Gollum flails, clawing at my strangling hand. I ground my teeth against the sting of the ragged nails and the throbbing torment in my wounded arm, resolutely maintaining my hold. It's not an honorable way to subdue an opponent, but I have no strength left for nobler methods. I have to neutralize the creature swiftly, or either I will lose Gollum or be lost myself. Gollum is choking in earnest now, wholly unable to draw breath. The malicious eyes grow vacant and his struggles grow weaker every second. Then he ceased entirely: at last the creature was limp.
In the brief window of time between unconsciousness and death, I relinquish my hold. I roll off Gollum, crumpling in the mud beside him. I lay there panting as desperately as if I have been the one with a hand upon my windpipe, quaking with exertion and pain, my strength utterly spent. Yet, there is little time to squander. I push myself up with my left hand, pressing my bleeding right arm to my chest. I will see to this hurt later. The important thing is to secure the creature before he regains consciousness. I disentangle the rope as swiftly as I can. Only now do I realize how Gollum stinks. It's a mingle of offal and bodily secretions and rot, and something unidentifiable that defied even my extensive experience with the vile and the putrescent. I try to close my nose, swallowing the rising bile as I fight to keep my pinched stomach from roiling in rebellion. The thought of binding Gollum from head to toe is unacceptable. I do not wish to carry him: Gollum has to walk himself. I undid my nose, my right hand clumsy and my left trying to compensate. I slipped the cord around the creature's neck and tied it awkwardly into a collar, too snug to be removed but not so tight as to be cruel. As I work, I try not to look at the purple circles on the creature's neck, four on the right and one on the left: the marks of my fingers. The nausea of remorse mingles with that brought on by the stink, but I subdue it sternly. I can spare no compassion for my prisoner. Hundreds of miles lay before us and if I'm going to reach my goal, I will have to be unyielding and pitiless.
With the knot firmly affixed and reinforced, the tail of the halter is less than half the length of my arm. I cannot leave Gollum alone, unconscious or not. Therefore I hoist the unconscious creature over my shoulder. When I try to raise my legs, I nearly fall, but I refuse to submit to my tired body. With my left arm curled in support of the creature, I stumble back to where I have abandoned my gear. Hastily I deposit my prisoner in the mud, ignoring the fresh ache in my shoulder and arm. With my knife and teeth I produce sufficient lengths of dirty wool from my cloak to bind Gollum's hands before me. I hesitate at the sight of the creature. The slimy palms and the long fingers are marred with abrasions and deep, suppurating wounds and horrible marks that can be nothing else but burns: obviously marks of torture. As gentle as I can I bind the creature's wrists together, keeping the knots as tight as I dare but ensure they are still loose enough to admit his small fingers between the bonds and the arm.
Right at this moment, Gollum is stirring on the brink of consciousness. It seems he's more resilient than any man, and many orcs. Hastily I take another strip of my ravaged cloak and tie the creature's legs together. As Gollum's eyelids flutter and his lips begin to work soundlessly, I hasten to thrust another piece of cloth into the creature's mouth, knotting it snugly behind. I affixed the gag not a moment too soon, for the pale eyes shoots open, glinting with the reflection of the unearthly candles. For a moment there is nothing but confusion in the haunted orbs, but terror and hatred swiftly floods back. Gollum arches his back and tries to move his bound limbs. I snatch up the end of the rope and hold fast while Gollum flops about in the mud like a fish flung onto a land. Though my heart is hammering in my chest, I do not move as Gollum struggles and muffled noises of rage filter around the cloth. Only when Gollum falls back in the mud, I kneel, taking hold of the halter near the creature's throat and lean low to fix him in his gaze.
,,Do not struggle," I say, keeping my voice firm but free from anger or disgust. ,,no harm will come to you by my hand, provided that you do as I say. Do you understand?" Gollum's eyes narrow to malicious slits. He gives no further sign of comprehension. ,,I wish to question you. If I remove the cloth from your mouth, will you cry out or attempt to bite again?" I ask again. ,,I do not wish to hurt you, but neither will I suffer such assault a second time." Still Gollum only stares, but he's trembling and beneath the hate there is fear. My eyes go once more to his hands. ,,Answer me yeah or nay," I say sternly. ,,for your life and mine hang upon the answer. Are you fleeing the servants of the Enemy? Are you being followed by orcs? By black Men of Mordor?" Incoherent sounds filter around the cloth. ,,Yeah or nay? Nod your head." Gollum makes no attempt to comply. If I wish to glean anything from Gollum, I have to make the first gesture of truce. I gently stretch my torn arm, despite the pain and reach behind the creature's head to undo the gag. Just as I withdraw my arm, Gollum strains forward, snapping at my fingers. ,,None of that." I say sternly, grabbing a length of the lead and wrapping it around my hand. ,,Tell me: are you being pursued by the servants of the Enemy?"
,,Are we being pursued, precious, it asks us," Gollum mutters, his voice hoarse and strangled. ,,Yes, precious, pursued it is. Hateful manses hunts us, precious, with cruel ropeses, yes."
,,Orcs!" I snap. ,,Are you being hunted by orcs?" Gollum falls silent, glowering blackly at me. Then he curls in upon himself, launching up to bow his head over his lap as he raises his hands to his face. Before I know it, Gollum is gnawing on his bonds. Quick as a flash, I have the gag back in Gollum's mouth. Gollum tries to struggle, but with hands and feet bound there is little he can do. I no longer wish to linger in these fens, even to interrogate the creature I have sought for so long. Gollum has been put to torment and not long ago. If he has escaped the Enemy's clutches, there will be a pursuit and I'm afraid the servants of Sauron are near to us at this very moment. I have no strength left to battle. I cannot take the chance of losing my freedom or Gollum now, when I have at least achieved my goal. My hands shake as I undo the bonds around Gollum's ankles. ,,On your feet," I command. ,,we cannot linger here any longer." Questions can wait until I have brought Gollum to Mirkwood. Keeping a firm hold on the rope, I scrabble for my pack and my cloak. Gollum is still lying in the mad, whimpering and muttering to himself behind the gag. I poke him with the toe of my booth. ,,On your feet!" I repeat more urgently. Gollum rounds more dramatically. His forehead is nearly pressed to his knees. I have no patience left. Hundreds of miles lay between this place and the halls of Thranduil in Mirkwood, where it had long ago been arranged that the creature should be brought if ever he were found. I swoop down, seizing the creature by the shoulder and shake him mercilessly. ,,Up!" I command, imbuing the word with the full weight of my will. Gollum's legs work wildly, splaying in improbably disparate directions. I tighten my hold and haul the stinking carcass up. After a moment of struggle I have Gollum more or less upright. ,,Now, run!" I hissed. As Gollum starts to move, but not run: even though this is more stumbling, but at least he's propelling himself under my power and as I drive him forward between the flickering corpse-lights the oppressive threat of discovery seems to ease somewhat. Yet, as I struggle through the shifting mires of the Dead Marshes, my head swims and my right arm throbbing, I can see neither any chance of escaping if the enemy is indeed on our trail, nor how I can ever tread the countless leagues that lay between my weary body and the succor of the wood-Elves.