I apologize for the delay in updates, and hopefully I can reassure any and all readers that I do plan to continuously update. It will just take longer between chapters, because I've decided after quite the burn-out to write "for myself". I was a bit pressured (by myself!) to write for the sake of updating, rather than for the sake of the story – a story I truly enjoy writing, which made it even worse.

Currently I have about 110k words saved, that will slowly be posted, but I'm also very careful not to stress myself out with something I do for my own enjoyment. Any feedback is as always absolutely welcome, I've loved reading the comments. More than once, I admit! Special thanks goes out to those that reviewed chapter 10, you guys are such motivation.

Thank you, and enjoy!

Little Sparrow

Chapter XI: The Stench of the Marshes

Rell nursed her bruised cheek while the shadows of evening drew long.

The air was swarmed with flies and heavy with the scent of blood; the Rangers piled the corpses of the Orcs and buried their own in shallow graves. In swiftness they worked. Four men of Gondor had died in the ambush. Many a time before had they parted ways with companions, and they would come to do it again in the dark days ahead. They did not speak as they worked. Her sword then hung at her belt where it belonged, and her bow and arrows were tied to Luin's satchel. The horse had trotted back into the clearing on its own after the fighting had stopped; unscathed and quick to find Rell amongst the men.

The Captain of Gondor, Faramir, had asked her to stay for he wished to speak with her. This time not as enemies, he had assured her, but as those with a common enemy. As allies. With a glance from the corner of her eye, Rell watched him with a pensive frown. Her wrists were dappled blue and yellow, and many bloody lines ran across her skin from the bindings – and her fruitless attempts to loosen them on the rocks. She knew not yet if they would leave new scars.

When the swift burials were complete, the Rangers left the glade and entered the woods once more; they could not linger, fearing still more Orcs to be afoot nearby. They were both weary and exhausted after the fight. If their victory reached the Enemy a pursuit would come swiftly. And it seemed news travelled fast in the forests of Ithilien.

Rell took Luin by the reins and deftly guided the horse after the green-clad men.

The mood was sullen after the heavy loss they had suffered. Her eyes were on the mossy ground beneath her feet, watching the flittering light dance across green as a wind picked through the trees. With a hand on the hilt of her sword, Rell was mindful of her surroundings. The tension of the fight whirred continuously through her body. She felt on edge, and her body ached with both old and fresh injuries.

One came to walk by her side.

She glanced to him, then looked ahead. There was a limp to her step, and Rell could not hide her frown from the other as he openly regarded her. "You never intended to kill my men when we attacked, did you?" Faramir asked. The hood was drawn across his features, though the grey eyes shone with brightness in the waning light of day. Rell blinked, pondering the question for a while. Surely there was something else on his mind, or she could just as well turn and ride North without delay. What worth could he find in such questions?

So many days of travel had been lost at her capture.

"From the beginning I knew you were not Orcs," she answered, thinking back to the tracks she had found. Often she had hunted Orcs with her uncle, so she knew well the signs to look for. Heavy footsteps and a disregard for all things living were always plain to see; as if the very nature around them had to be wrecked and destroyed in senseless malice. The Rangers had barely touched the soft mud around the clearing. Instincts told them to leave no mark. "The green of your cloaks only solidified my belief. In my heart I knew you were not my enemy, though that certainly did not halt your blows. I fought to survive, but not to kill."

He cleared his throat, and a bird startled from the leaves above their heads. Both looked up, watching the grey shadow flutter from one branch to another; then he spoke again. "One would usually think twice with a sword at their neck, and often they then decide upon surrender. But perhaps it is not so for the Rangers of the North?" Rell was not certain, but she felt she could hear amusement in his voice. When she looked to him their eyes met; acclaim was in his gaze. "Though is it foolhardiness or bravery? I certainly cannot tell."

While the conversation touched only lightly upon what had happened, Rell kept tight-lipped. There was still doubt in her heart. Her bindings may well have been cut, but she much still felt like a prisoner at trial. The captain was not slow-witted; she had not disclosed her purpose in Ithilien, and she kept the matter concealed from him. It was his duty to protect the lands of Ithilien, and she was one trespassing with secrecy.

"It would not be a first to call my acts foolish or ill-considered. I should, though, think that anyone would fight when threatened? Would your actions not mirror my own, if our places had been turned?" The courtesy now shown to her had not yet quieted her suspicions, and so she replied with hesitation. Rell found herself in another battle – this time not of blades, but of words and wits. She stifled a groan and, instead, turned her face away to peer into the bracken. Her hand rubbed her neck and cheek, brushing over the discoloration that surely adorned her face.

"Indeed," he said, "Although, seldom is it that we find such resistance in a woman."

Her lips grew thin and white, and she was about to ask if they often jumped out to assault unsuspecting women to know such things. The corner of her mouth tilted up. While his questions were light-hearted, Rell knew well what he was asking. What purpose had brought her to the lands of Ithilien? The women of Gondor had many duties, even in times of war and strife, but fighting was not one of them. One armed like her, moving alone through lands besieged by the Great Enemy?

"You need not fear for your head, captain," she replied on second thoughts. "I wish neither to kill nor harm you. Neither do I harbor any ill will towards your men, despite what may have happened between us. And even if I could possibly succeed in such an endeavor. I expect you know this well, or you would not have freed me during the battle? All I shall ask for is passage through Ithilien – this time undisturbed on my path to wherever it may lead me."

"You were heading northwest."

Again she remained silent. Rell tasted salt and iron her lips as her tongue darted out.

"To the wetlands," Faramir continued, slowly and very softly. He bore a strange, almost knowing, smile. Rell raised an eyebrow and regarded him quietly. Uncertainty crept into her mind; could he still believe her a spy of the Enemy? The branches and leaves crunched beneath her feet when she put distance between them. "And so I wonder at your destination, and your task, for there is nothing of wonder or worth in the Dead Marshes. It is a desolate and abandoned place; you will find nothing but Orc patrols and endless pools." His eyes grew dull, looking ahead into nothing. "There, in the water, you shall find only the dead waiting."

"That is my path," Rell finally answered.

"It is as I thought. Then I would advise you to seek out another."

Looking down on the ground, stepping over hidden roots, Rell drew Luin to a halt; the Ranger paused by her side, and all around them his men mirrored their captain. Barely had she heard their steps before, light over the forest floor, but now true silence came upon them. "There is no other way," she said, eyes drawn to his and there she held her gaze steady. Truly his counsel was not unkind, and her road was that of evil; of menace and dread, yet it was her road. So far already she had travelled, encountered so much, and it was not yet time for her to return to home and hearth. Loyalty carried her forward, and this troth would not be broken by her – only in death would she no longer fight for her chieftain.

"I fear it is a hopeless errand," said Faramir. "Whatever your errand may be."

For a long while they stood in silence, dark gazes locked as neither spoke.

Then he sighed and nodded, mind made up, and his gloved hand grasped her shoulder. He stood much taller than her, yet there was a burden on his face; grim and troubled, almost saddened he appeared to her. "But at least remember my warning that I tell you now. Follow not the lights of the dead. Fair they may look in their fell magic, yet they are but faces rotting and twisted. Do not join them! Now you shall go with my blessing upon you, and that of the White Tower, for here our ways part."

To the west she could see light through the trees, and it was to there the captain pointed.

"Go straight on, and you will have the cover of woodland for many miles. When you reach the hillside of a great valley you must keep to its edge, skirting the forest, and only then should you steer north. Once you climb the hill you will reach the marshes, and from there it is open and inhospitable lands for many miles. You will find no protection there."

"It would seem that evil turned to great good upon meeting you, Captain of Gondor," Rell said. "Although bruises and cuts will be my companions for many days now, and precious time has been lost in my capture! Know that I do not hold your actions against you, nor your men, for you followed the duty of your people. For that I shall applaud you. I will keep to your words on my path." She lowered her head. "Farewell."

Faramir gave her one final advice, halting her in her steps. "Only in the woods should you walk in daylight, for here evil is still withdrawn. The trees and the forest is your ally. But be wary in the open!"

Then he turned and, without looking back, left her. With great speed the Rangers moved, vanishing almost in the twinkling of an eye into the green shadows; the forest seemed empty, and Rell stood alone once more with her thoughts and her horse. Checking and refastening her packs in the saddle, she spoke quietly to Luin to keep her mind from noting the silence that hung heavy about them. So it was that she passed on into the woods of Ithilien.

A great distance had to be covered, and with haste, for many days had been lost.

The sun rose and passed overhead, and began to sink, and the light through the trees to the west grew golden-red. Rell walked in cool shadows. Darkness came early to the silent woods, and before the fall of night she halted at a small fresh stream, running through thickets of spindle wood. Her wounds were sore and throbbed, begging for her attention. The water was cold when she washed her face and leg; turning muddy brown and swirled with red, but the ache lessened enough for her to stretch rigid limbs. No living creature, beast or bird, was to be seen.

She settled under an old gnarled holly, roots twisting down the crumbled bank to the waters, and here she slept away the night on hard stones.

Her sleep was uneasy, and she woke many times. It was altogether dark under the canopy of the tree, and she waited restlessly for the growing day; to see tendrils of yellow and red skirt the eastern treetops to herald the beginning of light. But no day came, only a dead brown sunrise, like a dull red glare under the lowering clouds to the East. A dark cover smothered the sun.

The sight was bleak and disheartening. If it was a storm approaching or some wickedness sprung from Mordor, Rell could not tell, but throughout the day it seemed like the light grew dim rather than bright. Darker and darker. Like a candle dying, flickering and fighting to no avail. The glow was soon so dull that even a keen-eyed beast could scarcely see her walking warily through the woods.

Rell carried on westward, but without the sun to follow it was difficult to know for certain what path she was on. With each step she felt further and further lost. Looking ahead she could see only tree-trunks of many sizes and shapes, and the same sight met her when she looked back; smooth or gnarled and branched, straight or bent, twisted; and all the stems were green with moss. Very old and very tall they seemed. The air was thick, and the trees seemed to close in before her. Rell felt her heart heavy with discouragement, but recalled the captain's words at their departure, the woods are not evil.

It was but her mind playing tricks on her.

For a while she searched for the tallest tree to climb, until at length an old oak caught her gaze. Its branches were many, gnarled and intertwined, and the dark-green leaves grew dense. Fingers digging, searching for cracks and holds, Rell clambered from branch to branch; light seeped through the dark canopy, dull and greying, before fresh air finally reached her. By then she was panting hard. The Ranger settled on a thick bough and brushed aside green leaves to have a view over the dense forest, looking far across the lands that were blanketed in a looming gloom.

When she peered back to where she had been before, there was but the roof of the forest, covered in a vast dense shadow that seemed to grow out of the East. The sight chilled her heart. The clouds were grey and heavy, ringed with a sickly yellow glare from a sun veiled. Further, beyond the woodlands, lay darkness, for here her eyes saw distant contours of towering walls. Far away the land of Mordor was, yet the blackened teeth seemed to reach high into the sky; gnawing and biting at the sun, and from its mouth a suffocating evil spilled forth.

Rell looked away.

Her gaze turned west, to the road ahead, attempting to see the straggling edges of the wood. It was an endless stretch before her; greens weaving between the colours of late Autumn, and the forest rose and fell over many small hills and valleys. Here and there were clear patches, open glades, where the canopy dipped; small dark shapes wove through the air, swift and agile, only to quickly disappear between the trees. The dull light of day left her sight weakened, and she saw only little before her. There was no end to the forest of Ithilien.

Yet when she strained her gaze, it seemed as if the green canopy climbed, like a sea rising, in the far distance. For a while longer she looked, straddling the bough as cooling winds brushed against her, but then Rell climbed back to the ground. Oppressive heat surrounded her at once, stifling and dark it all appeared; the light was dearly missed. She took Luin's reins and drew the horse forward with her. No sounds were around her, and she walked in listening silence.

She picked a way among the trees, and an hour later the ground began to rise steadily ahead.

As she went forward it seemed that the boles became taller, darker, and thicker. There was no whispering or movement in the leaves or branches, and the wind had died. For several hours Rell continued the climb, ears trained on the sound of water for the air was old and warm; her mouth was dry, but the waterskin empty, and her brow and neck were coated in dampness. The air was strangely warm for the season. Her steps fell heavy on the soft ground, clear they rung into the silence of the forest where no beast nor bird could be heard.

It was in those moments that things took a new turn.

The slope stopped climbing and became nearly level ahead of them. The dark trees drew aside, and a path went straight forward.

Some distance off before her there stood a green and treeless hill-top, beyond the encircling wood it climbed further up and she assumed it was what the Ranger had spoken of. The valley. The path seemed to make directly for it. She now hurried forward again, delighted with the thought of climbing out for a while above the roof of the forest; carefully she avoided writhing and interlocked roots, but soon there was no undergrowth below her booted feet. Instead, small rocks pocked out through the soil.

At the edge of the wood and at the foot of the tall hill Rell paused.

A fresh wind was on her face, banishing the oppression that had smothered her senses only moments before. Luin danced skittishly by her side, pulling at the reins with insistency. Beads trailed down her brow and neck, and she breathed deeply. The air was not clear nor fresh; there was no smell of flowers or grass, and instead Rell covered her mouth.

Putrid, stagnant it came to her and in her mind's eye came images of rotting flesh and death. Could she truly have reached the Marshes so soon? How far have I walked? She pressed on, following a winding path for the hill was steep, until at length she came to its crest. The sun remained veiled and the air was hazy; she could not see any great distance on any side. Though here and there the mist broke and swirled, and Rell caught glimpses of what lay beyond.

It was a deep fog that rose like wisps of white smoke from the valley below. Naught but shapeless brown, small islands of tussock between mires and pools was to be seen in the long stretches around her; settling on the grass, Rell set Luin free to graze for a while as she pondered her next step. It would be no easy task to navigate the marshes. Further, beyond Nindalf – for the swamps and pathless fens had not yet turned to the Dead Marshes – a dark line cut through the foggy browns, like distant mountains. The wind was chilly and heavy with an odour of cold decay.

Rell shivered.

The outer ridge of Emyn Muil bend gradually northward, fencing in the wetlands with jagged ridges and deep gullies. It came to an end in a steep, unscalable edge when it met marsh-waters; how her uncle planned to pass the towering cliffs, she could not imagine, or if he would make a path around as she had. A dreadful thought wove through her mind. What if he has already passed beyond? Has he turned aside and gone elsewhere? The sight before her tore apart her spirit, an undefeatable challenge. Now, suddenly and abruptly, the Ranger came face to face with reality. She could walk aimlessly through the mires, search for tracks that were not there, and never would she know for certain what fate awaited her.

Despondent was her mind, and she did not move further that day. The westering sun was caught into clouds, and night came swiftly. There were no stars nor moon to be seen, blanketing the world in deep darkness until only sounds reached her. They came faintly to her from below, small plops that echoed and disappeared; tossed around in the quiet of the late hour. Wind sighed over the edges of stones, hissing in the night. The sky was swallowed; searing light smote down the hills, a dry splitting crack of thunder rang right overhead.

Yet no rain came.

Far beyond, over the distant contours of Emyn Muil, the skirts of the storm lifted; it turned and blew across the Anduin, lowering in the mountains and rolled over Gondor and the skirts of Rohan. Where she sat, over the reeking marshes, the deep blue sky of night opened once more. The realms of Men would take the blunt of the storm, sparing the solitary Ranger upon the hill from the downpour and the gales. A single, pale star appeared. Glistening, Elemmírë watched the huddled and lonesome figure until light came in the still distant East. Night came and went; dawn crawled across the clouded sky. But none of this she saw.

Savage winds howled, chill and harsh against the Ranger on the hill.

Rell sat with her face buried in her knees, defeated by disappointment, and wept bitterly.

In her heart, she knew she had failed.

January, The Third Age, 3017

Arid moors of the Noman-lands had become a sight most accustomed to the Ranger; dreadful and loathsome, the crawling days were bleak and veiled, grey hazes of swirling mists. The nights were wet and restless. At best she found hard and cold spaces between the murky-watered pools, on mounds covered in wretched turf. Yellowed and dead, feeding off the rottenness in the ground, where nothing else could grow. Never did she sleep through the night, and never was she rested on the morrow.

At times the sun was up, glistening through the clouds and smoke, but Rell felt only coldness crawl across her skin. Exposed to any watchful eye that may linger on the marshes. But she could not follow the words of the Ranger of Ithilien. No moon nor star could light a path in the dark, and while she had ventured out between the pools during the first nights, making harrowingly slow progress, she soon found it impossible. Where she thought there was solid ground it came to reveal a close-growing layer of milfoil. She had spent many hours trembling from the cold plunge beneath the murky surface.

So it was that she carefully crept her way through the marshes in daylight, left bare in the open lands that spread on all sides.

The land was haggard, almost entirely lifeless and deserted. Here neither Spring nor Summer would ever come again, and the gasping pools were choked with ash and mud. Often she had to turn back, or stray around, when she came across large open waters. Yet even worse it was when the weather grew increasingly cold as one week passed to the next, and the narrow paths between fens and tussocks became almost untraversable for her and the horse.

A layer of ice covered the still waters, but often it was too thin to tread and Rell, slipping or stepping off the trail, fell through with a crack on more than one occasion. It became difficult to find firmer places where feet could step without sinking through gurgling sludge. There was no part of her not covered in green horrid-smelling mud, and no fire could force away the chill in her bones. Hanging in the still air was a constant stifling reek of rot. Always the wind was present, howling and biting, as it drew in from the North. Only the reeds, growing in clusters here and there, proved some shelter.

Rell steered one way, then another, and she went back and forth in an attempt to find a clear path through the marshes; the marshes were bewildering and treacherous, and not even a Ranger could find a trail through shifting quagmires. Always she kept the dark ridges of Emyn Muil ahead, a beacon of black in the pale green light to aim for. Carefully trying to keep on the proper course. She went forward with great attention and moved only very slowly. On and on, with only brief halts during the nights; seldom the moon was out, and so the land was covered in a deep darkness. Many strange sounds were about her, yet always she was alone. She tried to hum familiar songs, but the words died on her lips; choked and forgotten in the rottenness.

The air seemed black and heavy to breathe.

When she had set out again, soon a fortnight ago, Rell had hunted through the forests of Ithilien to resupply. Setting up snares and following tracks on the forest floor; she had lost a few days of travel to cover a larger area. But it proved the wise choice, for there were no beasts nor birds to be found in the marshlands of Nindalf. Many familiar roots had grown between the trees in the lands claimed by Gondor, and three full bags hung in a strap on the saddle by her side; mushrooms and wrinkled berries likewise. The animals had been swift and quick to flee, and often her arrows missed, but Rell had managed to shoot and kill two yellow-headed blackbirds; they were plump and well-fed for the long winter months.

Only one snare had proved to yield a catch. A rabbit; brown pelt, wiry muscles, and hammering heart; it met an early end by the tip of her knife. The meat was a most welcome guest as hunger soon came to her on the road. It took clever planning and many hungry hours for the food to last her long enough. And even then, it was only through a struggle.

Rell only ever lit a fire during daylight, fearful that the flames would be seen in the dark. Though the Ranger had yet to come across any living thing, be they creature or beast, she felt constantly watched. The marshes were not safe, she knew that well, and so often she would flinch at even the smallest of movement or sound. Mostly there was a deep silence, disturbed only by the rustling of reeds or the fumes sizzling through the mud, but at times a drum ran through the earth. A deep, resounding tremor.

It was a dreary and wearisome pursuit across the land, and the despondency that had claimed her heart upon the hilltop was yet to release its hold over her.

The days passed uneventful.

Presently, the sullen morning grew to day. No sun pierced the low clouded sky over the endless network of pools. Her current course took her further North than she liked, but there was no other path to tread; the fens grew wetter, opening into wide stagnant pools that Luin and she could only go around, and the swirling mists grew thicker. The haze was greyish and blue, weaving between the tussocks and reeds, obscuring her vision. While she had grown accustomed to the foul smells in the air, it now hit her with renewed force.

She took another step forward but soon recoiled. Dark water was before her, mirror-still; deep and black, and the rings formed by her boot rippled only once. Then they vanished. Luin drew back, blowing deeply in unease, as if sensing something the Ranger could not. Rell peered out over the pool, gaze transfixed by the deepness that seemed unending. The reeds trembled in the wind. A small voice, a warning that cried out in her mind, was deafened by an odd curiosity. If she looked into this deep and dark window, Rell knew what she would find beneath the surface. She had entered the Dead Marshes.

A shiver ran through her body.

Rell blinked and shook her head, quickly stepping away from the mere; her breathing was heavy, struggling for air, and her mind befuddled. Her feet caught in a dried patch of turf and she stumbled back. She hit the ground with a yelp, hands sinking into deep sludge, cold and sticky against her skin. Like fingers gripping onto her, a clammy touch holding tightly so that she could not escape. From the corner of an eye she spotted movement. Luin nickered.

The fog had drawn close around them, a heavy and unbreakable cover; something strange was discernable within. Misty flames that flickered and shone, pale lights twisting in, then out of her vision. They came and went, fading and reappearing as soon as she looked in their direction. Her breathing stilled, caught in her throat, and she sat completely still. She could not move, even if she wanted to.

Terrible thoughts came to her. Shapes coalesced in the mists where the lights were, and Rell saw faces pale and fair; but also rotting and grim. Dead. A hiss was in the air, threading through the thin-bladed reeds over the dry grass, all around her. Fear overcame her, sweeping away any other thought from her mind, yet she remained on the ground as her gaze was held by some strange bewitchment. How very cold she felt! Into the very marrow of her bones the chill dug.

There was a thunder running through the ground, tremors she knew to be Luin's increasing panic. The chill was no longer only in her hands, submerged into the deep mud; it was slowly creeping further up her arms, past her elbows until even her shoulders became heavy. The lights flickered through the haze, though it seemed as if they came closer. Drawing nearer as her mind became dull. Silver hair fell as water over golden armor, faces proud and fair to behold. They looked sad, mournful, and pity came to her dazed thoughts.

Rell became aware that it was getting very cold, and that a frosty wind began to blow. An icy wind that brought with it a change; the mist was flowing past her now in tattered shreds. Torn apart to reveal the mires and pools of the Dead Marshes. And with the forceful wind the fair warriors of old twisted and morphed before her very eyes. No longer were they beautiful and full of sorrow. With swiftness, fighting against the fresh western gales, the lights sprang towards her and she struggled back. Away with a wail bubbling past her lips. The hair was not silver, but sullen reeds of brown and green; and their fairness nothing more than a cracking mask that soon revealed fell rot beneath.

Rell squeezed her eyes shut at the sight.

For a long while all was quiet as she sat there. Her ears were strained, and upon the wind there were wails and cries, hissing displeasement. Slowly, carefully, she pried her eyes open and peered out over the marshlands. The haze was but thin strips torn apart still clinging to the pools, and the lights wavered, glimmering silvery flames, until they vanished entirely. Rell looked up and saw with surprise that faint rays of sunlight came down between hurrying cloud and fog.

It was with ease that she could now draw her hands from the mud.

The chill lingered still, and with trembling steps she took Luin's reins. "Let us get away from here," she whispered. "This is a foul and accursed place, certainly not one for the living." Rell sought a path round the mere, moving from one tussock to another, and always was she wary of the ghostly lights reappearing. How close she had been!

Mesmerized by the candles of the dead. Many Elves had been buried here after the great battle at the Dagorlad, but over the years the marshes had grown and swallowed the graves; their peaceful resting place had been disturbed, and now they willed wanderers into the watery depths to join them. If not for the winds, would she have become one of them? Joined them without a struggle?

The Ranger cast aside the horrible thought and followed a long lane of reeds, where murky and miserable waters on both sides made her step difficult.

It was late in the afternoon when she reached firmer ground. The sun grew increasingly bright in the sky, as if a whisp of luck shone upon her, until the mists parted and a clear view of the marshes opened before her. For a while she stood there, tired, looking about. The dark cliffs of Emyn Muil were closer than ever, so close that her keen eyes could see thin shapes of twisted trees upon its ridges. There was still a day's journey to the range of hills, if not more, through an open stretch of waters and mounds. To both the North, the South, and the East, the marshes continued further still.

It was long since she had lost sight of the greens of Ithilien and only sullen brown met her gaze.

A dark shape crawled across the horizon to the east, a thin line of rock smothered in fumes of ash; the sky was without light there, and Rell looked with little hope to the Mountains of Shadow. Her sense of direction had been skewed ever since she stepped foot into the wetlands, and it was with apprehension that the Ranger came to an understanding – she had ventured too far East. The dusty plain of Dagorlad was dauntingly close.

There was nothing she could do about it except steer clearly westward, and so it was that Rell slowly treaded a way across the dead land. In the falling dusk, until the edge of night, she scrambled along. Head bowed, eyes searching for sure footings while there was still some light to ease her path; but soon darkness came to the Marshes and Rell could go no further that day. She lit no fire and endured the crusted mud covering her arms and legs, daring not to approach the waters more than necessary. Least of all for a sense of cleanliness.

Fear lingered in her body still.

Though she did take her time to rub Luin's legs and hooves with her hands, brushing off large cakes of sludge clinging to the coat. Another dreadful day had passed in the marshes, and her nerves felt stretched and frayed. The ominous contours of Mordor stood stark against the horizon; she gazed to the range of mountains with despair. Just beyond the cliffs there were thousands upon thousands of Orcs, servants of the Enemy, and ever did their numbers grow. While the watch around the fences of Mordor slept, evil had returned.

How long did they have before the foul filth would flow from the mouth of the Morannon?

She pried her gaze away and settled into a moon-shaped bowl; the withered grass was scratchy against her skin and the ground was damp, yet there was no better place to rest for the night. Curling in on herself, shifting back and forth, Rell tried to take no notice of the sounds around her. A faint rumble travelled through the ground, steady and continuous, like many feet marching endlessly. The sound came from far off, yet echoed in the hollow land so that Rell knew not whether it came from one direction or another. Or perhaps it was but tricks of her own tired mind.

Attempting to fade into the darkness of night, Rell cowered further into her hideout and waited.

Hoped to escape the attention of the Great Evil that was now her ever-present neighbour.

Her sleep was plagued with creeping terrors, flickering in and out of consciousness, until at length she remained fully awake. No rest would find her again. The ground was hard with frost, and her breathing chilled despite the cloak drawn close to her body. Every so often faint plops echoed somewhere in the dark; the wind danced across the shallow water and stirred the leaves, and the hollow she had found for the night gave little shelter. The only small comfort came from the overcast sky, for while ashen-grey clouds passed unending, there were distant stars to be seen.

Glistening high above, peering out, she watched the light and clung to the frail hope they brought to her.

Day came, and the sun blinked over the lifeless ridges of Ephel Dúath. Her face was grim and set, but resolute. She was filthy, haggard and pinched with weariness, but she cowered no longer, and her eyes were clear. Doubt was still present in her mind, but a newfound purpose – rekindled – was overwhelmingly stronger. Almost as if a hopeful thought had twisted, wormed, its way into her head without her knowing. It was best to carry on with haste, to put a distance between her and the Dark Lands.

Rell ate only a little; roots and berries that did nothing to still her hunger, but there was nothing else to be done. She climbed out of the hollow and looked over the marshes. Black pools shimmered in the muted sunlight, defiled as all else was in the brown fumes that choked the lands; the sky was pale and smoke-streaked, and the wind was cold. In the distance grey and darkened clouds promised rain, but she could not read the wind enough to tell for certain if it would affect her journey. Her hope was the downpour would blow east over the Sea of Rhûn, rather than it would hit her in her trek through the Dead Marshes.

There was a gloom in the air.

When she was finally ready to depart, shoulders hunched and mind heavy, Rell pulled Luin after her; stepping from one small mound of grass to the next, she kept Emyn Muil straight ahead. The ghosts of times long gone would not lure her astray; their whispers would fall on deaf ears, and Rell would leave the marshes. Thoroughly fatigued, the lone Ranger dearly wished to be rid of the stench and the ever-present wetness that left her perpetually soggy. A great obstinacy willed her forward. The Dead Marshes would not break her.

And so she wormed her way forward, bit by bit, until she in the late afternoon came to the edge of a large lake. The mud was deep and yielding, making it difficult for her to step safely, but hope bloomed in her chest. The outer ridges and rocky crags of Emyn Muil were incredibly close, so that she could make out small details in the stones; gnarled and stunted trees grew on the ridges, roots digging with desperation into the rocks. Rell hoped to perhaps reach the foothills before nightfall. She turned and walked slowly along the bank of the lake, skirting around tall clusters of reeds. Her journey through the marshes was at long last over.

A wind blew across the lake, and for the first time in many days it did not carry with it a smell of stagnant decay. It came fresh and cool against her face, and Rell breathed deeply to welcome the change. Beyond the waters stood a tall cliff, bare and bleak, casting a long dark shadow over the fen. Broken highlands rose further off, and while the sight would any other day be a menacing threat it was now well received. The sickly green and sullen brown came to an end, fading as the soft muddy ground turned to stone.

But still there was a way to go, for the lake was long and its waters deep and cold. The day wore on, and when afternoon faded towards evening she was still scrambling along its shores. The gurgling waves lapped against the banks while everything else was quiet. Yet sometimes in the silence of the barren country, Rell thought she heard faint sounds from high above. Often she shrugged it off as the wind sighing over the edges of stone – other times she stilled to listen, hearing stones falling, or the soft pitter-patter of feet. She had never learned of any beast living in the rocky hills, and so she watched with wary eyes for many long moments.

Never did she spot anything amongst the rocks.

At last she was brought to a halt.

The lake narrowed to a small stream, twisting southwest, and it was shallow enough for her to cross without issue. Many stones poked out of the water, and she managed to reach the further bank without wetting her feet. By her side Luin had carved through the surface with glee, splashing droplets everywhere, and was clearly happy to rid itself of dried flaking mud. A grin spread across her face as Rell regarded the horse. "At last we can turn our backs to this foul place! How I hope to never return."

With one final look over the marshes; on the pools and mires, the foggy and treacherous ground; all her misery that had clung to her spirit like mud to her boots now vanished. She turned to the hills ahead. The rock wall reared up, grey cliffs looming above and before her. She could go no further forward from there, and she saw no clear path entering Emyn Muil. There was nothing else to do but turn either north or south. But north would lead her only into more dangerous parts of the wild; and further from the great river Anduin. Away from her uncle, for still Rell clung to her certainty that he had reached the falls of Rauros at one point in his journey.

South would lead her closer to Gondor, back towards where she had come, but of the two it was the preferred road. The only road. She sighed, looking one way and then the other; the westering sun was caught into clouds, and a shadow fell upon the cliffs. "There is nothing for it but to try," the Ranger finally decided. "The road will take me where I am meant to go."

Her only comfort came from the fact she could once more ride rather than walk. The ground was stony, firm enough for Luin to tread without her guidance, and no longer soft with mud. Rell swung into the saddle, drew the reins close as her feet found the stirrups, and slowly they then followed the stream and the dark cliff on her right.

Her spirits were high, elevated by the changes around her, and they were not dampened even as rain began to fall. The drops came steady and soft, turning the stones glossy and the ground inky black; Rell held out her hands, face turned up to meet the grey clouds, and she allowed the mud and grime to be washed away. Cold and fresh, leaving a bite on her cheeks and brow, while droplets trickled into her hair. The rain stopped her mind from worrying, calmed her, but at the same time felt like an exciting buzz throughout her body. Waiting for it to wash away all her suffering and misery that had been a constant companion for many days.

Something new was on the distant horizon.

Good or bad she could not tell.

At the edge of the clouds there was a brilliant white patch, catching the sun, while the rest of the sky was consumed in numerous shades of grey and black. With a clean slip from her cloak, Rell wiped her face; rubbing vigorously until there were no more spots of mud remaining, before pulling the hood over her head. The light seemed to be fading quickly, although the sun had not yet set, and Rell's search for an opening in the rocks grew urgently. She would not spend another night in the marshes.

She carried on for half an hour longer, and so did the rain; it came down in sheets, muffling the sounds of the world around her, painted her vision grey, and it was hard to see much further ahead. Water dripped down into her eyes, soaked her muddied clothes, but still there seemed no end to the downpour. The wall towered up next to her, close enough for her hand to brush the chilled stone, yet no opening was to be found. She glanced up at the great cliff rising up. There was a distant murmur of thunder upon the breeze.

It was then that Rell noticed they were slowly but steadily going uphill; the cliff-top was sinking towards the level of the lowlands. The ridge took a sharp bent, and as she came around the corner a great crack met her. The gully cut straight through, narrow and sharp-edged with many protruding rocks, but it was an opening nonetheless in the unscalable wall. Rell peered into the glum darkness with hesitation, knowing well many things could seek refuge inside; thunder rumbled once more in the distance, and the rain was still falling heavily. It would be risky to enter in the dimness of falling night.

Rell jumped from the saddle.

Drawing her sword, she took a tentative step inside, then another and another, and left Luin by the entrance. Small, loose stones littered the ground; muddy brown rock stood guard on both sides, jagged and uneven, and at first there was little room for her to move more than an arm's length either way. Rills of water ran down its edges, splashed and spouted over the cliff as the clouds emptied. The ground was slippery. It was like walking through a tunnel – and almost just as black.

A flash of lightning lit her path.

But ahead she saw the pathway open onto a larger, tumbled flat of weathered rock. It was a stony hollow, a nook among great jagged pinnacles and ridges, and further ahead the road seemed to continue. It appeared to be a pass into Emyn Muil; though whether it would lead to a dead-end or prove to be one of many ways in the labyrinth, she could not tell in the setting darkness. All she knew was that it provided cover. Many trees had grown there, now dead and gaunt, bitten to the core by the winds; leaving old broken stumps and trunks straggled and twisted.

Deciding, Rell hastily returned for her horse. Although Luin proved dissatisfied with the deep ravine, the mare followed inside.

Rolling rocks threw echoes between the walls, loud and clear above the deafening rain, while Rell made her way to the hollow. For a while she fumbled through the waning light in an attempt to find shelter, at least enough to light a fire, until she came across an overhanging rock; barely high enough above the ground for her to sit below. It would have to make do. The trees were glistening and wet from the rain, but as Rell broke away branches she found the wood rough beneath her fingers. Dry.

Around her everything was lost in a deep blackness, but she turned her back to the rain and sat close to the rising flames. She had found a dry stone, flat and somewhat comfortable; but she knew she would be sore come morning. It did not take long before the fire roared to life, greedily licking at and devouring the logs; orange and red tendrils that made the wood crack and pop. The smell of ash hung heavy in the air, for there was little wind in the gully.

Rell rummaged through her packs, finding at the bottom a clay bowl that had long gone unused. The edges were nicked from use, and the brown bare clay was darkened with soot.

Rell placed it in the rain, allowing water to gather, while she found supplies from the small satchels tied to Luin's saddle. Thunder growled and rumbled in the distance. When the bowl began to overflow, she quickly added mushrooms and roots before placing it over the fire. It could hardly be called a soup, but the warmth was welcome – desperately needed – and she was famished. For a while she sat there, waiting, huddled in on herself. The flames lit up the faces of the rocks and made shadows dance, but beyond there was a wide looming blackness that no light could penetrate.

She drew her cloak closer.

When her supper was ready, Rell munched her way through the chewy broth in silence. Her mind wandered to the feast in Rivendell, so many months ago, yet she also thought the soup tasted far better, somehow, than anything she had eaten for a good while. The lack of rot in the air; the stench that had accompanied her every waking hour, was no more, and it made taste return to her. The bowl was soon empty, scrubbed clean, and returned to the satchel. Rell shifted, back against the wall of the cliff, and with legs pulled close to her chest.

She was no longer drenched but rather damp, and a warm air brushed against her face until her eyes felt heavy.

Sleep came not long after.