Chapter XVII: Of Clemency and Necessity

For all his iron will, Aragorn could not outlast the night. Long before dawn he was obliged to halt, stopping on an island of relatively firm ground that was overgrown with brittle rushes. His temples were pulsing with a dull ache, and the pain in his right forearm had only intensified through his flight. As soon as he stopped moving the world swam perilously about him, but he did not allow himself to fall.

The moment he paused, Gollum flung himself upon the ground, weeping and attempting to utter curses that were muffled by the gag. Aragorn knew that he ought to repeat his assurances that he would not harm the creature, but speech eluded him. Silently he eased himself down onto his knees, sparing not even a sigh. He could not afford to show weakness: far better that his prisoner think he had halted by design rather than out of desperation.

He took a frugal swallow of water, and forced himself to gnaw upon a piece of bannock. Gollum seemed insensible to his surroundings, writhing in the mud and twisting his hands fruitlessly against his bonds. Aragorn watched him with one eye while with the other he tried to examine his injured arm. It was a useless endeavour: the flickering of the candles of the Dead offered no illumination to aid him. He was loath to think what damage the creature's mouth had done, much less what poisons might be found upon his teeth, but without light he could neither assess nor properly dress the wounds. At least they were still bleeding sluggishly, and whatever filth was in them was thus prevented from settling in to fester.

Presently Gollum ceased his struggles and picked himself up out of the mud. He crouched with his bound hands on the ground between his feet, staring at the Ranger with hatred gleaming in his eyes. Aragorn studiously kept his expression inscrutable, though his innards crawled to be beneath such a malevolent gaze. What secrets lay behind those pale orbs? What dangerous thoughts lurked in the crafty mind that had so long outwitted him?

While the candles burned in the stagnant meres, the Ranger and his captive sat. Aragorn would have liked to lay down to rest, even if he could not sleep, but he restrained himself, bowing over his lap with his arm cradled against his chest, his left hand keeping a tight hold upon the rope. When the last of the ghost-lights winked out and the grey glow of dawn began to suffuse the mists, he rose and waited for his prisoner to do the same.

'Come, now,' he said when Gollum did not comply. 'We have had our rest: let us see if we can find solid ground today.'

From behind the gag, Gollum began hissing to himself.

Aragorn's jaw tightened in annoyance. He was not fool enough to expect cooperation, but this absolute reticence was grating on his already-taxed nerves. 'Come,' he repeated, more sternly.

Still Gollum did not move. Coiling the lead firmly around his hand, Aragorn began to walk. The creature would follow, he resolved, or be dragged like a sack of meal. For a few steps it seemed as if Gollum would chose the latter, but then the rope grew more slack and Aragorn, casting a perfunctory glance over his shoulder, saw his captive loping awkwardly behind.

They had not walked more than an hour, keeping a more or less northerly course, when Aragorn's boots struck earth that did not ooze or shift beneath them. Here the grasses were thinner and more pale, and there were no pools slick with slime, nor any whispering waters. They had come, so it seemed, to the northern border of the Marshes.

Though Aragorn was grateful to be out of the hateful fens, he was also wary. The protection afforded by the Marshes was gone, and they were on solid ground again; ground that would bear up the Uruk-hai and lend speed to any who pursued the creature. There was no cover here, but in the distance the foothills of the Emyn Muil loomed dark against the indistinct horizon. It was there that they must head with all speed, but as Aragorn quickened his pace he was faced with an unpleasant realization. Gollum could not move as swiftly as he. Even if he had chosen to cooperate, his shorter legs and unbalanced gait were no match for the long, even strides of the Ranger. Aragorn had not counted upon being thus hobbled, and the epiphany filled him with terror. If he could not coax some greater speed out of his prisoner, then the flight across the Wilderland would take months, if not seasons. Matters of food and water aside, there was the danger of pursuit. Even now he could not find cover quickly enough.

Yet in the end they came unassailed to high ground, and in the shelter of a boulder Aragorn sank to his knees. He drew in the rope, compelling Gollum to scuttle nearer. The captive did not look at all pleased with this arrangement – but truth be told, neither was Aragorn. Though some memory of the reek of the fens clung to his hair and mud-soaked garments, being now removed from the Dead Marshes he found Gollum's stench beyond overpowering. His disgust was tempered only by the knowledge that the creature could no more help its filthy state than he could his own.

It was time now to attend to his arm, which was still throbbing beneath the grimy sleeve. 'I must see what can be done about your handiwork,' Aragorn said, making a conscious attempt to sound amicable. 'Then I daresay you and I would each fare better for some food. I have little enough, but it is better than nothing.'

Gollum glowered at him, his thin lips working grotesquely against the gag.

'Come nearer and I will remove that,' Aragorn offered. He strove to smile kindly, but feared a weary grimace was all that he could muster. 'There is no need for you to go thus bound, if only you will refrain from biting. Once you have proved yourself worthy of that small trust, I may loose your hands as well.'

Gollum made no motion to obey. Had he not heard the creatures words the night before, Aragorn almost would have doubted his captive's ability to understand speech at all.

'Come nearer if you wish me to remove the gag,' he repeated, enunciating more clearly. The effort strained the healing lesion on his lower lip, and the resulting discomfort did nothing to restore his good humour. 'I will do you no harm.'

No further harm, he silently corrected. Was it any wonder the creature feared him? The marks upon its neck were now excruciatingly black; a livid reminder of the force that had been necessary to cow him. A twinge of compassion stirred in Aragorn's breast, and he repressed it sternly. He knew much of the art of command, and whether dealing with young recruits or a dangerous prisoner he understood that he could make no apology for needful action. In the desperate days to come, only discipline would stand betwixt him and utmost calamity. If he could not command the creature's cooperation at least he must gain his grudging respect.

Or failing that, Aragorn reflected bleakly, his fear.

'Very well,' he said indifferently. 'If you will come no nearer you may wear the thing until I am finished with my arm.'

Gollum, of course, made no attempt to answer.

Aragorn wished he might turn away from the creature. He disliked any show of weakness, and before his prisoner such might prove dangerous indeed, but he did not dare to turn his back on his catch. With clumsy fingers he tied the rope to his belt, that his left hand might be free to tend to his right. Then he began, gingerly, to tug his sleeve up towards his elbow, revealing the wounds.

Somehow he bit back the noise of dismay, but he knew he could not keep his consternation from his face. He darted a furtive glance at Gollum. He had seen no more than half a dozen teeth in the creature's mouth, but it scarcely seemed possible that such damage could be done by so few. The wound in the midst of his arm was the more serious by far. Here there were deep punctures and long, jagged lacerations. The skin was torn and mangled, ragged strips of flesh hanging loose from the tears and curling unnaturally under the black, curdled blood. The places where dead flesh lapped over living were already hard with inflammation and gathering pus.

At his wrist there was less tearing: he had not wrenched his arm free that time, but strangled his assailant until lack of air cost him his hold. The punctures were deeper here, laced with traces of slime and filth and still oozing blood. The perforated sinews ached, protesting even the smallest movement. Here Aragorn could clearly count the marks of five teeth, narrow and sharp and vicious. There were other scratches that might have belonged to another – perhaps two. Surveying the damage, he shuddered to think what harm might have been done if Gollum had possessed a complete set.

Aragorn was at a loss as to how to wash and dress the wound. He had not a scrap of clean cloth remaining anywhere on his person, nor had he any means of heating water, nor indeed any water to spare. He found himself longing for the orc-liquor.

Gollum was watching him intently now, gauging his every motion. Under the scrutinizing eyes of his captive Aragorn could ill afford any show of hesitation or uncertainty. If he could not bind the wound with a clean bandage, a dirty one would have to do. His cloak – now less in length than his cote – was filthy, and so he cut his bandages from the skirts of his tunic instead. He spared a little of his water to lave the wounds, and then wrapped them tightly. For a moment the pressure was unbearable, but then the pain settled to a dull, persistent throb and the tightness in wrist and elbow eased. Aragorn worked his fingers warily, and the motion prompted little increase in his discomfort. Still he doubted the arm would be of much use for knife-work. If they were set upon now, he would be unable to adequately defend himself or his prisoner.

His prisoner. Aragorn loosed the lead and took it in hand once more. 'Come nearer, now,' he said, firmly but not unkindly. Gollum did not obey. Aragorn's hand twitched on the rope, ready to reel it in, but he restrained himself. If he were to have any hope of undoing the damage of his first encounter with the creature, he would have to refrain from such high-handed tactics. Though his long legs ached and his tired body protested, he pushed himself nearer, taking in the line slowly so that Gollum could not scurry any farther away.

'I will not harm you,' Aragorn repeated yet again. 'You are in my charge, and I shall treat you with all the consideration that I may. Now, I will remove the bit from your mouth, but if you attempt to bite again you will regret it. Do you understand? Nod your head.'

Gollum only glowered blackly at him, as if with his eyes he might sear a hole through the Ranger's heart. Unable to entirely restrain himself from an exasperated sigh, Aragorn reached around Gollum's head, three fingers still gripping the rope. Stretching his right arm proved painful, but he could not undo his knot single-handed. He eased the rag loose of its bindings and slowly, cautiously peeled it away from the creature's face. The wide mouth worked frenetically, twisting and stretching as a pale tongue darted against thin lips. Aragorn could not restrain himself from making a count of the creature's teeth. Six. He shook his head and returned to the task at hand.

'Are you thirsty?' he asked, stretching awkwardly to tug his pack nearer. He had no wish to share his bottles with the vile-smelling thing, and so he dug out the wooden cup and tipped a few ounces of fluid into it. He held out the peace-offering. 'Surely you must be thirsty. I promise you the water is clean, if not fresh.' In part to lend veracity to his words and in part because the sight and sound of water made his dry throat burn, Aragorn used his right arm to lift the bottle to his lips and took a meagre swallow.

Gollum's eyes were still narrowed in suspicion, but he made no attempt to shrink away as Aragorn put the cup between his bound hands, curling the long, knobby fingers around them. Again he tried to smile. 'There. Drink: you will feel better for it.'

He withdrew his hands, and Gollum lifted the cup as if he were going to quaff of the life-giving fluid within. But then his arms shot out and he hurled the vessel away. It landed with a dull sound among the rocks, the water running out over the ground.

White-hot rage seized Aragorn, and for a moment he was certain that he was going to strike the prisoner. Decency restrained him at the last, before he could raise his hand against a bound and helpless captive, but the anger remained. To waste water thus, out of spite, while they had too little even to ensure their survival, was a crime deserving of stern punishment.

Aragorn closed his eyes, setting his jaw. It took all of his strength of will, but when he spoke his voice was level and his fury was constrained. 'That was a foolish act, and one that I fear we will both rue. If you will not drink what I give you then you must go thirsty, for there is no water in these lands fit for man or beast.' He fixed his gaze on Gollum, the stern light of command in his eyes. 'I shall cosset you no more. I have questions that you must answer, for your sake as much as my own. Are you being pursued by the servants of the Enemy?'

Gollum's mandible was jutting out obdurately, and he said nothing. Aragorn tried a different approach.

'Your hands. Tell me what has so harmed your hands.'

A whimper welled up in the creature's throat. 'Handses, poor hands,' he moaned, drawing his arms in against his ribs and licking at his torn and oozing fingers. 'Hurts us, precious. We doesn't tell, so they hurts us. Burning, biting, bleeding – then we talks, precious. We answers hateful questions, gollum. But no more!' Here he glared at Aragorn, accusation and defiance in his eyes. 'No, no more questions, precious. We'll bite his nassty handses if he tries it, precious. No more questions, no more, no more...'

'You were interrogated,' Aragorn translated, trying to make sense of the roundabout words and the echoing phrases. 'You were put to torment, and you answered their questions. Who harmed you? Who hurt your hands? Orcs? Men?'

'Hateful manses, with his ropes and his nassty cups. Hates him, precious. Bite him, we will. Bite him and scratch him and dig out his eyeses. Ties our poor handses! Chokes us and kills us, he does! Hateful, hateful, gollum.'

'Were you interrogated by the servants of Sauron?' demanded Aragorn. His patience, much tried already by pain and weariness and the desperation of his plight, was wearing thin. The creature would not talk to him, and indeed seemed scarcely to hear his voice, and that he might have expected, but the senseless prattling to 'precious' was growing swiftly tiresome. While he wasted time indulging this quixotic creature, pursuit might be drawing ever nearer. He pressed harder. 'His men: were you questioned by his men? What did you tell them? How did you escape?'

'No! No more!' Gollum whimpered, twisting his wrists so that he might claw at his forehead despite his bonds. 'No more questions, gollum! We can't! We can't! Don't look at us, gollum! Leave us be! Go to sleep! Go to sleep!'

'Gollum!' Aragorn exclaimed sharply. 'You must answer me! Those marks on your hands are not orc-work. Were you held captive in Mordor?'

He waited, but Gollum's wretched whinging only continued along the same vein. Each sibilant syllable grated more painfully against Aragorn's frazzled nerves. It was obvious that the creature had been tortured, and questioned, and such prisoners were never turned loose. If they chanced by luck or by guile to escape, the pursuit was terrible and unrelenting. Orcs were trouble enough, but if the Men of Mordor on their fell steeds were after him, Aragorn had to know.

'Tell me!' he snapped. 'Who questioned you? Who tormented you? Who harmed your hands?'

'Hands!' Gollum wailed, stamping his broad feet against the earth like a small child in the throes of a fit of temper, even as his fingers tugged at his lank, sparse hair. 'Poor, poor handses! Poor precious, gollum! Questions, always questions. He wants it, he does. Wants it. Wants answers. Wants poor precious, poor precious, gollum... wants... no! Not for you! No! NO!'

Aragorn's fragile self-control abandoned him. The creature's panic was infectious, and under its influence the Ranger's own fears overcame him at last. 'Enough!' he cried. 'Enough of your ramblings: I must have an answer! Are you being hunted by the servants of the Enemy?' He reached out and seized Gollum's shoulder, as if by doing so he could shake him free of the terrible hysteria that gripped him.

It was a grievous mistake. Gollum reacted instantly to the restraining hand. He spun, jaws snapping. Only reflex and the knowledge of the damage those teeth could inflict saved Aragorn from another wound. Yet as he yanked back his arm he lost his hold on the rope. In the selfsame moment Gollum launched himself to his feet and began to run, loping and bobbing with the lead trailing behind him. Aragorn had no time to think or to reason out the best course of action. He could not lose his prisoner. He scrambled after Gollum, who moved now with speed that belied his slow progress across the lowlands. There was a terrible moment when Aragorn was unsure whether his failing strength would be sufficient to close the gap, but then Gollum overbalanced, bound hands powerless to help him, and tumbled to the ground. He clambered to his feet almost before he struck the earth, but the delay of a breath was all that the Ranger needed. His hand closed upon the end of the rope and he hauled in his quarry, choking and gasping and clawing at the collar about the scrawny neck.

Aragorn said nothing as he dragged the creature back to where pack and bottles lay. Gollum writhed, his slippery limbs and his wiry strength making it impossible to gain a firm hold. When Aragorn attempted to immobilize him, the gnashing teeth once more sought for flesh to tear. With his right hand Aragorn took hold of the creature's lank hair. Gollum yelped, but his captor, grim and resolute, pushed the gag into his mouth, forcing down the tongue and rendering his teeth harmless. Aragorn knotted the restraint tightly behind the creature's head, tugging to ensure that the gag would not slip. Then he tightened the bonds upon the creature's wrists, for these had been worried loose in the struggle. Finally, he took another strip of wool and tied the creature's bony feet.

Only then did he fall back against the boulder, his chest heaving and his head pounding. The niggling voice of failure clawed at him. So much for gaining the trust of his prisoner. His attempts to do so had been repaid with this: water needlessly wasted, further injury upon his person attempted, and most horrifying of all, the near-loss of his prize. Aragorn shifted against the stone, trying to ease his laboured breathing. He looked at Golllum, trussed up in the dust, still struggling against his bonds, and he tightened his grip on the rope. Whatever it took, he would deliver the creature safely into the keeping of Thranduil and his folk. Whatever the cost, Gollum would not escape. If mercy and decency could not accomplish this, then they must be laid aside. His purpose was to bring Gollum to Mirkwood, not to befriend him; and however much it galled him he must show no pity. Though he would not be cruel, he could not be kind. The concerns of Middle-earth were of greater moment than the hurt heart of one solitary Man. He would tame Gollum by whatever means necessary, and most important of all, his prisoner would not find another opportunity to fly.