It seemed like it was yesteryear when he was in that comfortable armchair in Bag End, smoking a fragrant Old Toby, drinking a cup of tea, reading his favorite book.  Frodo thought that it seemed like such a long time ago that it seemed like a far off spring of another year.  He thought about the fields and rivers of the Shire, his favorite tree, the pale ale at the Green Dragon.  Would he ever get back to that comfortable lifestyle?

Though they were in trackless paths of Ithilien, he still felt that these thoughts were suffocating him, but that pain was not as keen as the feeling of being alone on his way to attempt the most hopeless Quest. Yes, he had Sam besides him but he had left all that he loved behind, and he felt terrible that he left them without any warning.  And to see what had happened to Boromir. His heart pained from the recollection of his madness.  Will they ever forgive him?

“Time for another go, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam gently, breaking into his dark thoughts.

He tried to force a smile, but the burden of guilt was strong. He tried to remember his carefree times as the owner of Bag End, but reminiscing was hard, the memories were fading as quickly as his strength to endure.

Would he ever make it to remember the good of the world again? Would it ever be the same if he ever did?

The cool metal of Ring bore down on him, a constant reminder of what was at stake, how dangerous his position had increasingly become.

Wordlessly, Sam supported Frodo for another trek, murmuring random thoughts about the weather and such.  Gollum was several steps ahead, as they went closer into the hidden path into Mordor.