The water was fresh and very cold, but Smeagol didn't mind. While his two friends fished, he dove down to the bottom of the river to explore the roots of an ancient willow tree. On his last trip down he had seen something white, wedged in-between two separate roots. Smeagol naturally became curious as to what this white object could be, so he dove down for the sixth time that day.

Holding his breath, Smeagol pulled himself further down until he reached the two roots. He grabbed hold of the object and began to pull. It was stuck tighter than he had guessed. He came back to the surface for air and then quickly dove back down. He tugged at the object again and this time it shifted. Smeagol could see that there were holes in it and that its shape was roundish. He continued to tug, but the object would not move, until all of a sudden it came loose and Smeagol brought it up to the surface.

It was a skull, the flesh had rotted and had been washed away long ago, but the skull remained and it had barely begun to disintegrate.

"Deagol, Ridigol come look, come look," cried out Smeagol after he had pulled himself up on shore. The two looked over and Ridigol stood up making the boat they were in rock dangerously.

"What is it?," she asked, leaning over. Deagol tried to call out a warning, but it was too late. The boat tipped and out fell Ridigol and the lunch that Deagol had packed.

"Let me see," she said, as soon as she had surfaced. Falling out of the boat hadn't bothered her in the least.

She swam over to Smeagol and Deagol rowed over once he had rescued the lunch (quite a soggy, sorry sight). The three of them stared at the skull for a long moment. Then Ridigol remarked that it was a very ugly skull, and the other two agreed by saying that it was.

It looked in fact, exceptionally ugly. The jaw bone stuck out a large distance and the eye sockets were enormously large. The head itself was very round and rather small, which made the skull look even uglier.

"I wonder who's head it was and if we knew him," said Ridigol. Her friends gave her a funny look.

"This skull is very old," explained Smeagol, " whoever's skull this was must have lived a very long time ago."

"So we never knew him?," Ridigol asked, looking disappointed.

"No, we never knew him."

"I don't think this skull belonged to a Hobbit Smea," said Deagol, "perhaps your grandmother would know."

"Yes, yes she would," Smeagol agreed.

The three friends got back into the boat and made there way back to the dwellings of their families. They soon reached the largest home, belonging to Smeagol's grandmother.

* * *

Before we go on, I think I'd had better explain Smeagol's grandmother's station. She was not only a grandmother to one family. She was The Grandmother. She was very wise and wealthy ( a very good combination), and she acted as a sort of matriarch to the community. I am not sure how she came about her wealth, but I do believe she became wise from her age and her dealings with men and elves.

River- hobbits were not shy of men, unlike the other types of hobbit, and dealt with them often. Through this, The Grandmother learned about the happenings of the world around her. She had connection to the elves through the decedents of Fallohides (another type of hobbit who prefers language and song and does not like rivers at all, but instead lived near Rivendell and the elves who dwelt there). These hobbits lived far enough from the river folk that it was rare for them to meet. In fact, The Grandmother had been the only one to talk with one in many years. When she had been young, she had traveled to Rivendell in search of adventure and had spent much time there learning history and legend. Though she did not know much, she knew a great deal more about the river- hobbit's history than anyone in her community.

When she came back to the Gladden river, she had a head full of knowledge. She got married and had a family and taught them what she knew. Her family soon became very well known and respected, and she was called upon by others in the community to give advice. The older she grew, the wiser she became and her place in the community grew. Even before Smeagol was born, she was considered the Grandmother of the river-hobbits.

* * *

Smeagol opened the door to the home and called inside.

"Grandmother, are you there?," he said. The wrinkly face of his fathers's mother appeared at from a doorway leading out into the front hall.

"Smeagol dear, come in," she said beckoning. The three young hobbits entered the front hall and then went into the grandmother's library.

The library was full of books that the grandmother had acquired during her time with the hobbits who lived near the elves at Rivendell. The room also had three comfy chairs and a fireplace that had a fishing rod laying across its mantel. It was a very cosy looking room.

Smeagol sat down in one of the chairs beside his grandmother and Ridigol settled in the other. Deagol sat on the floor leaning against one of the shelves. Then Smeagol showed his grandmother the skull.

She took it in her hands and examined it closely, turning it over and over. She frowned and shuddered. The other three remained very silent as if they were holding their breath. Finally the grandmother broke the silence.

"It's and orc's skull."

"Oh," said Ridigol knowingly, then she asked, "what's an orc?"

"It's a horrible creature," the grandmother said seriously, but then she smiled at Ridigol's foolishness.

"I believe that there are orcs living in the Misty Mountains. This skull is very old, but I believe that when he was alive this orc probably lived in the Mountains too. Orcs, are horrible creatures," grandmother said again.

"What do they look like?," asked Deagol.

"Well I've never seen one, but I suppose that their faces and bodies are contorted. They are dark and filthy and vile. Their hair, if they have any, would be matted from lack of washing."

"You mean they never take baths?," Ridigol asked, imagining what it would be like never to take a bath, "they must stink."

"They probably do," grandmother chuckled, then again grew serious, " they are cruel." There are stories of great armies being destroyed by the orcs. No matter how many the army would kill, there would always seem to be more. They must breed rather quickly, for their numbers are vast."

The room was silent for a moment as the three younger hobbits pondered this new information. Once again the silence was broken, but not by a voice. Instead it was a stomach's growl.

"I wonder if orcs are good to eat," joked Deagol, rubbing his stomach. They all laughed and Smeagol's grandmother invited them all to lunch. As they headed toward the kitchen Smeagol took another glance at the skull, sitting ominously on a chair.