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A Long and Weary Way  by Canafinwe

Note: "Time" from "Riddles in the Dark", The Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter XVIII: Into the Emyn Muil

Despite the risk of pursuit Aragorn knew he could go no further without sleep. His head ached with fatigue and even his good hand shook as he stowed his possessions in his pack. Injured as he was, he could endure no more. Nearly three days had passed since he had last submitted to his weary body, and if he did not take his rest now he would find himself utterly debilitated, as like as not in a place with less cover. So he drew his hood up over his face, wrapped his ragged cloak around his torso, and settled with his back to the boulder and his right calf across Gollum's bound ankles. This earned him a searing glare, but any movement on the part of the prisoner would rouse him immediately.

As it turned out he need not have bothered. Though slumber claimed him swiftly enough it was an uneasy sleep, troubled by dark imaginings and the occasional bolt of pain. Again and again he awoke, startled into wakefulness. Like a frightened child seeking reassurance his eyes would dart first to Gollum's bound body and then to the surrounding land. Then, his two fears proved for the moment unfulfilled, he would slip back into the shadow-world until his overwrought mind roused him again.

Yet poor sleep was better than no sleep, it seemed, for when he awoke for the last time with the Sun a faint whiteness behind the clouds above, he felt better for his rest. His head was clear and his vision sharp once more. Gollum was awake, lying motionless beneath Aragorn's boot and glowering blackly through slitted lids. Whether he had slept Aragorn could not say, but if he had not, so much the better. A swift assessment showed no sign of any enemy or watcher. It seemed his weakness had not cost him too dearly, and for that Aragorn was wretchedly grateful.

Slowly he bestirred himself. His right arm had stiffened and the first movements were agony, but once the violated muscles warmed the discomfort was tolerable. Aragorn dug out his drinking-bottle. His throat was taut with thirst and his lips were tortuously dry, but he took only enough to wet his tongue, and he was careful to turn away from Gollum while he did it. Though he would not give water to a captive who would only throw it away, and he must wait until thirst and want of food curbed his prisoner's violent temperament, he refused to dabble in needless cruelty.

He could not carry his pack as he had been, for his left hand was needed to manipulate the rope, and his wounded right arm was useless for such a purpose. Aragorn knotted the two sundered straps to one another and slung the bag across his right shoulder. Old hurts protested: he had all but forgotten the damage inflicted by orc-claws. Though the scratches were surely healing, the reminder of his torn cote was worrisome. He had many, many miles to travel, and each northward league would bear him into colder lands.

It would not do to dwell upon the obstacles to come – upon the winter that lay deep over the road before him, upon the deadly, open expanses of the Wilderland, upon the web of spies surrounding Dol Guldur, and the black heart of Mirkwood where dwelt the spiders, lesser than the beast he had left in Torech Ungol but terrible enough and far more numerous. Such thoughts would drive him mad. Aragorn sternly suppressed the thrill of fear that bolted through his chest at the thought of the numberless feats of improbable daring that lay ahead. It was all that he could do to overcome the challenges of today: to rise up, and to induce his prisoner to move, and to get them both into the relative safety of the mountains before whatever servants of Sauron were seeking the poor wretch caught up with them.

He untied the knots that bound Gollum's legs. He wasted neither breath nor strength attempting to coax action from his prisoner, but took him firmly by one bony shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Gollum shifted his weight onto his legs, but the moment Aragorn released his hold he plunked himself down amid the rocks again, sullen defiance in his eyes.

'I will not carry you,' Aragorn said sternly, though despair chilled him. He had not the strength to bear the creature upon his back, nor indeed to drag him, and if he refused to move then there was an end to everything. 'On your feet.'

Perhaps Gollum could read his desperation, or perhaps the creature was merely taking control of the one thing he could. Whatever the case, he did not move.

Aragorn rounded the captive, fixing him with a cold, imperious stare. 'Rise and walk,' he commanded. That tone and that expression had mustered armies, and cowed the men of Sauron, and even bolstered the courage and resolve of the Wise, but Gollum alone of all the folk of Middle-earth seemed immune to its influence. His expression grew only more obdurate, and still he remained unmoving.

It seemed likely that the Ranger would have to resort to threats or blows. Setting his teeth against distasteful necessity, Aragorn returned to his original position, and with the toe of his boot he nudged Gollum's tailbone. He applied just enough pressure that the creature stiffened, doubtless anticipating a swift and painful kick.

'Up!' Aragorn cried, and though his voice cracked painfully in his dry throat, this time Gollum took heed of him. The prisoner scrambled awkwardly to get his broad feet under his body, and when Aragorn began to move he did not resist.

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Through the afternoon Aragorn cut a northward course, driving his prisoner before him with harsh words and the occasional threatening motion of his foot. Gollum was sufficiently motivated by fear, it seemed, though Aragorn could not help but wonder whether it was fear of his escort's boot or of his erstwhile jailers doubtless trailing behind. Yet all through the day the Ranger saw no sign of any servant of the Enemy, and the shelter of the mountains drew ever more near.

Aragorn allowed a brief halt at sunset, but then pressed on despite the darknesss, stopping at last to rest a little in the waning hours just before the dawn. The hobbled pace he was obliged to keep filled him with unease. Alone in his present state he would have been hard-pressed to outrun hunting Uruk-hai. With his loping, stumbling captive it was impossible that their foes would not gain on them. Still he held out the fragile hope of eluding capture long enough to reach the mountains. There they might manage to shake off any pursuit, provided that he could induce Gollum to climb.

The next day the terrain was more difficult, as the foothills gave way to the first steep slopes of the Emyn Muil. Gollum had more trouble than before in keeping his feet, for the rocky terrain was treacherous and often the creature slipped or slid among a shower of stones and debris. Aragorn had to be doubly vigilant, lest a sudden loss of footing should cause the creature to throttle himself upon the rope. At first he was driven almost to distraction by the necessary delays, but as the day wore on beneath the gloom of an impending storm, the Ranger found himself almost equally incapable of maintaining the pace.

His head throbbed and his wounded arm ached however he held it. His thoughts were ringed about with haze of pain and thirst. He drank sparingly, and though he knew that his body had need of food in order to keep up his strength his appetite eluded him. The thought of waybread or dried meat made his empty stomach clench in protest. Nonetheless when a stumble over a loose stone brought him crashing to his knees, head reeling, he took it as a sign that he had to eat anyhow.

His efforts to choke down the bread without taunting his deprived captive were hampered by Gollum's refusal to look away. As he forced himself to swallow Aragorn could feel scrutinizing eyes burning into his back. He turned at last, intending to attempt a trade of obedience for sustenance, but at the sight of his travelling companion the intended proffer perished upon his lips. Gollum's eyes were not filled with famished desire, but with cold and malicious appraisal. He had seen weakness in his captor and he was hunting for more.

Deliberately misinterpreting an expression that he knew all too well, Aragorn tilted his head to one side, frowning sternly. 'When I have your assurance that you will not attempt to bite me, only then will I give you food and water. Have I such assurance?

Gollum's eyes narrowed, the look of hatred and defiance surging back. He turned his face away in clear repudiation of the terms of truce.

'Very well,' Aragorn said as coldly as he was able. 'It is of little moment to me if you choose to go hungry.' As he tucked his half-empty bottle into his pack next to the empty one, taking quick stock of his remaining stores, he did not add that soon enough neither of them would have any choice in the matter.

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Though the bread sat uneasy in his stomach, it did him good. After only a few minutes Aragorn's head ceased to throb quite so mercilessly, and his hands stopped their shaking. When he went on again with Gollum scurrying before him, only the pulsing agony in his bandaged arm served to remind him of his compromised state.

For a while they made good time, skirting the base of a towering cliff. It was not yet near nightfall, but in that sheltered place it was nigh as dark as night. Far above Aragorn heard the rumble of thunder and he shivered, hugging his inadequate cloak more tightly to him. Despite the boon of water that a downpour would bring he prayed silently that this storm would spare him. He could feel the threatening tendrils of fever stretching from his injured arm, and he knew he could not endure a soaking tonight.

For the present, at least, the rain did not come. Still the clouds were low and menacing when they came to the foot of a broad talus. There were boulders here, many too large for Aragorn to encircle with his arms, heaped at the foot of a slope. Squinting into the darkness, Aragorn thought the mountain before him looked passable – certainly more so than any in the immediate vicinity. Furthermore the talus would serve him well: here a light-footed Ranger might move with greater ease than a crowd of iron-shod orcs.

Yet as he took the first steps onto the scree, Gollum hung back, sullen and stubborn behind his gag. Aragorn closed his eyes, wearily steeling himself for the contest of wills to come. When he looked down at the prisoner again, Gollum was bent over his arms, twisting his hands against the bonds that held his wrists and casting the occasional furtive glance of terror at his captor.

'Of course,' Aragorn sighed, hopping off the stone and back onto the ground. He bent, and Gollum shied away, hissing through his nose as his body tensed, anticipating a blow. Instead the Ranger took hold of his hands and began to work free the knots. 'You cannot climb with your hands bound,' he said. 'But if you attempt to remove the gag, or loose the noose, I will bind you hand and foot and drag you after me like the carcass of a boar.'

He was not at all certain that he could find it within himself to follow through with such a threat, but Gollum at least seemed convinced of his sincerity. When Aragorn withdrew the strip of binding wool the thin hands flew not to the prisoner's other bonds. Gollum scratched at his left knee and then scraped a little in the dirt. Satisfied that he was to be obeyed, Aragorn straightened his back and began the climb.

It was less arduous than it might have been, but the way was steep and soon the Ranger found himself using his hands almost as much as his prisoner was. At least, his left hand, for any effort to use the right brought terrible pain. Aragorn knew that he ought to inspect the wound and see what might be done, but by now it was too dark for such ministrations. Instead he pressed onward. Gollum proved to be an able climber, and soon he was outstripping his captor, hurrying ahead until the rope grew taut and obliged him to halt and wait for Aragorn to catch up. It was an eerie thing to see those two pale eyes glinting in the darkness ahead, hovering impatiently and glutted with hatred.

At length they reached the end of the talus and began a steep ascent on solid rock. The incline was such that Aragorn was still able to walk more or less upright, but soon his legs were aching and the healing tear in his thigh stung. He longed to stop for the night, but the fear of pursuit drove him onward, ever onward, to gain another mile, another league that might forestall the inevitable.

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Dawn found the hunter and his captive upon a flat stretch of hill upon which a great bastion of stone rose ragged towards the sky. Gollum lay upon his side against the towering rock, restrained hand and foot to keep him from mischief while his captor rested. Near at hand Aragorn leaned for support upon the stone, huddled semi-prone beneath his tattered cloak. He was shivering violently, wracked with chills that he feared had little to do with the cold of the fading night air. As the sickly daylight approached, he forced himself to sit up, and dug in his pack for water and the little throwing-knife. His left hand was cold and clumsy, but he managed with some effort to undo the knots that bound his right arm. Peeling loose the makeshift bandage proved an excruciating process, but he set his teeth and endured.

At the sight of his mangled arm, Aragorn all but despaired. For two days he had felt the infection take hold, entrenching itself ever more deeply, but to see the red and glossy flesh, the wounds rimmed in black clots here and there torn open so that the carmine blood oozed out, the pockets of putrescence where the dead flesh held in the poisons, was almost more than his courage could bear. Such wounds could easily be fatal, and he had no materials for a poultice, nor any clean dressing, nor even water enough to properly wash the wounds. For a moment he was overcome with wrath at the thought of the creature who had caused this damage, but he reigned himself in sharply. Gollum could not bear the blame for this. He had lashed out in the only way that he knew how against a superior opponent. The state of his mouth was not his fault, and the lack of proper supplies certainly was none of his doing.

With the little knife and a coarse stone, Aragorn set about the ugly task of debriding the wounds as best he could. He drained the punctures at his wrist, and then tried to cut away the scraps of dead skin that were breeding the infection. More than once he had to stop, panting with pain, until he could muster the courage to continue with the gruesome ritual.

When at last he had done all that he could for himself, he spared a little water to rinse the wounds. Blood and pus mingled, trailing down the side of his arm in unpleasant orange rivulets. More water was needed to clean the worst of the filth from his bandage, and then he carefully wrapped the arm again, his hand trembling as he used fingers and teeth to knot the dressing.

Looking up, he found Gollum staring at him with something like horror in his great, pale eyes. He had likely not thought his captor doughty enough to endure such ministrations, Aragorn thought grimly.

'Ah, but I am,' he croaked, though of course Gollum likely had no idea what he was thinking. The effort of forming words made his dry throat sting. He rocked the bottle in his hand. There was scarcely more than a mouthful of water left, but his thirst was becoming once more unbearable – a further sign of fever. Aragorn raised the vessel to his lips but hesitated and then set it aside. There was one more thirsty than he.

'Gollum, I am going to remove your gag so that you may drink,' he said. 'If you snap at me then you will lose any hope of drink until we happen upon some rill or spring. I must tell you that I fear such a discovery will not be forthcoming: this is your last chance of water. Do not be a fool.'

He crept forward and fumbled with the knot behind the creature's head. He pulled back the strip of cloth, and then with finger and thumb drew out the damp plug of wool from the creature's mouth. Instantly Gollum bared his teeth, hissing with hostility. His dry lips were cracking and his tongue was visibly swollen, but he thrashed against the ground, attempting to sit up, his jaw working as he tried to attack.

Aragorn was ready. He waited until the gnashing mouth was at its widest, and then more deftly than he would have thought possible in his present condition he rammed the ball of cloth between the threatening teeth. Gollum made a strangled choking noise, and fell back against the ground, straining against his bonds and whimpering through his nose. Grimly Aragorn replaced the gag, knotting it tightly.

'So be it,' he said, unable to wholly mask his regret. 'Then you must go thirsty, for I have not the will to carry this last any further against the day when you will see sense and obey me.' Yet though he drank the water brought him no satisfaction, for it was too little to slake his thirst and his prisoner's torment galled his heart.

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On this side of the Emyn Muil, the mountains were bordered by lofty cliffs that rose like an impenetrable wall to the North. Aragorn had walked these lands once before, but he found that memories of that terrible time eluded him. As he drove his prisoner on, he tried to keep his eyes from the creature's tortured hands, for the delicate, precise pattern of the wounds was all too familiar and though he could not say with impunity what lieutenant of Sauron had inflicted such hurts, he would have staked a considerable wager upon his guess.

His own injuries troubled him less now, though whether that was a sign that his efforts had brought about improvement or whether the mounting fever was merely dulling him to pain Aragorn could not say. He kept his right arm tucked against his chest while the left was occupied in holding the rope and catching him when the angle of incline necessitated the support of a third limb. Soon he found himself moving in a more easterly direction, with the cliffs to his left. There was a place, he knew, where the way was not so impassable. He had only to find it.

He longed to dwell upon pleasant thoughts as he walked; to think of distant lands and verdant valleys, of warm beds and gentle healing hands – but he knew that he could not indulge such a reverie. If once he slipped into pining for home, he would lose the will to carry on with his impossible task. Instead he tried to focus his attention on the bent form of Gollum, scrambling ahead at the end of the rope, but again his thoughts strayed. This time they meandered back through the years, out of the Ephel Dûath and through the vales of Harondor, into swamps and out again, over broad barren lands, under hills and deep through empty woods, and so at last back to a dark place far beneath the Hithaeglir where a misplaced hobbit had stumbled upon the lair of a menacing creature, escaping only by virtue of his wit and tenacity. Before he realized what he was doing, the Ranger found himself running the story through his mind, as Bilbo had told it to him fifteen years ago.

This thing all things devours,
Birds, beasts, trees, flowers;
Gnaws iron, bites steel,
Grinds hard stones to meal;
Slays king, ruins town,
And beats high mountains down.

Aragorn did not quite comprehend that he had uttered the last riddle aloud until he almost tripped over Gollum, who had frozen in his tracks to stare back at his captor with dismay and terror in his eyes. They stood for a moment, regarding one another, before the prisoner shuddered and scurried away to the end of the rope again. Aragorn trudged onward, but grim amusement fluttered in his breast.

'So now you know that I know more of your history than you suspected,' he thought wryly, watching his captive clamber over a boulder and halt again, hunched over so that the knot of the gag stood almost upright. 'I wonder what you intend to do about it.'    





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