Part 14

Legolas whirled through the gatehouse, white knives slashing.

He knew he could not kill the unnatural warriors—not with weapons alone—but he had learned that, with a serious wound to the hands or the throat, he could slow them down for a few precious seconds.

And those seconds might allow him to get to Eowyn and, if need be, drag her to safety.

He briefly crippled his closest opponent, slicing deep and twisting the blade, and the man fell back—only to be replaced by one of his comrades.

“Melmenya,” Legolas shouted, desperately. “Melmenya, listen to me!”

He wounded another warrior, and turned to face the next and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eowyn take off her helmet to watch him, all wide-eyed and confused and, behind her, he saw the Warrior King, closing in on her...

“No,” he cried, driving forwards, “NOOO!”

And, in his haste, he did not see the warrior behind him raise his axe but, at that moment, the Valar smiled upon him for, as the man struck, he lunged, and the blow he received was not fatal.

...

“Stop!”

The accursed men froze, and stood completely still, their weapons still raised.

The Warrior King pulled Eowyn into the circle of living statues, to where Legolas lay, dazed and bleeding, and kicked the elf with his armour-clad foot.

Legolas groaned.

“Take him down to the dungeons,” said the King. “Then fetch me the wise woman!”

He shoved Eowyn against the wall. “Now you give me what is mine.”

Eowyn pushed herself upright, and faced him, defiantly.

“Give it to me, woman,” he growled, “or,”—he reached out, and scraped his iron fingertips down her breastplate—“I will take it from you.”