Part 22

“My Lord,” gasped Ayleth, “spare me.”

The Warrior King sat down heavily, and sank back into his throne, his gaze sweeping scornfully over the wise woman, the two elves, the man...

It came to rest on Eowyn.

Legolas glanced his wife.

She was no longer wearing the orcan helmet, and her long, golden hair, which had escaped her armour, was falling loose about her shoulders, framing her pale, delicate face; her grey eyes still shone with battle fury, yet her full lips looked petal-soft.

She was ravishing.

“You know what I want,” said the Warrior King, almost wistfully.

“There is a way, my Lord,” said Ayleth. “I know a way.”

The creature who had once been a man turned reluctantly from Eowyn, his sunken eyes suddenly burning with hope. “Tell me.”

“Lord Sauron made you and your followers into—into what you are, my Lord,” said Ayleth, “when you swore allegiance to him. To become men again, you must break your oath to him.”

All hope died. “Do you think I am a fool?” he spat.

“I... No, my Lord.”

“Do you think,”—he rose again from his throne—“that I can be tricked so easily?” Ayleth shrank back. “Do you think I do not realise that to break my oath would mean instant death?” He shoved Ayleth aside, and stalked towards Eowyn. “Do you really think that the promise of this,”—he grasped Eowyn’s arm and lifted her to her feet—“could make me forget,”—he dragged her to his throne and threw her down upon it—“even for one moment,”—he pulled off his glove and, fingers trembling, slipped his white, withered hand inside her corslet—“and betray myself?”

Eowyn’s eyes sought out Legolas.

This had not been part of their plan but, trying to reassure her through their mental bond—I will not let him hurt you, melmenya—he nodded.

Eowyn closed her eyes and, letting her head fall back, sighed with pleasure.

“Arggggh!” The creature backed away, his body doubled over, his fists pounding his own temples. “I curse the day I took that oath!” he screamed. “I curse Sauron, and his puppet-master, Melkor! I curse—”