Part 16

“It does not want you,” said Eowyn, shrinking back against the wall. “It chose me.”

“You little fool!” The Warrior King plunged his iron fingers down her breastplate, and tried to wrench it off. The sharp metal scratched her skin, but her armour stayed in place.

“You cannot take it,” she cried. “It will not let you!”

“Aghhh!” He raised his hand, threatening to claw open her face. “Give it to me!”

“No!”

He seized her by the scruff of the neck, and half-pushed, half-dragged her across the gatehouse, shoving her down the staircase and into the dungeon, and throwing her onto the stone floor. “Give it to me,” he shouted, “or I will kill the elf!”

...

Lying in his cell, his wound already starting to heal, Legolas prepared to defend himself—and Eowyn.

“Give it to me,” said the Warrior King.

Legolas waited.

“Very well,” said the man. “Open the door.”

Legolas heard the key turn in the lock and the iron hinges squeak, and his elven senses told him that three people had entered his cell—first, the orc gaoler; then Eowyn...

And he longed to reach out to her through their mental bond, longed to help her resist whatever it was that was holding her captive, but he knew that he would need every ounce of his strength to disarm and kill the Orc and then—Valar willing—to tackle the man.

He focussed his mind upon his own body, readying himself to spring.

“Cut off his head!”

...

“Noooooo,” screamed Eowyn, frantically unbuckling her breastplate, “no, no, noooooo!” She thrust her hand down her corslet, and pulled out the ring, and for a split-second—tears running down her face—she held it up to the light.

Golden sparks seemed to fly from its glowing metal.

With a shriek, she threw it across the cell, and collapsed, sobbing.

...

The Orc skittered forwards, scooped up the ring, and—

The Warrior King ripped it from his hand, and swept out of the dungeon.

The Orc waited until he was sure that his master had gone. Then he closed and locked the cell door, leaving Legolas and Eowyn alone together.