Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Descent into Madness (#1924)
Author: Galadriel8891
Chapters: 2

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Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: The story of Sméagol's tragic transformation into Gollum.
Published: 26 May 2005
Updated: 21 Jun 2005
Warnings:
Type: General
Characters: Sméagol/Gollum


Chapter 1 - Chapter One: The River

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters or settings, which are all the creation of our dear Professor Tolkien. Except Leadan. She's my creation. And without further ado...Read on and enjoy!

Chapter One: The River


The day had begun hours earlier, just before sunrise, when Sméagol and his friend Déagol had pushed their little boat into the current of the Great River. Now they drifted lazily downstream among the reeds, fishing lines trailing quietly below the glimmering surface of the water.

Sméagol sighed as he pulled his line in again. The bait was gone from the hook, but somehow the fish had been clever enough to swim away without getting caught. He took a worm from the small box behind him and fixed it to his hook with deft fingers before casting it into the water once again. Luck was certainly not with them today. Fishing, for Sméagol and his kind, took a certain amount of luck, for they were gifted with an ability to move so quietly as to be nearly unnoticeable. Déagol had hooked a young trout earlier, but it had been too small to be of any use as a meal.

The last hour had passed in silence save for the slight breeze stirring the reeds and the plop of water as a line was cast anew, so Sméagol had been shocked when the boat gave a sudden lurch, causing him to lose his balance and fall backwards into his delighted friend.

“Sméagol! I’ve got one!” Déagol cried ecstatically.

Sméagol pulled himself up and leaned around his friend for a better look.

The fish was enormous. Its silvery scales glistened in the sun as it thrashed about, trying to free itself from Déagol’s line as Déagol himself fought to bring it closer.

“Go on! Pull it in!” Sméagol cried. Déagol was certainly trying hard to do just that, but the effort was becoming too much. Just as Sméagol was about the reach over and lend a hand, the boat gave a tremendous lurch and his friend tumbled headfirst into the water, still holding on to his fishing rod. Sméagol himself fell back into the boat, and had to wait a moment for the rocking motion to stop before could sit back up and look out into the river.

“Déagol!”

There was no sign of his friend, save for a large ripple in the water, so Sméagol decided that it would be best to pull in along the bank and wait for Déagol to surface.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Déagol had been towed along by the fish for only a dozen yards before he needed to come up for air. Realizing that he was fighting a decidedly losing battle, he released his hold on the rod and began swimming towards the surface.

Just before he turned around, a metallic glint from the river bottom caught his eye, barely discernible through the mud and murky water. Curious, he closed his fingers around the shiny object before kicking off and paddling towards the bank.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sméagol had just finished hauling the little fishing boat up on to dry land when he spotted his friend climbing out of the water a little farther downstream, coughing and spluttering. After making sure that the boat – carrying the rest of their possessions – would not be swept away by the current, he ran over, calling, “Déagol!”

Déagol gave no reply. He seemed to be bending over something in his hand. But what?

“Déagol! What…”

That was when he saw It.

The perfectly shaped band of gold shone brighter each time Déagol’s fingers smoothed away a little more mud. So bright…So beautiful…Desire for the object held in Déagol’s hand closed like a vise around his heart. He had to have it. Well, Déagol would likely give it to him if he used the right words…

“Give that to us, my love.”

And angry challenge flared briefly in Déagol’s eyes as he closed his fingers around the Ring and turned to face him. “Why?”

Of course. “Because – it’s my birthday, and I wants it.” He reached over and patted his friend’s shoulder, smiling.

Déagol merely shrugged his hand off and turned again to wonder at the Ring in his hand. Sméagol snarled inwardly. How dare he! It was rightfully his! His arm shot out as he made a grab for the Ring.

But Déagol was too quick. He twisted around and danced out of reach, holding the Ring behind his back. Sméagol lunged again, wrapping his arms around Déagol and trying to pry the tightly closed fingers apart.

With a sudden jerk, Déagol freed himself of Sméagol’s grip and gave him a rough shove. A moment later his hands closed around Sméagol’s throat.

His hands scrabbling wildly, Sméagol sought to pull Déagol’s hands away. Déagol could not...He could not be killing him, they were friends! If only he had let him have the Ring…If he ever managed to free himself…This action had as good as sealed Déagol’s fate.

Sméagol…

It was calling to him! That could only mean that he was Its rightful owner! With a newfound strength, Sméagol tore out of Déagol’s grip and reversed their positions. His grip was strong enough to do the deed…His fingers searched for the windpipe, seeking to crush it…

Déagol was thrashing wildly now. He lost his balance and fell onto his back – but Sméagol kept his iron hold fast about his throat, now using the weight of his body to further choke the life out of Déagol.

Moments passed. All that mattered to Sméagol now was getting hold of the Ring. Nothing else. Glancing down, he saw Déagol’s eyes bulging, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to breathe.

Sméagol…

There it was again! The sooner he finished the deed, the better. He drove the full weight of his body through his arms into Déagol’s throat. This time, something gave a satisfying, sickly crunch and Déagol went still.

He blinked and slowly drew his hands away from his companion’s neck, listening carefully for any sign of breath before straightening.

Déagol stared at him with wide, blank eyes. Eyes that, even lifeless, pierced him accusingly.

What had he done?

Sméagol…

It did not matter. He would hide the body, hide it where no one would think to look. But first, he had to relieve Déagol of the Ring. He opened the clenched fist and laid the Ring in his own palm.

Sméagol…

The band of gold sparkled in the sun, begging to be put on as he turned it over in his fingers, watching it catch the light. “My…Precious…”

He slipped the Ring on.

Something was different. His perception of the world had changed subtly – the colors seemed slightly shadowed, and somewhere in the distance a low voice was chanting in a language he did not understand. As he glanced around him, he noticed that something was wrong. His shadow was missing.

Odd. He removed the Ring, and his shadow reappeared. When he returned it to his left index finger, the shadow vanished.

Sméagol laughed wickedly. It was not only beautiful; it conferred the power of invisibility upon him! Déagol had not deserved such power, for he had no ambition. With newfound power, he, Sméagol, could one day take control of his family’s hole…then the whole countryside…realms…and eventually all of Middle-Earth! He would be remembered as Sméagol the Great, Sméagol the Lord of Middle-Earth…

As he removed the Ring once again, he glanced down at the body that had once been Déagol. First things first. He hefted the body and took it deep into the woods by the riverbank.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He arrived at the back door of the hole just before sundown. Warm, welcoming smells emanated from the kitchen, announcing supper as his mother sang softly. He tried to slip past the kitchen entrance, but…

“Sméagol!”

Sighing, he turned to face his mother. One hand was on her hip, and she glared at him as she stirred the pot on the stove furiously.

“Where have you been all day? You said this morning that you would be back just after noon, and that was hours ago! And look, you do not even have the fish you promised to bring home for supper! What have you been up to?”

Sméagol let the tirade wash over him, fingering the Ring in his pocket. Let her scold him now; one day he would show her…

Out loud he said, “We caught no fish today. The…the river was still high and fast, and we fell into the water…we dried off and tried to catch again, but well…”

His mother gave him a skeptical look, but eventually she nodded. “I see. Well, since there’ll be no fish to fry, I suppose we have naught but vegetable stew and bread for supper. I’m going to call your father in; why don’t you wake Grandmother? She fell asleep in the sitting room chair earlier, and I thought it best not to wake her, poor thing. I don’t know how much longer she’ll live, she’s so old…”

As she trailed off in search of her husband, Sméagol made his way toward the sitting room. There slept his grandmother, so peaceful. He could not imagine a world without her. She had always been there with a story and a smile…

Then he shuddered. Until that very morning, he could not have imagined a world without his best friend.

No time for guilt. Déagol had deserved every moment of his strangulation…

Pushing this thought out of his head, he touched his grandmother’s arm lightly, saying softly, “Grandmother. Time for supper!”

She opened her eyes lazily. “Sméagol. Where have you been all day, my lad?”

“We…we was fishing.”

That brought an odd look to her faded blue eyes, which examined his own searchingly. “There’s something troubling you, boy.” She smiled indulgently. “Why don’t you tell Grandmother what it is?”

Sméagol tore his gaze away. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Or perhaps I’m just hungry.”

“Hmm,” she said as she rose from her chair. “That girl isn’t giving you trouble, is she? Léadan?”

He felt his face flush at the mention of the lass’s name. They were all but betrothed to one another. “No! I haven’t even seen her today!” The thought of Léadan terrified him. What if she ever found out about Déagol? He – Déagol – had been almost like a brother to her…

At dinner, Sméagol remained silent, contemplating his situation. Déagol. The little village on the banks of the Great River was so small that everyone knew everyone else; his absence would not remain unnoticed for long. True, Déagol’s parents were dead, and he had been old enough to care for himself since then, but he had other friends. No one had ever left the village for more than a week, except when he or she had died. There was nowhere nearby that was worth traveling to.

That night, Sméagol tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Finally he reached over and picked the Ring up from his bedside table, placing it in his palm and stroking it gently.

The metal was cold and lifeless, but perfect and unmarked. He loved this thing, but hated it all the same. Was this what had brought him to kill Déagol?

Yes, a voice said. This is not just a simple band of metal. It can bring you power.

Sméagol started. How did this…thing…seem to have a mind of its own? He would not listen. He would resist.

But power beckoned. Power that could be his if he only gave in to whatever possessed his mind…

No. Resist, and he would be able to continue living as he had. Perhaps no one would ever find out what had happened to Déagol. Perhaps…

A sob escaped his throat. “Gollum.” His world, so comforting and cheerful, could one day be shattered for him because the Ring… “Gollum, Gollum.”



Author's notes:

The beginning of this chapter is, in fact, very much based on the movie script from ROTK. However, the rest of the story will be completely new.

Please rate and review! Thanks!


Chapter 2 - Chapter Two: The Village

Disclaimer: Any characters the reader recognizes from Tolkien's works does not belong to me.

Please review! Thanks... ~Galadriel8891


Chapter Two: The Village

He awoke the next morning to find the sun already streaking through the crack in the curtains of his window. Normally he rose earlier. Springing out of bed, he quickly pulled on his trousers and shirt. Undoubtedly he would have several chores to do even before noon. Even though his family was fairly well to do, his grandmother still strongly believed in working. Sméagol did not really mind; in fact, he loved working the land, feeling the soil as it fell from his fingers. He enjoyed watching plants grow; it was certainly not in his nature to kill. The only exception had been the day before…

As he laid his hand on the doorknob, he turned back to look at the Ring, lying on his bedside table once more. He could not just leave it there. What if someone else tried to take it? It was his, after all. He would allow no one else to touch it, much less see it, not after the price he had paid for it. Sighing, he closed his fingers around the metal band before slipping it into his pocket.

A small basket of red apples stood on the kitchen table. While he selected one, his mother called out that she would need more wood for the stove later that night. When Sméagol finished his fruit, he took the axe from its place by the door and made his way down to the fallen oak tree near the water’s edge.

The tree was ancient; when it had been standing just outside of Sméagol’s village of River Smials, it had taken six adults to form a circle around it. It had fallen only a year ago, when the rushing river had weakened its hold on the ground and the strong storm winds had finally blown it over. Since then, its heavy form had given enough wood to create a few new chairs and tables for families less fortunate than Sméagol’s own, still leaving more than enough to provide fuel for everyone’s fires for many months to come.

The sun was shining strong and hot overhead. Sméagol stripped off his shirt before setting to work.

He had chopped enough wood to make a small pile when he felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck. He was being watched. He turned slowly.

It was Léadan, smiling where she stood, a basket on her arm. Sméagol felt his own lips turn upward as his gaze caught her bright green eyes, sparkling with silent laughter. “Hello, Léadan. What do you want?”

She tossed her curly auburn locks as she glided toward him, surveying him up and down. “Nothing. Just to tell you how handsome you look without your shirt.”

“And you…” He pulled her close, winding one arm around her waist and twining the other in her dark curls before giving her a brief kiss. “I must say, you look very fetching in that dress…although perhaps you would be more so without it…”

“Stop it, you beast,” she said as she gave him a playful whack with her basket. “You know the customs; we must wait until we are married.”

Perhaps that was what he liked about her, that she was still so innocent and naïve. “Very well. But I don’t wish to wait for very long.”

“Of course. But we must wait a few more days for our betrothal...” She pulled away and straightened her hat, red lips curved upward. “Well, I must leave you to your work, then.” Léadan’s blue skirt swirled as she gracefully turned around and left him.

You could make her yours now, if only you would use…

Instinctively Sméagol shoved his hand into his pocket, clenching his fist around the Ring as if to silence the voice. No, he thought. I have no intention of making her do anything against her will; I love her too much to do that…

Do you? Would you love her if she found out about Déagol?

His face contorted with effort. Go away!

Go away! The voice was full of mocking laughter. I am a part of you now. You and I – WE are one. We killed Déagol.

You killed him, Sméagol replied. Not me. I could never have. That wasn’t me.

It was you. Your hands that closed around his throat. You were the one who killed him, as was I.

STOP! No more! Who are you?

There was no reply. Sméagol opened his eyes to find himself curled on the ground, his face wet with tears. He stood up swiftly and angrily, hoping that no one had seen him. His axe bit aggressively into the wood as he returned to his task.

* * *

Léadan crept carefully away from her hiding place on the crest that overlooked Sméagol’s working place, more startled than anything.

It was not the banter that the two of them had exchanged that had worried her; no, that was the Sméagol she knew. What had frightened her was what she had seen and heard as she had climbed the hill.

Sméagol had nearly been out of earshot when she heard him. His voice was low and sounded faint at this distance, but she could still understand what he was saying.

First she had heard a low, guttural voice that was most unlike his own– but when she looked again, she saw that it was he who had spoken. His usual voice had responded in a piteous whine, then he had fallen to the ground, weeping and shivering as he lay curled into a ball.

What had come over him? The Sméagol she had met two years ago at the harvest festival, the Sméagol she knew… He was strong and kind. The voice that had given her shivers had sounded evil, and the other was weak and pitiful.

Léadan resolved to find out what was troubling him. She glanced back before walking back into River Smials. Sméagol was on his feet again and had returned to chopping wood. That was certainly a relief, but… he seemed to go about his task with more anger than anything. Was it something she had done?

* * *

Three days crawled by without any mention of Déagol’s name. Sméagol grew more and more nervous as each day went along, all the while listening for the dreaded voice. Sooner or later, someone was bound to find out that Déagol was missing, and after that it would not be long before the truth of the matter was discovered. He began eating less, feeling ill with worry and guilt. Where he had so often worn a smile, he now constantly had a frown. If his parents and grandmother noticed the sickly pallor of his skin or the slight gauntness of his features, they said nothing.

He had tried to avoid looking at the Ring for those three days by hiding it in a small box in his wardrobe. He was certain that that was what had been speaking to him. But today, as he rose from bed, the desire to hold it in his hand once more was too great. What if someone – his mother, for instance – had gone rummaging through his clothes and taken it? He had to be sure that it was safe. So after a sparingly touched supper, he slipped down the hallway into his room, quietly propping a chair under the knob. Then he crossed the floor, opened his wardrobe, and felt around in the corners for the small wooden box.

As soon as he tipped the golden band into his palm, the metal seemed to grow warm, giving him a distinct feeling of completeness. He felt his breathing relax, and he closed his eyes. Holding the Ring was intoxicating; he would never allow it out of his reach again. And who knew? Perhaps it would be useful one day, if anyone ever found out about…

“Sméagol?” His mother’s worried voice was accompanied by a loud rapping on the door. “Sméagol? Are you all right?”

He thrust the Ring into his pocket. “Quite all right, Mother.”

“Then why ever is the door blocked?”

“I…”

“Do get some fresh air, my love. You’ve been looking pale and peaky lately. Should I send for the village healer?”

“No!” Sméagol strode over and pulled the chair away from the door.

“But Sméagol, you hardly ate anything… I’ve been worried about you, and so has your father. Grandmother has been worried too. She thinks that something is troubling you.”

“I’m FINE!” he shouted in response, yanking the door open.

He watched his mother’s eyes widen, and as she took an involuntary step back she stuttered, “I… I only meant…”

Sméagol blinked at the sight before him. What had he done? He never meant to frighten her.

Forcing his voice to a more steady tone, he said, “I’m perfectly fine. Just a little tired. Perhaps I should go to bed…”

“By the…Sméagol, where have you been these past few days?”

“Why?”

She shook her head disbelievingly. “Tonight is the first night of the summer festival, don’t you remember? Three days before the first full moon of the season. And on the day of the full moon comes a day you have been waited for, for the longest time…” She looked up at him expectantly.

Of course. “The betrothal ceremony.” He had indeed been awaiting that day with much anticipation, but the death of Déagol had driven all else from his mind but feelings of guilt. Tonight he could begin to forget. No one had mentioned Déagol’s name yet; perhaps his absence would remain unnoticed.

“Indeed,” his mother said. “So get dressed. The sun is nearly down; the festivities are going to begin soon! And don’t forget – tomorrow they begin even earlier.” She did not wait for her son to respond as she swept down the hallway back to her room.

The summer festival. How could he have forgotten? Every year before his tweens he had looked forward to the festival, eager for the many treats the folk of River Smials prepared, eager to listen to the music. In his twenties he had looked upon the festival as a chance to meet the lasses of the town, and during the past few years he had eagerly awaited his chance to be with Léadan, dancing and mingling with the other folk, eating and drinking without a care in the world. Now, both he and Léadan had passed their coming-of-age at thirty-three, and were old enough to be formally betrothed.

Sméagol chose his clothes carefully, selecting his best trousers and a cream-colored shirt together with the deep blue vest that Léadan had said brought out the color of his eyes. He tied his slightly curling, longish hair back with a leather cord. All the young lads in the Smials wore their hair that way, thinking that it gave them a rakish look. To complete the look, he tied a bright yellow kerchief about his neck before glancing in the mirror. Satisfied, he headed out the round door and began his walk to the festive lights gathered at the bottom of the hill.
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