Gollum.

The dark waters lie silent. No wind to ripple the surface, no current to move the waters underneath. This is the end. No way leads out, not even for the waters.

This is how it has been for years uncounted. The darkness, and the stillness of the forgotten places at the root of the world. Pale fishes swim, and eat, and die, and nothing ever change.

Nothing, until the sound of naked feet breaks the silence, flapping on bare rock. Soft flesh against hard stone. The waters stir, and ripples run across the still surface from one edge to the walls of the cavern, far across the other side. There they stop, and cannot go further. A voice hisses, and then it too becomes part of the dark. Part of the shadows of the forgotten.

Time does not pass here – no sun or stars to count the hours and the days. Pale fish swim, and the cool waters never change, but for to softly part around the keel of a little boat, and the paddle-like feet that moves it. A hiss so soft that the silence is no longer disturbed. The drip of water almost beyond hearing. Those feet, those pale hands, hardly disturb the surface of the lake, and the pale fishes swim, and eat, and die entwined in long, strong fingers. This is his end. No ways lead out for him. No memory will ever tempt him to try.

No wind ripples the surface, no current moves the water underneath. The dark waters lie silent, waiting for the day when the Shadow will stir.