“Oh, dear gods, no…”

Gripping the edge of the flet, Eowyn looked down—unseen—from the lofty platform. Two men, grotesquely cloaked in wolf skins, had shoved Legolas to his knees.

Oh Lassui!

Why does he not resist? She leaned down, peering anxiously at the elf. His hands were bound behind his back. But why is he not struggling, she wondered. Gods, what have they done to him? More wolf-men crowded in on him, blocking her view. What are they DOING?

She felt a motion—no more than a movement of the air—beside her and, dragging her eyes from Legolas, she turned to find that one of the warriors Haldir had sent to protect her had leaped onto the flet, and was crouching beside her.

She looked back at Legolas. I must do something, she thought. Three up here against—how many?—five on the ground. What can I do?

The knot of wolf-men suddenly parted to admit a sixth shadowy figure. Eowyn saw him reach for Legolas’ face—“No!” she hissed—and her hand went for her sword, but the elf beside her grasped her arm and, reading the warning on his face, she instantly made a decision. “Find Haldir,” she whispered. “Tell him—”

It was unnecessary to say more. The elf nodded. And, rising gracefully, he sprang onto to a nearby bough, and disappeared into the foliage.

Eowyn signalled to his human companion. “Come,” she gestured. “Quickly.”

…

“Beau-ti-ful…”

The word—not spoken, but growled—sent a shiver through Eowyn’s body and she swallowed hard, trying to control her trembling limbs. That is no man, she thought.

It is a monster, and Lassui is in its power…

“Gaur,” whispered a voice at her elbow. Eowyn’s hand flew to her mouth, suppressing a cry of surprise—she had forgotten that she had summoned the second warrior. “A werewolf, my Lady,” said the man.

“And the others?” The creature had pushed Legolas down on all fours.

“Its followers.”

“But mortal men?” Again her hand went to her sword; she loosened it in its scabbard.

“Perhaps.”

“Can you shoot the werewolf from here? Kill it?” Forgetting her fear of heights, she scrambled to her feet.

“Yes,”—Osgar fitted an arrow to his bow—“but a simple arrow cannot kill a demon, my Lady.” He took aim.

Down on the ground, the werewolf had dropped to its knees—Eowyn saw it seize Legolas by the waist—

“SHOOT,” she cried, launching herself down the spiralling stair, “shoot—shoot—shoot them ALL!” Half running, half tumbling, she plunged downwards—dimly aware of the arrows whistling past her—oblivious to the pain that jolted her body each time she slipped down the steps and lurched into the tree trunk.

…

She heard the werewolf roar—saw it rise up on its knees, twisting in pain, and rip an arrow from its shoulder—heard it barking orders to its men who, though harried by Osgar, rushed to the foot of the stair—and Eowyn knew that she had little chance of surviving the next few minutes.

But, in the confusion, Legolas had been forgotten—Haldir will come soon, she thought, and then Lassui will be safe—and that was all that mattered now.

On she went.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted Gimli, trussed like a rabbit but struggling to free himself and, with renewed hope, she leapt over the handrail and miraculously hit the ground running. And, dodging one of the wolf-men (who threw out his arms to catch her), she drew her sword, and sliced through the dwarf’s bonds, before turning and darting back to face the werewolf.

Behind her, Gimli—with a blood-curdling cry—broke free of the ropes and, armed with nothing but a knotted cord, charged the pack.

“Get away from Legolas!” cried Eowyn. “Move!”

The creature turned.

…

Amidst the chaos of shouts and screams, and the falling arrows, their eyes met; and Eowyn saw something alter in the creature’s gaze; and she felt its desire, like a physical touch, violating her at her very core, and she heard its seductive whisper: Give yourself to me and become like me—cheat death, and live forever…

Cheat death, thought Eowyn, feeling a longing swell within her.

Cheat…

Death?

“I AM ALREADY IMMORTAL,” she roared, swinging her sword.

It was a clumsy stroke, but anger gave her strength, and surprise was on her side. Her steel sank into flesh and bone.

The werewolf threw back its head and howled.

She struck again, slashing its belly.

The creature dropped to all fours.

Eowyn raised her sword in a high guard, and moved in for the kill.