Then suddenly straight over the rim of their sheltering bank, a man fell, crashing through the slender trees, nearly on top of them. He came to rest in the fern a few feet away, face downward, green arrow-feathers sticking from his neck below a golden collar. His scarlet robes were tattered, his corslet of overlapping brazen plates was rent and hewn, his black plaits of hair braided with gold were drenched with blood. His brown hand still clutched the hilt of a broken sword. It was Sam's first view of a battle of Men against Men, and he did not like it much. He was glad that he could not see the dead face. He wondered what the man's name was and where he came from; and if he was really evil of heart, or what lies or threats had led him on the long march from his home; and if he would not really rather have stayed there in peace. ( J.R.R. Tolkien, Two Towers)
Oh, Sam. Poor misinformed Sam. This man wasn't dead. Uldor opened his eyes to see the branches of the trees swaying in the wind, illuminating the bank with a pure green light. The morning air was cool and felt good as he lay on the thick fern.
It took Uldor a moment to process that he wasn't at home. In fact, he was very far from home. You see, Uldor had lived in the warm, sandy desert of Häräd. He groaned as the memory came flooding back into his head. He had been forced into war on a long march to Mordor to serve on the side of Sauron and his horrible orc minions.
The man tried to sit up, but the golden collar was weighing down his neck, causing it to become incredibly stiff. He then realized why- a green-feathered arrow stuck out from his collar. Uldor yanked it free and yelled in pain, much different from any of his formal battle cries. He moved his hand slowly to his head and ran his fingers through the braids. They were warm and moist. He gazed nervously at his hands- they were coated in blood. Oh, Valar… He felt his body become numb and black dots appear before his eyes.
The next thing he knew, he was waking up, and heard hoarse voices above him.
"Keep it moving you lazy slugs!" the voice cried, "Don't you know we're at war?"
Orcs. Uldor tried to move, but his muscles were sore and his entire body ached. He hid in the thicket. He had learned quite enough about the orcs. IF they weren't after each other in dangerous quarrels, then they would kill anything else in their path for the pleasure of it. He didn't care to get to know orc-lore past that. The quick padding of scaly feet could be heard over his head.
A pack of Mordor orcs rushed over the path above him. One stopped abruptly, an orc in a tunic of grey warg fur. It sniffed the air, (though Uldor could hardly think it would be able to smell anything over its own stench,) and crouched down. He breathed aggressively through its yellow fangs, seeming to catch his scent.
"I smell you down there, Easterling scum," it hissed dangerously. Uldor held his breath. The heart in his chest beat like the wings of a fell beast.
"Your faithless people have never been brave enough to remain loyal to Sauron. You maggoty traitor hiding in the thicket from the might of mordor- Show yourself!"
"Faithless?" Uldor's voice cracked. He had intended it to sound like a challenge, but it came out like a squeak. He stood up, legs burning in pain, and grabbed the hilt of his sword. "You talk of loyalty, but you filthy orcs can't march for a single day without breaking out in battle amongst each other!"
The sudden outburst startled the orc, and it fell into the fern. Uldor quickly drew his sword and pointed it to the orc's scaly neck. He peered into the eyes of the monster, emerald green with flecks of gold, and found something there. He didn't know why, but he shakily lowered the blade. "I am not like you. I will have mercy, but do not cross me again. What brings you men here in the woods of Ithilien, do you not know that there are rangers from Minas Tirith scouting these parts?" I got hit by an arrow, he wanted to add. He felt the back of his head. The blood had dried.
"I am no man," replied the orc angrily.
"I didn't mean to offend you-" he was cut off.
"I am Olog, servant of Mordor, and I am a she-orc." The man began to stutter, fearing the orc's temperament.
"Silence, fool!" Olog growled, stretching a hand over Uldor's mouth. Her ears twitched.
Uldor strained his ears and heard voices- the high trill of elves. Olog's face scrunched up and she scuttled under the roots of a large oak tree, leaving Uldor out in the open.
A docile grey horse leapt over the man's head and landed on the path above the bank. Several elven archers followed the horse's lead lightly on foot. THe elf that sat on the dappled grey palfrey radiated light. His silver hair fell down his back. On his head, he wore a mithril circlet, and his robes were night blue. The fabric rippled down his shoulders and down the horse's spotted back.
"Gildor!" cried one of the archers, "Orcs have marched upon these grounds!"
The mounted one sighed, "O Elbereth Gilthoniel, even the wood of ithilien isn't safe from the darkness of Sauron's forces. Soon the golden wood of Lothlórien will fall to the shadow."
His bright silver eyes scanned the ground. "You there!" cried Gildor, "You breathe so loudly I could shoot you in the night!" The archers raised their longbows and pointed them into the bank.
"Please, no!" pleaded Uldor, revealing himself. He stood before the elves, but regretted it, his head feeling light and dizzy after the blood loss and his muscles sore and painful. Supporting the golden collar and the brazen plates on his corslet was much more difficult than it had been previously. His robes were torn, the once beautiful scarlet fabric caked in mud and blood, though the latter was not visible. He felt awkward standing in front of the graceful elves. Today is not my day.
Gildor's eyes shone with concern. "You're injured."
The elves lowered their bows. Gildor observed Uldor, looking him up and down with his unsettlingly bright eyes.
"Kingsfoil," called Gildor, "Maglor, retrieve Kingsfoil from the wood." He turned to an archer with dark hair and crystal eyes. Maglor nodded and silently leapt off the path, disappearing into the trees. GIldor hopped off his horse and grabbed Uldor by his tattered robes.
"Don't…" he began, but with one graceful lift, GIldor pulled the man onto the palfrey. Uldor was comfortable with Mûmakil, not horses, and shifted in his seat.
"Why are you helping me?" it was a dull question, but Uldor was sincere. He may have been confused and dizzy, but elves, straight out of the wood and helping an ally of Sauron, was strange.
"We are friends to all who turn from the path of the Dark Lord."
"I didn't…" he began, but stopped himself. He then realized something. I'm free. I could simply ride off with the elves and never see the ugly plains of Mordor or another orc again. He felt hope unfolding in him.
Then suddenly the archers had all drawn their bows to point at a thick oak root. Uldor had not heard anything, but the elves had sharp ears.
"Reveal yourself!" yelled one of the archers. Olog raised herself on her feet, her claws raised above her head in surrender.
"For the sake of the Valar, kill it!" cried a fair-haired archer in disgust. Olog scowled, looking at the elves with disgust, and Uldor wondered why the elves were better than orcs if they acted like that.
Uldor directed his horse in front of Olog. "She is with me. We are servants of the Dark Lord, Sauron, and we are looking for escape."
Olog looked at Uldor like she wanted to ring his neck. Gildor raised his eyebrows in surprise, then considered it for a moment, before nodding.
"We are heading for the Shire," he said, "Things are growing worse for the little folk now with Saruman and his follower on the loose. We need all the help we can get to delay his pack of ruffians before they can cause any harm to the hobbits. But, please, keep that orc under control."
"Kingsfoil!" shouted Maglor abruptly, stepping out of the trees and displaying a dark leafy plant. He looked upon the odd new fellowship. "Did I miss something?"
