Chapter Sixteen: Decision and Dreams

I shuddered at Gandalf's statement, but soon another thought entered my mind: Lunk, Braghûl, Zharag and all the other orcs were either slain or retreating. It was doubtful I would ever see any of them again. I forced back a smile of triumph as Elrond looked at me and spoke, continuing from where he had been interrupted.

"As I was saying, I believe someone should go with you to Orthanc," he told me. "You would be much safer that way, and we could attempt to parley with Saruman as well. Perhaps he will give in and release your friends and your sister."

"Yes," Aragorn muttered, his voice dripping sarcasm. "And perhaps the Ring will grow legs and stroll right into Mount Doom where it belongs."

Elrond sighed. "Yes, you're probably right."

"Not necessarily," Gandalf informed them. "There's still a chance that Saruman's defeat will have weakened his will, or at least shaken it, for a time."

"You have a point, Mithrandir," noted Théoden. "But I still wonder about Isilden. What would Saruman think if an orc, one that he thought was his servant, suddenly turned on him? We don't know all that goes on inside the wizard's mind."

"Perhaps not," Elrond spoke up. "But I was a part of the White Council in days of old, as was Saruman. And so were you, Gandalf. We both know something of how Saruman's mind works, if not everything. That's a start, at least."

Gandalf nodded. "On the subject of Isilden, I think it is up to him to decide whether or not he wants to return to Isengard again. After all, Saruman may or may not have had his way with his prisoners. They may or may not be alive."

He turned to me. "Well, Isilden? What is your decision?"

I thought carefully, not wanting to be rash. Horrible memories of Orthanc flooded my mind, but I blocked them out. There was still hope. Elennar might still be alive. I would do my best to fulfill my vow to her.

"I'm going," I said.

The wizard nodded. "So be it."

"When do we leave?" I asked.

"Tomorrow," Théoden answered. "After everyone has had a chance to rest, and recover from the shock of the war."

I nodded, but I couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed. Aragorn placed his hand on my shoulder as Elrond got to his feet; Legolas and Gimli walked beside Gandalf as we all followed the king through Helm's Deep.

In a dim corridor lit by flickering torches, Théoden pushed on a creaky wooden door and led us into a room furnished with many soft mattresses, pillows and blankets. Rain still poured heavily down outside of the fortress, spattering onto the glass panes of the room's single window. The king regarded it with lofty disdain.

"You may sleep here tonight," he told us. We each chose a mat, stretching out wearily. Théoden nodded before he bade us goodnight.

"Sweet dreams," he said kindly. "Don't dwell on the past, but envision a brighter future for Rohan… and Middle-earth."

----

I lay awake for a long time, listening to the steady patter of raindrops drumming on the window. The storm had waned to a gentle shower, and the sky was starting to clear. A patchy veil of mist half-covered the moon and stars.

"Isilden?" Aragorn's voice murmured beside me.

"Yes?" I whispered in reply. "What is it?"

The man's eyes gleamed brightly in the darkness as he stared at me and continued, "I was just thinking about what you said earlier, about not knowing what you really are. I think I may know."

"You do?" I asked excitedly. "Tell me!"

I could just see the smile on Aragorn's lips as he replied, "You're not an orc, and yet not an elf. You have some traits of both, but all of neither. You are torn between the two, with a foot in either world."

"I know that," I said, more angrily than I meant to. "What's your point?"

"My point," Aragorn continued calmly, "is that you will never know what you are until you decide where your life will take you. Will Isilden loyally serve Lord Denethor, or will Snaga surrender to Saruman's tyranny? Only you can answer that. So what will it be?"

I thought, letting shreds of memories float through my head. I could feel an intense battle of wills boiling up, and struggled to quell it.

"I just don't know," I sighed dejectedly. "I was happy serving Lord Denethor, but I've sworn false allegiance to Saruman so many times. They both think I'm loyal to them. In order to follow Lord Denethor's wishes, I had to make Saruman believe I was his most trusted slave – and a commander of his horde. That meant I had to put myself under his control. Where does that leave me?"

"Hmmm," the man nodded thoughtfully. "Try listening to yourself when you speak. You refer to the Steward as 'Lord Denethor', and to the wizard as simply 'Saruman'. What does that tell you? Think about it."

With that, Aragorn turned over onto his side and yawned once; as his breaths slowed and deepened, I could tell he had fallen asleep. Sighing, I pondered his words. After a moment I realized that he had a point. I served the one I spoke of as lord. It was stupidly obvious.

If only everything in life were that simple, I thought wistfully, as I plummeted into the dark clutches of dream-riddled slumber.

----

I sprinted through Orthanc's dark corridors, with silver shafts of moonlight pooling upon the stone floor and spilling down the stairs. I was running up and down, vainly searching, and even more vainly trying to escape. For I was both hunter and hunted. My quarry was Elennar, and my predators were Saruman's evil minions.

I raced up a stairway, almost feeling the creatures' hot breath on the back of my neck. I pounded on doors, but every one was locked. My heart thundered in my chest, as if it was fighting to break free of my ribs.

Ducking into an open chamber I halted, leaning against the wall as I panted for breath. Wiping sweat from my dripping forehead, I cast my eye out warily for Elennar.

The room I was in was dark and pungent, the reeking blackness pressing in on me like a thick, foul blanket. No glimmer of moonlight pierced the gloom to aid me in my search, for there were no windows here.

But there were eyes.

Nearly a dozen rough, clawed hands seized my shoulders, and one clamped over my mouth, stifling my scream of terror. I struggled madly, but my captors outnumbered me six to one. They were too strong for me to fight off by myself. They soon had me bound tightly, and forced me to the floor.

As the orcs all laughed wildly and jeered, a voice yelled out above my sobs, "We've got him! Lord Saruman, he's in here!"

"Excellent," thundered Saruman's deadly voice. "Where is he?"

I stared up in terror as the wizard approached, using the pointed end of his staff to lift my chin. I was forced to gaze into his eyes, which blazed with fury. He brought his face close to mine, so that our noses were only an inch apart. Spit flew into my face as he snarled, "No-one can escape me! You'll pay for your treachery!"

The orcs cheered cruelly, shoving me forward. I cried out in pain as I hit the floor. But Saruman lifted me up, gripping my shoulders with his sharp fingernails and shaking me forcefully. He shouted at me as he did so.

"Let me go!" I screamed, writhing desperately in his grasp.

But Saruman persisted, now yelling strange things I didn't understand, in a voice that wasn't his.

"Wake up, Isilden! You're dreaming. Wake up!"

----

"Isilden!" Someone was shaking my shoulder. "Wake up!"

"No!" I cried, thrashing about half-consciously. "Let me go!"

"Le olthar, Isilden," (You're dreaming, Isilden) the voice cried. "Edro lle hin!" (Open your eyes!)

I did, blinking and frowning at the one who had roused me. "Legolas! Thank goodness. Was I…?"

"Shouting in your sleep?" the elf finished. "Yes. We're riding to Orthanc soon. Are you ready?"

"Yes," I replied, rising. "I think so." Then I frowned as something struck me. "What were you saying to me, exactly?"

Legolas may have thought my question odd, judging by his expression, but he told me truthfully, "I said, 'You're dreaming, Isilden; open your eyes.'"

"In Elvish?" I asked.

Legolas nodded. "Why?"

"This may sound strange," I answered uneasily, "but when you spoke Elvish, I didn't understand a word you were saying."

Legolas' eyebrows were almost level with his hairline when he repeated, "You didn't understand it? How can that be? You understood it perfectly back at Helm's Deep. What happened?"

"I have no idea," I replied honestly.

"Do you remember anything happening beforehand that might be relevant to this?" Legolas asked me.

"No," I answered, shrugging.

Legolas frowned. "Try saying something in Elvish. Anything you like."

"R- rin m- mani?" (L- like wh-what?) I stammered, frowning at the sound of my own voice. Why was I stuttering? My tongue felt strange, flopping around in my mouth.

"What's happening?" I cried. "I can speak Elvish, I know I can!"

"I know," Legolas replied calmly, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Maybe you're just under stress. A lot has happened to you in such a short time, and perhaps this is your body's way of reacting to it."

I nodded, still uncertain. "Maybe."

"Legolas?" Elrond's voice called. "Isilden?"

Legolas turned, bowing his head respectfully as the dark-haired elf strode into the room. "Lord Elrond. Did you rest well?"

"Well enough," Elrond replied. "And yourselves?"

We both answered in the affirmative, but I was lying through my teeth. Elrond smiled. "Good. Come with me if you're ready to leave."

Legolas started to follow his friend, but hung back to wait for me. I pretended to straighten my bedclothes, and reached slyly for something hidden under my pillow: a thin, sharp-edged knife. I tucked it underneath my tunic as I stood up. "Let's go."