Chapter 21: Trial by Fire

Part 4 : The End

One more night, one more before I shall wither and die
Grant me just one more life, one more, I need it to make this thing right
The more that I gave the less I received, it's all for them and none for me
I am unworthy to be sacrificed, I'm such a tragic comic
[...]
One more night for me to turn into what I've portrayed
Call me by my true name one more time, one more before it's too late
- Cain's Offering, Morpheus in a Masquerade

Why, even Gollum might be good in a tale, better than he is to have by you, anyway. And he used to like tales himself once, by his own account. I wonder if he thinks he's the hero or the villain.
- Samwise Gamgee (as recounted in The Two Towers by J.R.R. Tolkien)

Iris stopped dead on the path.

"Excuse me!" someone said haughtily behind her, and moved to walk past, but she flung out an arm to stop him- it was Petunia's husband Romly. She motioned with her head.

Sméagol was sitting right in the middle of the path up ahead, curled up- he had always had a habit of sitting hunched up, but this had become exaggerated to the point where it looked rather painful. He was sewing a patch onto that ragged old satchel he carted about all the time and muttering under his breath. He had an incomplete look to him, like a fish cut in half. Before the past summer, Iris could have counted on one hand the amount of times she had seen Sméagol without Déagol, or Déagol without Sméagol. Now, Déagol was gone.

"Now, Iris," Romly said, "let's just go on another way-"

On impulse she pushed him away and walked forward.

She had meant to take Sméagol off guard but he turned towards her as if he had been expecting her. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his hair was matted. He smelled unpleasant- it was not the healthy (if nasty) smell of a young man who was too wrapped up in his life to remember to bathe, a smell that Iris had too many sons not to be well familiar with, but something like River-water that had been left stagnant in a bowl. His clothes were damp- perhaps he had been swimming, or wading, and not bothered to dry himself.

He said nothing, but continued to stare at her. She had meant to speak to him civilly, but something in his gaze inflamed her.

"Where is Déagol?" she demanded.

"If you don't know," he said softly, "I certainly don't."

"What did you do to him?" Her voice rose.

He turned away. "What did I do to him, they always asks me! No one ever asks if he did anything to me, he wasn't so nice, you know- not very nice at all- gollum!"

That disgusting noise he made flipped a switch in her brain. She grabbed him by the shoulder. He turned into a blur, and a stabbing pain blossomed in her hand- then he was running away in a mad scramble, his satchel left forgotten in the dirt. Her hand was seeping red dots of blood. He had bitten her.

She spat words at his retreating back that she had never before used in public, and brought one foot down onto his satchel. Something crunched in it- when she had the presence of mind to check what it was, she found a stolen bit of pottery.

Her bandaged hand smarted as she scrubbed the dishes. Tears stung at her eyes as she muttered and cursed.

She was going to have to talk to Mam. Anyone but Sméagol would have been ejected from the village long ago. His father Béagol had been kicked out for much less- what had he done? Gotten married to a girl who seemed a bit silly, that was all. But that wife of his had gone on to birth Sméagol, so maybe she was actually a harridan of Morgoth.

"I'm glad they burnt up," she spat now. "I hope it hurt!" The whole village should have ignored those two. "I wish their maggot son had been left to starve to death in the woods," she choked. If he had, her own son would still be alive. 

She grew quiet.

Someone was in the room with her.

She could see nothing- hear nothing. She was being paranoid- everyone in the village was getting paranoid, these days. That wretched Gollum appeared wherever he wanted- knew things he shouldn't.

There was nowhere in the kitchen he could be hiding. He was a big lad. (That was part of the trouble- he had always been big and fast, and strong. Certainly big enough to overpower her poor Déagol and drown him or something awful like that.)

He could have wrung my son's neck, she thought with a shiver of nausea. She'd seen Sméagol twist the heads off chickens- it was a necessary job, but he'd always seemed too comfortable with it.

The front door swung open. She listened for Déagol's voice, saying he had found his way home- though she knew he would never hear it again. She heard, in the other room, another, surviving son call out: "I'm home, Mam."

She heard a hiss- quite close by- as if someone was taking a sharp breath. A cloth she had hanging up to dry the dishes with swung as if from the air of someone's passage.

She leaned on the counter, sagging, nearly fainting.  

Nettle was getting up there in years, of course, but Iris' mother had never looked so old as she did today. She sat in her study, surrounded by books. The window was shuttered- the only time Iris had seen it shuttered. Her mother was hiding.

"What does you want from me, eh?" she said. "I already don't feed him or talk to him. He'll clear off eventually."

"Clear off- Mam!" Iris cried. "Don't you know he's been stealing?"

"I s'pose he's hungry," Nettle said.

"He-" She stopped, putting her hands over her eyes. "You can't just- he has to go, Mam. He has to."

"I thought he'd catch himself some nice fishes. He's always been a good fisher, Sméagol. Good swimmer. Good at everything except bein' a decent person, I guess, I guess." Nettle stared at the wall. "He's gone crazy, just like his mother- I warned everyone about her."

Iris looked at the shuttered window. "If you do not kick him out," she said, "I will be back here every day- yes- until you do- and I will bring my sisters, and you will never have peace again."

"You think I had peace before, do you?" Nettle closed her eyes. "With that blundering boy ramming about these past thirty years, showing me some fool piece of rubbish he picked up-"

Iris bit back whatever retort she wanted to make. She was in no mood to reminisce about the clever habits of the person she suspected to be her son's murderer. Instead she said: "I will be back every day until he is gone." Her backup plan, should Nettle fail to oust him in a timely fashion, was to take her husband and sons and chase Sméagol off without the official sanction- but she did not think it would come to that.

"Fine." Nettle stood up. "He's leavin' tomorrow. Are you happy?" Her eyes were suspiciously bright.

"No," said Iris. "No, I'm not happy."

And so when the next morning dawned, half the village was crowded around Nettle's hole in the riverbank. Nettle stood tall and silent in the mouth of the hole. A distance away from her stood Sméagol, knee-deep in the River, with his disgusting satchel slung over his shoulder- he must have retrieved it from the rubbish pit Iris had tossed it into, or stolen a new one- hands jammed into the pockets of his dark gray cloak. The hood was drawn over his face, which was further obscured by matted hair.

He had stopped there, and would not move, even with the force of thirty-odd pairs of angry eyes bearing down on him.

"What a lovely family," he said under his breath. "We have so many nice friends, my precious. Look at all of them, come to see us off- gollum!" He put a hand to his throat. For the first time she wondered if that gulping noise was accompanied by some pain or discomfort. In years to come, when Sméagol's name came up, she would be able to make the polite remark that she hoped he had not been suffering at the end, but on that day she sincerely hoped he was.

"We can't see you off if you won't go!" someone snapped.

Sméagol did not move. He made a soft hissing sound. It was the sound Iris had heard yesterday in her kitchen. "They're very angry," he said. "No one will talk to me or give me work or so much as fling me a crust of bread, and when I try to feed myself they says 'thief' and kicks out at me. Well, which is it? Sméagol cannot live on air, he's not a reed or a blade of grass, even though he's shaped like one now, since no one will feed him."

"Déagol's not here to see you off," someone said abruptly. It was one of Iris's other sons, but she had not seen which one and their voices were very similar when partly obscured by the rushing of the River. "Where is he, I wonders?"

Sméagol said nothing.

Iris took a step forward and spat in his direction. "Get out!" she shrieked.

Sméagol gazed off into the distance. "They all hate me." His voice quivered, and so did his hands- long, strong hands. He was the tallest in the village, and broad in the shoulders- for one of their kind, anyway. Everyone was staying a healthy distance away. 

Iris wondered if it would become necessary to physically drive him off, and if it came to that, if the village would be able to refrain from beating him to death. She knew, in an abstract way, that this would not be right, but if it began to happen she would not be able to find it in herself to hold the others back. She might join in.

He continued to talk to himself in a singsong voice. "They do, they do. None of them have ever done anything wrong, eh? No one is cheating, no one is gossiping, no one does anything nasty in the whole world but Sméagol, I suppose; I will go away and they will go back to doing things in secret and everyone will say 'everything is better since he is gone'. Traitors!" he shrieked, rounding on them with a green flicker in his eyes. "Cheats! Pigs! I'll go- I'll go, and I'll make something of myself, gollum, and you can sstay in your stinking little village and rot!"

Bile rose in her throat. For a split second it seemed to her that- although Sméagol's actions certainly deserved her hatred- there was something about her convulsive disgust for him that was not quite related to anything he had done. It rose in her naturally at the sight of the gleam in his eyes. But- at the same time- he did deserve it, he had earned hatred and worse, so there was no point in wondering too much about the matter.

And she was not alone in her hatred.

"Then go, Gollum," Romly spat. "Go before we hurries you along!"

Iris's husband Téagol scooped up a rock. Sméagol turned away. He started to move down the riverbank in one direction, but he saw the crowd there, and quailed- he looked the other way and apparently thought there were too many people there too.

"Let us through," he cried. "If you want us to go let us through!"

"There's plenty of room, you eejit," Téagol groused. Indeed there was plenty of room.

Sméagol took a deep breath, a wild light came into his eyes, and he dove into the River.

He had swum like an otter from an early age and there so was no real possibility that he'd drown, even though he was wearing a heavy cloak, but still there were a few sighs of disappointment when Sméagol emerged dripping on the opposite bank, very much alive.

"Curse you! Curse you!" he shrieked back at them in a quavering voice that was not at all intimidating. "Curse you by- by- by the unlights of Ungoliant!"

Téagol threw the rock. Sméagol jumped back, hissing and making that awful gulping sound in his throat.

That Foxglove girl cried out from somewhere in the crowd: "O, don't hurt him! He's going. Don't try to hurt him! Can't you see he's sick?" She had had a baby recently and was in a sentimental mode. Her words fell on deaf ears.

Sméagol was walking away. Everyone watched in tense silence while his figure dwindled.

"I think someone should keep an eye out tonight," said Iris. "Make sure he doesn't come back." She turned to the figure of her mother, and found- to her surprise and a touch of embarrassment- that Nettle was silently weeping.

Gollum tugged his hood lower over his face. He was trembling.

"Don't worry," Faelon said. "It's only a formality, is it not?"

They had reached the doorway, and Aragorn's voice could be heard through it. Gollum froze, flattening himself to the floor.

"No one can do you any harm in that hall, Sméagol," Faelon coaxed. "Certainly not in front of the King. And I shall be with you."

"I don't want to crawl on my belly in there in front of everybody," he fretted. "Or hobble like an old beggar."

Faelon stooped down and held his arms out.

"I don't want to be carried like a babe in arms, either," said Gollum. 

Faelon looked upset. "I didn't know such things bothered you."

"They did not," said Gollum, "not at all- until now when all of these peoples are going to have a look at us!"

"I didn't want to pry, so I haven't asked- I thought it might be a painful subject," said Faelon. "But- why can't you walk as other Halflings do, Sméagol? I have seen you stand upright when you wanted a look at something, so your legs do support your weight?"

"Yes, they does, but walking hurts our back and I gets dizzy."

"Could you walk upright for a while if I supported you on my arm?"

Gollum tried it and found that he could, though not comfortably. He shuffled into the room at Faelon's side. They were now in a sort of antechamber, and some very regal guards stood by the door. He and Faelon were ushered through that door before Gollum could make up his mind to say he did not want to do this anymore, he wanted to go back to his room, he was frightened.

The King Elessar sat in his throne within, with people thronged on each side of him. He wore a white crown that shone like the Sun, but worse. Gollum could happily have gouged his own eyes out rather than have to try to look at it a second longer. He settled for digging his knuckles into his eyes. "He is really the King," he exclaimed, in a broken voice, "and I bit him." It was fortunate for him that no one heard except Faelon.

An unfamiliar voice rang out. Gollum could not see who it was, he was as blind as a newborn orc in all of this light. Although he was aware there were people filling the hall- he could smell Men and hear the murmuring of a crowd- he had only seen the King, and only dimly, at that. "Announcing Sméagol son of Béagol, from the Halfling colonies along the Anduin."

"You have been brought before me today to be judged," said the King.

Gollum clung to Faelon's thick forearm. "Yes," he said faintly.

"Who is this alongside you?"

"Faelon. He helps us." Gollum clung to him a little tighter. 

"He is not to be judged," said the King, "so he cannot stand beside you now."

The arm Gollum had been leaning on was gently withdrawn, and he was alone, standing upright before the King with his balance wavering and his back aching. Around him, people he could not see muttered softly, intrigued. He felt naked, though he was wrapped in his familiar hood and mantle.

This garment had become so worn and patched and ragged that even Gollum noticed it. His new clothes were still being made and weren't yet ready to wear. 'You're lucky, Sméagol,' Sam had said, 'the Master had to go out in front of everyone in the clothes he climbed the mountain in, orc-shirt and all. They didn't keep what you wore then, or else I bet they'd make you wear it tomorrow.'

'Your... garment was fused to you by the smoke and heat,' said Aragorn, 'and was torn into scraps by the time we got it away from your skin. And then we had to burn it, for the smell could never have been gotten out.' He sounded almost apologetic.

'I did not want it back," Gollum had said, bemused.

"For what crime do I judge you?" the King asked now. The room fell silent.

Flustered, Gollum almost replied by asking why the King did not already know what he'd done, but he had been told how this would work, and that he must state his own crimes even though Aragorn did indeed already know about them. "Déagol," he said. "I killed him."

"Who was Déagol?"

"My auntie's son," said Gollum. "My friend." His voice was small but clear in the hush of the room.

"Why did you kill him?"

"He had picked up what the Men calls the Enemy's Ring and I wanted it," said Gollum.

All around him there was renewed muttering. Gollum froze.

"Continue," the King said. The room fell silent again. "Your cousin had picked up the Enemy's Ring."

"He wouldn't give it to me. When he didn't do what I wanted, I would thrash him, so I started to thrash him, but he did not let go, and since I was bigger and stronger, I kept fighting him until I put my hands on his neck. And then he let go of- it. I took it for myself, gollum!" He paused, grimacing and baring his fangs under his hood. Part of him still wanted to say that the Ring had come to him. And perhaps it really had wanted him. Déagol was no killer, after all. "After I took it, I saw that- Déagol was dead. I had killed- killed him. And I thought, if anyone found out, they might find out about the Pr- the Ring, and that I had it, and then they would take it away from me. Gollum!" This particular 'gollum' was the sound of him swallowing the cry of It was mine that threatened to burst out. "Also I did not want to be punished for killing him, and I told myself I shouldn't be because it was an accident. I hid his body and never told anyone where it was, even when his mother begged to know, gollum. And- and I pretended someone had given me the Precious. My gran. Though she didn't. She never saw it."

"What did you do with the Enemy's Ring?" the King asked.

"I listened to peoples when they couldn't see me. I wanted to know what my family was up to," said Gollum. "And they, they was up to all kinds of things. I never knew. I never knew. And they was so angry that I found out. They started to hate me, so I stole things and made myself a nuisance until they sent me away."

"They sent you away for thieving?"

"Yes, thieving and twitting people," said Gollum.

"But not the murder?"

"No, I made sure no one knew about it. Some suspected, yes- I went out with Déagol and came back by myself and would not say what happened. They wasn't stupid. But they did not have any proof that I'd hurt him- and he was always talking about running off, too. So they could not punish me for it."

"I see. I will not punish you for your thefts, as your family have punished you already. But for the murder of your kinsman, committed only to enrich yourself," said the King, "and for the additional crime of concealing the crime from his mourning family, I sentence you, Sméagol, to dwell under the root of the Misty Mountains for one hundred years, separated from any who would succor you or speak a kind word to you, in utter darkness, without a bed or a soft place to lay your head, or any shelter from the chill of the caves. Your only provision will be what meat you may find. You may not cook it, and you may not wear or possess anything that you cannot scavenge. You will not be protected from the orcs of the mountain and must deal with them as you can, without weapons."

Gollum sank into a crouching position on the floor.

"Does that seem fair to you?" the King asked.

Gollum had been told beforehand what Aragorn would say to him and how he should answer. But this was not Aragorn, the scruffy long-legged Ranger. This was the King Elessar with his Sunlight-spewing crown, and Gollum was a witless little grub who had forgotten all of the plan and the fact that there had been a plan at one point to begin with. "No," he whined. "But yes. I think it is fair, only I don't want to do it. I, I think it sounds awful. But I killed him!" He pressed his fists to his temples. "He never got to do anything he wanted. Just a boy, he was, and now he's gone. Throw us away, gollum!"

"So then you consent." The King's voice was even, almost mild. "Is there any reason why this sentence ought not be carried out?"

"No," he said, "no reason. I shouldn't have killed him, so the King should do what he thinks best, gollum, gollum."

"Lord Steward," the King said, "what is your opinion on my judgement?"

"My King," said Faramir's voice, close by, just next to the King- he had been there all along! "Not even the most brutal murderer in Gondor has ever been dealt with so harshly. We do not keep those who commit such crimes in solitary confinement, or deprive them of light, food, shelter and necessary healing. We most certainly do not force them to survive alongside orcs. It would be kinder to sentence him to death."

"What say you, Captain-General? Is there any reason why I should not give this creature the sentence I described?"

"There is," said Boromir's voice. Why, he was at the King's other side! "Sméagol has already served such a sentence."

"How did this come to pass?"

"After he committed the crime, he was driven from his home as he claimed, and the Enemy's Ring drew him into the darkness under the mountains. He dwelt there just as you said, without succor or kindness, without a bed or a soft place or any shelter, and without wearing or possessing anything he could not scavenge from the orcs of the mountain."

"How did he feed himself?" the King asked.

"By catching fish with his bare hands and eating them raw."

"It is difficult to sustain a Halfling on such poor food. Are you sure this is true?"

"Mithrandir has confirmed it," said Boromir. "It seems this Halfling was indeed often on the edge of starvation, and was driven to seek food from the orcs of the mountain as well, not only from their stores, but from their flesh."

Someone in the audience made a noise of surprised disbelief, and no one acknowledged him.

"I would never," said the King, "sentence a living thing to be fed on orcflesh, were it a dog, or an orc itself.

Boromir's voice was quite calm. "For nearly five hundred years, my King."

"How can that be? That is longer than the span of years of a Halfling," said the King, also quite calm, because of course he had already known all of this.

"The Enemy's Ring prolongs life."

"So he has served a life sentence of the one I suggested, and even beyond the natural span of his life?"

"Yes, he has."

"In light of this," said the King, "I hereby pardon you, Sméagol son of Béagol, of the murder of your kinsman Déagol son of Téagol, on account that you have been punished already. You will not receive any additional punishment for this act."

Gollum said nothing.

"You are pardoned of the murder of your kinsman and the concealment of the crime," the King said.

"O. Thank you," Gollum whimpered, lying on the floor with his forehead touching the ground. He was more comfortable that way.

"You have been punished already."

"Have we, precious?"

"Yes. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Gollum lied.

"We have discussed now the matter of your kinslaying, your deceit and your thievery. Are those the only matters for which you seek judgement?"

"No."

"What else?" the King asked. "Raise your head when you speak so that all can hear you."

Gollum pushed himself up so that he was sitting on his knees. He kept his face downturned and his eyes shut. "I tried to kill Baggins," he said. "Bilbo Baggins."

"The Ring-finder? Why did you seek to end his life?"

"When he found it," said Gollum, "it was mine."

"Can anyone confirm this?" the King asked.

"Baggins can. He is the one who did it," said Gollum. "He took it away from me without asking, and we thought that meant he stole it." He still thought that. "We was very angry."

"You kept it with you under the mountain, for nearly five hundred years?"

"Yes."

"You kept it, deep underground, where neither the traitorous Saruman the White nor even the Black Hand could find it? Was this your deed also, Sméagol?"

"It must have been," said Gollum, now a bit confused, as they seemed to be getting off the subject, but surely the King knew best. If he did not know best he couldn't wear such a crown as that!

There was some whispering going on in the audience, which the King ignored, saying:  "And you defended it from orcs and kept it safe, while living under the conditions we spoke of before?"

"Yes. I could not let anyone have it."

"Then it is your doing, Sméagol son of Béagol, that our Enemy did not recover his Ring during all that time?"

Gollum was now very confused. "When he says it like that, it must be, but we did not know anyone was looking for it. We just knew anyone who found it by accident would want it and take it away."

"Then we will not speak more of that now," said the King. "What was it like to guard the Enemy's Ring for so long?"

"It... hurt us."

"Yet you desired its return when it was taken?"

"To be without it hurt more. It still hurts. It hurts us."

"And this pain drove you to retrieve it," said the King, "or to attempt to. For you never did lay a hand on Bilbo Baggins."

"Never caught him, gollum."

"I have heard that you and Bilbo Baggins were lately seen conversing together in the guest house Mr. Baggins is staying in."

"Yes, he wanted to talk to us."

"Did you harm him then? You had the chance to."

"No. I didn't want to. And it would have been bad. He was, he was nice to me."

"Then," said the King, "for your previous attempt to murder Bilbo Baggins, I sentence you to stay in the dungeons of the Greenwood Elves for a time. What say you, Lord Steward?"

"The Elves are kind jailkeepers," said Faramir, "but this sentence yet strikes me as odd, my King, for Sméagol has not actually done any harm to Bilbo Baggins and does not now intend to, and Bilbo himself has made a statement that he is not angry with the creature and does not want him punished. He sits here now in the back of the room, and looks disapproving.

"In that case," said the King, "I pardon you, Sméagol, of the crime of pursuing Bilbo Baggins with the intent to do harm. Have you any other crimes to confess?"

"I have," Gollum said in a low voice. "I have eaten manflesh."

The King remained dispassionate. "How did this come to pass?"

"I would find them dead already, after battles, or if I was very hungry and could find nothing to eat I would catch one from behind, or sneak into a bedchamber."

"Then you have killed."

"I have."

"Who did you kill?"

"I didn't know their names. They was strangers that I jumped on in the dark."

"Why?"

"Because they didn't know I was there and couldn't fight me off."

"Why did you kill Men and eat them, Sméagol?" the King asked.

Gollum was silent for a moment. He did not think he could explain the fog of madness and hatred he had lived under. He wasn't sure he understood it himself, and he wasn't sure it was much of an excuse anyway. "I was hungry," he said dully.

"Many people are desperate with hunger every day- too many. And these people do not fall to murdering and eating each other."

"No, they knows better."

"And you didn't know better?"

Gollum wrung his hands. "I do now. Before- I don't know, gollum! Perhaps- but I did not know Men before. They seemed like big monsters, like tall orcses, and I did not think anything was wrong with killing them if I was hungry. It was like killing an animal. I did not think anything of killing hobbits, either, and they tells me I am one, or I was. But everyone just looked like noisy meat."

"Did this impression take hold after you had spent five hundred years in isolation under the mountain?" the King asked.

"Yes."

"After a long time of knowing nothing but your own misery and the foulness of orcs?"

"Yes."

"While keeping the Enemy's Ring in your possession?"

"Yes."

"For five hundred years?"

"So they tells me," said Gollum. "I... I think the Ring made me sick. But now it's gone. But- I also knew it was wrong the whole time, I think. I don't know- gollum, gollum!"

"Do you still think everyone is noisy meat?"

"No," said Gollum. "No, that was foolish."

"Do you think it is wrong to kill Men if you are hungry?"

"Yes. I was wrong."

"Would you say it was fair if I sentenced you to be tortured for killing and eating Men?"

Gollum shivered and licked his fingers.

"Sméagol?"

"I, I-" He stammered for a while, and said: "Yes!"

"Yes?" the King asked. "Is that what you said? Would you consent if I asked you to submit to a torturer?"

Gollum rubbed his eyes. He could faintly see the King's crown shining through his eyelids. "Yes!"

The King was silent for a brief moment

"My King," said Faramir, "I will not judge whether it is fair, because you yourself have decreed we do not under any circumstances conduct torture."

"Sméagol has already been put through torture," said Boromir. He sounded tense. "In the Black Tower."

"This is true," said the King. "How long were you tormented, Sméagol?"

Gollum whimpered. "Don't know." He rubbed his hands together.

"He was held captive eight years," Boromir said, "by the reckoning of Mithrandir. Whether he was tortured all of that time I cannot say, but surely he has had enough such treatment to satisfy any desire for vengeance. Those of the Black Tower are known for being... efficient."

"Don't hurt us," Gollum said. "Don't- gollum gollum! I changed my mind. Kill us quick!" He flung himself down on his face. "I never hurt anybody just to hear him scream. I didn't. I only hurt people when I was scared or hungry and I did it quick. Take us to pieces- eat us- after we're dead!"

"We won't torture you, Sméagol," said the King. "We do not torture anyone. I find the thought of it abhorrent."

Gollum took a few quick, heaving breaths.

"But," said the King, "you have done something horrible. I cannot simply pardon it because you have been tortured. So I shall sentence you to travel to Orodruin, on hand and foot, taking a route through the Mere of Dead Men and Cirith Ungol, with only the food and water you can find on the way, and bearing no arms, but surviving on your wits. At first you will have poor food and drink, by the end of your journey you will have none at all. You will be punished with the hunger you did such vile deeds to escape. Is that fair?"

"More than fair, it is," Gollum said, with a sharp hitching gasp. "I'll go right now, yes!" He pushed himself halfway off the ground, and found that his arms were shaking and he could not get any farther than halfway.

"Hold, Sméagol!" Boromir said. "King Elessar, the creature has made such a journey already."

"Has he?" the King asked.

"He has," said Boromir.

"Who can vouch for this?" the King asked.

"I can," said Faramir, "for I encountered him along the way, along with his traveling companions. Those companions are here today."

"I am one of them." This was Frodo's voice, and it came from somewhere close behind Gollum. Gollum cried out in shock.

"The Ring-bearer. Do you, then, vouch for this Sméagol?" the King asked.

"Yes. Sméagol traveled alongside myself and my servant on the path to Mt. Doom," Frodo said. "For he knew those lands well, and acted as our guide through the Mere of Dead Men, and showed us a secret way into Mordor."

"What was this secret way?"

"Through the cave of an evil creature that Sméagol had an understanding with. He told the creature to wait elsewhere, and took us below its nesting chamber through a tunnel he had dug for his own use that he thought to be entirely secret and safe, but the creature disobeyed his direction and ambushed us when we emerged from the tunnel."

"What is this evil creature of which the Ring-bearer speaks?" the King asked.

"A big thing like a spider," said Gollum, his heart pounding in his ears.

"How did you have an understanding with it?"

"Her? I... I brought her orcs to eat."

"Why?"

"So that she would let me rest near her caves. She was nasty- evil- wicked creature- but she took me in, and let me rest my head in a safe place, when I didn't have one, yes, when I thought I'd die. That was why I did it. She was hungry and she wanted orcses, and I did not care what happened to orcses. The Men will kill her now, I guess."

"She helped you, but she is evil?"

"Yes. Yes, she only helped me because I paid for it, she was not nice."

"Did you not know that this creature would discover your group nearby, and attack the Ring-bearer and his servant, and spare you?"

"Yes," said Gollum, haltingly. "I thought- at first- that I would take the hobbits to her. So that I could have the Precious."

"The Ring."

"Yes. She did not care about things like that and would have tossed it away for me to find. Then I saw it was wrong to let the Master be hurt, but she already had been told we was coming. I had told her already. So it was too late."

The audience was silent.

"Why did you not take the hobbits along another route?" the King asked.

"I didn't know any other way- not one that was far enough, and there was no time even if I did. There was orcs all around, all around everywhere. I thought she would wait where I told her to wait."

"It sounds as if you behaved treacherously," said the King.

"Yes... yes, I did."

"Why did you do so?"

"Because," said Gollum, "because I did not want anything but the Pr- the Ring, this Ring, and I did not care about anyone else. But I was wrong. And the Ring was- gollum! Was bad and hurt me. Even though it made me want it, o I wanted it!"

"Frodo, do you still vouch for this creature?"

"I do," said Frodo. "I could not have completed my quest without him."

"He seemed sorry, I guess," a voice grunted from just beside Frodo- "when he found us he he said we could eat 'im if he wanted. We didn't want that. I did make him carry my pans for a while, I said- 'well, Gollum, if you won't clear off back to your spider, you can carry these'. And he did, he let me strap 'em onto him like they were saddlebags, but he only made it a little while before he fell over underneath 'em. So I had to leave the pans after all." Sam sighed.

Gollum blinked.

"Is this true, Sméagol?" the King asked.

"Maybe," Gollum ventured. "I do not remember it all. But Sam wouldn't make that up, so it must be."

"Sméagol was suffering greatly from thirst," said Frodo. "He seemed unaware of his surroundings at times, so perhaps that's why he doesn't remember."

"Right," said Sam, "it was bad for all of us, and he seems to need an awful lot of water, so if it could be worse, well, maybe it was worse for him. But he didn't complain."

"He came to the very end of our journey alongside us," Frodo added, "though we had nothing to offer him and he was in torment."

"And then what happened?" the King asked. "Do you not think that perhaps he was following you only because he yet wanted the Ring?"

"When my strength faltered, after bringing that Ring to the end," said Frodo, "when it seemed like a millstone around my neck, Sméagol took it from me and cast it into the fire himself."

Someone in the crowd drew a sharp breath.

"Sméagol did this final act?" the King asked. "He cast the Ring into the fire? It was not you, nor Samwise?"

"It was not I," said Frodo.

"I don't know if I could have done it, sir," said Sam. "He knocked Mr. Frodo over and took the Ring. Well- it was for the best, but I wouldn't have knocked Mr. Frodo over like that- at least, if I did- I wouldn't have done it in time. I thought the worst when Sméagol got that Ring, but then he ran right for the edge and tried to jump in with it!"

"He did this of his own free will?" the King asked.

"Yes," said Frodo.

"And it wasn't an accident?" the King asked.

"I don't think so," said Sam. "He looked like he'd made up his mind. It wasn't an accident, right, Sméagol?"

"I wanted to throw it away but I couldn't let go," said Gollum. "I wanted it. But it had to go into the fire. But I had to go with it, because I could not let go. So I went in."

"Well, I snatched him back from the edge, and he dropped the Ring then," said Sam. "And he didn't die, either. I don't think he wants to."

"If what you say is true," said the King, "we all owe a great deal to Sméagol."

"Yes," said Frodo. "I, at least, am happy to say that I owe my life to him. Without him my quest would have failed."

"I wouldn't lie on Sméagol's account," Sam said. "We couldn't have done it without him, and I don't mind telling you. If it were up to me, well- he wouldn't have lived to put that Ring in the fire, but Mr. Frodo knew better."

"Then, Sméagol," said the King, "I will not send you to make another such journey. But yet I cannot pardon cannibalism and the murder of my subjects. It is true that your aid to the Ring-bearer saved more lives than you could ever destroy, but I do not believe that lives saved can make up for lives taken. Do you agree that your good deed, however vital, does not cancel out your past?"

"Yes," said Gollum.

"Then here is my judgement," said the King, "I sentence you to have your body crippled so that you cannot walk upright after the manner of your kind but must crawl or shuffle along bent, to have your skin abraded until it is soft and colorless and oozes from every pore, to have your sight altered so that any amount of light pains your eyes, to fill you with fear and dread of the Sun and Moon, and to make it so that most of the wholesome things in the world sicken or hurt you so that it is difficult for you to find comfort. You will hunger and thirst almost on the hour and be sickened by any food other than raw flesh. Your teeth will be mostly removed, with the remaining ones sharpened so that you are seen at once to be a flesh-eater, and when you eat you will drool blood like a slavering animal, so that feeding yourself becomes an act of shame that forever reminds you of your evil past. Your senses will be so heightened that ordinary sounds and smells will torment you.  You will never be able to bear arms or hold a weapon, and if you seek to do harm or defend yourself you will be forced to use your bare hands, in a twisted echo of the murder of your kinsman so long ago, or your teeth, like a wild beast. You will no longer look like anything that was once a Halfling, and when your kind meet you, they will fear and despise you. And finally, you will make a loud noise in your throat, and for many years others will know you only by this sound- a symbol of your debasement- instead of by your own name."

No one spoke. The only sound Gollum head was his own ragged breathing. Finally he picked up his head. "It's fair, perhaps. But- you can't do that," he said.

"Why not?" asked the King.

"Because, I..." He paused. "I am already the thing they called- Gollum."

"Gollum?"

"That's what my family called me," said Gollum, "when they threw me out. And that is what Baggins called me when he found me under the mountain. And Sam called me that just now. And it is not my name."

"If that is not your name, why are you called by it?"

"Because I makes a nasty noise. I can't help it. I'd stop if I could, gollum. It's not nice to do in front of the King and everybody, gollum."

"Do you enjoy being called Gollum?"

"No," he said. "It makes me feel- lost."

"As it is not your name," said the King, "and you did not choose it, and as it is not against any law of Gondor to make unpleasant sounds, I will say that you are not to be called Gollum any longer. Will you put down your hood so that I may see your face?"

Though he would have given his remaining teeth to be able to become invisible again instead, Sméagol put down his hood as he was commanded. A soft gasp went up from the people nearest him.

"I see you wear the form I described."

"Yes, it's just as you said."

"Then, there is nothing more I can rightfully inflict on you that you have not already suffered, and nothing I can take from you that you have not already lost, except your life." For the first time, the King's voice softened somewhat. "And I will not put the destroyer of the Ring to death. I will not punish you. But ought I reward you, Sméagol?"

Sméagol was silent.

"Ought I reward you," said the King, "for destroying the Enemy's Ring? And before that, for guiding the Ring-bearer and his faithful servant to Mordor, so that the Ring could be destroyed? And before that, for taking the Ring to a place of secrecy and safety and guarding it with your life for centuries, so that it was never recovered by one who could use it to rule? If another had done these deeds, I would reward him richly and give him every honor I can bestow. But you are the thing that was called Gollum. You are a thief, a liar, and a murderer. Your reasons for doing these things were not noble. And yet you have saved us all. Should I reward you for it?"

Sméagol answered in a faraway tone. "No."

"You do not feel you have earned a reward?" said the King. "If I were to reward you, what would you ask?"

"Nothing," Sméagol said. "I cannot ask you for anything, not now."

"You once told me that your only desires were to be fed, watered, and given a place of safety to rest in. Is this still true?"

"Yes, I wants it," said Sméagol, feeling- and sounding- a bit faint. "But I cannot ask. No. I shouldn't ask."

The King paused a moment. Finally he said: "Here is my judgement. You will have comfortable living quarters here for as long as you choose to remain, and you will be provided with food and drink of the kind your body will tolerate, and you will enjoy the same protections as any other citizen of my rule: no one may harm you without consequence. You will not need to hide to ensure your safety. You are no longer a gangrel creature with no name: you are Sméagol, the Ring-bearer's guide. I will not confer any greater honor than that upon you, and neither will I shame you, for the name of Sméagol carries its own honor, and the name you will forever cry in your throat is one of deepest shame. I will not brand you as a killer, for you wear your own brand upon your face and form. Those who meet you must take you as they find you and judge you as they see fit. And now you may depart."

Sméagol sat there stupidly for a moment.

"You can go," said Aragorn. "I'm not going to make you tell me anything else."

Sméagol got up, standing carefully to his full height, and turned to leave. At once his webbed feet tangled up in each other and he pitched forward.

He landed on Sam's outflung arm, his fall arrested before he could hit the stone floor. "Here, careful!" the sturdy hobbit cried. 

Sam was lower to the ground than Faelon and much lighter of limb. He wasn't as easy to lean on. "Well," said Frodo, with an awkward half-laugh, "I never knew. Sam, he's a little taller than you are, I think."

"At the moment he is," said Sam. "I suppose I wouldn't want to crawl if everyone was watching me either."

"How many are here?" Sméagol whispered. "I can't see a thing, it's so bright!"

"Not as many as were here yesterday," Sam said with a trace of hesitation. "Nowhere near as many, I'd say."

"How many was there yessterday?!"

Something flew past Sméagol's face- a thrown object. He froze, crying out.

"It's a flower, it's for me or Sam," Frodo said in a rush. Raising his voice a little, he said: "Please don't toss these just now- it frightens Sméagol very much- thank you. We've got to get him outside, Sam."

"He's not moving so fast," said Sam. "I can't scoop him up and carry him off like those big Men do, or I would."

Sméagol tried to shuffle a little faster. Of course he could have dropped to all fours, if he was willing to crawl like an insect in front of the King's court.

It seemed to take an eternity before they were out in the hall. At once Sméagol let go of Sam, dragged himself to the side of the room using mostly his arms, and huddled against the wall with his face to the ground. The stone felt so nice and cool. 

"That must have been very difficult for you," said Frodo. "And you chose to do it." He sounded contemplative. "I'm proud of you, and- I hope the results are to your liking..."

Sméagol whined in his throat. He heard a Man's footsteps approaching, and pressed himself into the floor, shaking- after what he'd admitted to he might be torn limb from limb, hung from a tree, pelted with rocks until he died- he had forgotten for the moment that the King had said he was not to be harmed.

"Oh, it's your friend," said Sam, with some relief. "Here he is, sir, he doesn't seem to want to move."

"Sméagol?" That was Faelon's voice, near his ear- the Man must be crouching beside him. "I'm going to take you back to your room now."

"Yes, yes, take me back," said Sméagol. "I feel sick."

"Shall I carry you?"

"Yes, please," said Sméagol, and he began to sob- he had feared for a moment that Faelon would no longer be willing to touch him.

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