"Psst. Hi! Is that you, Sméagol?"

There came a rustle from within the big green bush and Déagol had a good idea that it was his friend. But he still didn't know for sure. He held up his lantern a little higher and waited for a response.

"Undoubtedly," the voice responded. "I don't know who else it could be."

Déagol rolled his eyes and made a wave of his hand.

"Well, come out where I can see you!"

There came yet another rustle in the bush and the form of a child stepped out from within. Being a hobbit, he was about three and a half feet tall and wore clothes that brought out his hazel eyes and light, curly hair. His shirt was red and he wore a dark vest on top. His britches were a dark green and they still had dirt on them from traveling in the woods. His skin was a pale color and it made his features seem less agreeable with the rest of himself. Self image was still an issue for this hobbit lad, no matter how he felt on the inside. On the outside, Sméagol was not the best looking of hobbits.

"There. That's better then?" asked Sméagol, with an edge of annoyance in his voice. "And perhaps you won't abandon me again this time."

"All right, all right," Déagol replied to his younger companion. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't appear to be. How long do you think we've been out here?"

"Too long, to be sure."

Déagol suddenly realized that there was little light that surrounded them. He lowered his lantern and found Sméagol's lantern broken.

"I see your light went out," he said.

"It broke when I tumbled over on the other side of the hill, there."

Déagol's forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

"However did you find your way back?"

"I saw your light up ahead. I don't think I was that far behind."

Déagol grinned at Sméagol. Though he would be coming of age in just a few months, he still acted as though he were helpless. Someway or another, Déagol thought he would get along by himself just all right.

"Well, come on then," said Déagol. "We can't be that far from home. And at any rate, I'll be glad to get back and away from here. Those filthy hobbit lads have chased us almost as far as I am willing to go."

Déagol started to turn when Sméagol grabbed his arm.

"Déagol," he said. "Do you think my gramma will be upset?"

"O' course not, Sméagol. Just as long as you don't tell her."

With that, Déagol started walking ahead, forcing Sméagol to follow the light that showed him the way home.

The morning was quiet and came peacefully the 15th of Solmath, 2462. But it came almost too quickly for the hobbit, Sméagol. He had gotten home only three hours before sunrise and to avoid making a loud entrance, Sméagol had climbed a tree that stood right next to his hobbit hole and slept there through the night. It was not the first time he had done this, as he took to it kindly, and the night had not been chilly. For Yule had passed over a month ago and the flowers were starting to pop out again. Sméagol was glad it passed as quick as it did, for the commotion and the excitement made him anxious and he did not get along with his distant relatives very well. Having Déagol with him was enough to satisfy the little hobbit.

And now here he was sleeping in the tree, dreaming of new beginnings and adventures.

Of course, all that was forced out of his mind when he heard a loud, sharp voice enter his ears…

"Sméagol Stoor!"

Sméagol suddenly jumped at the high-pitched shriek and nearly lost his balance off the tree. Once he saw who was staring up at him, his cheeks turned red with fear and humility.

"Oh," he said sheepishly. "Hullo, Gramma."

"Get down here this very instant!" shouted Sméagol's grandma.

Sméagol nervously tried to find his footing and clambered down the tree in a reckless manner. When he got to solid ground, his grandmother quickly put her hands on her hips. But the sudden move caused Sméagol to think she was about to beat him and he hid behind the trunk of the tree.

"Where have you been!"

Sméagol stuttered, trying to find the words he would use to explain last night's situation. "I-I was…"

"Speak up, boy!"

Sméagol's bottom lip trembled. He knew he was in for it and there was no way out this time, so he started weeping profusely.

"I'm sorry, Gramma! I didn't mean to. It's just Déagol and I were-we went to-I'm sorry! Please don't hate me, Gramma."

"Oh, rubbish, boy. Come now, stop this sulking behavior. I don't hate you. I tend to get angry at you, but it's for your own good, you know. If I didn't have a mind to raise and scold you, then I might neglect you, but I don't. So let's just forget about it and get you cleaned up. I expect you must be hungry, too."

"Does this mean you're not mad at me?"

The old woman looked at the hobbit with suspicious eyes.

"Oh, I don't know about that. I'm disappointed and you will receive punishment, but later after the celebration tonight."

Sméagol stopped walking and looked up at his grandmother.

"Celebration?"

"Why, yes," she replied. "For your dear Déagol's birthday. He is coming of age tomorrow."

"How silly of me to forget such an important event!" cried Sméagol. "And I haven't gotten him a thing! Oh, what am I to do, Gramma? Tell me, please."

By now, his grandmother had helped him out of his clothes and was starting to fill the family washbasin up with warm water.

"Well, now, Sméagol. That's a decision for you alone to make. You're his friend. You know what he likes. But keep in mind that I don't think Déagol expects anything from you, aside from your companionship. Now, into the basin."

Sméagol sighed and reluctantly stepped into the basin and sat down so his grandma could begin washing him.

"Why do I have to have a bath, Gramma?" he asked in disgust.

His grandma laughed in a gruffly but kind manner, and Sméagol realized that she was not as cross as he thought her to be, if she could laugh so freely.

"So you can be freshly clean for the party tomorrow. Getting a bath gets rid of dirt and little things that stick to your body."

As she said this last statement, she pulled out a leaf from Sméagol's light brown hair and tossed it away from the basin.

"Well, I don't like it," Sméagol grumbled, and folded his arms across his chest rebelliously.

"You should be glad of one, so stop grumbling. You've not much of a choice anyway."

Sméagol glared at the now dirty water and pulled his white knees up to his chest.

"I hate baths," he muttered yet again.

Note-Many thanks to the people who reviewed the first chapter. I'm actually flattered, as I wasn't expected to get too many reviews at all! So thanks. This is my first story so please be patient with me. ;-) I also have a lot going right now so it might take me a while to write new chapters. I also am planning this one step at a time.

One thing I will tell you is that next chapter will introduce a couple new characters, as it is Déagol's birthday. Yay!