Why must things go this way? Why must old and dear friends have to part, and leave holes in their beings? My heart is aching. If ONLY there had never been such a thing as a ring. I wish I had never seen it or heard of it, never touched it or felt it in my heart, sinking it’s hooks deep into me, twisting the love of my friends into hooks and plunging them inside my heart, until it left me, and ripped me in two like a piece of cloth. There is an aching that will never leave me, and now my friends have become hooks as well, because of that ring. When I go – oh, I must go, I cannot stay, but I cannot leave my home! Yet those hooks will rend me again. Will there be anything left of me? I am torn, I am ripped, my heart is sore and cries out against me. I am wandering and hurting, I lie down to rest, and I must get up again. I walk in the woods, and I am restless and want to go home. I am home, and I must get out of the confining walls. There is no peace, no rest anywhere, anywhere! I MUST go with Gandalf, I must leave this place that has no rest. I must sail over the seas, must get away from the memories of that accursed ring! But – how? How can I leave my friends here, leave the paths and trees and homes I love so dearly? The very thought of leaving is blasphemous to me. This is my place, where I belong- …No, I don’t. I do not belong here. But I must! I must belong here, I was destined to belong here! …But I don’t. It cannot be! I want to stay here, the longing and desire is hot on my heart, the tears are wrenched from me at the thought of leaving. But I don’t belong here. There is nothing for me here. So I must go. I must, but I don’t want to. I don’t belong with elves any more than I belong here, and I am sad to the core of my being. Why does everyone have a place, a carved niche into which they fit perfectly; all, except me? Why must I be the only one to have nowhere? I am better off dead, it would seem. I do no good here. I am maimed, and aching with an ache that will not give me even a minutes respite. My whole body burns with feelings and wounds that will not heal. My heart aches. I am weary, I am restless, I am grieving. My body pulses with grief, there is no rest. My heart aches. My heart aches.
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.