Chapter Four: The Unwilling Uruk

The sword's tip was actually touching my throat when Aragorn halted its deadly descent and stared at me. His dark eyes, which I now saw were a glinting, steely grey, widened in utter shock.

"What did you say?" he gasped in obvious disbelief.

I was so relieved at having not been slain that I didn't reply for a minute. Then all at once I jerked back to reality and repeated, "Dartho." (Wait.)

Aragorn frowned at me for a moment, bewilderment written across his face. He glanced up as a concerned voice sounded behind him.

"Aragorn? Mani naa ta?" (What is it?)

Aragorn turned toward the person who had spoken; it was the elf I had seen before, now kneeling next to his comrade.

"I'm not sure, Legolas," the man replied. "This Uruk–"

"Uruk?" Legolas cried, cutting him suddenly off. He glared at me, then at his friend. "Why didn't you kill it?" he demanded sharply.

The elf's right hand moved down to his belt, where two long knives were sheathed. Aragorn's hand quickly darted out to stay Legolas'.

"If you would let me explain," he said calmly, "I'll tell you why this Uruk isn't Wargs' meat."

Legolas slowly withdrew his hand and folded his arms disapprovingly across his chest. "So explain."

"First of all," Aragorn began patiently, "did you not hear what this Uruk shouted? He said 'dartho' – in Sindarin, 'wait'."

"I know the tongue of my own people," Legolas snapped angrily, his eyes flashing. "What's your point?"

"Exactly how many times have you heard an Orc or Uruk speak in the language of the Eldar, Legolas?" the man wanted to know.

Legolas was evidently confused by the rather odd question. He stammered a reply, his eyebrows knitting together slightly.

"Well, none–"

"Exactly," said Aragorn, nodding pointedly. "None, until now. That's why I didn't immediately separate this Uruk from his head. I have reason to believe that we are not dealing with an ordinary minion of Saruman. All other Uruks speak in the Black Speech of Mordor, and this one did not. All other Uruks would have tried to kill me on sight, but this one did not."

"Only because you tried to kill it first," Legolas muttered under his breath. "That doesn't prove anything."

Aragorn frowned at his friend, and the elf fell grudgingly silent, glaring spitefully down at me.

"As I was saying," the man continued coolly, "all other Uruks would never use the Elven tongues, and this one just did, as you already know. Perhaps this Uruk, one out of tens of millions that roam the earth, has not been completely consumed by the Dark Powers. He could be valuable to us."

With that last sentence I was forcibly reminded of Saruman. His voice rang horribly in my mind, unbidden and undesired. "Yes, you will indeed be a valuable asset…"

I shuddered beneath the sword that was still held to my throat. Aragorn noticed my tremors, and warily moved the blade away from my neck, just slightly. It was still pointed at me, but it was no longer pricking my skin.

I relaxed a little, extremely glad that I was being spared, at least for the moment. These people were merciful, unlike the White Wizard and his host of twisted servants.

Legolas inquired to his friend: "How?"

I shivered again as the man opened his mouth to answer him. But he was interrupted once again, this time by a low, gruff voice.

"Aragorn? Legolas?"

A dwarf came into my sight over Legolas' shoulder. He wore a helmet, which obscured most of his face that was not already covered by a reddish beard and moustache, both neatly braided. A broad, double-edged axe was held in one gloved hand. Dark eyes, glinting like coals beneath bushy brows, widened in surprise as the dwarf stared down at me.

His fist clenched on the axe's handle as he moved forward, but Legolas put out his arm to halt him. Aragorn gave the dwarf a calm, yet stern glance. His grey eyes roved from the dwarf to me and back again before he spoke.

"Guard him, Gimli," he instructed. "Legolas, rado i Berian. Tirathon na Boromir." (Find the Hobbits. I will see to Boromir.)

Legolas nodded, turned and sprinted away on silent feet while Aragorn sheathed his sword. He was about to depart as well, but I had finally gathered my courage enough to speak up.

"Excuse me, sir–"

Aragorn glared down at me, his expression like stone, hard and inexpressive.

"Yes?" he said coldly.

"I do have a name, sir," I informed him, cowering under the man's unsmiling gaze. He did not speak.

"It's Isilden," I continued nervously. "At least, it was before I became what I am. I don't want to hurt anybody. I was trying to escape the horde, but they caught up to me. I–"

"You led them to us."

"N- no, I just wanted to esc—" I halted in mid-word as the man raised his hand to silence me.

"I don't mean deliberately," he told me, while I gazed up at him in surprise. "In fleeing the horde, you unintentionally guided them toward us. If you had done that deliberately, then I would likely slay you where you lie."

"B- b- but I didn't!" I cried desperately, stumbling over the words in fear.

"I know you didn't," Aragorn said calmly, his face losing some of its callousness. "That's why I didn't kill you. I know you're not a follower of the White Wizard."

"How did you know?" I felt compelled to ask.

"For one thing, you were the only one in the horde who had no weapon; for another, no Uruk in my recollection has eyes as distinctly Elven as yours."

"What do you mean?" I inquired, totally bewildered. "What's Elven about my eyes? I mean, just look at me, at what I am…"

"You haven't seen yourself lately, have you?" Aragorn asked me, a slight smile on his face now.

I had to admit that I hadn't. I frowned up at the man as he explained.

"Your eyes are blue, Isilden," he said. "They're the shade of sapphires. No Uruk I have ever seen had blue eyes. And I can assure you, I have gotten quite close to several Uruks in my time – closer than I would have liked."

I was silent as Aragorn's words registered in my mind. Then I gawped up at him. "You mean—"

"Yes," Aragorn replied. "Yours is indeed a very unusual case, Isilden. You still have some Elven blood in you. I don't know what could have blocked the full effect of Saruman's evil in your heart, but something did. There's no mistaking it."

I thought hard about that statement. What could possibly have prevented me from becoming a mindless minion of darkness?

It took only a moment for me to remember my sister, and the way I had vowed to rescue her at any cost. That must have been it, I reasoned. My love for my sister was stronger than the evil of the White Wizard. I passed this suggestion on to Aragorn, who nodded slowly.

"Yes, that could be it," he agreed. "Love is a very powerful thing. Tell me," he said calmly, "did your sister share your fate?"

I flinched as a sharp jolt of fear made my heart skip. What if she, too, was an Uruk? She could have been transformed after I had fled. I couldn't bear the thought of it, and tears came to my eyes.

Aragorn seemed to notice my pain, for his face immediately became sympathetic. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"That's all right," I replied, a slight break in my voice. "I don't really know for sure if she's – well, you know… one of them." I drew a breath and continued, "Right after I was transformed, I went straight upstairs to find her. She was all right then. I mean, she wasn't really badly hurt or anything, and she was still an elf. She didn't recognize me at all, though; she thought I was one of the others. I tried to tell her, but she just kept begging me not to hurt her. I didn't know what I was yet.

"Then it hit me, and I couldn't take it. I ran out of there as fast as I could, but then one of the guards caught me, and took me to join the horde. I managed to get away from them, and then I saw your friends. Boromir and Frodo, I think their names were. I hid when they came closer to me. They were talking about how Frodo was suffering from something. I stayed where I was, listening, while the man Boromir started to get mad, and Frodo backed away from him.

"Then Boromir started saying stuff about a Ring, and how Frodo would be better off to give it to him. Frodo walked away, and Boromir jumped on him from behind. They fought for awhile, then Frodo put something on his finger and disappeared. I think he must have run away, because Boromir began yelling about how Frodo would take the Ring to Sauron and that he was going to his death. He was screaming curses for a bit before he got a grip on himself. I don't know where Frodo went."

"I met him just after that," Aragorn told me. "He said that the Ring had taken Boromir. The orc-horde came soon after that. And you say they 'caught up with you?' How is that?"

"Well, they just kind of came around me and pushed me into their ranks. I had no choice; they were pressing against me and forcing me to move with them. One of the archers had his bow out and was aiming an arrow at Boromir.

"I jumped on it as quick as I could, and we both fell to the ground. I suffocated it while I was catching my breath from the fall; I was lying right on top of it. The arrow missed Boromir's ear by just a few inches. It would have hit him in the heart if I hadn't gotten to the Uruk first. That's when you and Legolas came and started to fight the Uruks. You know the rest, I'm sure."

Aragorn nodded. "Yes. What happened to Boromir? Did he stay where he was, or did he flee?"

"I didn't see – you came at me right after that. I think you'd better see if he's all right."

The man nodded once again, rising and turning away. Gimli still stood nearby, uncertain of what to do. At a nod from Aragorn he lowered his axe to his side. I remained where I was, turning my head as Legolas emerged from the trees. He was followed by four shaken-looking figures.

I recognized Frodo immediately, but not his three companions. They were all male hobbits, wearing brightly-coloured clothing and worried expressions. They stared distrustfully down at me, as though afraid I would suddenly leap up and rip out their throats at any moment. Legolas gave them all reassuring glances.

The smallest of the four halflings put his hand to a dagger that was fastened to his belt, but another hobbit, this one wearing a bright yellow vest over a white shirt, placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

"Easy, Pip," he murmured. "Pip" obediently left his weapon alone.

"Where is Aragorn?" Legolas asked me.

"Looking after Boromir, like he said he would," I answered.

The elf nodded. "Good."

A moment later Aragorn returned, with a quite uneasy-looking Boromir by his side. I couldn't blame him, I thought. Really, how would anyone react to being shot at by an Uruk, and missed by an inch? Not to mention that another Uruk had been the one to intervene.

"… And just after that," Boromir was saying, "one of them aimed an arrow at me, but another one jumped on it from behind. If it hadn't…"

"You would have been slain," said Aragorn calmly. "I know."

Boromir nodded, gazing suspiciously around him, in case there were more archers lurking in the trees. There were none of those – but there was me.

Boromir's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when they caught sight of me. He let out a gasp of alarm, and pointed a shaking forefinger down at me.

"Th- that's him – I mean, it!" he cried fearfully. "That's the Uruk, the one that killed the one who tried to kill me!"

Aragorn nodded again. "Yes, Boromir, I know."

Boromir glanced at his friend, a perplexed look on his face. "You know him – it?"

"Yes, Boromir," the man replied. "And he's not an Uruk. Not quite."

"What do you mean, 'not quite'?" Boromir asked, now even more confused. "How can something be 'not quite' an Uruk? I thought there could only be just Uruks."

"So did I," said Aragorn. "Until I met Isilden, that is."

"Who's Isilden?" Boromir inquired.

Aragorn gestured down to me. Boromir turned back to me, and I gazed up at him. From the look that appeared on his face for a moment, he didn't know how to react, and neither did I. I sat up a little, smiling, hoping to shatter this man's bleak view of me as one of the evil Uruks – I hated to call them "my kind" – as I had earlier with Aragorn and Legolas.

Obviously somewhat heartened, Boromir took a few tentative steps toward me. I remained where I was for a short while, not quite sure whether I should rise or not. After a few moments' consideration I slowly stood up and approached him, my right hand outstretched in a gesture of peace.

Smiling slightly now, though still rather nervous, the man grasped my hand, and we shook without a word. We stood in silence for another few moments, both now staring at the ground. I felt distinctly ill at ease.

"Well," said Boromir, more to my knees than my face. "Uh… well, I suppose I should, um…" He glanced up and looked me calmly in the eye. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I replied. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Boromir answered, looking much more confident now.

"Good," I said, relieved. "I'm glad to know you're not hurt. I mean, that arrow missed you by an inch, probably less. If it had been a bit to the right, who knows what would have…"

"I know what would have happened," Boromir replied. "I would have been a feast for some Warg."

"Or something worse," I added with a slight shudder.

There was a moment of awkward silence between us, broken by Aragorn's voice in my ear. "Isilden, may I speak with you for a moment?"

I turned. "Yes, Aragorn? What is it?" I asked.

"Come with me."