Rehobbilitation

A Lord of the Rings fanfic

By

EvilFuzzy9


Bilbo Baggins, feeling very old, and very tired, stared bemusedly at the sight before him. Four young hobbits stood before him, all clad in very noble and unhobbitlike fashion: Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, Samwise Gamgee, and his dear old nephew Frodo.

Now, this much was not unexpected, since the four had gone out on an adventure with Gandalf and the Dúnadan, let alone Glóin's son and the Elf-prince Legolas, plus that man from the south. He himself had looked quite strange on the return from his own adventure, and he had not gone out with nearly so diversea group!

So, no, it was not the appearances of Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Frodo that had old Bilbo at a loss. Although they DID look quite remarkable, all clad in maille and elven cloaks, girt with swords and bearing proud heraldic devices. They were dressed as finely as any lord of men, and they cut quite dashing figures, if he did say so himself.

But it was not their appearances that gave him pause. No, rather...

...it was their company.

Bilbo Baggins stared bemusedly at the emaciated, spindly-limbed, bulbous-eyed fellow the four dragged behind them. He looked almost hobbitish, in some way that Bilbo could not quite place, and also seemed to be incredibly uncomfortable in the loose elven tunic he was wearing.

"Sss... sneaky elveses..." the fellow muttered under his breath. "They tricks us into wearing their nassty clotheses... We cannot stands them, no we can't..."

Bilbo could not help but furrow his brow and wonder why that voice sounded vaguely familiar.

"Who's your friend?" he asked his nephew and the others, gesturing to the ancient and miserable looking waif.

"Sméagol," said Frodo simply.

Bilbo frowned.

"Sméagol..." he muttered, frowning to himself. He tapped his chin with the end of his pen. "Sméagol? Hrm. Odd... I seem to remember that name from somewhere, but I cannot place it for the life of me. Was he here before?"

Merry shook his head, smiling at his oldest living relative with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"No, I daresay old Sméagol has never set a foot in Rivendell before," he said. "He's not a very big fan of Elves, you see."

As if to prove Merry's point, the withered old creature they called Sméagol promptly let out another hiss and began grappling with the collar of his tunic.

"Ssss... stinking, nancing elveses... can't make anything that doesn't itch at poor Sméagol, no they can't..." he muttered darkly, scratching furiously at his nearly transluscent skin.

Bilbo was silent for a moment, frowning as if deep in thought. Eventually he shook his head.

"Really? Well, that's a shame," Bilbo said. "Elves are quite wonderful folk. Excellent taste in wine, and they write some of the loveliest poetry."

Sméagol's ears perked up, and he looked at Bilbo with a curious expression.

"Wine, precious?"

Half an hour later, Sméagol's opinion on Elves had done a complete one-eighty, and he voted them all a capital lot, if only for their exquisite taste in wine.


A/N: A part of me has long wondered what would happen if Gollum actually survived the War of the Ring and got (at least partially) rehabilitated. So I decided to write this thing.

Updated: 6-17-14

TTFN and R&R!

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