On a leash

Gollum had not at first known what to make of the faces in the water either. They were dead, of course, and remarkably well-preserved. They slid away from his dabbling, clutching hands (though at least the chill ooze numbed his fingers). That was grossly unfair- he hitched up the rags around his waist, which were slipping again although he had just tightened the rope and thought he could not get any thinner, and grumbled and hissed. Already dead, they were- what did they need to run from poor hungry Sméagol for?

Once he had grabbed and grabbed again, he gave up, and went on his way. He knew the place to be a battlefield- a scene from an old story; that did not explain why there were faces. He had seen odd things before and this was one of them. There was nothing he could do about it and certainly no one had consulted him on the matter, nor would they ever.

It was slow, mucky going and even old crawling, prying Gollum found it difficult. He knew, after a time, that an Orc was hunting him. Nasty thing. It had seen him before he saw it- back there sloshing about- and he could not sneak up on it. But he had a stroke of good fortune- for once- the Orc looked at the lights hanging in the air, which Gollum avoided- they hurt his eyes- and then the Orc was no more.

Gollum respected the dead faces a little more after that. Although- they might have left him a corpse to eat. Stingy things…

At long last he reached the edge of the marsh. Things were so quiet that he let his guard down a little to hunt worms in the muck and watch the dead faces. Sometimes he asked himself what each one had been while it was alive.

“A captain,” he said of a dead Orc. “Cruel, harsh, with loud shouty wordses, and he would drive packs of the little snaga-orcs over the plains and whip them.

“Not nice, precious. No. And then he came upon this Elf- a tall, wicked Elf with shining eyes, and the Elf killed every one of the little ones first, and the captain fled- coward!” So said Gollum who had fled any fight he started that he did not at once win by ambush. “The Elf shot him in the back, that’s it. And this one- this Man- sss! A nasty Man! He is grim, he is sharp! Does he shoot arrowses? Does he swing swordses?” He peered a little closer. “A sword he’s got. It is what they call tarks, in the Shadow-lands. We do not like him…” He trailed off, feeling that there was something amiss about this last Man. He was behind Gollum’s pale, twisted reflection when he ought to have lay under it.

Gollum gathered himself for a spring. When he leapt, a noose tightened around his neck and he crashed into the mud, choking. Then all was clawing mud, and splashing water, and filth. He struck out at something as large and solid as a wall. He writhed like an eel, but there was the rope. Once, twice, his teeth met with his captor and once he tasted blood (and sucked at it, as if he were a vampire- he was so hungry)- but he was thrown back. In the end it was not the Man’s fighting prowess that ended things- though no doubt it would have, if things had continued- but rather, Gollum began to pull at the rope, thinking he could break it, perhaps (or perhaps he was not thinking at all), and- silly fool! He blacked out.

He was not out for long, but when he came to he was bound hand and foot. He had a good look now at the Man who had taken him, a tall Man indeed- a long leggy Man- almost the size of an Elf and with the wicked gleaming eyes of the hunting Elves of Mirkwood!

“Let us go! Gollum, gollum! We’ve done nothing! He jumps us! Let us go!”

The Man said nothing. If Gollum had known Men a little better, he might have thought his captor looked ever so slightly distressed, and if he had known that Men could be kind he might have considered that his captor did not glory in beating and binding creatures half his size and could perhaps be reasoned with.

I am sorry to say that instead, Gollum spat at him, which spurred the Man to turn him onto his side.

“I do not wish to cause you harm,” said the Man, “but I cannot let you go. It is of grave importance to everyone, even you, for you to come with me.”

Gollum heard little of this for he was cursing. The Man waited, quite patiently, for him to stop- after a time, cursing turned to sobbing, and sobbing turned to shrieking. Gollum had just escaped, and now he was caught again. The Man who had caught him was not wearing the standard of Mordor, but Gollum assumed he had come from there and would fetch him back again. And it would be back to the pits, perhaps back to the rack.

“We’ll tell him nothing,” Gollum seethed. “He’ll kill us first. No, no! Not kill us! Anything but that. We’ll tell him! No! We won’t!”

Perhaps the Man tried to speak to him, but he did not hear, he was still making too much noise. By the time he had quieted, the Man had stopped trying to make him see reason.

Gollum looked up at him and noted that the Man’s hand was wrapped in a bloody cloth. “That is where we bit him!” he said, with glee.

The Man likely had some feelings about that but he was too well-mannered to speak them. “I am not here to torment you,” he said, “and I am not from Mordor.”

That meant Gollum had said too much and must stop saying things.

“You have been to Mordor,” said the Man.

Gollum clenched his teeth and shook his head, and went on shaking his head, and shaking in every limb, as the Man continued to try to ask him things he could not answer. No, never! For if this Man was not of Mordor, he was a different sort of enemy.

Was it the Precious he wanted? Did he want it, did he? For if he did, he would never stop wanting it, never go away. Did he feel the sick evil longing that had fallen upon Sméagol when he first saw it, lying in the palm of Déagol’s hand-

(A present- it was a birthday present.)

- the sick evil longing that had fallen upon him when he realized Baggins had it. And was walking off with it. O! How his hands wanted to crush the hobbit’s throat (nasty! vile) he was hungry (manflesh)

The Man had leaned in close to hear his mutterings. Gollum, with a strength and agility born of spite, flung himself up into the air and nearly bit his nose off. The Man, who had remarkable reflexes- yes very- even Gollum was impressed- swiftly struck him down to the ground and placed a boot on his chest.

Gollum squealed and wept. He did not hear whatever the Man might be saying over his wails of “He STEPS on us like wormses, crushes us like beetles, ssss, o the nasty big Man! He is a bully, he is a brute! Wicked cruel Man, gollum, gollum!”

The Man tired of this. He tried to pick Gollum up and fling him over his shoulder, like cordwood. Gollum, at first, was having none of this, but he was cleverer than he acted, and realized at last that he ought to allow it. Once he was over the Man’s shoulder, he tried for his ear fleshy ear yes nice tasty chewy ear-

-but the Man reacted as soon as he felt Gollum’s weight shift. He threw Gollum to the ground, and pressed him down with one knee planted on his chest.

This hurt terribly, but the Man took no notice of his crying, as he had not at any other point, and the freshest indignity proved to be a gag.

Gollum stared into the tark’s grim face. He had been through many tortures but never gagged, for the Eye enjoyed screams, and what use would it be to gag someone who was being interrogated? Deprived of his own thin voice urging him onwards to this or that, he didn’t know at first what to do. He could only produce a sort of keening in his throat.

“We cannot stay here,” said the Man. “If you behave yourself better, I will show mercy to you and remove the gag. Do you understand?”

Gollum, in a frenzy, shook his head violently. He was being a nuisance, of course, in the only way still open to him, but there were many things happening that he truly did not understand.

A rope, next, about his neck, like the one that had snared him. Then the Man unbound his ankles. Gollum, naturally, tried to kick him in the face, but a deft tug on the rope had him choking.

“Get up,” said the Man.

Gollum shook his head, mumbling around the gag.

“Get up.”

Gollum mutely raised his bound hands. He shivered.

“I won’t ask you again,” said the Man.

Gollum began to weep in earnest now. If he had behaved himself a little better (not that he thought of it in those terms), perhaps he would have had a chance to say that he needed his hands to walk. Now he could not, and his hands were tied, and he would fall over and the Man would be angry with him.

The Man did not at once drag him to his feet, but sat quietly and watched him. “Are you unable to walk?” the Man asked.

Gollum shook his head, at first, and then he realized what the Man had said, and nodded fervently. He didn’t know what he expected to happen, though- he couldn’t explain his situation, what with the gag, and he wasn’t sure how he would put it even if he could speak.

We needs our hands, we does. To crawl, to crawl before you like an animal. He shuddered with a soul-deep disgust, and senselessly hated the Man.

The Man knelt to examine his thin legs. Gollum, almost on reflex by now, tried to kick him in the face. The Man dodged expertly, grabbed the rope halter and gave it a wretched tug. Gollum staggered to his feet, slavering about the gag in his mouth, and thinking of the Eye- what if He did get the Precious back? And killed all the Men with it? Why, if Gollum did not need it himself so very badly, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad…

The Man tugged at him. Gollum rose onto his feet, and swayed- he took a few steps forward, and almost thought he could manage things, until his feet tangled and he fell flat on his face.

Lying in the mud, Gollum numbly did some mental calculations. He had been free for exactly five days and four nights and now it was over. No, not free, he thought, as the empty space in his chest throbbed- it was worse than the various aches and bruises. He thought the Man may have cracked one of his ribs. At least Gollum had gotten a strike in at his hand, and he comforted himself by planning how he would eat the Man if he ever got free. Yes, first, throttling (and never mind that the Man’s neck was plainly too thick and strong for his hands to close on properly, this was a fantasy), and then the eyes, yes, and then…

The Man pulled him to his feet. Gollum swayed a moment, and then- feeling rather helpless and fatalistic- he let himself fall over again.

“We cannot linger,” said the Man, urgently. (He did not yank the rope, or kick Gollum; Gollum did not notice or appreciate his restraint.) “For your own sake and safety as well as my own. Come!”

Gollum whined.

“I do not cause anyone to suffer without need. If you prove yourself I will unbind you. Come!”

‘Your own sake and safety’, eh? Orcs would find them if they stayed here. Fool Man! If he had to ambush poor suffering old creatures who only wanted a bit to eat, mightn’t he wait until they were further from Mordor?

Gollum tried to push himself up with his bound hands and found that they did not need to be untied for him to use them as an aid to balance and hobble along a bit. He must look wretched.

He glared at the Man.

“This way. Come,” the Man said shortly.

It was a long way. The Man was strong and to Gollum he seemed tireless- it was always Gollum whose strength flagged first. The pace never slackened. The Man carried him sometimes, when he could no longer crawl, and then Gollum thrashed and whined until he was put down again.

Once the Man unbound his hands. Gollum had not struck anyone in his fist in some years but Men made him feel civilized. He aimed a weak but hateful right hook at the Man’s head- the Man caught his fist in his hand and threw him back. The ropes went back on.

And where were they going? Every so often, the Man tried to speak. There was talk of Elves. Not Elves! Gollum could tell for himself that the path lay North and West. (Not difficult to know, when at every moment he knew which way Mordor was drawing him.) That was the direction he would have chosen, in fact, the path to the Shire- but he would not have gone through the lands of the Wood-Elves, and that are surely where they were going.

Had the Man been sent from the Shire? Had Baggins sent him? Then why not kill him on the spot? Baggins had not seemed the sort to…

To what? To put Gollum on the rack! That was the only reason to keep him alive and bring him all this way. The Men and Elves had not the tricks of Sauron to bewitch an old fool into trotting up on his own hands and feet. They must fetch him.

The rack again- yes, and the needles, and the thumbscrews. It was these thoughts that sent Gollum into a swoon on the third day, moreso even than the lack of water that he had begun to feel dreadfully.

The Man gave him a few moments of freedom from the gag and a few drops of water.

“Will you have civil speech with me?” he asked.

Civil speech. To what end?

Gollum reflected, and said: “Don’t know nothing, do we? No. Can’t tell nothing.”

“What is your name?”

Gollum’s nostrils flared.

“I would know your name,” the Man tried again.

“No! Water, water!”

“An exchange, then. I will give you a little more if you first tell me your name.”

Gollum began to tremble. “Knocks us down, sss, drags us miles over thorns, puts his boot on us- ties us, beats us, and he asks our name.”

“I would not have done you any harm if you had not fought me so, and I will be gentler if you are civil.”

“He wants us not to fight? Wants us not to fight when he jumps us, gollum!”

“Your name,” the Man insisted. “It is a small question, surely. Show me reason in this one thing and I will reward you.”

His name.

“I know you have been called Gollum and I deem that is not your name,” said the Man, “unless you were born saying gollum in your throat and no one could think of another.”

No one had dared ask- no one, not ever! Gollum trembled and hissed. Something inside him felt twisty and coiled.

“Don’t need water. Not thirssty.”

“I know you are thirsty.”

“No, not us, o no!”

After that Gollum said nothing, and tried to bite when the Man’s hand drew closer. The gag went back on. From then on he was allowed a little water every other day and just enough food to keep him crawling. The Mordor diet. Every time he was able Gollum made the Man pay for it.

It was the little things that were still in his power… the Man wrinkled up his nose and flinched when the wind shifted, for the reek of the Dead Marshes still clung to Gollum’s skin. So he refused to bathe when they reached the River, even though he’d begun to itch all over and he felt vile. Gollum had been vile for a long time. Now he had someone else who could be made to share in his misery.

It would have been easy enough to hang himself with the rope. Gollum considered it- he was going somewhere worse than death, most likely. At night when the hateful Moon watched, and the cruel Man made him sit under it and watched him with knowing eyes- when Gollum sat there under the gaze of both of them, like a worm on a hook- he considered also that the Man was taking away another chance at the Ring when the time was running short. Suppose Gollum never got it back, could he go on forever as this empty shell? And what if He retook it, what then? The best he could hope for, perhaps, was to be tortured by Elves, until he told them all, and then once the Elves had fallen in battle he would be taken by the Eye and tortured again.

The Man had obviously been instructed to take him alive. He would be in trouble if Gollum died, o yes, the Man might be put on the rack instead.

And yet- it could not be called anything like hope, but after so many years- so much searching! Gollum would never be the one to end it. Never. He bit his lip until it bled and swore to himself that he would not die until one of his tormentors finally killed him, or until the Precious were no more, or until there was not enough food to keep his fainting bones together. He would not wither under the hatred of this tark.

I did have a name, he remembered sometimes, it rhymed with Déagol, and wept.

The Man watched him without a word. How dare he ask silly questions?

As advertised, the path ended with Elves. And in a cell, another cell. Curled into a withered comma shape on the floor, Gollum was past noticing that this cell was cleaner and nicer than those of Mordor. He did notice that there was more light, and he resented it.

Somewhere on the edge of hearing, the Man was speaking with the Elves. He spoke a strange tongue, but his voice was tired and haunted. He was exhausted. He had suffered.

Gollum licked the bleeding rope burns on his wrists, and smirked. It served the Man right.

Not even Baggins had dared ask Sméagol his name.