Do you remember, cousin, how we used to play and swim in the river? I do. We used to while away the lazy hours on that warm, sun-dappled bank. There was a veil of willow branches dangling down, touching the rippling water. They were long, and so very strong- we could swing from them into the river. The roots of the tree were deep in the ground. The river had eroded away some of the bank so the roots were in the water, creating little nooks and crannies that we had to be careful not to get caught on when we swam. There were flowering reeds all around. It was our secret place. No one else knew where that was, and what occurred there, other than you and me.
We used to hide from troublesome relations that wouldn't leave us alone. Remember how one of our aunts was searching for us, because you had put a frog in her daughter's bed, and the blame had fallen on me as well for providing you with the frog? She was charging after us like a raging bull, but she couldn't find us- you were up the tree, and I was in the reeds. We got in huge trouble when we got home, but it didn't matter to me as much as it would have if it had only been me punished.
Did you know you were my best friend then? I didn't think I deserved such a loyal companion as you. Because you were younger than me, I had thought you a pest at first. You always toddled after me, even when you had first learned to walk. We became known as one person, not two, to my (at first) great annoyance and resentment. But you got older, and my feelings melted away when I got older too, and discovered that age has no meaning between friends.
I can't begin to describe to you how much I miss you. It's all because of that Ring- that cursed Ring! Why was it that it came to me? I don't want it!
And yet- I do. I don't understand how it is I can utterly loathe something and feel compelled to have it as my own at the same time. I feel so torn, so ravaged by that thin band of gold; it would look lovely on my finger… No! I mustn't think of that. I made a promise not to take it for my own, and I have to try to keep holding on. I promised.
I'm so tired. I feel as if I will never be able to stop walking. Where am I going? For what purpose? How will I get there? All of this has been whirling around in my mind since I left you. And I'm sorry I left. I'm sorry for what I did. I didn't mean to do it, dearest cousin. I don't know when I'll see you again. It hurts, it does, to be apart from you and to know that I caused this. I am the reason I may never see you again.
I miss you, cousin.
Frodo awoke to an eerie silence. Not a bird or any sort of creature was to be found in these dank, dreary marshes, aside from Sam, Gollum, and himself. A queer, quiet sort of mist hung like a veil over the land. Now and again the slightest breath of unseen wind caused the dry grasses and reeds to rustle and brought a smell of rotting things to Frodo's nose. Sam lay nearby, breathing slowly with his eyes shut tight.
But there was something else- a soft snuffling sound. Frodo sat up unobtrusively and looked around to find its source. He saw nothing in the misty gloom but the marshes. Then he heard it again- and spotted where it came from.
It was Gollum, the wretched creature. He was lying on his side, facing Frodo, his closed eyes looking strangely dampened. He appeared to be whispering and muttering to himself, his colorless lips forming barely-audible words. Frodo leaned closer in an attempt to hear. When he did snatch a fragment of Gollum's utterances, his words chilled him straight to the bone.
"I miss you, cousin. Deagol."