Smeagol scanned the riverbank as he walked towards his home, and finally his gaze settled on the stretch of river where, on that fateful day, many years ago now, Deagol had found that ring.

He remembers it as if it was only yesterday. The horrid pull of the ring that almost made him do something for which he would never have forgiven himself. He had felt murder in his heart that day but love for his friend had won through.

He still wished that ring for his own, but it was because he wishes to shoulder some of the burden that now weighed heavy on the poor soul who was once like his brother. Deagol now cowered in the shadows and spoke to the ring as if it were his only friend (his precious), shunning all other contact, in case they wish to steal it from him.

What would have become of me if I had listened to those urges on that day, thought Smeagol. Would have I been able to resist the seduction of trinket or would I have floated in an ever tightening spiral towards oblivion, caring for no one and nothing, but a small band of gold?