Hey there! Sorry for the delay in this chapter – I'm actually on holiday right now, and really quite busy. To make up for it, I'm uploading two chapters today for you, so I hope that you enjoy them!

As ever, thank you for your lovely reviews, and please forgive my inevitable typos.

Chapter Sixty-Four: The Dead Marshes

Of all the places that he had seen in his life, Frodo hated the Dead Marshes the most. Whether that was their true name or not, Frodo did not know, but it was the name that he knew them by, and it was eerily accurate.

The bog spanned miles and miles, an immense stretch of wasteland as barren as the Barrow Downs, and there were no trees or flowers to be seen – only coarse, twisted bushes and shrubs, and weeds and stinking reeds. A foul smell lingered in the hot, damp air, and there was no real breeze to stir life into the land. Nothing moved. There were no birds and no beasts, and Frodo did not even see so much as a worm in the ground.

Yet still, there was a constant shiver dancing down Frodo's spine, an inescapable feeling of being watched.

Being watched by the corpses in the marshes.

There were so many bodies, suspended in the murky water, their eyes staring up with their sightless, milky gaze. Bodies of men and elves and orcs, endless eyes staring up through the water that had somehow preserved them – they looked as though they had only been dead a day, but Frodo imagined that they had been there since the last war. There had to have been a mighty battle here. He was glad that he had not been a part of it.

Sometimes, little flames appeared, springing up through the mist that clung to the ground, but Sméagol warned them against following the lights with a ferocity that kept both hobbits in check.

Only once was there a sign of life other themselves, but it did not come as any comfort. It came on the second day – a shriek from above that was chillingly familiar, and paralyzingly frightening.

"Wraiths!" wailed Sméagol, throwing himself against the floor as Frodo and Sam scrambled for cover. "Wraiths with wings!"

Heart beating up in his throat, Frodo crawled beneath one of the scratchy, thorny bushes, and pressed his hands up against his ears. The shriek of the Nazgûl rang out again, and even as the terror coursed through him, Frodo felt an odd sensation pulling at him, tugging at his gut. He should stand up – he should give the ring to the rider.

One of his hands left his ears and drifted towards his neck, and he glanced up through the thorns. A shadow was riding the sky above him, as large as a great eagle, larger even, and it was calling to him.

Just to him.

His eyes closed. The ring was singing, and it felt so right to close his hand around the cool metal and pull –

A hand closed around his wrist. "Frodo!"

Frodo gasped, jolting as his eyes opened to see Sam staring at him. Swallowing, Frodo fumbled his fingers and dropped the ring, scrambling instead for the shield around his neck. He peered up again, and as the ring called to the wraith, Frodo remembered what they had done to Fíli. What they had done to his family.

Fury burnt the weakness from Frodo's veins, and he gritted his teeth, glaring up at the Nazgûl until it flew away, back towards the west. He did not like the thought of it travelling back towards his friends, but at least it was not overhead anymore.

They waited for a few minutes, hidden by the brush and the bushes, but there was no other sign or sound of life, and so slowly, Frodo and Sam and Sméagol crept out from under the bushes.

And for what felt like the hundredth time, Frodo looked backwards. Back to the west, back the way that they had come.

Every day, Frodo had peered over his shoulder. Every day, he had looked back, wishing beyond hope to see the others behind him, to see them running to catch up, or wandering lost behind, but there was no one there.

There was never anyone there.

But Sméagol led them on, following a path that Frodo could not see, and finding solid ground where Frodo found only puddles. So far, he had proved to be a useful guide, but he and Sam seemed utterly determined not to get along.

They bickered like cruel children, trading barbed insults when their tempers grew too hot, and they sent each other scathing looks when they thought Frodo was not looking. It was exhausting, but Frodo did not know what to do about it.

It was clear that Sam did not trust Sméagol – he had made no secret of that. Every night he whispered his doubts beneath his breath, and every day his dark-ringed eyes were trained on Sméagol, and narrowed if he left their sight. Sméagol, meanwhile, had taken an intense dislike to Sam, and whined about how unfair the hobbit's gaze was.

Of course, Frodo's trust in Sam was limitless, and he did not truly trust Sméagol at all. It was hardly the perfect situation, and Gollum was hardly the guide that Frodo would have chosen for himself, but he could not bring himself to consider killing the wretched creature. So far, Sméagol had done nothing to suggest that he would go back on his word, and for now, that was enough.

Especially when, on the third day, he led them out of the marshes, and the day after that they crested a large, rocky hill, and stared down upon the Black Gates of Mordor.

"We did it," Sméagol whispered, pawing at Frodo's arm as they stared down at the gates. "We did as master asked, nice master, you says to take us to the gates, and Sméagol did, yes, yes!"

"Yes, I did," murmured Frodo. Now that he was here, he knew more than ever that he did not want to be. The gates were twice the height of the gates of Erebor, and easily three times as long. He had no idea how he was going to sneak in – this was where he had imagined Nelly and Bróin coming into their own. They had discussed ideas and theories, but their plans here were little more than sketches.

He wished that Gandalf was here.

He wished that Bilbo was here.

Frodo's eyes stung hot, and he turned his gaze away from the gates. He had to do this for Gandalf. For Bilbo. If he turned back now, he had betrayed his uncle for nothing. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, and glanced at Sam.

His friend turned, meeting his eyes with a weak smile. "If my old Gaffer or Bofur could see me now, I'd be in for the ear-boxing of a lifetime."

Frodo returned a pale smile of his own. "I wouldn't doubt it. So – how are we going to do this?"

"I don't know," replied Sam, rubbing at his chin, but then he collapsed to his belly, pointing towards the south. "Look!"

Ducking himself, Frodo followed Sam's gaze, and his heart sank. There was an army marching on the gates, men clad in dark armour, with helmets and scarves that covered their faces. They were winding around the mountain walls of Mordor, but something in Frodo's gut told him that they were not there to attack the Black Gates.

"Who are they?" he murmured, half to himself. He was surprised to get an answer, and more surprised that it was Sméagol who spoke.

"Bad men," he hissed. "Wicked men, from the east. They come to pledge allegiance to him, Gollum, Gollum!"

"Look, the gates are opening!" said Sam quickly. "This could be our chance – at least as good a chance as we'll ever get."

"You think we can slip into the ranks?" Frodo asked, and Sam shrugged.

"'s the only chance we'll get."

"Alright." Frodo took a deep breath. "Let's do it."

They pulled their hoods up over their heads and began to sneak down the edge of the cliff, but a cold hand latched onto the back of Frodo's collar and yanked him backwards. Sam glanced up over his shoulder and lost his footing, disappearing over the edge in a cloud of dust.

"Sam!"

"No!" Sméagol rasped, "No, master, no! Don't go, don't take it to him!"

"Let go!" Frodo demanded, elbowing Sméagol in the face until he let go, and frantically scrambling to the edge of the cliff. Sam was stuck halfway down the cliff, buried up to his chest in loose stone. There was a boulder to his right, sheltering him from the oncoming army, but it would only hide him for a few moments.

Horrified, Frodo launched himself over the edge of the cliff, but Sméagol gasped and gargled, wrapping his arms around Frodo's chest and wrenched him back over the edge.

"No, no master, he will catch you, he will catch you and take the precious!"

"I have to go," Frodo snarled, "Sam-"

"Do not go to the gate, do not!" wailed Sméagol, his voice rising. "He catch you!"

"I have to go to Mordor!" snarled Frodo, trying to wrestle Sméagol from him. The creature had learnt well, and was avoiding his elbows, but down below, a pair of soldiers had broken from the group, and were walking slowly towards their mountain. Towards Sam. "Let go!"

"There is another way, another way into Mordor, through the mountains, yes, the mountains, precious!" garbled Gollum. "We has been that way before, Master, we can show you! It's secret, yes, very secret!"

Desperation pounded at Frodo, and he struggled to get loose of Gollum. "Let – me – go!"

"Don't' take the precious to him!"

The soldiers were close now, so close to the boulder that was shielding Sam from view, and Frodo's heart stopped beating. "Fine, fine, I won't! You will lead us down the other road, the mountain road, just let me go to Sam!"

Sméagol hesitated. "Master won't go in the gate?"

"Master won't, I promise!" Almost at once, Sméagol's arms released, and Frodo flew over the edge, skidding down so quickly that no soldier would see him behind the rocks and boulders that littered the cliff, and he reached Sam without a second to spare. He scarcely had time to fall to his knees and cover them both with his cloak before he heard the soldiers walk around the corner.

He could hear their boots crunching against the ground, and see them beneath the cloak.

He held his breath.

Was this how it was to end? Caught so close to Mordor, damned for ignoring Sméagol? He could see it now, the hand reaching down and seizing the cloak, the swords that would slay them where they stooped.

But it never came.

Instead, when Frodo's lungs began to burn for want of a breath, the feet turned, and walked away. He waited another few seconds and then let out a sigh of relief.

"Are you hurt?" he murmured to Sam, before he dared remove the cloak.

Sam shook his head. "No, just stupid!" he whispered back. "And stuck, Frodo, I'm stuck."

Frodo nodded, and threw off the cloak, looking around furtively. "It's clear." He grabbed Sam's arm and pulled with all his might, and Sam budged, and then shifted, and Frodo dug his heels in. With a gasp, Sam was pulled clear, and they both collapsed against the large boulder that had saved their lives. Sam peered around the edge.

"We might still make it! C'mon, Frodo!"

Frodo lifted his foot to follow, but he felt eyes on the back of his neck, and he thought of Sméagol, and his own hasty oath. He doubted that even Thorin would blame him for breaking such a promise – there had been no choice if he wanted to save Sam's life. But still – if there was another way, it may be worth looking into. Striding through those gates now would be tantamount to suicide – they had no way to disguise themselves amongst the soldiers, or the orcs, and they had no plan to speak of once they got inside.

Honest or not, Sméagol was right. Walking through those gates was as good as handing Sauron the ring himself.

"Wait!" he hissed, grabbing Sam's arm. "No, not like this."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean? What other chance are we gonna get, Frodo?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "But I don't think this is the best way – we'll be caught, sure as we breathe. Sméagol says there is another way-"

Sam went red as a furnace. "And you trust him?"

"No!" Frodo whispered, pulling Sam further back behind the boulder. "But if we walk in now we are good as surrendering, we need a plan. And even if Sméagol is lying, there's nothing to say there isn't a sneakier way. We're dwobbits, Sam. We can take the mountains if we must."

Sam opened his mouth, and then paused, and pursed his lips. He sighed, his eyes sliding suspiciously towards Sméagol, and then he nodded. "Fine. But don't you start trusting him over your own head, now, Frodo."

Frodo grinned wryly, squeezing Sam's arm. "I won't Sam. I won't."

I hope you enjoyed that little chapter. The big one is coming next, and that was even more fun to write!