They were rivals, and brothers, best friends, and worst enemies with a trove of shared experiences that allowed the lesser one to bear the brunt of always walking one step behind his friend. It was an unspoken arrangement, one lived in the sun, and the other settled to bask in the shadow.

Deagol's bright eyes glinted, and narrowed, as he peered at something glowing gold in the failing light of the sunset. A wry smile crossed the fair lips, and he lightly bowed with a flourish, and plucked the glow from the ground. He rolled the object between long fingers, and smirked at his friend, who stood, wide eyed and wondering, a few feet behind. "Ah, Smeagol..looks like the lady has chosen to grace me with but one more blessing. " He casually brushed the damp from his copper curls, and pompously flicked the droplets at Smeagol. Smeagol peered up at him with wounded eyes, as he wiped away the mud that had been dribbled on his face.

"And a fine present it is, wouldn't you say, my dear Smeagol?" He raised the ring, gloatingly. Smeagol did not reply, but stared at the ring, as if transfixed. It was a bueatiful ring, perfectly gold, and so luminous it looked as if it were forged from the fires of the sun itself. It seemed to have some hidden light that throbbed through its shimmering depths. Smeagol watched as Deagol flipped the ring in the air, the way he might flip a coin, and lurched forward in dismay, fearing that the ring would fall back into the river. Deagol turned to see the burning intensity of Smeagol's eyes, and his mouth twisted into a wry grin. "Is it that precious to you, Smeagol? It's a pity that the Lady chose me to have such a fine trinket, isn't it?" He reached forward to ruffled his fingers through Smeagol's bedraggled curls, and whispered, "You look as if you are quite taken by my ring." Smeagol looked as he had been stabbed. A flicker of agony fell hard on his face, and his eyes latched onto the ring. Sensations he could not begin to describe swam in his gut, raged across his fevered brain, howled from the bowels of his wounded soul. In his mind's eye, he could remember, Deagol prancing boldly to the river's shore, hands on his slim hips, and a cocky grin, as if he were a king approaching his throne. Deagol, laughing merrily, gracing the lasses with a bit of his light, and leaving them longing for more.. Deagol, with his bright eyes and fiery curls and grace, wounding him with some well placed slight, and chuckling over the agony. Deagol shining so bright he would rival the sun in all its glory, and gloating, as he kicked Smeagol into the shadows, again.

Smeagol found his voice, finally, and could not stop the pleading whine as he choked out, " Please..please..Give me that, Deagol, my love." He bowed his head, and cringed when Deagol turned his narrowed eyes towards him, with that cruel smile playing again on his lips. He sighed, theatrically, and shook his head as he dangled the ring on one finger just out of reach of Smeagol's groping hands. "Why?" He smirked, and batted his eyes, waited in sarcastic politeness, as Smeagol winced, and whispered, softly, "Because it's my birthday, and I want it." Deagol cocked his head to the side, and flipped the ring in the air. His silence was maddening, and Smeagol was trembling with some emotion he didn't understand. Deagol sighed, deeply, and shook his head, as he said the three words that broke Smeagol's heart in a way that no physical blow ever could. "I.don't ..care." Each word felt like a thunder clap going off, as Smeagol felt the full brunt of Deagol's dismissal. Deagol sighed in disgust, shook his head, and turned his back on Smeagol. He causally flipped the ring between his thumb and middle finger, the ring winking fire and stirring Smeagol's ire in a way that no hobbit lass could begin to rival. He stood, rooted to the ground, and watching Deagol slipping away into darkness. All the world was fading except the glint of gold in those hated hands. More images danced through his harassed mind Smeagol, the beloved, his name spoken with a smile, his family applauding him in rapt admiration, the lasses lavishing their charms on him, the world standing at attention of his greatness. Then, Deagol, being ignored, and fading into darkness, with tears in his eyes, and the shadows at his back. Deagol, standing alone at the edge, the hunger and lonliness lighting those bueatiful green eyes. Deagol, trailing Smeagol's form, and begging for his favor.Smeagol, standing over the mountain, with the gold ring on his hand, loved by all. "You really are a worm, Smeagol." Deagol's words cut through the fantasy and they evaporated, leaving Smeagol with a gloaming pain and rage that he had never quite felt in its full power until his friend spoke. "Oh, am I indeed?" Smeagol's voice was a dark hiss that was so cold and lanced with simmering hate that even Deagol turned to face him. Smeagol's face was calm, serenely so, with a slight twist of his mouth. He was standing erect, and was still, except for the trembling that set his frame quivering slightly. His eyes held a strange fire, and his face was set with resolve. " A worm, indeed." He grinned, his teeth glinting in the pearled light of the moon, and then, he put both hands on Deagol's shoulders, with firm hands and fingers digging into his flesh. Deagol stared at him, a sudden thread of terror flashing through his stomach, as he tried to step out of Smeagol's grip. "Easy, there, Friend. If you want the ring-" He saw nothing but white fingers arch, and hook into his throat, and then tighten. Deagol tried to cry out, and writhed under the iron band constricting his throat. He saw the shreds of sanity split in Smeagol's eyes, leaving only a dark void. Smeagol's claws dug into the flesh, and he could feel blood dribble down to the ground as he snarled and ground his hands into his cousin's throat. Deagol's eyes rolled, white and unseeing, as he latched onto Smeagol's wrists in a futile attempt to pull the hands from his throat. He shuddered, twisted, heaved. Smeagol grinned, and only ground his fingers into the neck harder. Blood began glinting from Deagol's throat, as he gagged, and choked. Smeagol, enraged, raised Deagol