The rock hit the fat one with a crunch. He went down, cruelly on the hard stone. He didn’t care if that stupid hobbit ever rose again. He was through with him. His goal stood on the precipice, reflecting the fire of its making. The other one, the naive and trusting one had finally answered the Precious’ call, slipped it on his finger. Invisible, he thought he was, but not to one who had lived with the Precious for five life times. Always it called to him, spoke to him as it had at the first, never was it truly silent. The fat hobbit groaned in pain, raising its head. Calling pathetically, calling “Mr. Frodo” in vain.
Don’t care, must get the Precious back. Where did he go? Think you can escape, no, never! Footprints on the ground. There It is! The Precious is mine!
Those unseen hands grappled with him now, but he had latched on and would not let go. Where was the hand, the finger that held his life? Caught he was now, held firmly, that hobbit still struggled to hold on to the Precious. The Precious needs just one master. Me! Only one way to get it back. Teeth crunched through flesh, hot blood ran down his chin. This is for all the groveling, petting, stroking! Bones cracked beneath his lips. For all the baiting and name calling by the fat one. The punches and kicks and starvation. He pulled, sinews snapped. For all the pity I saw in those eyes every time you looked at me. Never asked for it, didn’t want it, your pity. The other one did, the weak one, but not me. The one who makes you scream in anguish.
It was free!
All the fire had gone out of the naive one’s eyes; he lay there, cradling his mutilated hand. Don’t care! I have it, my Precious! So long, so long since I’ve held you. Look how the Precious sparkles in the light. Complete, whole I feel now. You’ve returned to me!
“Precious, precious, precious.”
Victory! Look, the Precious in mine again! Mine! Do you see? Hatred in those eyes, no pity anymore, just seething hatred and lust for the Precious. He wants it back again. The hobbit can’t have it! No! Grab, fight, but I will not give you the Precious!
They were falling, fast, and could feel the heat bake the skin on their back. Didn’t care. They had the Precious! No more need of anyone, they could do as they pleased, yes, go where they wants to, take the Precious away, away from the stupid hobbits and those nasty orcs, even away from the great eye, keeps it all for us!
Lost feeling they did when the river of fire began to swallow us. Mustn’t let the Precious fall into the fire! Hold it high! That’s what the hobbits wanted all along, to destroy the Precious. No! Hold your hand higher!
I can’t! Higher! Smeagol can’t!
No sounds now, no nothing. Now only pain and Precious going back to the river, just like when the Precious found me. River to river.
The River. Deagol. Home. I wants those things again. Those things the Precious took away. I wants to taste bread, feel the wind. Mother! Wish I could hear her say my name one last…
We return to the forests again. Our hobbit friend has lost all faith and finds the true meaning of apathy by the end of this chapter. He is taken captive by a band of elves and one human. This chapter suggests that some of his past will be revealed soon.