Note: Thanks to all who gave advice on the accents!
Chapter Two: The Arrival
His voice flowed on, strong and clear, and Frodo found himself unable to move.
"My grandmother had bee quite ill," Sméagol said. His voice was that of a young person, a hobbit just out of his tweens, perhaps, though his remembrances were of long ago.
"Very ill indeed. We were all shocked, for she was quite a hearty person, having reached the age of one hundred and twenty-three without ever ailing more than a day or so at a time. At first her illness was mild – she complained of headaches and chills sometimes in the evenings, and insisted on magnificent fires. Then she would remain in bed until almost noon, saying that the room was spinning. My mother cared for her at first, but she had twenty children, fifteen younger than me. I was twenty-nine.
"My grandmother passed in and out of coherence. At times she was herself; at other times her fever rose and she was delirious. Yet I was the one she recognized with the most frequency, and so I was the one put in charge of her care.
"I moved a cot into her room, and stayed with her day and night. Though everyone in the smial helped with our meals and laundry, I was her constant aide and companion.
"Days passed into nights, and soon all time seemed the same. Even when she slept peacefully, I was anxious and wakeful. My grandmother was the head of our family. It was her permission that my sisters' suitors asked and her hand that rested in blessing upon the head of each newborn child. Without her, the smial fell into disarray. Dishes sat in the sink; children ran wild; rows broke out over breakfast and didn't end until after supper.
"One day I woke to my mother's hand shaking me. I leapt up, stumbling from my exhaustion. 'I'm sorry!' I cried. 'I shouldn't have fallen asleep, I – '
"She held up one hand to stop me. 'It's all right, Sméagol,' she said. 'You've been under so much strain lately.'
"'I haven't minded,' I protested, 'not at all, I – '
"'Sméagol!' I was silent. 'I understand. I don't blame you at all.'
"For the first time I noticed that she was not alone. Standing next to my mother was a hobbit whose age was hard to determine. Though his face was unlined and unmarked, his black hair was streaked with silver. The shade of his skin was that of a Fallohide, but the contours of his face belonged to a Stoor. He wore a pair of black breeches and his waistcoat was deep blue, embroidered with emerald threads. In one hand he carried a large willow basket. I looked at him with slumber-dazed eyes and he smiled.
"'This is Déagol,' my mother said. 'He's from the river's west bank, about ten miles down current. He's very knowledgeable about herbs and healing, and he's to help you take care of Grandmother.'
"'I can do it,' I protested feebly, but my aching limbs told me that the battle was over before it had even begun.
"Déagol held out one hand. 'Déagol, at your service.'
"'At yours and you family's,' I said, shaking his hand. His grasp was warm and confidently firm.
"A loud scream rang out from somewhere in the corridor. My mother rolled her eyes. 'Oh, there goes the baby again,' she sighed. 'Excuse me.'
"When she was gone, I turned to Déagol. 'Tell me what I can do,' I said.
"He looked over at my grandmother, who was asleep. 'I think,' he said slowly, 'that the best thing you can do for everyone is to go back to bed and sleep until you feel fully refreshed.'
"'No, I'm fine, I can help,' I said, ignoring my exhaustion and making one final attempt.
"'You need to sleep, Sméagol,' he insisted. He walked over to my cot and pulled back the coverlet. Surprised, I reluctantly climbed into bed and let him cover me back up.
"'Don't worry about anything,' were the last words I heard before I drifted off. 'Your grandmother is in good hands.'
"I remembered his strong yet warm grasp, and believed him."
