"If you would like to learn, I would show you how to make it," Galadriel offered as she stared at the rain-soaked landscape in the darkness. With a purpose, even one as idle and frivolous as seeking out dye, the Fallow Mire seemed that much less dreadful. Her revulsion to this place was unfounded, truly, and it shamed her. She didn't relish reminders of mortality but they were not burdens she had to bare; such places desperately required light and she had no desire to keep it from them.

"These lands are strange to me," she explained. Beside them, the fire crackled loudly and a flurry of harmless golden motes rose into the air and vanished with the smoke. "Each new soul I meet makes them less so, and each friend I name is a stay against a tide of grief and loneliness."

"I offer my gifts freely, I need little and have always had much, but I would not refuse such poetic tales nor the aid of kind and nimble fingers."