Chapter XXXIII: As Needs Must

Aragorn surfaced from sleep more gently this time, floating up towards consciousness as if on a warm rising tide. His mouth was hot and tasted faintly of hazelnuts and his lazy eyes declined to open despite the welcoming flush of dawn upon their lids. Somewhere nearby he could hear the marchwardens conferring in hushed voices. There seemed to be some dissent about him; he guessed that word had not yet come from Caras Galadhon and they were debating whether to draw their own conclusions or no. He supposed that even if they did there would be trouble reaching a consensus. He had made no friend of the Elf who had brought him his supper, while he thought perhaps Aithron had been swayed a little by the brief discourse they had shared – though what of any value had been said he could not think. In the end he thought they would decide it best to leave him as he was; bound but not wholly helpless. It was the safest course if they wished to serve their duty: if his errand was proved legitimate they could not be blamed for doing only what was necessary to secure a stranger.

At last, more out of a quiet longing to look upon the mellyrn in daylight than anything else, he opened his eyes. The sun was still not wholly risen and the golden light upon the branches danced like a masquerade foretelling the beauty of spring. In a few short weeks all the forest would be ablaze with new growth, the glory of which he had never seen the equal. For a brief wistful moment he wished he might tarry, as he had when last he had stumbled upon this realm, but of course it was not to be. He consoled himself with the knowledge that such a visit would never be the equal of the first anyhow, for she with whom he had shared those idyllic days was far away beyond the mountains in her father's house.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gollum, awake now and glowering blackly over his gag. For once his malevolence was not focused on Aragorn, but away to the west where he guessed the marchwardens were gathered. Quite awake now, his thirst was beginning to nag at him. He could see the Elven bottle, propped carefully in the fragrant deadfall by his right knee. In a moment or two he would struggle up into a sitting position and drink, but he did not do it immediately. Wearily he decided that today he would have to offer water to his own prisoner, though how he was to manage it while his hands were bound and Gollum refused to allow the Elves to touch him he did not know. The very thought seemed to drain him of his determination and he was taken by the urge to turn his face away and go back to sleep.

Presently, when both his scratchy throat and his dully aching back agreed that he could lie still no longer, Aragorn tried to roll onto his side. His left shoulder lifted with a painful whimper of protest that his mind tamped down almost at once, but his knees would not obey him. His body swiveled from just below his ribs and his hips remained stuck fast to the earth. A sharp tingling bolt shot down his right arm and he was obliged to fall back flat again.

This time he tried to lift his legs into position first. He needed to bend his knees, drawing up so that his heels could dig into the ground to support the little push-off necessary to turn his hips in time with his shoulders, but he found he could not do it. The first day's stiffness had hampered him. Today's was crippling. His most concerted effort to shift his legs brought only tangled pain – almost no movement at all. The muscles in his neck were giving voice to their angry objections and he let his head fall back amid the leaves, panting softly and biting back a cry of frustration.

As soon as he was able he rolled his shoulders again, this time attempting to reach across his chest to dig into the earth with his fingers in the hope that this might give him sufficient leverage to get onto his side – from which position he was confident he would be able to sit up even if his legs refused to obey him. Almost as soon as he began to stretch, however, sharp rippling fire tore through his arms and he was forced to lie back again.

He ran his tongue along his lips, feeling the fissures where they had cracked in the dry wind of the plains. Drawing in a tremendous, bracing breath he tightened the muscles of his abdomen. For a moment he thought that they too would betray him, but first his shoulders and then his ribs began to lift from the ground. His hands fell heavy in his lap as he slumped forward, upright at last but suffering dearly for it. His vision swam and he subsisted for a time from one breath to the next, dimly aware of the shapes of the four Elves perhaps a hundred yards away, gathered about the base of the tree from which the rope-ladder dangled. They did not appear to have noticed his motion, and he was glad. He wanted to master himself as privately as he could.

His back was afire now, the broad bands of muscle that wrapped his ribs jumping and twitching at intervals like oil spilled across a hot hearthstone. He forced his eyes to focus on his hands with their fingers curled inward so that the two sets of second knuckles very nearly touched. He could see that the ropes were not too tight; it was his arms, taut and aching after too long in the same position, that were hampering their usefulness.

The low chattering of the marchwardens died suddenly away, and glancing from the corner of his eye Aragorn could see two more figures approaching at a great distance through the trees. They were clad in the shifting woodland hues the others wore, and it was difficult to track them for long without raising his head. The lady Calmiel, no doubt, returned from Caras Galadhon with another of the folk of Lórien. He tried again to lift his hands, but his arms were slow to obey and his left elbow creaked ominously.

There was a flurry among the four Elves nearest him, but Aragorn did not trouble to look up. He could feel Gollum's bitter gaze upon him, and he abandoned the efforts to command his limbs in favour of a campaign to conceal the dismay he knew must be evident upon his face.

Then a cry sounded out across the glen. 'Ai, what have you done to him?' a familiar and yet unplaceable voice demanded. 

There was a rush of cloth and feet and Aragorn's dogged gaze shifted a little as two strong and slender hands closed upon either side of his weathered and begrimed ones. Ashamed, he wanted to withdraw his arms, but even if they had been inclined to cooperate the other hands closed fast over his, impossibly warm against his chilled fingers.

'You did not say that he was left bound all this time!' The voice sounded angry now and Aragorn wanted to raise his head to look at the speaker, but he was transfixed by the contrast of their two skins laid next to one another and he could not rally his wits.

'I did not know, I swear it,' Calmiel said anxiously. 'I left him bound and sleeping, but I felt sure that when he waked—'

'We have orders to waylay and secure all trespassers,' Aithron said, a defensive note undercutting his firm assertion. 'As I have told you, lord, she is over-soft of heart coming as she does from Imladris. Would you have expected us to fail in our duty?'

'I would have expected more sense,' the newcomer murmured, anger now replaced with a gentle chastising tone that at last rang true in the Ranger's mind.

Against the protests of his stiffened neck he raised his chin a little and found himself staring through a curtain of filthy hair into the fair and fathomless eyes of Celeborn of Lothlórien.

His lips parted but no sound emerged. Yet the Elf-lord seemed to read the astonishment in his heart, for he smiled gently.

'Who did you think would be sent to greet you,' he asked; 'who have laboured so long and travelled so far to walk this road at last victorious?'

Aragorn's eyes slid to his right, where still Gollum lay scowling his malevolence at this newest object of scorn. He did not feel victorious. Celeborn's brow arched.

'This is the creature, is it not, so long sought by Mithrandir and yourself?' he asked. 'Surely you realized your errand was known to us?'

The slightest of nods was possible without taxing too gravely his aching body. 'Gandalf made mention,' he said hoarsely.

The lord's expression darkened and he cast over his shoulder to his warders. 'Have you given him nothing to ease his thirst?' he asked. 'Are you orcs, to put a stranger to torment?'

'Water I have had in abundance,' Aragorn said hastily, though no more smoothly; 'and victuals also. I have but lately woken; that is all. Every care has been given me.'

Celeborn turned his gaze now to their nested hands. 'Not every care,' he said. His nimble fingers found the knot that bound the Ranger's wrists and he began to unlace it. 'I would not have had you bound, who have been our loved and honoured guest.'

The pressure where his arms sagged against the bonds was suddenly released and Aragorn's hands rolled from one another. A sharp pain darted up towards each elbow and his breath caught in his throat. Gently restrained or not, it seemed his arms misliked moving outward after a day and a half pinned in.

Gripping his right palm with one hand, Celeborn moved the other up along the protesting muscles. The gentle pressure did much to ease the blossoming cramps, and Aragorn closed his eyes in gratitude. The fingers moved to his left, but the rubbing palm halted almost at once.

'And this?' the Lord of Lórien cried in dismay. There was a faint song of steel on leather as he drew a slender silver knife that hung from his jewelled belt.

Realizing what he intended Aragorn looked up at once, his right hand sliding against the pain to cover the bracelet of coarse orc-rope around his left wrist. 'That is mine,' he said, relieved to hear some of the strength returning to his voice. 'My captive…' He tried to gesture towards Gollum, but this set his arm afire from fingertips to neck. He bit down upon his lip and one of the newly-scabbed cracks broke open.

Seeing his suffering and understanding its source Celeborn again worked his hands – both of them this time – gently up the spasming limb. Aragorn was acutely aware of the many eyes upon him; Gollum, questing as ever for each sign of weakness, and the Galadhrim, both troubled and transfixed by the sight of their prince ministering to this ragged beggar. He closed his mouth and tasted the faint tang of blood on his teeth.

It seemed that Celeborn was as sensitive to his mortification as to his pain, for he cast the eye of command over his shoulder. 'Begone,' he said. 'Make ready a meal fit for me to share with one I would have as my kinsman, and lay it out in what state you can in yonder clearing. Lady, fetch us both wine and fresh water.'

Fleet feet flew off in every direction, and the three were left alone: Elf-lord, Ranger, and the strange sly creature with the wide, glinting eyes.

'I thank you,' Aragorn exhaled softly. At least he was fairly certain that Gollum could not understand the speech of the Elves of Lothlórien, but he would still have to be careful of his tone. 'I had thought perhaps I bred confusion; in my weariness I did not give my true name to your sentries. You do not know me by the name of my childhood…'

Celeborn laughed, a rich and merry sound like the ringing of silver bells upon a cool spring morning. Gollum writhed, but Aragorn's heart lightened considerably. He had not heard such a sound in many long months.

'You may never have been presented to my lady or to me as Estel,' Celeborn said; 'but in your boyhood we had tidings of you from Elrond, and though she speaks of you as Aragorn my granddaughter but rarely addresses you any other name than that you bore as a boy. When you dwelt with us for a season "Estel" was heard often enough. We knew at once when Calmiel uttered it who had once more stumbled upon our borders in need.'

'It seems I am ever fated to come thus,' said Aragorn, casting his eyes down into his lap where his hands lay frozen against the rigors of motion. 'Wayworn, ragged, and in want. You will begin to think me incapable of managing my own travels.'

'Never that,' Celeborn assured him. He shifted back from his knees onto his heels and turned, reaching for the rope that bound Aragorn's feet.

At once the Man was leaning forward, reaching out despite the daggers of discomfort in his arms and shoulders. 'No, my lord; it is not meet…'

'Be still, Dúnadan, and let me undo what should never have been done,' Celeborn argued, brushing away the cold fingers and setting to the rope as deftly as he had the other. 'It was my lack of foresight,' he said. 'From Mithrandir we knew you were travelling in the South together, and that you might return by way of our borders in time. I thought, in my folly, that you would come both together: he is known to our sentries and they have orders not to harry him. I did not think to pass along such orders with respect to you.'

'We parted in the south of Ithilien, at the crossing of Poros,' Aragorn said. 'Mithrandir despaired at last of our hunt, and he had business in Minas Tirith. He turned northwest, and I east into the mountains.' He considered his words carefully and decided that it was not prudent to say more here. They were under the eaves of Lórien, it was true, but that was yet far from the security of the great mellyrn-borne palace in Caras Galadhon. Besides, it was not impossible that Gollum might understand Elven speech, but merely unlikely.

'And your reward for persistence was success,' Celeborn said dryly. 'You have your prize at last, though a poor prize it seems to me. What use has Mithrandir for such a pitiable creature?'

Aragorn shook his head as much as his neck would allow. 'We believe he possesses information that may prove beyond price,' he said. Then he sighed and rubbed one grubby finger against his torn thumbnail, still mindful of disturbing his sore arm. 'If he does I have not been able to extract it. Yet I am sworn to bear him to Thranduil, and bear him I shall, though all the length of the Wilderland still lies ahead.'

He felt his resolve faltering as he spoke, but if it showed in his voice Celeborn took no notice. 'I had always suspected you of possessing patience in double measure to Mithrandir's,' he reflected. 'I see now that I have perhaps underestimated.'

'Either my patience or my obstinacy,' Aragorn said. The knot against his ankles came loose and he felt the troublesome pressure vanish from his hips. Then to his consternation Celeborn laid hold of his mud-befouled right boot and began gently to bend his leg. The muscles of his knee tightened painfully, but the Lord of Lórien laid his other palm under the joint to ease them. He let Aragorn's foot rest amid the littered grass and smiled a little at the drain of relief in the Ranger's face.

'I have seen a hard march or two,' he said; 'long ago though they were. Lying still for nigh on two days after such a march is bad. Lying bound is worse.' He shook his head. 'What a tale of the hospitality of the Galadhrim you will have to carry with you.'

'In their place I would have done the same,' Aragorn said. The Elf-lord was at work with his other leg now, easing out of its painfully locked position. 'I do not look worthy of trust.'

Celeborn looked at him with an appraising eye that took in all there was to see with little sign of what he thought. Yet the light in his eyes flickered and shifted, if ever so slightly, and when next he spoke his voice was low, almost mournful.

'You have trodden a weary path, that much is plain;' he said. 'What hardships you have faced one such as I can ill imagine.'

'There are hardships on any road when one walks alone,' Aragorn said. 'And when a man carries his greatest peril with him it seems they pile one upon another with alarming swiftness.'

'He has marked you, I see,' said Celeborn. His eyes were fixed now upon Aragorn's throat where the bruises from Gollum's grasping fingers still ached deeply.

'More than once.' Aragorn's fingers strayed to his right sleeve, beneath which the wounds of the creature's teeth were still hard and glossy beneath fragile new scars. 'I have left my own on him, however, and it is he that goes bound while I walk free.'

The irony of these words, when the Lord of Lothlórien himself had been obliged to unbind him, did not entirely escape him. His lips curled into a small, wry smile, but Celeborn did not return it.

'I do not think you will be free until you satisfy yourself that he is safely in Thranduil's dungeons,' he said. 'I had hoped to persuade you to return to Carad Galadhon with me and rest until you are healed of your hurts and mended in your heart, but from the look in your eye I fear such an effort would be fruitless.'

At this Aragorn bowed his head, hoping that neither his friend nor his foe could read the ache of longing in his eyes. 'You fear rightly,' he said; 'for I must press on at tomorrow's dawning, and dare not linger even one day more. I believe that the servants of the Enemy pursue us, and in the long race I must keep what slender lead I may. I had desperate need of unwatchful slumber, and I believe that even now I am not right in my mind, but once that is accomplished I must depart.'

'You would be safe in this land from whatever foes pursue you,' said Celeborn, but his tone was that of one who knows he will not succeed in his argument. 'And though we could never admit such a creature as he you lead, my people could secure him here while you rest and heal.'

'He would elude them in the end,' Aragorn said grimly. 'They do not believe him to be dangerous; they would underestimate him. He would never be safe, imprisoned beneath the open sky by sentries such as yours. And if we are pursued the sanctuary of Caras Galadhon will prove little barrier. The hunters would lie in wait and set upon us as soon as we set out again, as in the end we must.' His legs were beginning to cramp again and he shifted them with care. The pain in his back had eased only a little and he was still wary of moving his arms. 'I must press on with whatever haste I may.'

'If you lingered only a while – two days or three – we might see that you are sent forth again with all that you need to bear you on your journey. Your garments might be made whole, provender prepared to last you many weeks, tinctures to ease your pains and bear you up in your weariness…'

'There is little enough that I need,' Aragorn said. 'Such provisions as you can spare me, water, fresh tinder. If your sentries have needle and thread I would dearly love to mend the straps on my pack, for it is tiresome to carry it as it is.'

'You shall have a new pack,' Celeborn said. 'That at least should be simple enough to provide. Blankets also, if you can carry them, for you are headed into the very heart of winter in the northern lands. Your garments…' Here he paused, giving Aragorn another long and pensive look. 'Rags indeed, no better than the ones you wore when last you came to us.'

'Nay, better,' said Aragorn; 'for at least they are my own.' He looked down at the torn knees of his hose and the ragged bottom of his cote. His cloak, he knew, was all but finished, and what shreds remained of his last shirt had been stowed in his pack after the cold crossing of Limlight. 'If there is aught your folk can spare I will take it gladly,' he said. 'A shirt, at least. I make poor shrift without. A blanket will serve me as well as a cloak, and better than the light things your sentries wear.'

'Light they may be, but they are wondrous warm,' Celeborn said. 'But such garments are not in my power to give, and though I know Galadriel would not begrudge you I cannot break with long custom and speak on her behalf.' He frowned, troubled. 'Nor do I know if any here will have hosen to fit your legs.'

'A stitch and a patch is all they need. And a wash,' Aragorn added ruefully. He was once more acutely aware of the grime worked into every scrap of cloth that covered him, and over all of his skin as well. He could smell his own rank sweat in the weatherworn wool, and other things far worse than that. He had still a faint pong of the Marshes about him, and as he considered he imagined he could scent the spider-stink still, far beneath. 'My boots at least will bear me up for some seasons yet, but if you have a sheath to spare me for my knife I would be glad of it.'

Celeborn nodded. 'I shall do what I can for you; I and my folk. We may send to another border-station at need; that at least can be accomplished in a night, even if we cannot send to the city swiftly enough. It is a shame: had I imagined such haste I should have brought my horse.'

Aragorn glanced sidelong at Gollum. Evidently bored with the prattle of an unfamiliar language in his ears he was now lying on his back, bound legs curled to one side, fuming indistinctly behind his gag.

'I did not imagine such haste myself, after so many years of searching,' the Ranger said wearily. 'But what you have said is true: my heart will not rest now until he is secure beneath the earth in the keeping of the Wood-Elves.'

'You must command it to rest, at least for a night,' Celeborn said. 'I cannot restore to you the time you have languished in your bonds, but at least I can make some amends.'

'The time was not wasted, for I slept all but through it,' Aragorn said. 'I had walked without sleep for seven… eight… I do not know how many days. Sleep was the only gift I hoped to garner here.'

Celeborn clapped a firm but gentle hand on his stooped shoulder. 'We can do a little more than that,' he promised; 'though in the name of haste you cannot have all that is your due. And let us start with breakfast.'

lar

It was well that he had Celeborn to assist him, for once Gollum's legs were freed and it came time for Aragorn to stand he found his body as incapable of doing this as it had been of sitting gracefully. Stiff joints creaked and cold muscles protested, and it took some vigorous rubbing to make his calves bear him up and a number of painful stretches before he felt confident he could use his arms properly. His feet were tender after their long unbroken trek to the very edge of exhaustion and the first few steps upon them were torture. But Celeborn held his arm and Gollum loped along behind and they made their way to the clearing where the Galadhrim had laid out a meal upon the clean, dry winter grass.

They had made a feast of their simple soldiers' fare, and Aragorn, who had experience with the quartermastery of sentry posts, hoped that his presence would not deprive them. Of course it was not the same here as it was on the marches of Gondor or the lonely outposts in the North: they were but a day's easy walk from the city, and Lothlórien was a land of blessed plenty. Celeborn sat down before the baskets and bowls, and indicated that his guest should take the place of honour beside him. Calmiel returned apace, bearing with her two flagons of wine and a vessel filled with clear, cool river water. After brief words from the lord, the seven of them ate – Gollum squirming and pacing at the end of his rope, as disdainful of the food as he was of the company.

Aragorn took sparingly of the fruit and the sweet seedcakes, and allowed himself only a mouthful of wine, but he could not help but return time and again to the bread. At the best of times bread was a luxury in the wild, and the bread of the Elves was the taste of his childhood. He would have glutted himself upon it even if he had not been a slender span away from starvation, and after week upon week of roots and poor game and orcish fare he could not help himself. At last, as sated as his shrunken stomach would allow, he sat in drowsy contentment to listen as Celeborn spoke with his soldiers. Amid the ancient dignity of a great lord of the Eldar he had still the easy, companionable manner that made a well-beloved captain. The matter of ropes he plainly considered closed, for he questioned them pleasantly about their recent weeks' work and shared news of comrades and family in the city as he was asked.

Aragorn must indeed have dozed a little, sitting where he was with the sweet music of an Elven tongue to soothe him and the rough rope worrying a little against his wrist when Gollum tried to creep too far, for he opened his eyes to find that he and Celeborn were alone and that most of the food had been cleared away. The last of a loaf of bread still sat where he might easily reach it if he wished, and he found himself flushing a little. His hosts had noticed his greed for that particular delicacy, it seemed.

Behind him he could hear the unpleasant rasp of dead skin as Gollum scraped the sole of one foot up and down the opposite shin. It served as a weary reminder of his duty. He had taken his hard-earned ease, and he had a responsibility now to his captive.

'Forgive me,' he said softly to Celeborn. 'I must attempt to feed my companion. It may not be a pleasant thing to watch.'

'I should think it is not a pleasant thing to do,' said Celeborn; 'yet if you can stand to do it then I can stand to watch.'

Aragorn almost smiled at these words, but his brief moment of mirth was quelled by knowledge of the hateful task ahead. He had half hoped that the Elf-lord might withdraw and leave him alone to his ugly work. He did not want an audience for this. Mindful of his aching legs he turned his body around so that at least he was facing away from Celeborn. Gollum, sitting near the very limit of his halter, raised his head to stare defiantly at his captor.

'Come,' Aragorn said sternly, speaking in the Common Tongue so that he might be understood. 'You have done as I have bid you, and so you may have both food and water.'

Gollum's eyes narrowed and he shifted his toes to scratch the side of the opposite knee. He did not obey.

'Come,' Aragorn repeated. The pale eyes slid askance towards the Elf-lord. 'No one shall harm you,' said Aragorn. 'I did not allow the other one to touch you: no more shall he.'

Celeborn, who had been looking back over his shoulder, straightened his neck and folded his hands carefully into the rich sleeves of his tunic. With his bright eyes hidden Gollum seemed a fraction less tense. Aragorn watched breathlessly, as a hunter might watch a hart just beyond the range of his bow. It had not occurred to him earlier, when he had prevented Aithron from laying hands upon the creature because it was so obviously against his will, but this was a unique opportunity. If Gollum saw his captor taking his part against these fey strangers, perhaps he might be more inclined to trust – or at the very least less inclined to resist.

'Come, drink and eat,' he said, and this time let much of the hardness leach out of his voice. Gollum went so far as to get the foot that had been doing the scratching firmly planted in the grass, but then simply crouched there at the end of his lead, glaring suspiciously at the Ranger.

Aragorn's patience, whether greater than Gandalf's or not, was wearing thin. He took hold of the rope that dangled from his wrist and began to reel it in steadily but not too swiftly. Gollum, knowing that he had no other option, hopped forward one reluctant step at a time.

When he was within easy reach Aragorn fixed him with his firmest gaze. 'Do not attempt to bite,' he warned. 'You will find me most intolerant of such behaviour today.'

There was a sly, evasive look in Gollum's eyes, but he did not jerk his head away as Aragorn reached cautiously for the knot, which had migrated somehow from the back of his head to the hollow beneath his left ear. Despite his earlier stretching his muscles protested, but not emphatically enough to slow him down. He loosed the cloth and unwound it warily, then plucked out the plug of wool. Gollum worked his jaw in a long, slow circle, and then reared his head back and spat foully into the grass.

'Elveses,' he grumbled viciously to himself, then tried to hop backward. Aragorn's fist closed quickly on the tether and he was obliged to stop.

He had intended to offer Gollum the silver-tooled bottle from which he had himself been drinking, but at this pronouncement he began to think his prisoner would not take kindly to such a vessel. His own battered pack, borne hence by Celeborn, was lying within reach and the skins that the Ranger of Ithilien had left him were bound to it. The water within was not so fresh as that which Calmiel had drawn, but it might be more favourably received. He reached, farther than his arm wished to go, and grabbed it, his gaze never leaving his captive nor his other hand its hold upon the rope.

He unstopped the bottle and held it to the creature's lips. Gollum lifted himself a little higher on his haunches and began to suck greedily at it. The sounds caused Celeborn to turn his head again, too briefly for Gollum to notice or react. Aragorn tilted the skin a little so that Gollum could continue to drink. When at last his thirst was slaked he sat back down on his heels and went about smearing his mouth with his tightly bound hands.

Aragorn offered the last of the bread, and Gollum sniffed at it disdainfully. 'You must eat it,' the Ranger told him. 'I have naught else to offer: my own stores are exhausted, as well you know.'

Gollum looked up with wary eyes and then tore away a snatching mouthful. He chewed once and his lips jerked and wobbled. With a great retching noise of revulsion he flung the bread from his mouth, spitting again and again and scrabbling at his tongue with the tips of his fingers.

'Poisons us, precious!' he shrieked, so shrilly that a lark in one of the nearest trees rose up in a flutter of startled wings. 'Poisons us, wicked elveses, hateful manses, POISONS US!'

He hurled himself backward against the halter, and although Aragorn's fingers kept their grip his arm was jerked outward in a squall of tortured muscles. His heel dug firmly into the turf and he hauled the rope towards him. Gollum was still screeching, unintelligibly now, and spittle was flying in every direction. Snatching up the ball of wool where it lay discarded, Aragorn shoved it back atop the creature's tongue, muffling the cries and causing the thrashing to abate just a little. He bound the gag with swift, sure jerks of his fingers, and then allowed Gollum to fling himself back into the grass where he kicked his legs like an overturned beetle. Breathing heavily from the shock and the sudden exertion, Aragorn realized only then that Celeborn was watching him with mingled horror and awe.

'If it is not to his liking perhaps we can fetch something else,' he said in gentle admonition.

Gollum's fierce flailing stilled suddenly. Keen pale eyes narrowed. He understood or could guess what the Elf-lord meant, though he spoke in the tongue of the Galadhrim. With a crawling dread Aragorn's mind slid back to the fish that the creature had managed to snare during their fording of Limlight. Deprived of food in the wake of his attempt to strangle his captor, he had decided to provide for himself. Worse, he had managed to trick the Man into allowing him to eat his prize. In the test of wills they two had been running since first they grappled in the filth of Dagorlad that had been a clear strike in Gollum's favour, and it had sat uneasily in Aragorn's heart ever since. Now, he realized, he faced a similar battle.

'No,' he said coldly. He spoke in the Common Speech and though the words were addressed to the Lord of Lothlórien he fixed flint-grey eyes on Gollum. 'He shall eat what is offered, or he shall not eat at all. No quarter will I give here. Let him go hungry.'

'Hard words, Dúnadan,' Celeborn said softly.

Still he kept his sternest gaze upon Gollum, and though he spoke next in the language of the Galadhrim he kept his voice rigid and lofty as though he were still speaking in heartless rage. 'What can I do?' said Aragorn. Though his heart hummed in despair his tone did not waver: he saw that in the cowed eyes of his captive. 'He has attempted to slay me once already: if he sees the chance he will do it again. Northward I must take him, he must learn to obey me; what can I do but this?'

For all his fabled wisdom and for all the loving concern in his timeless eyes, Celeborn had no answer to offer.