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Chapter Seventeen: Don't Follow the Lights

Mud stuck to and sucked at his boots, a relentless force of wet, gritty, stinky nature. Scowling, Robin yanked his foot from a deep sinkhole, struggling to keep up with the others. The only one going slower than him was Thralor, who hadn't stopped cursing for a straight hour.

If the plan had to been to get through most of the marshes during the day, it wasn't going well. They'd been walking for nearly half the day and had barely made a dent in the distance. Robin could practically feel the tension in the air; he wasn't the only who realized this.

Forcing his other foot forward, he bit back a few choice curses of his own. Eru. Mordor. Morgoth's silmaril. 

Legolas, Elanor, Aragorn, and Gimli all walked ahead, obviously deep in discussion. Robin had no doubt it was over the upcoming plans-- he gritted his teeth at being left out.

If he was going to be the bait, he'd at least be better at his job if he knew what was going on. He didn't like being left in the dark.

Behind them, Elladan and Elrohir walked together, like always. Aria stuck in between him and Thralor, the dark expression on her face an obvious representation of how she was feeling at the travel through the marshes.

Robin was starting to wish that they would have just taken the long route and gone around. 

Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips together, whistling a tune that had gotten him through many long, boring nights alone. With the cool air on his face and the companions gone from his sight, it almost seemed like he was free again. 

Free and on his own.

If only.

Slowly, he opened his eyes again-- to see every pair of eyes watching him. Abruptly, he stopped whistling and scowled. "What?"

Legolas raised his eyebrows, turning back away. But Aragorn continued to stare. "I know that tune."

Robin scowled deeper. "No, you don't."

"I do."

Irritation rose in his throat-- even the simple words that the man spoke irked the Mordor out of him. "My father wrote the song. He only played it for me and my mother."

But Aragorn's brows had drawn together. Then suddenly, his face cleared. "There was a man who would play that tune around the fire. During..." He trailed off, realization filling his eyes. "Before each battle during the War of the Ring."

Inwardly, Robin cursed himself. Outwardly, he clenched his jaw so hard his teeth gnashed, looking away.

He didn't even know what to say. My adar was no man.

He could feel the king still watching him but refused to look back up, mucking ahead. The others slowly followed and after a long moment, Aragorn looked away, starting again.

The day continued to wear on.

The darker the sky above continued to get, the colder the air became. Robin swore he could hear voices on the air too-- haunting whispers and faint whistles. 

The others didn't seem very comfortable either. Elanor kept shifting her bow back and forth between her hands, her gaze flicking from puddle of water to puddle of water. Legolas's face was tight, as if he could hear the very same voices Robin could.

It was the cries of the dying. The screams of the tortured.

There were lights on the horizon. The deeper into the marshes they traveled, the brighter they became. Robin had seen them before.

Soon, they would be in the middle of the battleground territory. That would be where they'd have the hardest time continuing on. He knew from experience.