Smeagol Promised!

“Smeagol promised!”  Frodo choked against the fast grip around his neck.

Smeagol had promised.  Had swornon the Ring.  He could not not know about the treachery of the thing – that was why Frodo had forewarned him.  But the adrift yet wicked creature would not listen.

Yet he should have known he could not simply turn away from it.  He could not forget his swear.  His promise.

So Frodo was left in a dazed confusion facing these erratic deeds.  He squirmed weakly – his neck was burning in Gollum’s fist, one of his arms was pinned down, and the rest of his body was held motionless by the creature’s iron-hard limbs.

Smeagol promised!  Smeagol promised!  Frodo’s mind chanted over and over.  Smeagol could not get away from that.  No one could break a promise on the Ring.

But Frodo’s blood turned cold when his ears caught the beast’s words as it leered down at him.

“Smeagol lied.”