Chapter XXIX: Limlight

Two days more they walked with Fangorn a dark mass upon their left. It was one thing, Aragorn reflected, to study an old map in the comfort of the library in Rivendell and to consider the mass of a faraway forest. It was quite another to traverse its whole length, step by ponderous step. He pressed on despite his mounting fatigue. Surely there was game in these lands, but he did not pause to seek it out. With care and strict self-control he managed to make four more meals out of his partridge, eating a little meat with a taproot or two. Yet at last the fowl was gone, and his cache of roots was dwindling, and he was down to his last ounces of water from the little family's well.

If the shortage of provender was a weight upon his mind, at least he was in better straits than his captive. Gollum had shown no signs of repentance in all this time. He was once more refusing to move in the heat of the day, and whenever they halted he expended an hour's energy struggling against his bonds. Although he was surely ravenous and half-mad with thirst, he stalwartly refused Aragorn's daily offer to remove his gag in exchange for assurances of good behaviour. Each day he grew weaker and more haggard, and it was now almost five days since anything had passed his lips, but he remained obdurate and his glassy eyes burned with hatred.

Aragorn could not help but wonder at the creature's temerity. For nigh on three weeks he had been driven forward to an uncertain destination by a stranger many times his equal in size. The captor was armed, the captive was not. The jailor walked free, the prisoner was bound. Gollum's every attempt to extricate himself from the Ranger's clutches had failed, and in his effort to slay his abductor he had been thwarted. Now, deprived once more of fundamental sustenance, he still resisted. Doubtless he expected Aragorn's resolve to weaken. They had each underestimated one another's obduracy, and Aragorn vowed silently that he would not make that mistake again.

Twilight was descending on that second day when the level plains began to slope downward and low-lying brushwood cropped up in the travellers' path. Gollum yelped through his nostrils as his bound hands landed on a loose stone, threatening his balance. Aragorn paused only long enough to let his prisoner recover. There was little time; he was not foolhardy enough to attempt what he must in darkness, nor could he waste an entire night waiting for light.

The river Limlight was little more than a wood-creek in comparison to Anduin's icy breadth, but it still presented something of an obstacle. Aragorn had never had occasion to ford its waters, nor did he know of any traveller who had. As he drew near, measuring the distance to the opposite shore with his eyes, his anxiety eased a little. It was surely not more than two hundred yards to the far bank. In such level country the river was not likely to run very deep, for water always took the path of least resistance. Nevertheless these flatland streams sometimes moved very swiftly beneath deceptively smooth surfaces. It did not do to take wanton risks.

He approached the water's edge with care, eyes scanning both banks for signs of wildlife or watchers. He had caught no intimation of pursuit in all these days, and yet he knew how swiftly the servants of the Enemy could travel overland. There was still a chance that either Morgul or Dol Guldur might be roused to the chase if it came to their ears that the strange tark who understood the Black Speech was travelling in the company of Sauron's escaped prisoner – and though Anduin might hold the Nazgûl for a time it could not be relied upon to protect him forever. There were spies on both sides of the Great River now, and it was in such places as this that they were wont to congregate.

Yet he saw no trace of bird, beast, Man or orc, save a scraggly sapling that had at one time given home to a woodpecker. Satisfied, he moved down to the water's edge. Gollum loped on ahead, suddenly eager. When he reached the river's bank he hesitated, looking warily over his shoulder to see if his captor would stop him.

Knowing what his prisoner wished to do, Aragorn turned away. He could not condone this subversion of his deprivation tactic without undermining his authority, but at least he could see to it that the wretch did not perish of thirst before he was quite undone.

While Gollum drank through his gag or his nose – from the unpleasant noises he might well have been doing both – Aragorn began to remove his clothes. The air was sharp with the promise of colder days to come, and he began to shiver as he peeled away the ragged layers. The shoulder-seam of his cote groaned ominously as he hiked it over his head, but he did not hear any threads give way.

Gollum finished glutting himself with water, and set about paddling his long, bony feet in the current. In the blue glow of the evening Aragorn almost fancied that he could see a glimmer of delight in the pale, staring eyes. Likely it was naught but a trick of the light, but he moved a little nearer so as not to wrench upon the rope while he struggled with his boots.

He would have liked to take the opportunity to inspect his feet, but the light was fading fast. Hastily he heaped together his belongings atop what was left of his cloak. Once more he retained the poor shreds of his shirt, for dignity was worth a little discomfort on the far shore.

Aragorn paused briefly to consider the best way of transporting his prisoner. It scarcely seemed necessary to float him across as he had last time – and the memory of the struggle it had taken to subdue his prisoner on Anduin's bank still burned him with chagrin. There would be little swimming required this time, unless he missed his guess, and limited returns did not seem to justify the effort. Instead he closed the gap between himself and his prisoner, and before Gollum had a chance to react seized him by the wrists and ducked his head up between the creature's arms.

Startled, Gollum jerked backwards and tried to yank himself loose, but Aragorn grabbed one bony ankle and swung it against his hip, rising as he did so to his full height. Gollum was dragged with him, wheezing indignantly through his nose. His right leg scrabbled against Aragorn's thigh, the ragged nails grazing the flesh, but then it latched around his other hip and Gollum hitched himself up like a child riding pig-a-back. Aragorn shifted his weight slightly forward so that Gollum settled into a position that was almost comfortable for both of them. He took the creature's bound hands with his left and pulled them forward and away from his throat, thus relieving the pressure on his bruised neck. It was not to his liking to have Gollum's hands so near his jugular again, but the creature was unlikely to find a way to take undue advantage.

There was no more time to waste: dusk was almost upon them. With Gollum's wrists in his left hand and his bundle of clothing and gear in the other, Aragorn set his teeth resolutely and waded out into the river.

The water was cold, colder than Anduin, and it flowed more swiftly than Aragorn had hoped. The currents tugged at his calves as his bare feet sank into the frigid river-mud. Yet Limlight was shallow, at least. Twenty steps he took before the water reached his knees. The next paces were more laborious, for the ring of water about each leg seemed to burn as it drew nearer to his waist and despite Gollum's weight on his back and the hot breath on his neck Aragorn began to shiver. With each step he hoisted his bundle of garments higher, still vainly hoping that he might keep them dry.

When Gollum's feet touched the water he kicked out with his right, sending forth a spray that spattered Aragorn's chest and misted his unshaven chin. An angry admonition tripped to the very tip of the Ranger's tongue, but he bit down upon it. If a little puerile splashing was to be the extent of his burden's mischief in this crossing, he knew he must count himself fortunate indeed.

He took another step, and another. Each one was more wearisome, as his legs struggled to move forward through the chill and swift-moving mass that surrounded them. The water was almost to his hip-bones now, and as it brushed Gollum's backside the creature hitched himself higher on Aragorn's back, locking one foot around the opposite ankle to maintain his position. Another step, and Aragorn lifted the parcel of clothing onto his head, settling it there like a washer-woman toting her day's work. His left hand still held Gollum's wrists below his clavicle.

They were almost in midstream now. The far bank was receding swiftly into darkness, but Aragorn could still see where water ended and land began. Staring ahead into the gathering gloom, he was for a moment less attentive than he should have been. His next step sent him shooting downward, and the shock of the impact with the river-bed bolted up his leg and into his chest. Suddenly the water was breast-high, knocking the wind from his chest with its abrupt frigidity.

The weight on his back was lifted somewhat, for Gollum was now partly submerged. He did not take well to this development, and his legs came loose, kicking frantically.

'Be still,' Aragorn wheezed. He drew in a harsh lungful of air and repeated himself more steadily. 'Be still. If you think I am going to let you drown after all the trouble I've taken to bring you this far, you are sorely mistaken.'

Gollum made a strangled hissing sound that shot in two hot columns from his nostrils, and kicked again. This time the motion was not frenetic or startled, but smooth and carefully calculated. Aragorn could feel the drag upon his shoulders easing as Gollum began to float behind him, bony chin driving into the knot of muscle between the Ranger's shoulder blades.

'Of course: the more fool I,' Aragorn muttered, taking another cautious step forward. 'You dwelt so long amid the dark pools under the earth. Surely you learned something of water-travel. Do as you will, then, so long as you do not scuttle us.'

The searing band of cold now severed him in two: his body beneath the water in the numb warmth of familiarity, and his head and shoulders above it, wracked with chills in the night air. Aragorn's next step dragged upon the soft silt in the river's middle, and the one after that was more of a paddling flutter than a proper stride. The water was over his windpipe now. It tickled his earlobes. Gollum's chin hooked itself over his shoulder while the long bony feet flapped slowly far behind.

Aragorn's grip on the bundle tightened. If only he could keep the crown of his head above water he would have dry clothing on the far shore. The thought of trying to thaw as he had before, drenched and shivering and all but naked, sent a thrill of despair through ribs now aching with the cold. He set his teeth as the water rose to cover his lips, breathing resolutely through his nostrils as he bobbed awkwardly forward. Two feet, three feet, four. His toes were only just brushing the riverbed now. In a moment he would be obliged to start swimming, and then he would have to lower his right arm for balance.

A soft pile of sand gave out beneath him, and Aragorn sank downward. The water surged up over his nose, over his eyes, almost to his brows. He kicked both feet sharply, snapping them past each other, and managed to raise himself high enough to inhale through his nose. Then he sank again, pushing off from the bottom with his toes just before his eyes immersed themselves again.

He was unsure how Gollum was coping, but a strong pulse still thrummed through the sinewy wrists beneath his fingers. Aragorn leaned forward ever so slightly, paddling cautiously with one leg while the other bounced off the river-bed. The bundle on his head was still dry, for he could feel the icy border of wetness bisecting his temples. Obstinate to the last he forced himself further forward. His toe struck something smooth and solid – a stone, no doubt. He used its surface to leverage a little more distance.

The current was dragging him downstream; of that he was aware. Yet he was still moving steadily toward the opposite bank. His next kick ended abruptly as his lead foot drove deep in the sticky sand. He stumbled a little, and then stood straight. The water lapped against his chin, and he allowed himself a triumphant grin. He was past the worst of it now.

He took a few more bobbing strides that were almost swimming-kicks, and then the water was low enough that he could walk properly. Its cold weight was now a comfort, for above the line of the water his wet skin burned with cold. Aragorn kept his shoulders beneath the water, hunching lower with each forward step, until he was no longer walking but moving forward on his knees. This, too, he allowed for a while, but Gollum's feet were grazing the bottom now and between his toes he could feel the shallow-water weeds. Setting his jaw against the cold Aragorn hauled himself to his feet.

A great column of indescribable cold struck him all at once, and with it the weight upon his back. He staggered through the shallows, teeth gritted against the intolerable bite of the icy air. Gollum was a leaden mass hanging from his shoulders. Sharp, tingling pain assailed Aragorn from every quarter and he stumbled, falling to his knees. The bundle he had so carefully protected in the depths fell from off of his head, landing with a soft splatter at the very edge of the water.

Rallying his wits, Aragorn plucked it up and flung it forward onto the bank. Then he dragged himself out of the water and bowed his head, attempting to yank Gollum's arms over it. He was forced to make a second effort, this time using both arms. As soon as he was no longer looped around his captor, the creature scrabbled off to the end of his lead where he curled himself into a ball and settled in to resolute shivering.

Aragorn's fingers were already going numb, and he fumbled with the knots he had made in his cloak. He laid hands upon his tunic and as quickly as he could hauled off his sodden shirt before crawling inside the warm woolen garment.

He had acted quickly enough: only a small patch of his cloak was wet, and the garments within had escaped entirely. In the space of a minute he had his cote and hose where they belonged, and he shook the rest of his belongings out of his cloak before bundling it around him like a blanket. He laced his arms across his chest and lay there for a time, trembling until the shivers that ran up his spine faded to memory and his teeth stopped their clattering. The wool of his tunic was stiff and scratchy against the bare skin beneath, but he could not bring himself to begrudge it. He was warm again.

About a quarter of an hour they rested there. Aragorn wrung the water from his hair and covered his wet head with his hood. He replaced his belt, buckling it to the last notch, and straightened the tops of his hose. He paused briefly over the remains of his shirt, now little more than a wet mass of rags, before twisting it tightly and tucking it into his pack. Then he rummaged through his dwindling stock of roots and dug out a gnarled tuber. It was the last: after this all he had left were a few bulrushes and a brace of parsnips. Determined to enjoy it, he laved it in the cold river-water and cut himself a thin slice. It was starchy and tasteless, save for a faint tang of dirt, but between his teeth it crunched most satisfactorily, and it would settle his stomach.

There came a plaintive sound out of the darkness, and Aragorn hesitated. He could see the pale eyes gleaming perhaps an arm's length away, and he knew that Gollum was watching him.

'I daresay you're hungry,' he said dispassionately. 'Are you ready to behave?'

The eyes bobbed frenetically.

'If I remove your gag, will you bite?'

To the left they moved, then to the right. Left, then right.

'Come nearer, then,' the Ranger said; 'and no more of your mischief.'

Gollum scooted forward. He seemed to be moving with the aid of only one foot, using his bound arms to haul himself towards his captor. The sharp stink of his person, little dulled by the ducking he had received, soured Aragorn's stomach a little. In the gloom he could now make out the shape of the creature's head and the angles of its nose. He reached out slowly, so as not to give alarm, and found the knot that held the cloth in place. Working with his nails, he pried it loose, and he drew back the gag slowly so that he would not strip off the skin beneath.

'I am going to remove the rest,' he said sternly. 'If you bite me, I promise the consequences shall be terrible.'

Gollum made no sound, nor did he move as Aragorn reached for his mouth. With finger and thumb he grabbed hold of the plug of cloth he had driven into the wretch's stinking maw. Slowly he drew it out, careful lest it should snag on one of the sharp, lonely teeth. The rag was so fouled with spittle and slime that he cast it away; there were some things too loathesome to stockpile even against the desperate need that lay ahead.

Gollum's tongue traced the perimeter of his mouth. Then he made the noise for which he had been named deep within his throat, turned his head, and spat upon the ground.

'Nassty manses,' he muttered. 'Tastes of sweat and death and dark places, precious. Binds us up, gollum, tries to drowns us.'

'Never mind that,' Aragorn said. He cut another piece of his bland supper and held it out. 'I cannot trust you, and so I cannot free your hands. Thus you must eat from mine. You are hungry; by all means partake.'

Gollum snorted disdainfully and scurried backward. As he retreated, Aragorn realized that the reason he was using only one foot was that the other was curled around something. It was slender and silvery, and the long prehensile toes were gripping it almost like grasping fingers. Even as his reason was struggling with the recognition of the thing and the improbability of the maneouver that must have been executed in its capture, Gollum raised his leg and arched his back forward, and with the ravenous abandon of one possessed sank his teeth into the underbelly of the fish.

Aragorn was too smitten with astonishment to be the least off-put by the stink of the trout's innards, or indeed the greedy slurping sounds that issued from its ravenous hunter. It scarcely seemed possible, but at some point in their crossing Gollum must have snagged the fish with his feet. Past the mid-stream depths his kicking had ceased, and this must have been the cause. Yet it was utterly baffling.

Gollum went right on eating, sucking in the raw flesh and spitting out scales and fine white bones. Aragorn mastered himself enough that he was able to finish his own dinner, but still he stole surreptitious glances at his resourceful captive. In his wanderings he had witnessed many strange and wondrous things, but this was surely among the most peculiar.

It was not until later, when the shock of the discovery had dimmed a little and the two travelling companions – each in his own way fed – were once again moving northward beneath the night sky, that the full implication of Gollum's surrender struck home. It was no earnest gesture of repentance, nor indeed an admission of the Ranger's authority. Gollum had merely set out to manipulate his captor.

That was to be expected, of course. The creature's wiles were immortalized in song and tale from Erebor to Westfarthing. What was far more disturbing was that Strider the wanderer, leader of Men and counselor of the Wise, had fallen for the trick. He had allowed his judgment to be compromised in the name of pity; a luxury he could not afford. Worse still, he knew why he had done it. Dawn would mark the sixth day since he had lay down to sleep only to awaken with Gollum's feeling fingers locked about his throat. His faculties were failing him; his wits were addled by exhaustion. It would not be much longer before reason abandoned him entirely. Somehow, and soon, he had to find safety enough for sleep.

Yet there was no safety here, and so he pressed northward.