Chapter XXII: Down to the River

The stream followed much the same route that Aragorn had intended to take – though perhaps not quite so northerly. Most likely it drained into Nen Hithoel in the shadow of Tol Brandir, where the river was impassible to a man without a boat. Despite this, he followed it, and intended to do so until he neared the Vales of Anduin. He was so weary of the stern rationing of water that had been his lot since he had parted with Gandalf in distant Harondor. It was an inexpressible relief to be able to drink whenever he wished, and to bathe his wounded arm twice every day without paying a dear ransom of thirst. He had even made an effort to restore some semblance of cleanliness to his person and his dilapidated attire, though the results were hardly impressive.

Almost as welcome as the water was the plant life that clung so resolutely to the creek-bed. Dead though it was in the heart of winter, Aragorn still managed to scrounge edible taproots and the occasional tuber. These, particularly the latter, he hoarded with the zeal of a starving man, and each day his pack grew a little heavier. He ate enough only to keep himself firmly upon his feet, for the hungry northward leagues haunted him. Far better to suffer the pinchings of an undernourished belly now than to face utter famine in some snowy waste far from succour.

Glad though he was of the gleanings of the land, Aragorn kept a sharp lookout for signs of game. His attention to this matter was not entirely self-serving, for Gollum disdained the Ranger's diet of roots and resolutely refused to partake of it. Despite the creature's earlier hostility and his continued bitter silence, Aragorn as the jailer had a duty to feed his captive. If Gollum would not or could not gnaw the tasteless fibres that were sustaining the Man, then Aragorn had to make an effort to provide a reasonable alternative. Harsh policies were all very well while a prisoner was violent and openly defiant, but now that Gollum was beginning to show signs of cooperation he had to be met halfway, lest continued restraint discourage further good behaviour.

To that same end, Aragorn now travelled through the hours of darkness, finding shelter as the Sun began to climb and his companion began to quail. His primary concern was to avoid another performance like the one that had driven him to remove Gollum's gag. In truth, though, he was just as happy to rest through the day. Sunlight was helpful for foraging, and it helped him stave off sleep. Furthermore, the nights were growing colder, and it was easier to stay warm when one was on the move.

It was early in the morning on the eleventh day since Aragorn had found his quarry, when they came to a place where the stream tumbled over a swell of the land in a cascade some four feet high. The little waterfall was sufficient to form a pool at its base. Here the vegetation was as dense and varied as any Aragorn had seen in this land. Even the desolation of winter could not disguise the wild beauty of this peaceful place. There were thickets of raspberry and whortleberry – picked clean, of course, by unseen birds – and grasses of every description. Aragorn could see bald patches of earth where clover would flourish when spring came, and there were crocus stalks on the far side of the pool. Even trees grew here: a few scrawny willow saplings stretching their denuded branches towards the pale sky.

Beside one of these the Ranger settled himself, within easy reach of the water and close by a whortleberry bush beneath which Gollum could hide. The work of gathering food could wait awhile: though his fever was all but gone he was plagued by fatigue that his brief, unsettled attempts at sleep could not allay. The night's march had left him sore and weary, and he longed for rest.

With his back to the sapling, which despite its slender bole was deeply rooted in the sandy soil, he dug the bundle of bulrush fibres from his pack and carefully chose a few that were slender enough to chew. While Gollum cringed in the shadows, Aragorn ate, spitting out the woody fibres once the nourishing centres were extracted. It was not a genteel repast, but as he was in the company of a creature who nipped at his own toes, such considerations troubled Aragorn but little.

The sun was distant but bright, and the air grew warmer as she mounted ever higher. His meal concluded, Aragorn leaned against the tree and closed his eyes. Reluctant to sleep, which would entail bestirring himself to bind Gollum's hands, he wandered in a pleasant daydream while the sunlight filtered golden through his eyelids.

He thought of Imladris in high summer, when all the valley was in bloom. The apple orchard, frosted with fragrant white blossoms, was filled with the song of plump bees, hovering industriously amid the laden branches. Roses like great, intricate gems seemed to glow in the sulight. In the herb gardens, wholesome healing smells intermingled and the pansies smiled at the sky. By the water there was a cluster of bluebells, heavy heads hanging low above the crystalline rush of the Bruinen…

A tug at his wrist dragged Aragorn back to the present. Opening his eyes, he wished at once that he had never closed them. In contrast to his vivid imaginings, this place that had seemed so fair and peaceful was now grey and bleak. Suppressing that ungrateful thought, he sought out his prisoner, whose movement had dragged him from his reverie. Gollum had moved down to the water's edge, as far from Aragorn as he could contrive to get without throttling himself. He was not paddling his hands in the water as was his wont, but crouching instead by the pool's edge, staring intently at the rippling surface but touching it not.

Curious as to what might so entrance his captive, Aragorn remained motionless. Gollum scarcely seemed to breathe, so still was he. Then sudden as a striking adder his arm shot out, plunging beneath the water with scarcely a splash. Then in a great shower of spray he raised his arm. Clamped firmly in his spindly fingers was a fat, thrashing carp. Gollum hissed triumphantly, digging his ragged nails into the gills of the fish until dark blood oozed forth.

Aragorn chuckled appreciatively. 'Most impressive,' he said, and for the first time since Gollum's capture the civility came easily. 'I shall have to try for myself, and then I think we can risk a fire to roast them.'

Gollum's look of unguarded victory blackened at these words, and he glowered at Aragorn. He turned the still-twitching fish in his hands, holding it much as one would a fresh pasty. Then with a savage jolting of his head he sunk his teeth into the scaly underbelly and tore loose a hunk of iridescent flesh. He hardly seemed to chew it before his throat constricted in a swallowing motion and he dove forward for another mouthful. This time he punctured the carp's intestine and came away with a fragment of tattered fin clinging to his chin. The slurping sound he made as he sucked back his meal was accompanied by a pungent smell of offal.

Aragorn had a strong stomach, well schooled by years of unpleasant sights and scents, but this display was very nearly too much for him. He cast his eyes away and tried to close his ears to the noises of mastication as Gollum set into his meal with ravenous abandon.

Suddenly roasted fish no longer seemed quite so tempting.

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That evening Aragorn crossed the little stream, fording it at a shallow place where the bed was studded with broad, flat stones. Gollum came splashing after, muttering resentfully under his breath as he did so. Aragorn felt a tug of annoyance that was tempered by amusement. He had a habit of conversing with himself, particularly at times when he was alone with a sticky problem to address, but he could not compete with Gollum's soliloquies. The angry ramblings rarely made any sense, and were usually too low to hear. Occasionally Aragorn caught a wrathful oath or an especially sibilant adjective, but for the most part he tried to ignore his prisoner's nonsensical raving and tonight was no exception to that.

Despite his earlier determination to remain near the water, Aragorn was suddenly anxious to begin his northward progress. Anduin could not be far away, and if he did not want to make a broad detour around the lake, he had to change his path. It worried him that there was no sign yet of the expected pursuit. It scarcely seemed possible, given the delays that his injuries had caused, that servants of Sauron upon Gollum's trail would have failed to come near enough to be seen upon the horizon or heard in the whisperings of the earth. Therefore it seemed that either Gollum had an extraordinary head start upon his foes, or he was not being hunted by the Enemy at all.

Certainly it was possible that Gollum had never been captured by Sauron; or else that, having escaped, he was unworthy of pursuit. Yet the meticulous regard that had been paid to his hands told a different story. Obviously he had been given very careful and particular attention. If the torturers of Mordor had extracted from him every fragment of useful information – a prospect that filled Aragorn's heart with a horror he could ill afford – it was conceivable that they would think him useless. Yet useless or no, Aragorn had never heard tell of any captive set free out of pity. Perhaps Gollum's escape had gone unnoticed for a sufficient stretch of time to allow for the lack of any detectable trackers, but by Aragorn's reckoning such a lead would have had to be three days or more; it was unlikely that even the most negligent jailer should for so long fail to notice that his charge had absconded.

It was the illogical nature of the situation that most troubled Aragorn. He was accustomed to predicting the actions of the Enemy, and to interpreting the motives that drove Sauron's thralls. He had insight into the hearts and minds of others that few could rival, and he understood more of the machinations of his foes than any of his race yet living. This lack of pursuit was not consistent with what he knew of the servants of Mordor, and so he could not know what he should do to avoid needless danger.

Through the night the problem clawed at him, while Gollum whinged and muttered and contorted his spine. Dawn came at last and found them near a copse of trees – in rather poor shape. Gollum was favouring his left arm and whimpering wretchedly deep in his throat. Aragorn's riven right thigh was aching along the new scar, and his head was throbbing. His eyes stung and his thoughts were muddled: he had been too long without sleep.

He found a sheltered place where heather grew in more clement months, and there he halted. Gollum retreated at once to the end of his lead and started to fawn over his sore hand. Weary though he was, Aragorn forced out an offer of aid that was repaid with a venomous hiss and a black look. Too tired to press the issue, he stretched himself out on the spongy earth. His leaden eyes slipped closed almost of their own accord.

For a moment he fought the inexorable pull of slumber. He had a prisoner to secure, and they were both in need of water... but exhaustion won out over good sense and he resisted no further.

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Aragorn awoke abruptly, yanked out of the warm embrace of darkness into petrified wakefulness. Unsure what had roused him he did not move, but remained with his eyes closed as he listened intently. Near at hand – very near at hand – he could hear the low, wheezing exhalations of his prisoner. Furthermore he could smell him: Gollum's vile scent, now liberally tainted with the reek of raw carp.

His pulse quickened. For days Gollum had kept his distance as much as the rope would allow. What was he doing now, that he was so close? Cautiously Aragorn opened his eyes far enough that he could peer through his lashes. Gollum was practically on top of him, crouching by his side. His attention was focussed on the Ranger's pack where it lay by his hip. While Aragorn watched Gollum cautiously plucked up one side of the opening, lifting it with care. Then the other hand slipped inside and emerged with the little coil of copper wire between finger and thumb. Gollum tossed it disdainfully away and reached into the pack once again.

Aragorn sat up and his prisoner recoiled with a cry of startled dismay, landing hard on his tailbone with one foot in the air. With stern eyes the Ranger surveyed his captive's handiwork. Gollum had managed to empty the pack of most of its contents: roots and bulbs were scattered across the ground, and among them the rest of Aragorn's scant possessions. A quick glance into the bag revealed that only a few taproots and the rag full of grease remained within.

Gollum was glaring defiantly, as if daring him to retaliate. Aragorn levelled his gaze, concealing both his irritation and his amusement. 'What did you hope to accomplish?' he asked.

Gollum, of course, made no answer.

Aragorn pressed the back of his hand to his brow as if by doing so he could scrub away the lingering exhaustion. Evidently he had not slept long – and a skyward glance confirmed it. Yet now his heart was hammering against his ribs, and his limbs felt charged with a nervous energy, and he knew he would be unable to settle down again. This time the irritation could not be so easily driven back. He was weary and far from any respite, and the thought of the persistent struggle, pitting his will against that of his captive, left him bereft of the determination to be kind. It was all that he could do to grit his teeth against his anger and to proceed, silently, to collect his belongings and his poor cache of provisions.

As he tucked away the last of his gear, he at last felt able to speak with some semblance of restraint.

'You will soon learn that there is little to be gained from aggravating me,' Aragorn said, closing his pack and tying it with care. 'If you will neither rest nor allow me to do so, then we will move on. We have almost three hundred leagues to cover, and time cannot be squandered.'

And though Gollum moaned and wept and cast unintelligible curses to the sky, Aragorn got him to his feet and drove him onward, defying his own weariness as much as the reluctance of his prisoner.

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They walked through the afternoon and on into a starless night. They were drawing near to the river. Dawn brought mists as thick as curing smoke; mists that dulled the sense and muted even Gollum's whining. For that Aragorn was grateful, so grateful that damp clothes and dripping hair were forgiven. The shrill feral sounds were grating on his nerves, and he was half tempted to gag Gollum again just to induce silence. Though in the name of justice he restrained himself, it took a great deal of self-control to do so.

At length the sun climbed high enough to melt away the fog, and the Ranger began to look for a suitable place to camp. His exhaustion was mounting, and without rest he had little hope of crossing Anduin. At last he settled upon a hollow in the lee of a great standing stone. Whether it had been placed there by accident of nature or design of Man he did not know, but he was grateful for the cover that it offered.

He eased himself to the ground with his back against the stone, and when he had eaten and Gollum had refused his food, Aragorn took the woollen rags and bound his prisoner's wrists.

'I will not have you relieving me of my stores while I sleep,' he said. 'I suggest that you make good use of these hours. Tomorrow at this time I hope to cross the river. Then there will be little rest for either of us.'

So saying he drew up his knees and rested his arms upon them. With his face buried against his ragged sleeves he sought desperately for a few hours of peace.

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His slumber was uneasy, troubled by vague nightmares that eluded recall and made still more difficult by the permeating chill that was now settling over the land. He had made some progress northward, it seemed, for there was something of winter in the wind and he soon had to tuck his fingers into fists to keep them from growing cold. As the afternoon wore on, Aragorn gave up the effort of sleep and rose. He wished to pace about, but Gollum was curled up in a ball, having apparently decided to heed his captor's warning. Instead he stood, leaning against the boulder, and watched the shadows grow. When dusk was near enough, he roused his prisoner and set out in a westerly direction.

As he had reckoned, the land began to slope downward, away from the barren plains behind. Here the signs of life were plentiful, and had Aragorn been able to spare the time he did not doubt that he could find game here. But time was precious, and he was anxious to cross the river and to leave the lands of the Enemy and the threat of the Nazgûl far behind.

Down into the lowlands he marched, his way lit by the distant stars. Westward and always a little to the north he pressed, hoping that he had managed to circumvent the lake. If not, he would lose many days winding his way around her broad waters, until he came to Tol Brandir and the gates of the Argonath. Dearly though his heart wished to stand in their shadow once more, he could ill afford any delay.

At last, perhaps an hour before the dawn, he came to the brink of the river valley itself. Here the land fell sharply, stubborn ash trees clinging to the slopes with thick roots that protruded like spiders' legs from the rocky soil. Aragorn had no wish to tumble down to the water's edge, and so he made good use of the trees, gripping a trunk with his good hand as skirted down the incline, and then reaching for the next one. Gollum seemed to need little support, but on occasion he took hold of a root as he waited for his jailer to catch up to him.

After many minutes of careful navigation, Aragorn reached the floor of the valley. Here the earth was almost level, sloping gently away. Here, too, he could at last hear the rush of the river, the muted roar of Anduin as it swept towards the sea. Gollum heard it also, for he halted with his head cocked to the wind like a hunting spaniel, eyes gleaming with an unearthly light.

Aragorn did not allow a lengthy halt. As soon as he found his breath again, they were moving. The worry that he had not come far enough was now overwhelming, and he wished only to answer his fears, for good or ill. Through the trees – larger here, and doubtless a majestic sight if one had but leisure to look – he hastened. On flat ground his long legs and his determination imbued an advantage of speed, and Gollum now struggled to keep pace. The valley was not very broad here, and dawn had not yet come when the Ranger and his captive reached the water's edge.

Gollum hastened at once to drink and to splash, muttering to himself and anointing his hands and feet in the water. Aragorn stood silent, straining his eyes into the darkness in an attempt to spy the opposite shore, that he might gauge the breadth of the river and the strength of the current, and so determine if he had reached his goal or no.

At length the far bank came into focus as the sun rose behind him. Practiced eyes measured the distance, and a low noise of relief escaped his lips. The river was narrow here: perhaps half a mile across. Below Nen Hithoel it broadened considerably, a mile or more from shore to shore, and was held to be impassable to any man without a boat until one reached the narrows in Ithilien, where the bridge of Osgiliath spanned Anduin. Aragorn was tempted to laugh aloud. He had come far enough.

But the reality of his plight seeped inexorably back as the chill of the morning crept into his motionless body. The day was cold and the river was flowing swiftly, glutted with the runoff of mountain streams. Aragorn crouched and dipped his fingers into the water. He withdrew them with haste. It would be a bitter swim, and though he knew that in his full vigour half a mile was little enough distance to cover, he was not in his full vigour. His right arm yet pained him, and its wounds still oozed fine trails of purulence. His leg had not recovered all of its strength. And he had a prisoner and baggage to bear with him.

The first echoes of despair clawed at his breast, but he closed his heart against them and tried to consider his options objectively. Every day spent upon this side of the river increased his chances of pursuit and capture. Every northward mile increased the likelihood that he would draw the attention of the denizens of Dol Guldur. He had to cross the river somehow, and Gollum had to come with him.

He looked out across the deceptively calm waters. Here and there he could see a white crest rising above Anduin's grey surface: the marks of a mighty current. Mists were beginning to gather as the sunlight struck the water. The rumbling roar of the river was at once a challenge and a threat, and as a creeping chill began to settle into his trunk and limbs, Aragorn wished that he might decline it and walk away from the contest of strengths – for in a trial pitting himself against the river, he was not certain of victory this day.

Yet even as he longed for some other path, he knew there was none. This was his path, whether or no. He had to cross the river. He had to find a way.

At his feet, Gollum was singing some scrap of half-forgotten doggerel.