Chapter XXIV: The Thaw

First there came a moment of indolent surprise: a mild and indifferent astonishment born of the realization that he still had some vestige of sensation below the knees. Next, a thrill of sour despair as he realized he must have sunk to the very depths of Anduin's bed, never to rise again. But third came the tremulous voice of logic, reminding him that his left arm was pulled taught, its wrist and hand kept above the surface by the raft to which it was tethered. So at last his cold-muddled mind reached the roundabout conclusion that he was kneeling in water shallow enough for him to stand.

Actually standing was another matter entirely. Aragorn tried to rise, but the foot on the end of his leg would not obey him. The ankle buckled and his knee crashed against the rocky river-bed. His lungs seared with the pressure of the spent air within them and his eyes were blinded by the murky water-world that engulfed him.

A thin stream of bubbles burst through the resolute dam of his lips and he tried again to rise. Again he failed, but in his scrambling he gained a foot of riverbed. Abandoning the futile attempts to rise, he propelled himself forward; pushing with leaden legs until his dangling right fist barked against the stones. He tried to enlist its aid, but a weak floundering of his shoulder was all that he could manage. Another painful dragging of his legs, however, brought the raft down so that it barked against his skull. Anxious lest he should scuttle his helpless passenger, Aragorn kicked instinctively for the surface. The motion lifted him – head and shoulders, dazed and disoriented — into the biting air.

He drew in a roaring breath that tore at his breast like the claws of some unearthly beast, and his legs struggled to bear him up. Again they failed him, collapsing beneath the useless weight of his body, and he pitched forward into the water. Rivulets of impenetrable cold shot into his nostrils and the air he had so desperately drunk was tainted with Anduin's chill affusions.

Aragorn reared up out of the water again, his legs struggling for purchase while his flaccid arms hung heavy from his shoulders, the right flailing like a warp-weight and the left dragging behind him, towing along its burden with the patience of an aged ox. Coughing and sputtering, Anduin herself flowing from his lips and nose and hair, he dragged himself through the last yards of water. Tumbling at last in the shallows, he fell in the mud, unable to stagger further upon his frozen legs. He lay there for a minute or two, choking quietly upon the water that forced itself from his tortured lungs.

It was the hissing maledictions of his prisoner that roused Aragorn at last to drag himself, writhing like a snake in the muck, away from the water. The log, which had been floating benignly at his side, stuck in the mud and forced him to roll onto his back that he might haul more fruitfully upon his deadened arm. In the end, Gollum was ashore and Aragorn's legs were no longer in Anduin's frigid courses. He fell back, caring nothing for the sucking mud that squelched around his ears. Free of the river's grasp, he might sleep at last…

Sleep did not come. Instead, swift as the currents he had vanquished, fingers of fiery cold curled about his limbs. The air was intolerably raw against his wet skin, and the sodden linen that clung to his ribs seemed to leech the very marrow from his bones. A violent paroxysm tore down his spine, sending tendrils of anguish into extremities that had heretofore been so mercifully numb. He lay there tormented and shivering, unable to find the strength within him to rise and do what he must to survive. His teeth were rattling in his head and his shoulders twitched and quivered uncontrollably.

When the shaking abated his first thought was one of gratitude. But reason still lingered in his frost-addled skull, and he knew that he would not live long if he did not warm himself at once. The day was not especially cold and above the riverbank the ground was dry and free of snow, but sodden as he was he would freeze here if he was unable to bestir himself from Anduin's mud.

His objective then – but to rise seemed impossible. All that he could do was lie where he was, conjuring up manifold reasons why he could not move.

The thought that he was reduced at last to a waterlogged naysayer brought a ghost of amusement to Aragorn's chilled and leaden eyes. He let out a heavy huff of air that vanished almost as it left his lips. Reassured he braced himself and, with an effort surely equal to any he had yet mustered in this sorry quest, he rolled onto his side.

From that position it was a small thing to get his knees beneath him, though his ankles were ablaze with choleric blood and his numb feet felt bloated and alien under his weight. He planted the heels of his hands in the mud and prepared to dry himself to higher – and drier – ground. At that moment he realized with all the petulance of a vexed child that he was still tethered to the driftwood raft bearing his prisoner and his scanty gear.

Gollum was glaring at him with pale, implacable eyes, and for once Aragorn could not fault him for his resentment. The wretch was every bit as damp and chilled as he, if perhaps less exhausted, and bound as he was he could neither move nor warm himself. Easing back upon his tingling heels, Aragorn began to fumble with the knots.

'Your pardon,' he said, his words rasping hoarsely against the residue of water in his throat. 'I would have provided more elegant passage had I possessed the means. Still, we are both alive and largely unscathed, and that is better than I had hoped.'

Gollum snorted and twitched his nose unpleasantly, but the Ranger half fancied his expression softened a little – doubtless mollified by the apology. Nonetheless the effort of speaking put an ache in his chest, and so he fell silent as he struggled with the wet rope.

He had tied his knots well, and they gave almost easily under his manipulation. The moment the last of them fell away, Gollum sprung onto his heels and scurried away, scrambling up the bank. Seized with the terrible realization that he had allowed his quarry to escape, Aragorn tried to bolt to his feet, but his legs would not bear him up and his frozen toes slid in the mud. He pitched forward and the cord that was bound still to his wrist thrashed against his side. He was about to make a second wretched attempt when there came a low unpleasant snigger from the bank above. Raising his eyes to peer through the curtain of drenched and matted hair, Aragorn saw Gollum sitting with his back to a tree. His knees were drawn up near his chest, and his long, scarred hands were hidden in the pits of his arms. Too cold for flight perhaps, or else unsettled and afraid on this alien shore, he had chosen not to run.

Unwilling to question small blessings and too shrewd to tempt them, Aragorn tucked his drenched cloak-bundle into the crook of his arm and crawled up after his captive. Gollum did not balk or make any attempt to bolt as his captor drew near, and with remarkable and most unexpected patience he allowed Aragorn to replace the tether about his neck. Startled and grateful for this sudden cooperative cast, the Ranger took care to leave the bridle somewhat looser than before.

With Gollum secured, Aragorn turned his attentions to his own person again. His shirt, though badly soiled with mud, was already beginning to dry. A chill ran up his spine, and Aragorn tucked his limbs to his body and rocked a little, 'thinking warm thoughts', as Bilbo would have said.

The thought of his old friend and of what the dear hobbit would say if he could see the proud Dúnadan now cheered Aragorn considerably. If he ever reached the end of this perilous road they would doubtless laugh together at the account of captor and captive, two naked wretches shivering together beneath an uncomplaining ash tree. With the trial by water behind him and all of Anduin's frigid breadth between him and both pursuit from the south and the threat of Dol Guldur, Aragorn felt a weight lifting from his heart. Neither the promise of a cold and miserable day nor the imminent dangers of his winding road could serve to discourage him at this moment. Now, with his wits returning and his accomplishment to warm him, he felt able to press on.

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Aragorn moved slowly through the underbrush that clung close to Anduin's bank. His legs were sore and unsteady, their lean muscled length overtaxed by the desperate swim. More pertinent to his guarded pace was the need to tread with the greatest of care; for he went now unshod. The weight of his bundle of clothes told him it was most likely soaked through – an assumption given still greater validity by the incessant dripping of river water from the bottom of the roll. Wet boots were difficult to don; wet hose dangerous. It was far better to pick his way slowly forward until he reached a safe place to rest.

Gollum followed meekly, and again Aragorn marvelled at his prisoner's quiescence. Even the usual cries of 'yellow face' and 'burns us, preciouss!' were silent today. Anduin, it seemed, had the power to wash away defiance.

After about an hour, when the Ranger was beginning to wonder how much longer his weary limbs would obey him, they came upon a clearing. The trees formed an almost perfect ring carpeted with fallen leaves and the soft detritus of years past. The sun, now climbing to its zenith, cast an orb of yellow light upon the glade. It was as if the wilds had conjured up a bower built precisely to Aragorn's specifications. Thankful but worn down by the exertions of the day, Aragorn sank to his knees and bowed his head while Gollum sulked at the end of his rope, well away from the patch of sunlight.

There the wanderer unknotted his cloak, examining and spreading out the contents. As he had expected everything was wet. Hose and boots were soaking, his pack was flooded, and even the inmost folds of his cote were damp. For the first time Aragorn was glad that he carried no bread: his store of roots and tubers could not be spoilt by a little ducking. He dried his knife upon the grass, and lay out his cloak and belt and footwear. He could not hazard a fire so near the river, so instead he drew his tunic up over his legs with the less sodden panels against his skin. The wool offered a little warmth despite its wetness, and its weight was strangely comforting. Aragorn hunched low, huddling against his knees with his arms crossed over his chest. Forcing his strained muscles to loosen, he gave himself over to the quivering convulsions that he had been fighting since he washed ashore.

The indignity of sitting there helpless, shaking with cold, was a paltry price for the relief that shivering brought. Now that his shirt was almost dry and he was able to feel the winter sun upon his bare arms and his wet hair, Aragorn was beginning to grow warm at last. He let his head fall so that his brow rested upon his knees, and he huffed softly into the wool of his cote. His lips were trembling and it was only his careful effort to keep his jaw loose that kept his teeth from chattering, but he could feel the blood returning to his fingers and toes, and there was an unpleasant crawling feeling as the grease began to melt and to run out of his ears.

At last the paroxysms ceased, and Aragorn uncoiled himself. He stretched out his legs, rolling his ankles to loosen them. His left hand he planted on the ground, propping himself up as he leaned back a little. No longer frozen, the bites on his right arm were beginning to ache – but he welcomed this now-familiar discomfort on the grounds that he had come very near to never again feeling any sort of pain at all. The distant and dispassionate sun now felt quite pleasant upon his upturned face, and nearby Gollum was rooting in the mulch, apparently content to stay well in the shade and so well away from the Ranger.

Quite certain now that he was no longer in danger of slipping into deathly slumber, Aragorn eased himself onto his back. He drew his tunic a little higher upon his body and curled upon his side. He did not mean to fall asleep, but when it came he welcomed it.

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He awoke, stiff and chilled, to a smarting impact upon his right cheek. Warily he waited. Again something stung him, this time at his shoulder. He opened his eyes just in time to see Gollum, who was squatting at the end of his tether, flick another twig at him.

Aragorn rolled forward a little and sat up, his back creaking and his hams aching. His legs still held the memory of their swim, and he kneaded his right thigh with his good hand.

Twilight lay upon the land, and casting his eyes towards the circle of sky above Aragorn could see the first stars glittering in their nightly field. The despair he had felt during the last minutes of his frantic crossing had now wholly dispersed: how long it had been since last he had looked upon a clear sky, unsullied by the gloom that spread from Mordor like a cloud of ink in a dish of clear water.

Evidently Gollum was tired of watching his captor's reverie, for he threw another bit of wood, larger than the others. It nipped at Aragorn's left elbow, and the Ranger turned narrowing eyes on the prisoner.

'You are insolent, but you are right,' he said grudgingly. 'We have rested long enough. The miles are many that lie upon our northward road, but first I would like to put some distance between us and the river.'

Gollum did not appear interested in arguing.

As quickly as he could with his limbs stiff and his left hand bound, Aragorn dressed. His tunic was dry now, and warm from close contact with his body. Though also dry, his hose were cold and his boots stiff. His cloak was still quite wet, so instead of wearing it he slung it over his pack. With his belt once more girded and his knife at his side, he twitched his wrist to encourage Gollum to move, and off they went.

He cut a course now as due west as he could manage. There was little hope of concealing his trail from a skilled huntsman, though he did not doubt that his careful ways would be hidden from the casual observer. Their best chance, if pursuit found their landing, was to get as far from Anduin as they could, and in as little time as possible.

Before the night was full about them, the river valley fell away and Aragorn found himself upon a broad, grassy plain. There was little cover here, but also little obstruction. He fell into a comfortable stride, outpacing Gollum only enough that the creature had to scamper to keep up. A slow wind was blowing from the south, and far away a tawny owl cried out as it fell upon some unfortunate prey. The sound made the Ranger's mouth water. He walked now in living lands, and thought tonight he moved with all speed perhaps tomorrow he could hunt. It had been many days since he had last tasted flesh, and uncounted weeks since he had seen any fresh game.

Gollum, apparently, had similar yearnings. At the call of the owl he paused, one ear cocked to the wind. Then he crumpled forward, shaking his head and muttering woefully to himself as he followed his captor.