Time had no meaning in the tunnels beneath the mountains. There was only the cold stone beneath his feet, the damp air against his skin, and the faint scrape of his own breathing echoing back at him.
The Ring lay heavy in his pocket like a lead.
He did not think of it as anything special. It was simply… there. Something he had found in the dark. Something that, oddly enough, made him feel less alone.
His poor lantern had shattered in the fall. He moved by touch now, one hand trailing along the rough cavern wall as he picked his way forward. Each step was careful. Each breath shallow.
Then he heard it.
A wet sound, soft and rhythmic, of something breathing.
Bilbo froze.
The sound came again, closer now, accompanied by the faint scrape of something shifting over rock.
"Hello?" Bilbo said before he could stop himself.
The word echoed, small and fragile.
Silence answered.
Then a voice, thin, broken, and wrong.
"Lost… are we, precious?"
Bilbo's skin went cold.
From the darkness ahead, two pale eyes opened.
They did not reflect light. They seemed to drink it.
A shape crawled forward on long, thin limbs. Skin stretched tight over bone. Mouth too wide. Too many, it was Gollum once a hobbit, but now he is corrupt due to the ring.
Bilbo swallowed hard but did not run. He had nowhere to go.
"I seem to have lost my companions," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Perhaps you could help me find the way out?"
The creature's lips peeled back in something that might once have been a smile.
"Out? Out, yes… we know the way… but we like games, precious. Riddles. We ask, you answer. If we win…"His eyes glittered."…we eat you."
Bilbo's heart pounded.
"And if I win?" he asked.
Gollum's head tilted. "Then we show you the way. We keep our promises."
Bilbo did not believe him.
But he nodded.
The riddles came slowly at first, like probing fingers.
Gollum spoke in circles, his voice slithering through the cavern.
"What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, and yet never grows?"
Bilbo barely had to think.
"A mountain," he said.
Gollum hissed, displeased.
They went back and forth in the dark. Word against word. Thought against hunger.
Bilbo surprised himself. He did not falter. Each riddle sharpened him rather than weakening him. Fear gave way to focus. He was not fighting with sword or strength—but with mind.
And that, he realized, he could do.
At last, it was his turn again.
"What have I got in my pocket?" Bilbo asked without thinking.
Gollum stiffened.
"That's not fair," he snarled. "That's not a riddle."
Bilbo's stomach twisted. He hadn't meant to say it.
But it was too late.
Gollum muttered to himself, rocking slightly. His hand drifted to his side… to where something was clearly missing.
He looked up slowly.
Eyes burning.
"What… have you got… in your pocket?"
Bilbo's fingers brushed the small shape through the fabric.
The Ring.
Fear surged through him.
But instinct, something deeper than thought, told him not to answer.
Gollum lunged.
Bilbo turned and ran.
He fled blind through the dark, lungs burning, feet slipping on wet stone. Behind him came the sound of pursuit, fast, light, relentless.
"Thief!" Gollum shrieked. "Thief, thief, thief!"
Bilbo stumbled into a narrow tunnel and nearly fell into a black drop beyond it. He skidded to a halt at the edge, heart hammering.
Behind him, Gollum closed in.
There was no way past.
No way out.
Then Bilbo remembered the Ring.
Without knowing why, without understanding how, he slipped it onto his finger.
The world did not vanish.
But it changed.
The darkness seemed… different. Not gone, but thinner. Like a veil pulled just slightly aside.
Gollum rushed past him.
Past.
Did not see him.
Bilbo stood frozen, hardly daring to breathe.
Gollum spun in confusion, clawing at the stone.
"Where is it? Where is it?" he hissed.
Bilbo pressed himself against the cavern wall, heart pounding so hard he was certain the creature would hear it.
But Gollum did not.
At last, muttering in rage and despair, the creature slunk back into the dark.
Bilbo removed the Ring.
The world snapped back into place.
He sank to his knees.
Not from fear.
From realization.
Something was very wrong with that small, simple thing in his pocket.
And yet… it had saved his life.
Hours later, perhaps only minutes; he could no longer tell. Bilbo found a narrow path that sloped upward. Cold air touched his face.
He climbed.
Light appeared.
And then he was out.
The eastern sky was just beginning to pale when Bilbo emerged from the rock face and collapsed onto the stony ground beyond the mountains. No longer the same hobbit who had left the Shire.