‘Long after, but still very long ago, there lived by the banks of the Great River on the edge of the Wilderland a clever-handed and quiet-footed little people. I guess they were of hobbit-kind; akin to the fathers of the fathers of the Stoors, for they loved the River, and often swam in it, or made little boats of reeds.’
-Gandalf, ‘The Shadow of the Past’
Book One, Chapter Two of The Fellowship of the Ring
~~**~~
Long ago he had crawled away, crawled away and hid in the Misty Mountains. From his shelter in the mountains he could hide from all. He had forgotten the taste of food, the feel of a warm summer breeze, or a cold winter evening. Could not remember his home. Even his own name was lost to him. He had become one of the things that crawled in the night. The only thing that remained was his Precious. But even that was fleeting.
But at one time he had a home, had a name. Sméagol was his name and he had lived by the banks of the Great River.
~~
“Deágol! Deágol! This is the place!”
“What are you going on about Sméagol?”
“Look at the things growing on the bank! I wants to see what grows underneath.”
Deágol turned from his seat in the boat to see what had caught the attention of his cousin. Tall yellow irises, some nearly the size of a man, dotted the edge of the river. He sighed as he turned the small reed boat towards the shore, knowing that their planned day of fishing was now ruined. The hobbit knew from past experiences that it was not the gently swaying flowers that caught the attention of his companion but rather what might be underneath them. Ever since they were young, Sméagol’s eyes had ever been turned down towards the ground, towards what might be underneath. He enjoyed rooting around growing things and burrowing deep under the grassy mounds that littered the countryside around their home. Sméagol’s own grandmother had called him a Dwarf upon several occasions for all the digging and tunneling that he liked to do.
“Sméagol, be still before you tip us over!”
“Hurry!”
“You’d think you never saw flowers before. What’s the rush?” Deágol asked, irritated that the day was going to be ruined.
Not bothering to answer, Sméagol kept his eyes on the shore, curious to see what was underneath the golden flowers. The day was turning out to be a good birthday after all. He jumped from the boat before it had reached the shore, anxious to start rooting around the tall plant, his cousin all but forgotten.
Deágol sighed once again as he rowed to the center of the river; another day spent fishing alone. Little did the hobbit know of the history of where he had decided to drop his fishing line. Had he known, it is doubtful that the choices he made that day would have remained the same.
~~
Sméagol glanced up from his digging when he heard Deágol’s exclamation of surprise. He watched as his cousin was pulled over the edge of the boat and into the water.
~~
Holding his breath, Deágol held on tightly to his fishing pole as he was dragged through the water, determined not to lose whatever was on the other end of the line. Deágol could see the silvery flashes of light as the sun reflected off of the scales of the great fish. A fish of such a size would do nicely in the marketplace, or on the dinner table.
It was becoming harder to hold his breath; it appeared that the fish had no plans of giving up. Deágol was almost ready to turn loose when a flash of light caught his eye. There it was again. Letting the pole go, he swam to where the flash of light had come from. Reaching out with his hand, he scooped something up from the riverbed. Clutching his prize in his hand, Deágol swam for the surface.
~~
Sméagol ran to where Deágol was exiting the water. He could see that his kin held something golden in the palm of his hand.
“What’s that?”
“It’s mine. I found it.” Deágol replied, holding his hand behind his back.
“What is it?” he asked again.
This time Deágol held his hand out. Nestled in the palm of his muddy hand was a gold ring. A gold ring that was whispering to Sméagol.
‘Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatual, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimatul.’
Sméagol tilted his head to the side, the only one hearing the voice.
“Give it to me.”
“No! Why would I do that? I found it!”
“Give it to me, precious. Give it to me for my birthday present.”
“No, I already gave you your present.”
Sméagol’s face twisted in anger as Deágol turned from him. Lunging at the smaller hobbit, he knocked Deágol to the ground. Sitting on top of his cousin and dearest friend, he demanded one more time.
“Give it to me!”
“No!” gasped Deágol.
‘Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatual, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimatul.’
With his hands around his throat, Sméagol slowly squeezed the life from Deágol.
‘Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatual, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimatul.’
~~
Gollum never really gave much of his time to thinking back on that fateful sunny afternoon. Never gave much thought as to where he hid the body. Deágol was never found. He carried that secret with him as he slipped over the edge of the cliff he was standing on. Gollum held onto to his Precious as he plummeted to his fiery death, deep within the bowels of Mount Doom. Even still the One Ring whispered:
‘Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatual, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimatul.’
The End
A/N: I was really not to sure about this chapter. I hesitated even posting this.
Ash nazg... / One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them.