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Lucy comes downstairs, and (after getting tea) begins to work on a list.

It is a very important list.

She does not seem to be having much luck with it.

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Don't get him jewelry, Smeagol thinks.

"Really. That's nice." He looks over the list. "What are you thinking of?"

"Books, mostly. But it doesn't seem like a very good gift. He made a ring for me for my last birthday, you see, and it means a great deal to me. I'd like to get him something just as nice."

Lucy's mun might be evil.

Maybe a little. Smeagol cringes.

"Rings don't make good presents. Why don't you get him something nicer? Books are good. Definitely. Or so I've heard, but I can't read, so I wouldn't know."

Nervous? Him? Well, yes.

Lucy's mun did not make it up, though. Edmund's mun must be blamed. Of course.

"I loved it, actually." Lucy blinks at hearing he can't read. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, I was never around books enough anyway. And besides, Grandmother knew all the stories worth hearing."

"That's good, then. Did she know many?"

"All of them," he says, with conviction.

"Oh, my. Do you remember any of them?" She might be very interested.

"Of course I do."

And without waiting for a prompt, he launches into the story of Turin and how he slew the dragon Glaurung. It's his favorite story, mostly because none of it applies to him.

When he's done, Lucy applauds. "That was lovely!"

"It's my favorite," he says. "There are a lot more stories about Turin, but they're depressing."

He peers at Lucy curiously, wondering what stories big people know. "What's your name?"

"I'm Lucy. What's yours?"

He looks hesitant, and says "Smeagol."

Lucy's mun makes the executive decision that considering Tolkien and Lewis were close friends and it makes her head hurt in meta ways, Lucy has never read the Lord of the Rings.

Or perhaps she has and just doesn't much care. Who knows. "It's nice to meet you, Smeagol."

Either way, Smeagol is relieved.

"What sort of stories do you know?" he asks.

"I know...actually, I know several. Would you like to hear one?"

"Yes, please."

Lucy thinks, and then tells him about the High King Peter and his quest to deal with the northern giants.

She tells it like she might have been there.

She tells it like it's real.

Smeagol listens, fascinated, thinking that this must be something that happened after his time. As far as he's concerned, it probably is real.

"When did that happen?"

"A few years ago. Or a long time ago. It depends, I think."

"In Middle-earth?"

"No. In Narnia."

"It sounds like Middle-earth. Tell me about it, please."

So she does. She tells him about Cair Paravel, and the lamppost, and Aslan and the Witch. About Reepicheep and Caspian. About Marshwiggles and giants and nymphs.

Definitely not Middle-earth, then. But like it, as far as he can tell.

"Are there hobbits there?"