Most Precious
1,700 words
LotR fanfiction for the Grand Prix Challenge
Quotes are bolded

“What is most precious to you?” Grandmother's voice was stern, intent on an answer as she leaned heavily on one arm of her large, wooden chair. Her hair was perfectly made up, her dress, though a simple cut was one of her finest for this occasion.

Sméagol felt shabby, though he was also dressed in his best clothes, complete with waistcoat, jacket and tie. He always felt that way in his grandmother's presence, looked down upon, troublesome, and lacking. A trip to Grandmother's was synonymous with judgment and punishment since his youngest years.

Today was meant to be different, but he felt no different. He was still Sméagol, curious and sometimes meddlesome. All harmless fun, for the most part, but bothersome to his family.

“Sméagol, I'm waiting.” She was glaring down at him now, fingers of her right hand rapping once in succession on the arm of her chair.

“Oh,” he said, struggling to remember the question. He looked up at her sheepishly. “Can I thinks on it?”

She sighed heavily. “Sméagol, you know why I am the leader of this community?”

“You dreamed the future when the fires came. Your dreams keep us safe,” He recited, remembering to use his most proper speech.

She nodded. “I dreamed that you will make a choice on this birthday, that will change your life forever. You must decide, Smeagol, son of Fiscer, what do you find to be most precious?”

“Don't you think, then that I should think it over?”

She nodded, and straightened in her chair. “That is perhaps the wisest thing I've heard pass your lips. Go on then, think on my question. I will ask ask again before the evening meal.”

“Thanks, Grandmother!” he said with a bow.

“Do not,” she snapped, her voice stern once more, “disappoint me, young Smeagol.”

“I won'ts, I won'ts!” he exclaimed, and spun bolting for the door. He was relieved to escape from her hole into the bright morning sunlight.

He ran to the river bank, careful not to splash mud on his trousers as he found a rock to sit on. It was hard not to be distracted, not to fetch his fishing pole and spend the rest of the morning pulling fat trout from the water. He was determined, though, not to fail. Not this time. He'd think on Grandmother's question until he got it right.

He was soon skipping rocks along water, and humming a merry tune. It was hard to think on anything but the warmth of the sun and babbling of the river this fine day.

“What are you doing out here all alone, cousin Smeagol?” called a familiar voice. It was Deagol, Smeagol's closest friend and often partner in mischief.

“Thinking on Grandmother's riddle.”

“Riddle, eh? Do share!” Said the stocky, dark haired hobbit, a several years Smeagol's junior.

“Well, it's not so much a riddle for asking, but a riddle for me. She asked me this morn to decide what is most precious to me to answer before my birthday.”

“Well, you must think hard on this, then Smeagol, my love. Or you'll not haves all that scrumptious cake.”

Smeagol snorted at that. “Helps me then. What should I say?”

Deagol shrugged and pulled out his fishing rod, twisting together the two bits of wood deftly before baiting the hook. “What do you likes best?”

“To fish!” Smeagol exclaimed. “I loves to eat fishes!”

“Fishes are most precious indeed,” chuckled Deagol. He cast his line into the water, and it splashed down in a good spot, where the water was dark and calm.

Smeagol tapped his chin, considering. “My precious, what is most precious...” His stomach rumbled at the thought of freshly cooked fish and all the sweet cakes. He looked to Deagol, contentedly watching the water, pole in hand, humming the same tune Smeagol had earlier. This was his favorite spot, fishing with Deagol in the bright sun, dangling his feet in the cool, leisurely running water.

“Me thinks,” Deagol said, crossing his legs as he leaned back against a tree, “family is most precious to me.” He put a pipe to his lips and lit it, puffing a few times before continuing. “Mother cooks the best roasts and and sweet cakes. Sister knits the best scarves and father carves the best pipes,” he said, raising the pipe he held, and exhaling a long string of smoke rings.

Smeagol nodded, considering. That surely was the sort of answer Grandmother would want to hear. “You do have a fine family, Deagol my love.”

“Me cousin is also the best in the whole clan,” Deagol added for good measure.

Smeagold smiled, quite pleased. “Family, the river, and long lazy days fishing with Deagol are most precious to me.”

Deagol laughed and clapped Smeagol on the back. “A hobbit's life is a good life, Smeagol, my love.”

“The most precious thing, this life,” Smeagol agreed. He pulled out his own pipe and leaned against the same tree.

“The most precious?” Deagol asked merrily, tapping his foot and humming again between puffs on his pipe. Smoke rings floated out over the water.

“What could be more precious?” Smeagol asked, “than a good, long life?” He sent out another puff of smoke rings, each larger than the last.

“A short life with plenty of fish!” Deagol laughed.

“No, a long life with plenty of fishes!” Smeagol replied. “A long life with plenty of fishes is most precious to me.”

Deagol rubbed his chin and exhaled one long trail of smoke rings that topped Smeagol's last effort with ease. “No, the answer is fish. Fish is the most precious thing.” Deagol chuckled as Smeagol stood.

“Thank you, Deagol, my love. I must speak with Grandmother, me thinks.” He puffed on his pipe one last time and puffed out a last ditch effort to top Deagol's. He didn't quite succeed, but was pleased all the same. He tapped out his pipe and pocketed it before heading back to the village and his Grandmother's Hobbit-hole.

* * *

“Most precious to me is life, Grandmother,” Smeagol said with a bow.

“A fine answer, my child. But perhaps not as well thought out as fate would like. For you see, Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends.”

Smeagol glowered, “I'm just a hobbit. That's a question for the big folk, dwarves, wizards and elves.” He sat down in the nearest chair with a thump. “Me thinks these questions are too much.”

“Wisdom comes with a questioning mind, Smeagol. And you have a most inquisitive mind.”

The young hobbit grumbled, “What does it matter? I wish only to fish and live on the river as I always have.”

“I see a battle in your future, young Smeagol. You must start thinking on things besides fishing and food.”

Smeagol was struck dumb by this comment. “I don't want to be in a battle, but waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse. Is there any hope?” He exclaimed, furious now. “I wants nothing of it!” He snarled, throwing his hands down in disgust. “I wants fish and cakes and birthday wishes.”

He stomped out of the hobbit hole and back to the river where Deagol still sat, fishing and humming.

“Smeagol my love! Look at these fine fishes!” His cousin pulled at the line, revealing three fat fish, strung together in the water.

“Deagol gets everything,” Smeagol grumbled. “Fishes, the best sweet cakes and scarves and pipes and I gets a grandmother with questions and riddles and no birthday wishes.”

“Here,” Deagol exclaimed, unperturbed by Smeagol's grumblings. These are your fishes, Smeagol, my love. This is your spot, and this is your birthday! Let go and eat. Riddles are such silly things. All and good fun, right, Smeagol my love?”

Smeagol took the line of fish Deagol held up to him and nodded, his mood lightening. “All in good fun, my love.” He said, and they turned to where the scents of food wafted on the breeze. A large cook fire was going, they added their fish to the food already cooking and stared at the pastries with longing.

The women working to set the tables, clucked and shooed them away each time they strayed to close. It wasn't long before Deagol's own mother chased them off with a large wooden spoon. Deagol made a mad grab for the platter nearest, catching the end of the spoon upside his head for his efforts.

They laughed and ran to the edge of the river once more, Deagol clutching his head, a fine goose egg already forming.

“Deagol my lad, I may not be wise enough to answer Grandmother's riddling questions, but I am wise enough to know that there are some perils from which a man must flee.”

Deagol rubbed at his head. “Mayhap,” he said, “but my lack of wisdom means a full belly,” he chuckled producing two fat, cream filled pastries, only slightly smashed on one side.

“I know what's most precious to Deagol!” Smeagol exclaimed. “Food!”

Deagol handed him the least damaged of the two and they ate and talked by the river until the dinner bells chimed. Smeagol had soon forgotten his foul mood and the tidings of a grim fate brought on by his grandmother's prophetic dream. Whatever ills might come, they were a long way off. For now, he had his dear friend Deagol, his river full of fat fish, his family and a party awaiting him.

He went to his grandmother, a skip in his step. When she asked Smeagol the question once more, the hobbit young had his answer.

“Most precious to me, is my dear friend, cousin Deagol.”

Grandmother nodded, rubbing her chin. “And why is Deagol so dear to you, young Smeagol?”

“He's with me through thick and thin. He cheered me today, gave me company, three fat fish and a pastry. And that is only today. If I find myself near a battle as your dream said, I know I will be fine with Deagol by my side. He will be fine company, and we will be laughing side by side till the end.”

“I hope you will treasure him, then,” Grandmother replied. “Now go enjoy your party and your most precious friend.”

- end -

Smeagol is Gollum's name before he wastes away and becomes demented by the ring, becoming the thing that Bilbo calls Gollum. To those who may not know the story, Deagol obtains the cursed ring while Smeagol and Deagol are fishing. Smeagol demands the ring from Deagol, claiming it is his birthday and he wants it.

Smeagol ends up killing Deagol for the ring and lies about it. He uses the ring spy on his people, cause problems, and is finally outcast by his grandmother. He then lives an unnaturally long miserable life eating fish in a cave and obsessing over his precious, the ring, telling himself it was a birthday present.