Chapter Five: A Voice and a Vision

The man beckoned for me to follow him, which I did, slightly confused. He led me to a more secluded spot away from his comrades, where he gazed intently at me as he spoke.

"I was wondering," he began, "whether or not you would like to become a part of our forces. I'm sure the others won't mind, and it's the least we can do to repay you for saving Boromir today. How about it, mellon nin?" (my friend?)

Smiling at being called a friend, I considered his offer, and my options. If I joined them, wouldn't I endanger them because of my appearance? Not many people besides Aragorn and his friends would accept the fact that an Uruk was travelling peacefully among humans, hobbits, an elf and a dwarf. They would most likely slay me first and ask questions afterward.

Aragorn nodded pensively when I reminded him of this. After a few moments' thought he rose, and bade me to wait for him. I stood where I was, watching as he moved out of my line of sight. A few minutes later he returned bearing a clean tunic, breeches and cloak over one arm, which he handed to me.

"Take off your armor," he told me. "Put these on. The least we can do is to conceal your appearance, short of changing it completely."

I nodded, frowning down at the outfit in my hands. "But I'm a lot smaller than you," I said uncertainly. "Don't you think these will be a bit big?"

The man shrugged. "They'll do for now."

I obliged self-consciously. Aragorn's clothes sagged on my thin frame, but I found that by wrapping the belt a few times around my waist, I could at least prevent the breeches from falling off. The cloak fell past my ankles by a good few inches.

I gave him a "How do I look?" glance, and he nodded, satisfied. Then I gazed down at my hands, which were gnarled and green-skinned like the rest of my body. How would I hide that?

Aragorn seemed to notice my apprehension. "I'll be back in a moment," he said, and headed away again. He returned this time with a pair of leather gloves, which I donned gratefully. The man smiled, then turned as Legolas' voice rang out behind him.

"Aragorn!"

"What is it?" Aragorn demanded, turning to his friend, who was rushing toward him with Gimli at his side.

"Frodo and Sam," the elf panted. "They've taken one of the boats and crossed the river. They're already at the eastern shore."

The man said nothing, but gazed silently across the Anduin at the tiny figures of the two hobbits. Legolas frowned, and spoke again. "Aragorn?"

Aragorn only sighed, and Legolas immediately understood. "You mean not to follow them."

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands," Aragorn said simply.

"Then it has all been in vain," Gimli murmured. "The Fellowship has failed."

Aragorn turned to him, smiling sadly, and placed a hand on his friends' shoulders. "Not if we hold true to each other," he whispered.

Both elf and dwarf smiled with renewed hope. But a look of remembrance crossed the man's face, and he glanced up at Legolas, inquiring, "Where is Boromir?"

"With Merry and Pippin," the elf replied. "They're all safe."

Aragorn sighed in relief. "Good." Then he turned back to me, and asked, "Well, Isilden? Will you come with us?"

I nodded. "Wherever you go," I answered solemnly. "Lead on."

Aragorn smiled. "Then come."

----

The six remaining members of the original Fellowship, along with me, kept a course toward the citadel of Minas Tirith, at Boromir's request. We travelled almost due east across Emyn Muil, gradually turning south as we neared the marshes of Nindalf. The journey was long, but we kept a steady pace. Nothing much happened to hinder us, and we counted ourselves fortunate.

We camped that night at the peak of Amon Lhaw, the Hill of Hearing, at the southern borders of Emyn Muil. We could see for miles over the Nindalf to the south and east, at least by day. The night was totally black, without a hint of starlight or moonlight, and the winds that blew over the mountain were ice cold.

We didn't dare light a fire, for fear of attracting Orcs, Wargs, or anything that might attack us. But that put us at risk for attacks from the Nazgûl because, as Aragorn wisely stated, the wraiths' greatest fear was fire. We were inevitably torn between being assaulted by Orcs, and by Ringwraiths.

I lay awake that evening, listening to the wind howling, and the rasping snores of some of my companions, though mainly Gimli. There were other nightly noises too, but I ignored them for the most part. One thing disturbed me greatly, however. It was Boromir's voice, mumbling in some fitful dream.

"…It could have been mine… should have been mine… Blast that Halfling! It could help us; it could help Gondor… my people… The Ring could… defeat Sauron, if only… if only I…"

I remained silent, shocked by what I was hearing. My only consolation was that the Ring was far from us, beyond Boromir's greedy reach. The man's strange ramblings continued as I listened, transfixed by mute fascination and dread.

"…It should be mine… I should have taken it. Frodo, curse him… took it to Mordor… to Sauron, to our doom… I would have kept it safe, kept it from Him… would have used it against him… but… no, it… it can't. Then… why? Why should we bother? He can't just reach out and take it for himself…"

As I watched, eyes widened in awe, Boromir paused, frowned unconsciously and muttered, "No, his Orcs, they would… they would come and take it to him. But the hobbits… the little ones, they're going there anyway… who's to say they won't betray us once they get there? Who can tell what goes on in their heads? Sauron can, Sauron sees all. He knows what they plan to do. He'll kill them. The little ones… poor little… little hobbits…"

I shuddered at Boromir's words. He seemed to be arguing with himself, torn between honouring the Fellowship and succumbing to the constant call of the Ring. I had a feeling that the madness in him had not all faded away.

My eyes slowly glazed over, and I slipped into a dream…

----

I was back in Orthanc, an elf again, being led by the White Wizard into the Room of Filth. My doom at hand, I struggled vainly to escape, but it was no use. Saruman was laughing as Krân lifted me high and flung me bodily into the pit of slime. Emerging at last, I glared loathingly at the wizard as he asked me, "Whom do you serve?"

Celeborn, my mind raged. I serve Lord Celeborn of Lothlòrien, you vile bit of Orc dung. But I remained stonily silent, and Saruman stared icily back. "Get out of my sight."

I ducked away, racing up the stairs to the torture chamber, where my sister was imprisoned. Elennar, my dear sister… I slipped silently into the room, and was met by her voice, a desperate plea: "Don't hurt me! Please!"

Staring down at her, I stretched my hand out toward her, reassuring her softly. "Don't be afraid, Elennar…"

But once again I cringed at my harsh voice; an Uruk's voice, coming from an Uruk's throat in an Uruk's body. Elennar sobbed and recoiled from me, and I turned to leave, but was met by Saruman and Lunk, who dragged me forcibly down the hallway to the armoury. I struggled vainly in their grasp, crying out my sister's name. Elennar, Elennar!

----

"Elennar!" I screamed as I awoke. Gasping for air, I noticed Legolas gazing intently at me, apparently having been wakened by my shout.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned. "What's wrong?"

As I recovered my breath, I brushed clinging tears from my eyes as I replied, "It was nothing, Legolas. I'm all right. It was just a dream."

"What was it about?" the elf inquired. "It must have been terrible, for you to wake up screaming. Who is Elennar?"

"She's my sister," I answered, feeling my eyes prickling uncomfortably and knowing I was about to cry again. I blinked the rebellious drops back as I continued, "She was captured the same time as I was. She didn't escape, though. As far as I know, she's still inside Orthanc, waiting for me to come and rescue her. But I can't."

"Did she… you know…" Legolas shifted slightly, looking rather uneasy. "Was she transformed as well?"

"I don't know," I replied. "I didn't hang around long enough to see what happened to her. I hope she isn't one of them. I don't think I could bear it if she was killed in battle with the Uruks, like some kind of monster…" I began to weep softly at the thought. Legolas moved over to me and placed a hand upon my shoulder.

"Think of it this way," he told me kindly. "If she was transformed as you were, perhaps the effect would be the same. Who is to say that her love for you would not protect her, as did your love for her? And, better still, she may not have been transformed at all."

"But she could be dead," I said, tears streaking my face. "And it would be my fault, for not protecting her. I'm her brother, it was my responsibility. I failed her."

"It's not your fault, Isilden," Legolas replied, gently wiping my face with his sleeve. "It's no-one's fault, but Saruman's. He is to blame for all of this. Well," the elf added softly, "perhaps not all. Sauron is greater even than he, even though he has no body. His Eye pierces cloud, shadow, earth and flesh. He is ever watchful, always giving orders to the White Wizard and his minions. And they are never for good."

"Well, what can you expect?" I asked. "He is the Dark Lord, after all. Why would he care about others?"

"He doesn't," said Legolas grimly.

"Exactly," I nodded.

Legolas sighed. "It's late, Isilden. You should get back to sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow." He lay back down, his eyes glazing over as he fell asleep again. "Sleep well," he yawned.

I nodded, lying down also. "Good night," I murmured, closing my eyes. I was grateful that Boromir had stopped talking in his sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about what he had said. The Ring, it seemed, was still trying to corrupt him. I prayed that it would not.

And most of all, I prayed for my sister and her survival. I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to her. That was my last thought as sleep gently broke over me, drawing me down into its comforting oblivion.