So, yeah ... Hi all? I apologise for up and disappearing, but as some of you may have figured out – life sometimes decides to throw a wrench into the works. My writing has been very slow, and what felt to me without inspiration. Which is also a reason for my incredibly slow updating (or lack entirely!). I hope you all may still enjoy the chapters to come, even if I am not that satisfied with them.

I am currently writing, but not as quickly as I'd like, and so chapters may come irregularly. Next chapter is already written, so at least I got that up my sleeve. Terrible timing as well, because holy heck, I got 18 reviews on my last chapter?! THANK YOU! My heartfelt appreciation goes to those of you that reviewed; you played a great role in me actually putting "pen to paper"/fingers to the keyboard. Thank you: Diarona, saddlesore, LadyTheodoraME, 94Spring, Bobika, turtlethewriter, Doria Nell, RashAsRabadash, vandena3, APfire17, A Dream of Fantasy, Rogue's Queen, Hyuuga Senpai, shari1, and the guest reviewers.

Thank you, and enjoy a short chapter (hopefully better than nothing), because Rell can't keep falling off cliffs.

Or can she?

Little Sparrow

Chapter XIX: A Walk of Agony

Struggling, kicking and fighting, she could do so little against the swift currents of the Anduin. Pulling relentless at her from every side. Pain and panic strove in her mind, fighting to overpower her feeble attempts to reach the distant-growing surface. Her leg was screaming in agony, turning the darkness around her red, and her arm felt useless and limp; she could hear nothing beyond the rushing roar in her ears, and her sight caught only glimmers of the moon-speckled surface so far above her. So far from her grasping fingers.

Breaking through the rapid-flowing waters, she gasped for air only to be dragged down under once more. The time between her breaths had become longer, and each was agonizingly painful and terribly short. She wanted to scream, or cry, or breathe, though with every attempt it only allowed cold water to rush in, filling her until all was the river. Another wave rushed over her head, and once more she was thrown underneath its waters. The air was dragged from her.

The edges of reason blurred and fear lurched deep in her stomach. Her struggles turned to clawing against the overwhelming power of the currents. Side to side, up, down, in circles, every which way she went until her last strength was spent, and salvation seemed impossibly distant. The battle was nearly over. The vision at the edge of her sight seemed to turn into black flecks, then pulsed reddish white. Her lungs burned, her chest compressed and pulled apart at the same time. It felt as if fingers pushed inward against her throat, throttling the last life from her in an icy grip.

She could hear her ears throbbing, her own desperate heartbeat. Her own last few pulses.

Rell was left entirely to the mercy of the great river.

The churning, white-foaming waters pulled her downstream, until she was far from the cliff-drop from where she had taken the great plunge.

Though, as it seemed, the Valar had not yet forsaken her. For while the currents were wild and swift, they brought her now to more shallow waters; unknowingly to her, she was not far from the bends of the rocklands before the Argonath, and here many eyots broke through the rapids. Each twisted and slowed the river. It was to her luck – for her senses had long failed her – that she was brought to one such embankment created by the lull and rise of the Anduin. Amongst jagged rocks and stunted trees, trembling fingers curled into soft mud with a final effort, and Rell dragged herself onto land.

She vomited; murky, stringy, bloody, for what felt like hours before she collapsed entirely. Her limbs felt heavy and her body as if on fire; everything screamed in a great cacophony of agony, relief, and hurt. All the sounds around her came onto her all at once, filling her drumming ears with many, too many, details. Birds were crying harsh warnings, somewhere between the trees and reeds; the quietude of night disturbed by her struggle against the river, and even still the roaring waters thundered everywhere around her. Her chest contracted, heaving for air; every inhale and exhale burning raw through her throat.

She was alive.

For a long while she only lay in the wet sand, spent to the very marrow of her bones, finding joy in every small breath she took. But soon the first thoughts of reality trickled into her exhausted mind; her uncle and Gollum, vanishing in the gloom of night with nothing but a frail hope to escape; the panicked ride through the forest; her last stand on the cliff. The plunge into deep and unknown waters. With every recollection slowly taking shape, becoming real, so did the pain. It was unbearable, and only with a great struggle could she choke back the screams.

Rell cried, sobbing into her soaked tunic, rolling over to rest on her back.

Her gaze found the dim moon. The sliver of light was eerily veiled, thin clouds stealing away any sight of stars. So utterly dark it was before her, and just sa dark were her thoughts. She had to move, she understood that well – even if the river had brought her to its western bank, and even though there was some semblance of safety amongst the reeds and rocks. If not the orcs, then certainly her injuries demanded such of her; but the Ranger was left with only the clothes on her body, and her weapons lay still behind on the cliff beyond the turbid waters.

She was utterly helpless.

Again, she wept bitterly. Her father's sword!

Never would he have thought ill of her for abandoning it, but the blade was the only remnant of him; the only thing tying her to a man she, in that very moment, could scarcely remember. Her mind was a blur of confusion and pain, and every small thought so entirely fleeting. "I am sorry, father ... I am so sorry. I had to." Pressing her hands hard against her eyes, she willed the tears to abate. Be strong. Then, with arms and legs trembling, Rell struggled to stand. Her fingers gripped the branch of an old tree, creaking and protesting, as she hauled herself upright; her leg was limp, unable to carry her weight, and she saw dark blood and mangled flesh. Steadily, the wound oozed a trail of warmth down her chilled skin.

In the pale moonlight, Rell found a root thick enough for her to perch on, and she all but collapsed onto it.

Soaked to the bone, water dripped cold down her skin, and trembles shook her to the core.

She leaned forward, slumped with exhaustion and another bout of nausea lurched in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed back the bile, river-water, and bitterness. The sling around her broken arm had been lost to the currents, swept away to the distant seas, and so the limb lay unmovable in her lap. Her gaze was turned to it, brow drawn tight in concern; her uncle's care had been for naught. Soon her free hand found sticky blood where the orc's blade had cut deep, tearing through her in a search for answers she would never give. A clammy chill rose as she felt for the extent of the injury.

All the while examining her body, she glanced about the shore. Eyes dancing over the shimmering water and one way, then another, to distant shores and dark trees. Beyond the canopy, it seemed the cold dawn was at hand, and frosty grey mists were rising in the East like smoke over the forest. The light was far off, but she saw tendrils of red weave over the endless sky. The bank, upon which she found herself, made the river her best defense against her attackers; for the waters were between them.

It was a small blessing of luck, yet a blessing none the less. And thankful she was for it.

Eventually the pain settled to a dulled throb, and her breathing came a little less strained from her lips. Everything was a struggle, though with the terror of the fight against the orcs and the river slowly abating, her mind found focus. Groping through the failing night, she gathered several handfuls of lichen and moss at the forest's edge; the plants were damp between her fingers, for a mist was ever rising. But they were more comfort than nothing at all.

As she found her place on the root once again, precariously holding her leg up before her, she clenched her teeth for what was to come. Another cry cut through the silence, spilling through her lips. Rell ground the fine moss into the slash in her leg and pressed down. Tears pressed against her eyelids, threatening to spill, and she sobbed quietly as she worked.

Tearing strings from her tattered tunic, she bandaged the makeshift suppression with difficulty; tight, and even tighter, until the slow, but steady stream of blood had stilled. It would not hold forever, that much she knew – and her stomach churned with dread at the thought. Without her provisions and belongings, such a wound could only grow worse; fester, until walking became impossible; and in its wake came fever, until ...

Rell pulled at the cloth strings, eyes hard and staring into the lessening darkness.

She willed away the tears.

Death.

When the light of day was slow coming into the sky, but no sun was yet risen above the high rolling hills and ridges of Emyn Muil, Rell made ready to depart. For a while she had sat, listless with exhaustion, in an attempt to regain some semblance of strength. She awaited dawn. But the time for rest was finally over; dread was upon her, overshadowing even her pain and delay would only cripple her further. So Rell stood.

Her wounded leg could hold no support, and the first many steps were hobbled from one tree to another; rough bark scratched her skin – shoulders and face, for her useful arm cradled the one that was broken – and she was soon left panting from exertion. She could hear shallow waters murmuring on the stones. Glancing back, Rell saw clearly the shimmering river and the embankment, swathed in rising mists, though it had seemed as though she had walked and walked. Yet she had gotten nowhere. There was a chill in her blood.

How far will I even make it?

Rell pressed on, searching the undergrowth for broken branches; something that could ease her struggled walk through the dense forest, for every step came painful. It was hard to see much in the darkness, though at length she came across a stump long enough to use for support. Her breathing was strained, falling like shallow gasps from her lips, and ever so often she coughed – violent fits that tasted of iron and sludge – yet the sounds fell dead between the trees. While the sun rose beyond distant hills, the forest ahead was cast in a deep gloom; a mouth of night that peered back at her.

Every step forward was a fight against dread. Without her weapons; so injured, she was left with little means to protect herself; if she encountered enemies there would be little hope. Yet even though nothing assailed her nor crossed her path, steadily fear had grown in her mind as she went on. There was no turning back; only forward. One step and another. Until not even the gurgling waters could be heard in the quiet, and silence came all around her.

So time unreckoned passed.

Of what came and went after that, one hour or many, Rell could not remember. Ever pursued by a groping horror, always beyond reach but always present, and only the low-blowing wind whispered between the trees as company. She stumbled on until the pain became unbearable, and still she endured. Another step. One more. She was wet, shivering, and with so little control over herself.

At times she wept. Overwhelmed with all that had happened; in despair, and also in hope. Despair; for with every step she took, her strength waned. Hope; that her uncle had made it, and her choice had been right. She prayed not for herself, but for her kin and his task. And, soon realising, her struggles were not so bleak when her thoughts turned to her purpose. The decision had been hers, and hers alone, no matter what bitter end she was to face ahead. The prospect of death would not break her.

Around her light grew, and as she passed beneath the endless canopy of naked trees and twisting branches, it became increasingly easy to see what came before her. The dawn was cold and pale, and her journey was still that of greatest haste. Burdened by weariness, though it was a little more endurable in the pale morning. Or, at least it was, in the briefest moment of clarity. For while her spirits lifted with the approach of another day, her wounds and body suffered with every new step she took, until each was made in agony.

She pushed forward.

The shadowy air turned light and grey, clouded, until she finally felt the blessing touches of sun. She was cold and wet, for no warmth could lessen the river's grip on her; she looked up, allowing a moment of quiet peace to fill her as the first rays came through the trees. So very tired, Rell slumped down onto a dew-touched, wilted patch of grass, as if the very last drop of strength abandoned her. From there she watched the rising sphere of glowing red like one would greet an old friend. It came above the forest, touching all that was dark and horrid; chased away groping terrors, and the evils of the world, until there was only light.

Tears were in her eyes, and this time Rell let them drop freely.

For so long she remained, gripped with exhaustion and fighting to regain the will to carry on. So beautiful it was to her tired eyes, and her mind whispered dark yet alluring thoughts to her. Such a place to rest ... The sun rose. It would not be a terrible end. Thorns and briars were clinging as claws to the boles and stones, dark branches interwoven above her head; the breeze was sighing, singing across the ground, but as she listened no other sounds came as light came to the dark world. It seemed so peaceful around her.

Rell felt entirely alone.

When the sun's touch could do little more – for it was but an envoy of Winter – she gathered twigs to build a fire. There would be no orange eye in the dark to alert enemies, for the pale light had grown to morning. Though, still, Rell dug a hole in the cold, frozen soil with trembling fingers; as deep as she could, until the small flickering fire that sprang to life was unseen by any that walked the forest. She lay down beside it. The withered grass was scratchy against her skin and the ground was damp. Taken with exhaustion, Rell watched until her vision was entirely consumed by the flames. Not so terrible at all.

Her sleep was without dreams. Dark and suffocating, until there was nothing but deep emptiness.

Something scampered across the forest floor; quick and fleeting, a sound of snuffling. A fox, mayhab. Coming across her crumbled form, half between sleep and waking. Then, startled from the sudden intrusion, the creature paused. She watched it, as it watched her. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, fighting against the lull of sleep and haze of exhaustion; it was only a flicker of dark orange, and then the beast was gone into the woods once more. Rell forced herself awake.

She was cold and shivering, for the small fire had long since burned to embers. The chill prickling her skin. But it was nothing against the sharp, digging pain that raked through her body as she came to sit; when her body recalled its injuries. Searching fingers found her newest wound, and the hand came back warm. Blood had seeped through her makeshift bandages, coating even the grass beneath her red. The smell had likely lured the curious fox to her. Again, the quiet whispers of dread trickled back into the deep recesses of her mind; whispers of agony, pain ... of death.

As quickly as her legs could carry her, Rell stood.

Her head was swimming, and what was up seemed down in her eyes; the naked forest around her a shimmer of silver-brown, like a murky river flowing by her blurred vision. There was little time to understand what was coming, before Rell buckled over; dry heaves, raw in her throat, burned until she was left coughing. But nothing spilled from her mouth. Nothing remained of her last meal. Only an empty void, slowly but steadily filled to the brim by her own despair. "Do not give up," she mumbled. "Keep going."

One step, she urged herself, one step and then another.

Rell tried to peel away the cloth strings precariously tied around her leg, only to find the crusting blood stuck. Without much thought or struggle, she left the wound to its own; it would only grow worse with time, Rell knew that, yet she felt as if there was nothing to be done. Not by her hand, at least. It would be a problem stalled for another time. And so she stumbled her way through the forest, her feet bringing her forward against the agonizing pain that slowed her. Led by a tiny flicker of hope that, somehow – somewhere beyond the endless trees – help could be found.

The sun was still high in the sky, light falling through a dim haze of thin-striped clouds, and she could not have slept for long.

Nor could she feel any lingering relief from her rest.

At once the pain had returned.

There was a coldness of Winter in the air, weaving between the naked trees that stood swaying, bending, reaching all around her. Her feet dragged, ever so often getting caught in hidden roots or sinking through soft, half-frozen mud. Her leg pulsed in a growing competition with her head. As best as she could, Rell turned her mind elsewhere; far beyond the solitary forest, over the rapid waters of the Anduin; she saw white-peaked mountains, the chuckling waterfalls of Rivendell, and the dancing flames of a hearth. Familiar voices wove, incoherent and intangible, just out of reach of her understanding; she saw faces she could not give names to. One step led to another, until Rell walked as if in a dream.

Bitter was her day, and alone she walked through the forest. A wide grey shadow loomed in the not-so distant horizon. The sky was overcast, leaden, but even as the first heavy drops of rain fell cold and unwarranted Rell pressed on. Her sense of direction was skewed, and she did not know whether she made a way out or further into the forest. She was utterly lost. Utterly spent.

"Better forward than back ..." Rell spoke, voice drowned in the oppressive silence smothering even her footsteps. "And better than nowhere at all." There was a small tone of miserable mirth, for certainly her stumble through the forest could be no worse than the company of Orcs.

Her thoughts fell, as they had done several times before, to her uncle's fate. Always accompanied by guilt and shame; would he have encountered all that they had, if she had not been there? Would his journey not have been so much easier without her? The questions gnawed at her, raw with bitterness. What could ever atone for her mistakes, were she to come out alive?

Icy water trickled down her back, and the ground beneath her feet became slush.

Rell felt numb; her last strength willing her forward, pushing and fighting against surrender. With newfound desperation, she came to understand her own reality. If she stopped again, she would die. Her injuries, the loss of blood. Her solitude in a vast and inhospitable forest. Sitting down to rest would surely mean Rell would not stand again. Her fingers scraped against the rough bark of a tree, so black it seemed with the darkening of her vision.

A roar was in her ears. The thundering beat of her heart.

One more ...

Another tree slipped by her grasping fingers; stunted bushes and thorn nicked her skin, drawing pearls of fresh blood. Red lines on pale-blue skin. Through her exhaustion she felt the ground turn downhill, a small blessing; but there was also a black look in the sky, and the sun was wan. The threat of storm hung heavy above her. A daunting thought that spurred her forward.

With one tired step after another, Rell stumbled ahead as the way became steeper and difficult. Deadly dark under great clouds. Her body moved before her mind could follow, and suddenly she fell through the undergrowth and out into a vast openness of dull gold. The ground was hard with frost as she hit it, making pain shoot tendrils through her arms and knees, though she heeded it not. She was surrounded by an ocean of brilliant light, and it was beautiful. Wheat. Bending, swaying in a soft breeze of Winter. Straws withered and greying, for they, too, were dying in the pale months of cold and darkness.

Yet to Rell it was beyond any treasure to behold.

It was a field.