s cooperation.

“It’s him, Master’s friend, they said, come in, come in,” Gollum babbled. He was clean enough, and dressed in simple clothing of the Gondorian style, in dun colors. His one adornment was a small brooch with the White Tree engraved upon it. Such an item was not worn lightly in Minas Tirith and Gimli took note of it. 

Gimli entered, with the creature flapping and bustling about him. “Sit! Sit! We have a nice couch just for visitors. It is- but wait-“ Gollum paused, and looked at Gimli’s legs. “He is not a Man; perhaps he would prefer our seat? There is a higher one for Men and we- but ours is- Sméagol’s chair smells like him,” and he paused again, looking quite at a loss.

“Do not trouble yourself so to make accommodations! I shall stand,” said Gimli, “I am a doughty Dwarf and do not need to recline on pillows while I discuss matters.”

“O, if he prefers, yes,” said Gollum, blinking his large eyes. Gimli had wondered why such a goblinish creature was so well accepted in Minas Tirith, populated by those who had much reason to despise all orcish persons- but he had answered his own question. In Gondor, they were acquainted chiefly with Mordor-orcs who tended to look rather different, and all of the mountain-goblin features present in Gollum were lacking in Mordor-orcs to a lesser or greater extent- so he resembled that type very little.

Dourhands dealt extensively with mountain orcs, and- horrors! - even with half-orcs. 

“I come here with a simple request, Gollum,” said Gimli, and began to outline his troubles, while Gollum watched and nodded. 

By the end of the recitation he was beginning to look irritated. He held up a hand to forestall Gimli’s speech. Gimli thought this awfully brazen, but was forced to concede that he was a guest in Gollum’s home at the moment, and was asking for a substantial favor.

“So he has a nasty job and he wants a hobbit to do it,” said Gollum in a soft, snide tone which Gimli thought equally brazen. “And he only has us. It will help Gondor, he says?”

“Indeed, it will.”

“And burglaring was what Baggins did?”

“It was! And he did it well!”

“O yes, famously well, famously. And you are my Master’s friend? You were his friend?”

“I would have laid my life down for Frodo had he asked it.”

“Then I will do what you ask,” said Gollum. He took a deep breath. “But I have jusst one question… just a small thing, it is small; would the nice Dwarf kindly not call me Gollum any longer?”