Source: FotR/The Hobbit
Disclaimer: Tolkien made the world of Middle-earth – it is all his.
Sometimes he dreamed… of bright lights, colours, leaf-laden… things… their arms in the air, their feet sunk deep in warm, black, earthy mould… They rustled and laughed, they sang to him, but he didn’t like it. Their whispering made him nervous, the cruel light dazzled…
He’d wake with a start to find himself in comforting darkness, safely cradled in rock and stone, his back curved into the hollow, polished smooth by his skin. The dank rock moulded him, as much as he moulded the stone to fit him… then his Precious would croon softly, comfortingly... to keep him safe... always.