Aspects of Aragorn 23 "The Journey of Mirkwood Part1" part 1

[inzilbeth]

This story has proved far too long and ungainly to be posted as one chapter so I'm reluctantly splitting it and will post the second part next week.

Aragorn's route and the details of his journey, are based on both the account in FOTR and that in UT.

Disclaimer: No profit will be made from these stories. All quotes from the works of J.R.R.Tolkien are reproduced here without the permission of The Tolkien Estate or New Line Cinema. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

To Cairistiona and Estelcontar: my most grateful thanks for their ongoing encouragement and support.

 

And thanks to Cairistiona for the beta
.

Chapter 23: The Journey to Mirkwood

 

   …He will never love me I fear; for he bit me, and I was not gentle. Nothing more did I ever get from his mouth than the marks of his teeth. I deemed it the worst part of my journey, the road back, watching him night and day, making him walk before me with a halter on his neck, gagged, until he was tamed by lack of food and drink, driving him ever towards Mirkwood….

 

 “The Council of Elrond”                                                      “The Fellowship of the Ring”

 

   Aragorn was beginning to think this was the most miserable journey he had ever undertaken. If there had ever been times in his past when he was more cold, hungry or weary, he could not recall them. His ribs were still sore from his treatment by the orcs and he was so desperate for a proper meal he could happily have devoured an entire Oliphant. But it was at least some consolation that, for the most part, his injuries had healed and he was finally on his way home, though it brought him little cheer that he was returning to the North empty handed. He purposefully steered his thoughts away from dwelling on the wasted years he had devoted to this fruitless chase. The hunt for Gollum was finally over. If he had ever been in these parts, there was no sign of him now.

 

   His progress on his return journey had been painfully slow at first, but once he reached Ithilien, he had at last found enough food to take the edge off his hunger. There were berries and wild tubers still growing where once there had been the homesteads of men. Although the roots were not particularly palatable, they were sufficient to sustain him even if they did not bring satisfaction to a sorely deprived stomach. He was inordinately grateful that he had brought the orc knife with him. With it, he had managed to fashion short lengths of rope from the coarser stems of vines and so had created simple snares. The occasional rabbit had supplemented his meagre diet most agreeably. And even more fortuitously, he had stumbled upon a few athelas plants. The healing power of the leaves had finally driven the lingering shadow of the Nazgul from his heart. And, as the diminishing outline of the Ephel Dúath receded into the distance, his evil memories of his time there began to fade from his waking mind, even if they still frequently returned to haunt his dreams.

 

   But now he had left Ithilien behind and for some days had been skirting the Dead Marshes on their north-eastern border. It was the first day of February and the mist over the desolate land hung cold and dank. There was little breeze, but nevertheless the chill from that bleak, dreary place was seeping into the very marrow of his bones. Aragorn had managed to find scant food there, and hunger gnawed at him constantly. He was walking slowly and with great care for the marshes were treacherous for the unwary. One badly judged step could see him fall into one of the many deep meres that threatened to swallow him at every turn. But Aragorn had long ago perfected the skill of watching where he placed his feet while never taking an eye off his surroundings. 

 

   Suddenly, quite without warning, his eye alighted upon small footprints beside a muddy pool. They were certainly not big enough to be those of a man. He stooped to examine them more closely, reaching out his hand to lightly trace their outline with his finger. They were unmistakably hobbit-like spoors and his mind raced as he realised they might even belong to the very creature he sought. His heart began to beat faster with mounting excitement at this unexpected find.  Scarcely able to believe this sudden change in his fortune, he followed the trail with the utmost care, desperate not to lose it now. All that afternoon under the pale winter sky, Aragorn carefully and stealthily pursued his quarry, skilfully picking his way though the boggy marshes. At last, as evening fell, he saw a small figure lurking by a stagnant mere, peering motionless into the murky water. At first he thought it was an animal of some sort, starving and down on its luck, but as he risked stepping nearer, with a sudden revulsion, he realised that the vile looking creature fitted perfectly the description Bilbo had given him.

 

   This must be Gollum. 

 

   Silently Aragorn crept towards him. The creature appeared heedless, intent upon its own business. Aragorn waited, assessing his best strategy for capturing him. When at last he made his move, he took the creature completely unawares. He pounced and caught his prey deftly, but Gollum was covered in green slime and as slippery as a fish. He writhed and twisted and almost wriggled free from the man’s grasp. His thrashings were accompanied by the most screeching, piercing cries, but Aragorn hung on desperately as he struggled to improve his grasp. The creature was unaccountably strong. There was nothing to him, but he still put up a spirited fight. Aragorn, however, had endured far too much on his behalf to lose him now and quickly had a noose around his neck. But he nearly dropped the rope when he felt searing pain shoot up his arm.

 

   Gollum had bitten him savagely on the hand. That was too much for the normally patient Ranger. His right fist connected mercilessly with Gollum’s face and the creature felt the full force of the man’s wrath. He quickly tightened the crudely made noose and knelt heavily on the creature to pin it to the ground. The screams intensified and Aragorn felt small fists pummelling him as he fumbled to secure them with his pieces of rope.

 

   “Be still you miserable little wretch!” cried the exasperated Ranger as he at last, grabbed hold of Gollum’s hands and lashed them together securely with the ropes as quickly as he could.

 

   Finally, bound, gagged and on a halter, Gollum was at last restrained, though far from subdued. He hissed curses through his teeth, which Aragorn ignored completely while he tended his injured hand. There were three or four deep punctures which were bleeding profusely. With nothing else available, he wrapped his hand in his cloak and nursed it until the bleeding slowed. He still had some athelas leaves with him, and these he strapped over the wounds using a strip of cloth torn from his shirt. The injury really needed cleaning, but he would leave bathing it properly until he reached the Anduin. He did not trust the marsh waters and he most certainly could do without an infected wound when he had such a long trek ahead of him.  Satisfied he had tended it as well as he could, he sat back for a moment to study his strange captive and consider what he was going to do with him. He felt incredibly pleased with himself and aglow with the delicious elation that accompanies hard won success. He was also not a little relieved to have finally got the potentially troublesome Gollum safely out of harm’s way.

 

   It was an extraordinary creature he had caught. Even though Bilbo had described his quarry vividly, he was still shocked by the sight of Gollum in the flesh. He looked haggard and ancient and totally emaciated; Aragorn could easily have counted all his ribs. He was scarcely clad in any sort of clothing at all and was filthy with slime and mud. And he stank. It took a great leap of imagination to think of him as anything other than a beast. He only resemblance to a hobbit was his diminutive size and Aragorn could discern nothing within him to suggest the presence of any humanity. Also there was an evil look in his eye that the Ranger did not care for in the slightest. He had no doubt his prisoner could prove troublesome if he put his mind to it.

 

   Gollum’s frenzied shrieks and screams had finally subsided to a miserable whimper now that he was well and truly beaten. He sat hunched up, all the while glowering darkly at his captor. The Ranger tried to reassure him that he meant him no harm, but Gollum had retreated into a sulk and was clearly not listening. Aragorn could scarcely blame him. He had been less than gentle in his treatment of him and was not at all surprised to see the creature glaring at him with evident hatred in his huge, pale eyes.

 

~oo0oo~

 

   Glancing at the low winter sun now settling on the hills, Aragorn realized he was not going to get very far with his journey that evening. Instead, he decided to lead Gollum to a sheltered spot away from the marshes and settle down for the night. Gollum however proved extremely difficult to move. He lurched in all directions trying to free himself; cursing and hissing through the gag as he did so. He lashed out every time Aragorn came anywhere close to him. Aragorn began to realize travelling with the creature was not going to be as straightforward as he had hoped. In desperation, he picked up the longest piece of rope he had and threatened to beat him with it. Only then did Gollum belligerently comply. 

 

   They were not far from the foothills of the Emyn Muir and here among the rocks, Aragorn found a suitable place to rest. Having searched for so long for the creature, he was impatient to begin questioning Gollum about his movements, so, cautiously, he attempted to remove the gag. But Gollum immediately shrank away from him and began his whimpering once more.

 

   “There is no need to be afraid, I will not hurt you,” said Aragorn, trying his best to sound kind and trustworthy though he guessed he had forfeited any chance of ever gaining the creature’s trust. Gollum continued to squirm and cringe so, in the end, Aragorn had no option but to simply reach out and grab him. Unfortunately the only way he could keep Gollum still was to grasp him by the throat which only served to frighten and anger the creature even more. Immediately the gag was removed, Aragorn sat back on his heels and raised his hands in the air.

 

   “See? There is nothing to fear.”

 

   Gollum’s eyes flashed with a mixture of terror and fury. “Nothing to fear, it says, precious. Oh no, nothing at all, only beatings and lashings; nasty, hateful manses. We hates, him, precious; yes, we hates him.” Gollum continued to ramble on in a similar vein for several minutes. Aragorn had been forewarned by Bilbo about the nature of Gollum’s chatter. Had it not been that he really needed to know if Gollum had ever been to Mordor, he would not have bothered to talk to him at all. He was not particularly hopeful of getting any sense out of him.

 

   “What were you doing down here in the Dead Marshes, Gollum? Have you been to see Him?” Aragorn decided to come straight to the point as he did not relish attempting a long interrogation.

 

   “What’s it mean, precious; ‘him’? Speak plainly it must. Gollum doesn’t like riddles. Nasty hobbit tricks us with them, it does.”

 

   Aragorn sighed. This was clearly going to be hard work. “You know of whom I speak,” he said, sternly. If picking the creature up and giving it a good shaking would have helped, he would have done so. His only reply was to receive more nonsensical ramblings.

 

   He tried again.

 

   “Have you seen the Dark Lord, Gollum? Have you ever been to Mordor?”

 

  Instantly a look of terror came into Gollum’s pale yellow eyes at the mere mention of that land. He screamed and buried his head in his arms, and absolutely refused to even look at Aragorn.

 

   Aragorn persisted for a time, but eventually he had to give up. Gollum clearly had no intention of answering any of his questions. But his main concern for the present was simply to prevent the creature from escaping and getting up to more mischief than he most likely had already. He could wait for answers, though somehow he had to stop that dreadful screaming. He cautiously gagged Gollum again, wary of his teeth. This at least reduced his protests to less audible hisses. It was dark now, and Aragorn would gladly have found some rest, but he did not allow himself any sleep at all that night; he never once took his eyes off his captive.

 

   In the morning, he was up and on his way before the dawn, driving the reluctant Gollum before him.

 

~oo0oo~

 

Comments

[calen-greenleaf.livejournal.com]

Gollum--exactly like the book or movie. I've never written Gollum yet and don't know whether I will. But you have him pat-down. :)

[inzilbeth-liz.livejournal.com]

Thanks, Cal. This is my first attempt at Gollum so thanks for the reassurance.