Chapter LI: The Eaves of Mirkwood

For a brief and wondrous moment Aragorn could not even feel the cold of the day, such was the change from the night of his arrival and the relief of being properly clad. It was not a truly clement morning: his breath still came in a cloud over the top of the scarf, and there was certainly no chance of melting. Yet the chill was tolerable and not unreasonable for the season. Even when he stepped out of the shelter of the courtyard his eyes did not sting, nor his nostrils catch in the winter air. And with his wealth of cosy wrappings it was only upon his face that he could feel it at all.

By daylight he could see something of Grimbeorn's establishment: long stables and barns shut up snugly; storehouses with steep slanted roofs; a henhouse that was a veritable palace when compared to the one in Eastemnet that Gollum had tried to burgle. The great beehives stood along the border-hedge, thatched roofs dusted with snow. A sleek tabby cat, crossing the yard with fastidious care, paused to stare at the departing travellers before continuing on its way. Tugging lightly on the rope when Gollum began to lag behind, Aragorn made his way down to the gate in the stone wall that surrounded the hedges. He hesitated for a moment on the threshold, and it took a tremendous outpouring of will not to look back wistfully at the house. He had had his day of rest, he told himself sternly, and two nights with it. It was time to be on his way.

He had not taken half a dozen steps down the lane when he was stopped by a laughing young voice calling his name. Turning after all, he saw Una running down the path. She had a red woollen shawl thrown carelessly around her shoulders, and one hand was upraised in a gesture of urgency. Hastily Aragorn strode back to the gate so that she might meet him without leaving the safety of the dooryard.

'I forgot!' she huffed, skidding to a halt in one of his footprints. She paused for a moment, drawing in a deep breath, and then smiled enormously, holding out a hand full of linen. 'I forgot to give you these!'

Aragorn took them, his mittened thumb shifting to separate a hem. He found himself smiling even before he could think of doing so. Handkerchiefs.

'Mother says…' Una was still panting a little from her wild dash down from the house. She quirked a sheepish eyebrow, inhaled again, and went on. 'Mother says one should never leave home without a handkerchief. As you're so very far from your home, wherever it is precisely, I thought you might want a spare.'

'Thank you,' said Aragorn. His smile broadened a little at the expense of his cracked lips. 'It is a luxury I do not often enjoy. I have no doubt I shall make good use of them.'

'You'd best do that,' said Una. 'I made them, you know, and it was an exercise in tremendous patience.' She grinned ruefully. 'I confess I'm not much of a needlewoman.'

'Then I must honour you all the more for your gift, if it was a toil to make,' Aragorn said. He bowed to her. 'Again I thank you, my lady. You and all your folk have been exceedingly generous to me.'

'Well, you must do as Grandfather bids and visit again whenever you pass this way,' she said. She swayed her hips in a playful coquettish way. 'Only do try not to let sixteen years pass first this time. I'll be of marriageable age soon, after all, and if you were to make an offer I'm sure my father would not refuse you!'

At his astounded expression she roared with laughter, clapping her hands to her knees and throwing back her head in the frosty air. 'Oh, goodness, your face!' she cried. Then she cuffed his elbow lightly and winked. 'Fear not, my lord: I shan't pursue you! I'm just a girl, but even I can see you're not free to wed. Tireless and mysterious labours notwithstanding, you've plainly given your heart elsewhere. Still, I can't help but envy her just a wee bit.'

Then before he could muster himself out of his startled but not entirely unpleasant embarrassment she had turned on her heels and was running back up to the house with the rangy grace of a yearling colt. Shaking his head a little in quite disbelief, Aragorn turned back towards the road. Gollum, who had been gawping up at the exchange, fell into sullen step behind.

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He followed the road until he came to the end of the cultivated lands. The farms and cotholds of the Beornings were clustered all about the holdings of their lord, and he had no wish to trespass. He had made quite enough trouble for Grimbeorn and his family without plaguing them with the complaints of worried tenants. Sufficient time had elapsed since the last snowfall that the way was tightly packed with wagon-ruts and the marks of booted feet. It was a mercy not to have to break through drifts, but Aragorn's heels were soon sore from the constant impact with the hard-trod surface. It was something of a relief when at last he came to the wild country and was able to strike off on his own way.

His plan, in as much as he had ever considered what he would do when he finally reached this last stage of the journey, had been to cut north to the Elven road that led straight to the heart of Thranduil's realm. Over the last day, when he at last had the leisure to ponder his path, he had come to the conclusion that this presented something of an unnecessary detour. The forest-gate was a four-day journey north of Grimbeorn's halls, through open country doubtless patrolled by watchers from Dol Guldur. By cutting directly northeast he might reach the forest before nightfall on the second day, and among the tangles of ancient trees he would at least be more difficult to locate. It was true that the dangers of wandering through the depths of Mirkwood were great, but there was much to be said for haste – and still more for secrecy. He had taken perilous shortcuts through deadly places before this, and at least in northern Mirkwood he would have as much chance of falling in with the wood-elves as he would with the servants of the Nazgûl.

He walked until the mists lifted, laying bare the white rolling lands beneath a cover of woolly grey clouds. By that time the pain in his feet, alleviated a little by leaving the road, was beginning to return in force, and he could feel the cold in his toes. So he found a little copse of beeches and dug for bare ground, and laid a little fire. He slipped the felted wool shoes over his boots and crouched near the cheery flames to warm himself. While he rested he ate a small piece of the dense honey-cake, savouring its deep sweet flavour. It left him thirsty, but he was well-supplied with water and in any case too grateful to have ballast for his belly to complain. To Gollum he gave one of the hard-boiled eggs, which the creature bit into at once and then chewed noisily, spitting out shards of shell as he did so.

When the fire died down Aragorn hid its traces and went on again. He was well-supplied and adequately clothed for the first time in all this wearisome journey, and he walked in relative comfort. Had it not been for the ache in his feet and the persistent itch in his hands – and the loathsome company he kept – he would have been quite content to be abroad on a winter's afternoon just on the cusp of spring. Even the fear of spies seemed distant here, in these quiet lands just east of the vales of Anduin, though he kept a sharp lookout all the same. He saw the occasional rook, inky black against the pallor of the clouds, and once far in the distance a nimble stag loped across a hilltop, but for the most part all was quiet. Even Gollum seemed to have little cause for complaint, though a brooding storm was brewing in his cruel glittering eyes.

They stopped again about an hour before dusk, and again Aragorn made a little fire to warm his hands and feet. The mittens were a blessing almost beyond his comprehension, but still the chill seeped through eventually and set his fingers blazing with warnings of torment to come. Frostbite was an ugly thing and he had no wish to court it further than he already had. Eira's salve he reapplied with care, studying each sore and blister and flexing the many joints of his fingers. He ate again, sparingly, and filled his bottle with fresh snow. He offered Gollum a piece of the waybread, but it seemed it was not to his liking. He took a couple of the nuts instead, but the remaining eggs Aragorn reserved: he would have to feed the creature every day, after all, and it was the only thing among the provisions that he seemed eager to eat.

The clouds had thinned a little through the day, and the faint glow of moonlight guided the Ranger's feet as he moved on into the evening. His night of deep slumber, and even the previous evening's sporadic sleep, had done him great good and he felt able to press on with only the little thawing rest. Time was pressing upon him, and he went in haste: anxious to reach the cover of Mirkwood before his passage could be marked; anxious to be about his business with all speed; and anxious above all to reach the wood-elves at last and be done with this hateful toil and the burden he had carried so long. While he had the light to move onward he did so, and when at last the clouds thickened and the moonlight was snuffed behind them he found a hollow of the land, and set another modest fire, and tended his hands again.

When dawn came he set out again amid a drowsy snowfall. The flakes were enormous, banding together into clumps long before they found the earth, and the snow upon the ground was wet and clung in clumps to his boots. Aragorn was glad indeed for the coating of pitch he had put upon the leather, for without it he would surely have been soaked to the skin. Despite the stink he raised the hood of Sigbeorn's cloak, grateful for its protection as he shuffled on. He might have wished for a heavier flurry to obscure the deep tracks he was leaving, but there was little use in such efforts. By now he was certain his passage had been marked: it remained only to speculate whether the spies of Dol Guldur would be on the lookout for Gollum and his tall, nameless captor. If they were there was no help for it. If they were not, surely it was only a matter of time before their reports of activity in Rhovanion came to the eyes of someone who was.

The land was very quiet today. He saw no sign of beast nor bird: not a fallen feather on the snow, not a track or a scrap of spoor, not the chatter of a questing squirrel. He was drawing near to the eaves of Mirkwood, shunned by the creatures of happier lands. Long ago, it was said, Taur-en-Daedelos had been a place of wild untrammelled beauty. Certainly the wood-elves of Imladris sang wistfully of the ancient forest untainted and free. Yet with the coming of Sauron to Amon Lanc and the building of the dread fortress of Dol Guldur a darkness had come to the woods. From its bed in the south that shadow had spread, until the tangled trees themselves seemed choked with peril. With the overthrowing of the Necromancer some measure of peace had returned to the lands north of the little girdle of mountains that marked the southern edge of Thranduil's country. Aragorn remembered his earliest journey to the forest as a curious but not unpleasant experience; a young man in the company of a wizard, roaming afar for the first time. Since that time, however, the influence of Dol Guldur had begun to spread again – this time merely under the influence of the Ringwraiths, but sufficient nonetheless to make the way dark and dangerous.

It seemed the surest way to travel in his present state: to walk on until his discomfort grew too great, and then to halt and rest and eat a little close by a small fire. Aragorn was irritated to discover how limited his endurance was, but as he had not halted for more than five hours the previous night he told himself that he could not begrudge the occasional brief rest. Despite his warm garments he began to feel a chill in his bones, and his lower ribs ached. Time and again he found his thoughts wandering back to the warmth and welcome of Grimbeorn's hall, and the kind and boisterous family therein, and the comfort of the pallet by the hearth. He drove away these reminiscences as fiercely as he could. Not even two full days out of a pleasant waystation, and he was pining already for leisure and luxury? Had he grown so soft that he could not set his mind upon his road and have done?

Yet though he scolded, Aragorn knew that such admonitions were not entirely fair. The truth was that he was weary to his very soul, worn down by hardships and the long and bitter road. Three days' decent food notwithstanding, he was malnourished almost to the point of illness, and the hurts of his body wore still further on his stamina. Even well-provisioned and properly clad, it was likely that the final stretch of this hard campaign would call upon the last of his strength. So he rested as he could, and he ate what his uneasy stomach could bear, and he went on at a gentler pace than his restless spirit wished to. And all the time he dragged Gollum with him.

He had hoped to reach Mirkwood that day, but as darkness fell he was still out in the open country. There was no moon that night with strength to penetrate the clouds, and as his evening fire was dying he lit one of Torbeorn's little candles and walked on by its light. There was a grinding ache in his ankles now, but he ignored it. Many hundreds of leagues had worn upon his legs, and it would take more than a little stolen rest to set them right again. It was better to press on, so that surcease might come sooner. Taking his bearings from the tireless West Wind, he continued onward.

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Dawn came high and pale over a dark mass clinging like a miasma to the horizon. Relief and dread warred within Aragorn's heart as he picked himself up from the ashes of his fire and bestirred a reluctant Gollum. Mirkwood was in sight at last. He limped badly for his first few steps, weary feet reluctant to take up the burden of his body, but then he fell into a long, steady stride that stripped the two miles easily away. The Sun was climbing now, and his captive began to writhe and whimper and weep. Aragorn paused long enough to shoot him a disdainful glance.

'Fear not,' he said dourly. 'Soon enough all you shall see of Yellow Face is a thin gloom amid the trees.'

Gollum said nothing in answer, but he glared suspiciously up at the Ranger and lapped disconsolately at his nimble thumbs. Once again Aragorn found himself lost in fruitless speculation about just what, precisely, was going on behind those sharp, cruel eyes. There had been no resistance since leaving Grimbeorn's hall; no retaliation for the incident with the child. Surely Gollum was hatching some seditious scheme, but Aragorn could not think what it might be. The rope was new and sturdy, and the knots were snug. He had no intention of laying by his vigilance at any time between now and the moment he crossed the low stone bridge and entered the halls of the Elven-king. Yet as surely as he knew he would not walk that path unchallenged he knew that Gollum would attempt to thwart him again.

They were not twenty ells from the edge of the forest now: near enough to see the lichen on the trees. Aragorn turned slowly, surveying the land all about. Not a single living thing did he see, on the rolling hills or amid the scattered birches or in the dark mass of the forest itself. Cautiously he approached, still looking from the left to the right and back again as he listened and he tried to scent to winter air. Gollum lurched after him, halting when he could to make his own leery study of the trees before them. Oaks and elms and twisted ash trees crowded together, upper branches enmeshed in barren snarls amid the thick boughs of fir and hemlock. About the boles the undergrowth clambered like a riotous army besieging tower after tower in turn. It took the sharp eye of one long experienced in woodcraft even to espy a place where the brambles and ivy-roots were sparse enough to admit a cautious walker. Yet spy it he did, and with three awkward loping strides he was out of the sunlight and into the dim shaded depths of Mirkwood.

Aragorn had expected Gollum to calm himself once they were out of direct sunlight, but he did not. He balked like a frightened mule, digging his heels into the mulch and scrabbling to get hold of a trailing root. The Ranger twitched the rope in what they had both come to understand as a summoning gesture, but Gollum did not obey. When Aragorn tugged more firmly, the creature threw back his head and let out a high, keening shriek.

About them there was a chattering of small, scrambling feet as the unseen inhabitants of Mirkwood mustered to the horrible noise. Aragorn came swiftly back in the way that he had come, taking care to reel in the rope as he did so. He knelt and seized Gollum's shoulder, shaking him urgently. 'Be silent!' he hissed. 'Do you wish to make known our presence from here to the Bight?'

Gollum closed his mouth, looked up at his captor with narrowed eyes, and slowly licked his lips. The mittened grip on his arm eased, and Aragorn was just about to muster the reassurance that no harm would come to either of them when Gollum cried out again. This time it was a harsh howl that rattled the bare branches of a stunted blackberry bush and seemed to pierce clear to the core of Aragorn's brain. Involuntarily he clenched his jaw, and his back molars squeaked against one another. He tightened his hold again, digging his fingers into the joint despite the buffer of the mitten. This only served to intensify the yowling, and so he let go of the rope and grabbed a corner of his cloak and rammed it far into Gollum's mouth.

There was a startled choking sound deep in the creature's throat and his eyes bulged enormously. Aragorn's temper flared and he had to bury the urge to shake the wretch until they came popping out of their sockets. He drew in a long, thin breath and fixed his prisoner with the coldest and most wilful of stares.

'If you will not be silent,' he said, slowly and most intractably; 'then I shall not hesitate to gag you again. If I am driven to that you shall have neither food nor drink until we reach our destination. You have spent my patience long ago, and I will not suffer you to endanger us both with theatrics now.'

He remained unmoving for a moment, holding the pale haunted orbs with his gaze. Then carefully he drew the knot of wool out from between Gollum's teeth. He let his hand hover there, ready to drive it back in at need. But Gollum only worked his jaw in a broad shifting motion, smacked his lips resentfully together, and tried to shrink back against the roots despite the hand still closed on his shoulder. His head jerked to the left as if he wished to look away, but Aragorn's eyes held him and he could not.

'Keep close and do not tarry,' he said; 'and I will see that no harm comes to you. I have not brought you so far to lose you to the perils of Mirkwood.'

Then he released his hold and stood again, and started off through the underbrush. Whether Gollum trusted his promise or was merely cowed by the threat of thirst and hunger, he came scrabbling after with all haste. Now and then the rope caught on a branch or a bramble, but for the many hours of that march Gollum did not lag behind again. Still, as the forest grew deeper around them and the faint haunted sounds within it grew more numerous, Aragorn could not help but wonder whether the damage had already been done.

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When each step began to bring a piercing agony that bolted up through knee and hip into the root of his spine, Aragorn began to look for a secure place to halt. Beneath the dense canopy only the lightest dusting of snow lay upon the earth, with heaps here and there where an upper branch had let fall its burden: he walked instead on a thick layer of rotting leaves and the springy wood-moss beneath. Yet though dry places abounded he could not find anywhere he felt comfortable resting. There were too many blind twists in the pathless forest; too many thickets where a watcher might linger or an enemy hide. As he had walked the sense that something was watching them had only mounted, until the fine hairs at the nape of his neck were standing stiff against the muffler. The oppressive stillness of the air was terrible, also. Only the winter chill kept it from being entirely unbearable, and still Aragorn found his mind slipping back to the stifling tunnels beneath the Ephel Dûath where he had slithered on in hope of some small sign of his long-sought quarry.

'Well, that I have at last,' he muttered, daring to let his voice fall amid the eerie forest rustles. 'Much joy though it has brought me.' He cast a brief bitter glance back at Gollum, who had paused mid-step to rifle through a layer of decaying detritus. Aragorn quickened his pace despite the torment it brought from his feet, and the creature was forced to fall back into step.

At length, unable to stumble on any further without risking his watchfulness, Aragorn was forced to halt beneath a stooped black maple with a trunk that had grown in three thick shoots clustered together to form almost a little cave. He pressed his back into this shelter and lowered himself carefully to earth, stretching his legs before him. His fingers were chilled and aching, but he had no wish to draw attention and so did not risk a fire. With Gollum drawn close by his knees – as near as Aragorn could bear, and as distant as he dared – he drew his knife and tucked his left hand beneath the opposite arm. He knew that he ought to eat a little, but his stomach was roiling and he feared that it might reject even the wholesome cakes of the Beornings.

When the fire in his feet abated a little he took a mouthful of water before offering the vessel to Gollum. Warily the creature drank, slurping unpleasantly and swallowing many times over a single draught. Then Aragorn gave him an egg and let him retreat to the end of the rope to eat it. He had threatened deprivation for disobedience: while Gollum obeyed he must be fed. Still Aragorn had to fight rising nausea at the hideous sounds and the faint gummy smell of the food as it mingled with Gollum's stench and the sickly scent of decay that rose from the forest floor. Forgetting prudence for a minute or two, he closed his eyes and tried to take his mind away.

There was nowhere to send it, he quickly discovered. The usual comforting memories eluded him, and there was nothing else to distract him from the discomforts of the moment. The only other thought he could hold for long was the deep and painful yearning to be done with this wearisome chore. Now that he was within the forest itself it seemed he would go mad if he delayed even a little; if he made any choice that would prolong this last stretch of the journey.

So as soon as his heels had dulled their protests a little he hoisted himself up with the help of the tree-trunk and set off again with Gollum on his heels. He pushed on doggedly, wending his way through the matted thickets and the slick piles of damp mulch. In any other forest he would have been obliged to pause every few steps to disperse the signs of his passage, but here the shrubs and brambles and low-hanging trees were so set in timeless habit that they seemed to spring back almost as soon as the disturbance was past. Turning to look behind him, Aragorn could but seldom even recognize the way that he had come. It would have been an easy thing to become lost in this labyrinth of ivy-laden boles and their fawning attendants, save that his woodscraft was so deeply ingrained after a lifetime of wandering.

When dusk fell the forest sank swiftly into impenetrable darkness. For a while Aragorn pressed forward by feel, groping from one tree to the next, but this was slow and excruciating work. When he found a thick hedge of whortle-berry he halted and crept beneath it, tugging Gollum after him. Working by touch alone he found the bag of beechnuts, and gave a few to his captive. He took two himself, chewing them slowly and trying to determine whether his belly could endure them. He was tempted to light one of his candles, for the perfect blackness seemed almost to smother him, but he did not. He had only four of them, and one was half-burned. If he could not bear to wait out the dawn he would need light by which to walk.

With his knife he cut strips from the hem of the Lórien-blanket, far less confounded by the sacrifice now that he had a cloak and a whole tunic on his back. When he gave the whispered order Gollum skittered forward and submitted to having his hands bound. Then with his captive secure and his blade in his hand, Aragorn curled upon his side with one knee braced so that he might quickly rise if the need overcame him, and tried to take a little shallow slumber. All around him the nightly noises of Mirkwood thrummed and chittered and creaked, and nearer at hand he could hear his prisoner's shallow wheezing breath. Still his heart slowed and his eyelids drooped and although his instincts clung fast to the waking world his mind slipped cautiously away.