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Little Sparrow

Chapter VII: Into Anorien

For a while she could hear the host of riders, a faint rumble carried on the wind, but soon it stilled as the distance between them grew too vast. She was alone once more. Luin's coat was cool as she placed a hand against it, feeling the steady beat of a heart beneath, and to some extent she felt soothed. Rell had enjoyed the company, despite the reason for their encounter; but it had been brief, and the road called once more.

When Rell finally looked back, she was then standing on the brink of a tall cliff, bare and bleak, and beyond rose the broken highlands crowned with drifting clouds. Far to the northeast, over shapeless lands, she saw a sickly green turning sullen brown and the rock-lands were wrapped in mist. Further still, a dark line against the morning, there she saw the contoured ridges of Emyn Muil. A foul and rancid smell was in the air, though she felt it was likely just her imagination.

Thickets of trees grew dense around the range of hills, but on the path she was to take there was nothing but open grasslands; further than the eye could see, and her journey appeared simple. All too simple; hunting the elusive creature had never brought them far out into the open, yet here she stood. On the hill, overlooking a great and vast expanse with little way to hide – why should this being of darkness and evil stray from its path? The river Anduin plunged between towering cliffs, and the rapids violent so that no man could pass by foot or by boat. The lake of Nen Hithoel was long and deep. A clever waterman would without trouble give the hunting Ranger the slip.

Rell gnawed at her bottom lip, frustration clear in her stomach at her new predicament.

A wise rider would follow her path without a doubt. But not a hunter tracking a prey – for he went where his prey stepped.

"Wrong," she groaned and burrowed her face in Luin's mane. "All is just so very wrong."

Hopelessness crept into her darkening mind, whispering voices of disappointment and failure growing increasingly loud; perhaps she should not have left the Angle, but stayed as her uncle commanded. He had been right; her training was far from finished, and in what possible way could she ever imagine tracking the chieftain of the Rangers down? It had been a fool's errand from the start. But only now did she admit it, and much too late to return without consequence for her disobedient actions. How very late was the hour of clear thought.

Surely her uncle, with a horse or without, could find safe footing through the marshlands and rocky outcrops of Emyn Muil and Sarn Gebir to the north; he would never come this far out onto the open plains where she now was. Her path was quicker, easier, but pointless when compared to her purpose, and as such a new course had to be made. If Rell was to return north-bound, to the banks of the Anduin, she could possibly find tracks in the soft ground by the waters; but how far would her setback become by doing so?

Would she even find any trails?

Rell pulled at the reins, steadily guiding Luin down the slope. Again, as if taking shape to mock her sullen mood, the weather turned clear and bright. With the sun in her eyes, warm in the chilling breeze, she allowed her horse to steer with little control as her mind worked quickly through disarrayed thoughts.

Beyond all else, what troubled her the most was the fear of the ever-changing weather – as tracking through wetlands was difficult as is, but finding anything of use when rain and overflowing rivers intervened as well? Without much need for self-deprecation, she already knew her strongest point did not lie with her skills in hunting.

Far from it. Again, the task she had appointed herself seemed much too great. Leaning down in the saddle, burrowing her face in the soft mane, Rell gave a sigh. Without much guidance, the Ranger sent out a prayer, hoping one of the Valar would show pity and reveal the path for her to take.

Rell took a sip of water, now attempting to guess the distances around her and decide what way she ought to take. Until then there was not much else to do than listen to her gut – albeit with scepticism – following the top of a long hilltop and with the dark rocks of Emyn Muil clear in the distance before them.

Rell had gone some miles, and at last the long slope ran down into the plain.

She urged Luin into a quicker pace, now bolting across the grasslands with haste. The wind was in her face, cool, and her eyelids fluttered shut for only a moment. How tired she felt. Wounds and body aching, and her mind likewise. For a long moment she carried on like that, heedless of her surroundings as too many thoughts cluttered her mind.

A shadow flashed by, and the Ranger looked up to see a large black form circle above; drawing her horse to a halt, the bird – for it was a bird, although much greater in shape and size than any Rell had before seen – twisted twice more. Then it bent east-bound, vanishing against the light of the sun as a black mark that soon faded.

"May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks!" Rell exclaimed, feeling tears of relief spring forth in her eyes at the sight. With a sleeve, she quickly wiped away the wetness and smiled. The messenger of Manwë, the Great Eagle, rekindled the otherwise extinguished hope in her heart and she saw it as a sign from beings far beyond the heavens. A beacon to show her the way.

Who had sent it, or if it had merely passed by chance, she knew not; but it mattered little.

Perhaps she had not been so wrong to listen to the Marshal of the Riddermark. Aragorn was a greater and more clever hunter than she, and his trails would be hidden from her sight; but if by riding further than his path, she could then meet him on the road ahead? Rell could wait for him beyond Nindalf, where the river divided the lands of Anórien and Ithilien; in the long shadow of Ephel Dúath, which surely the unusual creature was heading towards. Evil sought out other evils.

For a short while she laughed, unable to resist, more than anything at her indecisive mind that caused so much trouble. Changing opinions as often as the wind, blowing first from the north and then from the south. Irresolute and uncertain, yet always strong in its course; to suddenly grow fickle and change in an instant. "Those that wait with patience shall be rewarded," she mumbled beneath her breath. "–and the impatient will stumble and fall. Come, Luin, to the East we will go! And do not allow me to change my mind any further than this, or you may throw me from the saddle!"

It was but a day's ride before Rell saw the shimmering waters of the Entwash in the distance before her. As if by luck, they came to a shallow part of the river, studded with broad, flat stones, and she approached the muddy bank. Beech and willow grew dense, great and long branches reaching down over the soft-churning surface; fingers greedily grasping for silver, and they proved a good place for shelter to the Ranger. Rell dismounted, looking around with wariness – she could hide, but so could her enemies if any were afoot.

The river flowed by sluggishly, chuckling, and there was a peace to the lands. On the opposite bank she saw tall reeds and boulders, but further still the grasslands continued. Then she led Luin to the waters and allowed the horse to drink. Rell found a large and even stone, half-way into the waters, where she sat down; drawing the bow from her back, slipping off her coarse tunic so she sat but in an undershirt, she studied the wound on her arm.

The bleeding had stopped, leaving dark-black patches soaked into the linen, and as she peeled it off she found the cut to be healing nicely. It was still red and swollen, but there appeared to be no infection or pus. Rell cleaned the wound, ignoring the sting, and quickly redressed it with fresh bandages from her satchel. Proceeding to then wash her face and arms, finding some strength renewed, and putting her clothes out to dry, the Ranger could not help but splash about in the waters. The Autumn sun was warm still, and the clear skies were much welcome as her mood turned from sullen to light.

Allowing Luin a well-deserved rest, Rell trudged along the riverbank. Her feet slushed through the mud, but often she jumped from stone to stone when able, and soon she came across thickets of wild berries. And while she sat in the shade, picking sour gooseberries, the world seemed – perhaps only briefly – less grim to her. Many times Rell had dreamt of heading out into the wild, to explore a world so foreign to her, and finally the Valar had given her reason to.

Her uncle would have her hide for her actions, that she knew, but surely it was well worth it.

A crow settled in the beech tree above her, letting out hoarse caws as it tripped from branch to branch; beady-eyed, head twisting from side to side as it observed her, it then startled into flight again. The Ranger, disturbed by the sight, filled her pockets with berries before walking back to her horse. Here, Rell filled her waterskin with fresh water, and found an empty leather-bag for the gooseberries; she did not dress fully, for the clothes were still wet and instead she slung them across the saddle. Rell took off her boots and hung them in a strap next to her shirt.

Then she pulled Luin with her into the river.

The water was cold, and it flowed more swiftly than Rell had first hoped. The currents tugged at her calves as her bare feet sank into the frigid river-mud. Yet the Entwash was shallow, at least, which was a little comfort against the melted snow-waters from Methedras. She took twenty steps before the river reached her knees, and the next paces became increasingly laborious while she scouted for safe footing between jagged and hidden rocks.

She took another step, and another. They were almost in the midstream now; the far bank was drawing closer, though she found it to be far away still in her exertion. Where water ended and land began. Luin followed faithfully by her side, providing some measure of support, but the waters were murky and dangerous if Rell did not lead the way. Sand gave way beneath her feet, and often she slipped and struggled. Other times she found smooth and solid stone, equally hard to step, but finally she felt shallow-water weeds between her toes; setting her jaw agains the cold, Rell drew herself through the river and onto the bank.

Here she collapsed.

Shivering, wet and bone-chillingly cold, Rell was with little strength left. Lying on the stones, between bulrushes and reeds, her eyes fluttered shut. Her breathing heavy, little more than gasps for air, as she clasped her arms around her body in an attempt to find heat. But the sun was out, and soon her clothes changed from soggy to damp, and the Ranger could redress. Draping the cloak close, warmth enveloped her; she drew into the saddle and began following the river's path as it ran east.

It was an easy ride, and it would continue for another twenty miles until the river spilled into the delta. The marshes would here force her a little further south, but then Rell would cross the border of Rohan. Leaving the land of horselords, instead entering the South Kingdom of the Númenóreans. Wondering if perhaps she would come close enough to the city of Minas Tirith; to see the white walls, clear in the haze of Ered Nimrais, beyond the fields of the Pelennor. It was but a city of stories to her, read in safety and comfort back in Rivendell.

The high seat of her ancestors.

But for now she kept the sluggish river to her left, and the green and open fields to her right. While riding, she came upon a beaten way, following the currents with every bent and twist; up and down in the green country. There were no clouds overhead, and it felt hot for the season of the year. But all about her were signs of changing, from Autumn to Winter, as green blended with yellow, red, and orange. Where Eriador was blessed with long summers and mild winters, however, the closer one drew towards the mountains and the sea the rougher the weather turned; if Rell did not find her uncle soon, rain and snow would meet her.

The river wound its way through the landscape, and many small waterfowls pipped between the reeds; often they would duck below the surface when Rell came too close. Coots, marble-white beaks and black feathers, slipped between the reeds for protection; a heron stood still, waiting, hunting for frogs in the muddy waters by the bank. For a while she observed a paddling of golden-eyed ducks; and they, too, kept a close watch on her but they were not yet startled. The Ranger gave them little reason to fear her.

They were out in the deeper part of the river, and even if she shot and killed one it would merely be swept away by the currents.

A life would be lost for no good reason. So, instead, Rell waited and watched. If the ducks came to shallow waters her supper for the next couple of days would be set.

It was now past midday, and the air heavy and warm. The sun was painting the hill-lands in the fire of Autumn; the muddy ground beneath her horse was slowly turning to rock, and, looking ahead, she saw craggy cliffs spreading on both sides of the river. The slope began a descent, making the waters roar to life. White foam rolled in waves, lapping against the riverbank and great boulders, but the path veered off.

Rather than venture through the jagged rock-lands, Rell followed the dust-trail. Now skirting the cliffs, casting long shadows over the ground, a rancid smell wove into the air. Rell pulled a face, nose crinkled into a frown, though took it as a sign she was swift approaching the river delta and the marshes of Nindalf. half an hour passed before the rocks thinned, revealing the river once more; albeit it had now split into many smaller, but equally rapid, currents over an open stretch of land. Wide fens and mires now lay, stretching away northward and eastward.

It was but the beginning of the delta, and tufts of grass and trees still grew there. But the ground was less stony and more earthy, and slowly its sides dwindled to mere banks. Peering to the far north, silver threads spread throughout the plains and further still than she could see. Resting for a moment, keeping Luin from descending the hill, Rell was glad. Crossing the many small streams would have cost her precious time, and by going around she would now likely had gone ahead of her uncle.

The stream gurgled. Dry reeds hissed and rattled though she could feel no wind.

But then she spurred her horse forward, setting a slowed pace. Rell never strayed far from the Mouths of Entwash; passing through thickets of dark-leaved trees, climbing steep banks crowned with old cedars. Gentle slopes ran down into the dim hazes below. Rocky walls were starred with primeroles and lily-flowers. Besides the river grew deep green grass, and falling streams halted in cool hollows. Flowers of many colours; blue, or red, or pale green.

Rell followed the stream, and it went downhill quickly before her.

And as such, the Ranger carried on through the day and further still. In a hook on her saddle hung two ducks, and Rell's quiver was some arrows shorter. Light waned and dusk was settling, so she looked about for a hiding-place where she could shelter from evil eyes. As soon as the land faded into a formless grey under coming night, Rell decided on a small dell; her view was clear out over the river, and rocks stood tall against her back.

With the cloak drawn close around her, no fire was lit that night, and she ate the last berries from her satchel.

Then she slept.

Far she rode, without meeting neither beast nor man in her path through the Eastfold, and the journey was solitary. While Rell often only came by narrow paths among the folded lands, rocks and crevices, she managed to set a swift pace most of the time. But despite the haste with which she traveled, it seemed to her that they were creeping forward like snails. Getting nowhere. Each day the land looked much the same as it had the day before. Yet, if she looked around with keener eyes, the green grass grew dull and dry beneath Luin's hoofs, and more often than not she passed wider lands with bleak hills.

Tumbling away to her left, there were valleys filled with murky waters and fens; few and winding paths led into the marshlands, but Rell drew her horse away and stayed upon the open plains whenever possible. When she climbed rocky hills she was often led only to the edge of some sheer fall, or down into treacherous swamps. Going back and forward, attempting to steer southeast and away from the Mouths of the Entwash, Rell came to a second river two days after crossing Onodló. It was but a stream, flat and sleepy waters running through the grass, and it appeared shallow.

She drank from its waters; finding it cold and clear, fresh from the mountains far to the south, but soon she was on her way again. And so, heart thumping in anticipation, Rell crossed the border into Gondor. Night came, swiftly followed by morning. Days passed. Rell ate cold and cheerless meals, for she could seldom risk the lighting of a fire even though she passed through friendly lands. On the fifth day after crossing the Mering Stream, the Ranger reached a low ridge crowned with ancient holly-trees, with grey-green trunks that seemed to have been built out of the very stone of the hills.

Their dark leaves shone and their berries glowed red in the light of the setting sun. But Rell turned her gaze further towards the horizon, for away to the south she could now see the dim shapes of lofty mountains. They were drawing nearer. Their tooth-like tips dipped with snow, but otherwise they were bare and bleak; largely cloaked in shadow, but where the last sunlight slanted upon the peaks, they glowed red. Long darkness stretched over the lands, smothering the last light and soon only the moon, dim between the clouds, looked down upon her.

Rell left Luin for a while in the hollow between the trees, now scouting the area before settling for the night. Bow and arrow ready in her grasp. There was no wind, and dead silence was around her. The only sounds came from her own Ranger's feet against the ground, muffled by leaves and fern, and around them there were but trees and flatlands. With a frown, she knew another night without a fire was ahead.

She returned to her horse.

In the hours of darkness the air became cold and clammy for a great mist crawled across the lands; brewed in the marshes to the north, and soon the world around her was cast in grey. A smell of rot filled her nose, and she burrowed her face between her knees; only dark eyes peered out, ears trained for any sound foreign to the Ranger. An owl hooted from the thicket of trees, long and solitary cries, but she also heard eerie noises in the darkness. The wind in the cracks of the rocky wall, or wild howls of laughter. But Luin stood by her side, with a quiet calm, and the tautness in her shoulders waned at the sight.

Rell gazed wearily ahead though saw nothing, but finally slept a little that night.

How she missed company on the road.

The full light of morning roused her from sleep, and a surprise met her. While her eyes had been transfixed on the mountains, now, with the lifting of the mists, the Great River became visible in the far distance. Dense trees, growing strong on the banks of the Anduin, followed the horizon as a line of dark green. It was an unexpected sight, for Rell believed the river still to be far away – two, perhaps three, days on the road – and now a choice was before her again. Something she had put off previously, hoping a plan would form on its own.

She looked to Luin, brushing a hand flat across the horse's muzzle, before asking. "What do you think? South?" With her free hand Rell pointed to the mountains; further, where they would find Minas Tirith and the crossings at Osgiliath. "Or North?" Through Northern Ithilien, skirting the Mountains of Shadow at a safe distance, until she could set up camp near the marshes. It all came down to a question of whether her uncle had gone one way or another at the Falls of Rauros. The right choice would lead Rell straight to him. At least, that was what she hoped.

However, Rell did not think much upon the wrong choice.

Picking up a small, flat pebble, turning it over in her hand – one side covered in moss, the other not – she paused. "What do you think, Luin? Moss for North?" Without waiting for a reply that would not come, she then tossed the stone high into the air and watched it. With a clack it hit the rocks, skipped up and down; once, twice, thrice; before rolling off the edge of the ridge. Her face fell. Luin let out a gentle, high-pitched neigh, throwing its head back as if in laughter, and Rell leveled a look at the horse. "You find this amusing?"

She could not help but smile.

Then, instead, Rell called upon all the knowledge she had been taught, reproachful at herself for never paying more attention; every little memory or story Aragorn had told her in the warm light of a fire whirled through her mind. With blankets drawn up to her ears, and small legs dangling back and forth over the edge of a stone bench. The wisdom he had tried to impart on her, where she rather wished to slay dragons or go into the wild unknown. "It is a roundabout way to go south," Rell muttered, eyes closed as if to recall maps spread out flat on a table in Rivendell. "There is no way into Mordor from there. Except, of course, for the Morannon, but that would only be reached by going north again. And the road is long and perilous."

A shiver ran down her spine at the dreadful thought, and she was not much too keen to stand in the shadow of the Black Gate. But perhaps the Ranger never needed to go that far north, and instead wait by the edges of the marshlands. If the elusive creature did enter the Lands of Shadow, surely it would then be lost to her either way. Her uncle would have to pass through the marshlands at some point; be it from the green lands of Ithilien or Emyn Muil. Rell let out a groan, swining into the saddle.

She much preferred when others made the choice for her!

Luin sprang down the slope, bolting over meads of withered grass amidst a land of fen and tussocks. There was no eagerness to be found in her mind; much too content with how things had been previously, where decisions were still many days ahead. She let her horse set the pace, and the way. Now everything felt so sudden. The crossroads before her made her heart heavy and torn, indecisive to her own path.

But now she had reached the hour upon which she had to choose.

No one would make the choice for her. In the end she decided upon the fastest road.

Upon her left the land was treeless, but also flat, and still in many places green. But on her other side, the dark edge of a forest appeared in the daylight. Growing at the foothills of the mountains, and still so far away it was but a dark line against the red-tinted mountains. The Drúadan Forest was believed, by both the people of Gondor and Rohan, to be haunted. While Rell felt no fear at the thought of ghosts, although it was likely something else that haunted the pinewood forest, she saw no reason to upset ancient beasts or creatures. So she veered North, making sure her path never brought her close to the outskirts of trees.

The cold dawn had soon passed, and warm winds brushed across the lands. A light kindled in the sky, a blaze of yellow fire that grew with the passing hours. Golden tendrils wove between puffy clouds, now drifting lazily over blue skies, and Rell almost forgot she had passed into the waning season of Autumn. Throughout the day she rode, when finally she saw the first signs of settlements. The dull and dry plains gave way to fair and fertile townlands, on long slopes and terraces and wide flats falling to the deep levels of the Anduin.

Mostly she came by lone farmsteads; fenced in by fields of golden corn, or with flocks of sheep running away, bleating as she rode by. People paused mid-work to watch, but their faces were grim and molded with concern, and no word was passed between farmer and Ranger. No one disturbed her despite all could see, even from a great distance, that it was a stranger passing through. Those, that worked in the fields, straightened their backs for a while and watched with curiosity, but then they soon carried on with their daily lives. When looking closer, she found that most men carried arms.

She spent a rainful night with a farmer and his wife, kind enough to provide shelter to a stranger that stood drenched and cold in the doorway. In return Rell shared the ducks with them – she feared there would be no chance to light any fires once she crossed into Ithilien. There were too many enemies in the hills and forests, and a flame in the dark was all but screaming for a raid in the night. She traded the second bird for a bit of bread and cheese, and a skin of milk.

In the morning light she set out again.

Every now and again she passed small hamlets, encircled by a stockade of wood or thorn. Well-tended fields of barley, or farmlands plowed and harrowed but left unsown for the season. Rell kept a pace that was neither fast nor slow, and many miles lay behind her. The clash with the Dunlendings and her meeting the horse masters of Rohan were now in the past; briefly she wondered if the Marshal had unveiled a betrayal by the hands of a wizard, or if something else was afoot. But soon her mind fell to other things.

While keeping as close to the river as possible, avoiding groves of trees and mudbanks that would slow her down, a day later Rell came upon a well-trod road. There was no danger of the path being made by enemies, for the realm of Gondor was still well protected on this side of the river, and so she followed it without worry. As expected, Rell soon after came to a village. Nestled on the hillside with windows looking east, the houses were made of burnt clay and wood. The roofs were thatched, but where the horselords of Rohan used grass they here used straws, yellow and dry; many people, men and women, were milling about, and Rell approached with little haste.

She removed her hood.

The unmistakable feeling of eyes upon her back followed her through the village. They stopped, watched, but soon went back to their own dealings. Meddling in the affairs of a stranger was often not worth the trouble; and at times asking questions could give unwanted results. Rell kept her head down, gaze transfixed on the road, as her fingers tightly gripped the reins. Such looks were familiar to her.

But when she came to the outskirts of the village, she drew Luin to a halt as her mouth twisted into a thin, white line. Looking around, finding those around her eager to avoid her gaze, Rell saw a young boy staring back unperturbed; head held high, and a proudness in his grey eyes, he sat astride on a fence. Arms crossed. "What do you want, and where do you come from?" He asked gruffly.

Rell cocked an eyebrow at his tone. "I am journeying east," she said, "Tell me, does this road lead to Cair Andros?"

"We don't often see strangers riding on this road," he went on, apparently much forgetting her question – or caring nothing for it. "You'll pardon my wondering what business takes you away to the East! What, might I ask, is your purpose?" With little patience, allowing a sigh to escape her lips, she did not like the tone of his voice that spoke much of his impertinence. The eyes were curious, without malice, but there was little reason for such obvious interest. Rell excused his behaviour as boyish acts of boredom.

"I shall ask again, and with an answer or not I will be on my way again! Is this the road to the river-island of Cair Andros?"

For a long moment he watched her. He gave a nod. "Aye, it is. You keep to the road until it splits, then you follow the north-way."

Despite the first impressions Rell gave thanks for the help, wished the boy a good day, and they said no more. She rode forward, passing a few detached houses until finally leaving the village behind, all the while feeling the boy's gaze following her until she was out of sight.

A few birds were piping and wailing in the fields, and along the way several other, small roads joined the one she was on. Likely leading to other villages and settlements. The next stage of her journey was much the same as the last, although Rell no longer found herself traveling alone; many a time the Ranger passed ox-drawn carts and wagons, pack-mules bringing provisions to and fro the island she knew to be ahead, or groups of armed riders. A courier galloped by in the opposite direction with great haste, leaving behind a cloud of dust that took long to settle.

The eastern sky was dimming, and the first signs of night could be seen on the horizon.

When the road met the river, Rell drew Luin to a halt; out on the shimmering surface, wide and grey, she saw a large island. Long. Narrow. The swift currents of the Anduin broke against sharp rocks, churning the water into white bubbling foam. Trees grew dense and covered most of the land, but at one point in the times of old there had been raised tall stone-fortifications. It was here that a bridge spanned the rapids, and dark stone-blocks and wooden boards led from one bank to the other. The ford was used mostly by Gondor and its armies.

There were only few safe crossings – and no other in this region. The closest fords were the Undeeps in Rohan far across the border, and the bridge of Osgiliath to the south. Now Rell just hoped they would allow her passage. Luin's hoofs sounded hollow against the planks, and a swift wind picked at her hair and clothes when they came into the open. Cold droplets of water sprayed against her cheek. A great gate was ahead, fencing in several buildings made of stone; what looked to be barracks and a three-winged keep, and much noise welled up to meet Rell upon her approach. Banners fluttered on the battlement; a white tree crowned with stars, stark against a dark background.

Rell noted how there was no crown above the tree.

Many men in bright mail sat in the shadow beneath the gate, playing cards and sipping ale from a great barrel, and one sprang at once to his feet. The way was barred to her, but no sword was yet drawn from its sheath though his eyes rested on her weapons. "Stay, stranger here unknown!" He cried, attempting to fix his crumbled tabard over his armor. There was wonder in his eyes but little friendliness; Rell held up a hand in greeting, the other still tugging at the reins to slow Luin to a halt. Her eyebrow raised in mild interest.

"Good day," she smiled. "I came from Rohan, and before that from the north. Now I am to go to Ithilien, for such is my journey, and I much hoped to cross here. Rather than my horse and I both risk drowing at one of the smaller crossings!" With that, she watched the guard expectantly and waited for a reply. At first he glanced at her with a look of disbelief, eyes flickering past her to see if she was truly alone, and then he turned to his companions as if to seek assistance. "I am merely passing through," Rell added in an attempt to be helpful, "And I am certainly no spy!"

"Are you travelling alone?" He asked with hesitation.

"Yes," she said.

Her answer, short but truthful, made the guard falter once more. Rell waited. "What is your purpose?"

"To pass into Ithilien."

Rell saw his jaw tighten, and she schooled her features to avoid laughing outright. "Yes, you have stated as much. Why do you have reason to pass the crossings?" For a moment she remained quiet, considering her next words with care for there was little reason to disclose the truth to her purpose. But neither would a vague answer be allowed; she could not imagine that they so easily let any – stranger or not – walk freely through their northern regions, bordering so very close to the Dark Land. Here, always, a shadow hung ever long over Gondor.

"It is the fastest way," she finally said, glancing past the man. "I am visiting distant kin in Esgaroth, and the straight way through Rhovanion is much the simplest and swiftest to take." With one look at the guard's face it was clear that he believed very little of her words; there was no fast path, at least not so far to the east, unless one planned to ride in the shadow of the mountains. Clear in the eyes of the watchful enemy. "My horse is swift, and I am well armed!"

Her gloved hand drew the sword into view, and again Luin tripped restlessly beneath her. Dancing over the boards with hollow clacks.

But the guard told her to wait, stepped back to his awaiting comrades, and here they started a longer discussion with heads bowed together. The Ranger could do nothing more but wait, wait and pray. There were but two outcomes. One would send her back, and the way north would be barred to her; forcing her fifty miles south to pass through the old capital of Gondor, not long ago reclaimed from the clutches of orcs. But perhaps her weak lie was accepted, and Rell could without trouble then continue her journey northward. Into the marshes without further delay.

The warm sun burned down upon her head, and a sheen coated her forehead and neck. The air was stifling in her throat, ashen gales brought down across the tall ridges encircling the dead plains of Mordor. At that moment the guard came again, watched her beneath his helmet, before finally speaking his judgement. "You may pass, although it is a fool's errand to attempt crossing Dagorlad alone. We may be in control of the lands of Ithilien and only with a large number of men, though neither does it give promise that no enemies of Men will be found ahead." He stepped aside. "I have done and said what I could, but we have deemed the choice in the end to be your own. Expect no more than death in your travels forward."

Slowly and with her head bowed in silent farewell, Rell spurred Luin into motion and so she passed the gate.

The ground below gave way to cobbled stone laid out in the square, and great clangs from a smithy's hammer reverberated between the walls. She saw bowmen on the battlements, watching the distance with keen eyes while leaning against the breastwork, but otherwise the fortification appeared quiet. Only few were idly at work. Horses, coats glistening with sweat, stood steaming as two men attended to them. Their green cloaks were tattered, dark patches of dirt and blood clearly visible, and they returned her gaze evenly.

Their faces looked grim.

When she came to the second gate, the guards did nothing to halt the lone Ranger; their inquisitive eyes were on her, but no words were exchanged. Rell crossed the bridge, and soon the roaring waters of the Anduin faded behind her until silence was about her. The isle of Cair Andros vanished soon from view. And in the hours before sunset, a fair country of climbing woods and swift-falling streams enclosed her on the path. The road wound between rock and tree, but soon it dwindled to a dust-path little used. Rell kept to it still, for as long as she was able, and it guided her by the fastest way through the ever-growing woodlands of beech and oak.

The path had been made in a long-lost time when the fate of the world appeared so different than the bleakness of the Third Age, but the untamed wilds encroached upon it now; the handiwork of Men of old could still be seen in its straight sure flight and level course. Now and again it cut its way through hillside slopes, or leaped over a chuckling stream. Rell found respite in the shade cast by the trees as Autumn had little claim over the lands of Ithilien, and flowers bloomed still fair and bright in the grass. Sages of many kinds put forth blue and red flowers, and herbs peered out between roots. Moss and weeds crawled over the ridges, following the road, and branches hung low enough for her to touch.

Many great trees grew in the thicket, and here and there, peering out between bushes, old stones lurked amid weeds and gnarled ivy. Broken pillars, signs of enduring masonry that faded only slowly with the passing of time. The lands were still fair, mirroring a long-forgotten era where Men built great things both far and wide. When they had power and strength to rival the evils of their neighbour.

Sweet smells rose up about her.

But despite the beauty around her, Rell was constantly aware of her surroundings, and that she was alone. With the growing distance to Cair Andros, the Ranger was passing further into the territory of the Enemy. The woods provided cover, growing densely while she was still close to the Anduin, though she would soon need to seek higher ground – and west, to the outskirts of the marshlands, where she would once more be out in the open. The day passed uneasily.

The sun became veiled, and as soon as the first touch of darkness fell over the lands Rell left the path. Creeping over the westward rim of the forest, dusk came at length. No more than two arrow-shots from the road, Rell found a mossy pit; large and open, and she decided to rest for the night. A deep silence fell upon the little grey hollow where she lay; so near the borders of the land of fear.

The moon was few days from the full, but it did not climb far over the treetops. There were but few stars out, swathed in clouds, and the warmth of day gave way to cool airs. In silence she ate half the bread, and a little of the cheese, before settling in for sleep. Her stomach growled, but there was nothing to be done about her hunger. She knew not the lands, and hence would not risk a fire.

When it started to rain she was not even surprised.