Descent into Madness

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.

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