shadow legolas and shadow eowyn
journal entry 8

With a sigh, Lord Fingolfin laid down his pen and leaned back in his chair.

Reason told him that it was impossible—that, in this world, Princess Eowyn was mortal, and married to the Prince of Ithilien; that, in this world, she and Lord Legolas were practically strangers.

But no amount of reasoning could shake his feeling that, somewhere in the past, a terrible mistake had been made, and that the future of the colony—perhaps the future of Middle-earth itself—now depended upon things being put right.

He picked up his pen.

journal entry 9

To that question Fingolfin had, as yet, no answer.


The Eryn Brethil Road

“But why will you not help her?” Legolas demanded.

His double walked back to his horse. “I have said nothing—I have yet to decide,” he replied. “But it has never been our way to involve ourselves in the affairs of men.”

Legolas pushed the letter inside his jerkin. “Never been our way? How was Sauron defeated if not by an alliance of men, elves, and dwarves! How could this colony exist without the permission of the King of Gondor and the grace of the Prince of Ithilien? How can you ignore the human homesteads within its boundaries, the human settlements along its borders? How—”

“You speak of your own world, not of mine,” said his double. “And may I remind you that you agreed not to interfere in the running of my colony.” He mounted Arod.

“EOWYN NEEDS YOU!” Legolas saw Valandil wince, but he pursued his double. “What happened to you?” he demanded. “What happened with Aragorn—with Eowyn—during the Ring War? Why are you not friends?”

“That,” said the other elf, coldly, “is none of your concern. Now I suggest that we take Aranwë back to the city—Valandil, return to the guard post.”

The Mirkwood elf, though clearly confused by what he had just witnessed, accepted his orders with a bow of the head.

“Keep a watch for these dark warriors,” said Legolas. “We will send reinforcements—”

“That is for me to decide,” said his double.

Legolas stared up at him. “Then you had better make the right decision,” he said. “Immediately.”

“Go, Valandil; I will do what is necessary.”

“You must assemble your Inner Council,” insisted Legolas, grasping his horse’s shoulder and springing onto its back. “This war is already putting the colony at risk—you cannot pretend otherwise simply because you have decided to shun men. Even if you will not help Eowyn, the dark army has already invaded your land. You must—”

I will do what is necessary,” his double repeated, catching up Brightstar’s reins. “Come, we have wasted enough time already.”


Five years earlier, at Edoras

The revels were over. One by one, the few determined drinkers that remained in the Golden Hall were falling asleep where they sat. Legolas, wandering aimlessly between the carved wooden columns, glanced into a dark corner and met the startled eyes of a warrior, vigorously enjoying a young serving wench.

Apologetically, the elf backed away and, suddenly needing to see the stars, fled outside onto the terrace.

But the sky was veiled and a dark shadow of foreboding settled across his mind. He raised the hood of his elven cloak.

“Is something troubling you, my Lord?” King Theoden’s beautiful niece came up beside him.

“I needed some air, my Lady.”

“The smell of sweat and ale can be overpowering,” she agreed. She looked out across the plains of Rohan. “What is it you see?”

“The eye of the enemy is moving, my Lady.”

“Searching for the Ring?”


“You should rest, my Lord. I believe my uncle's steward has already found you a bedchamber, but if you need clean clothes, or a bath—or company for the night...”


Emyn Arnen

“How long did I sleep?” asked Eowyn, emerging, still undressed, from her tiny bedchamber.

Berengar looked up from the ledger he was carefully updating. “Eight hours—”

Eight hours! How could you leave me—”

“You needed it—here.” He rose, unfolded a chair for her, and helped her sit down.

“I must wash...”

“I was not going to mention that.” He grinned. “You will need breakfast, too. I shall send one of women in with soap and water. After, that is, I have made my confession.”

Stifling a yawn, Eowyn squinted up at him. “What else have you done?”

Berengar leaned back against the table, arms folded across his chest. “I have sent a messenger to your brother,” he admitted, “with Captain Alfgar’s help. We have asked Eomer King to send an army.”

“Oh Béma, no!” Eowyn sprang to her feet.

“We need help, my lady.”

“That is why I have sent to Legolas.”

“But he is an elf, my lady,” said Berengar, gently easing her back into her chair. “And the fair folk—even those that remain—shun our world and all its troubles. I do not believe he will come.”

“He will come; he said that he would...” Eowyn rubbed her face, sighing. “You do know that he and Eomer hate each other? If they both come we will have three hostile forces to deal with.”

“Then perhaps they will all fight amongst themselves,” said Berengar, “and leave us alone.”


Eryn Carantaur

To Legolas’ surprise, when they reached the city, his double wasted no time in dispatching reinforcements to Eryn Brethil. “The Inner Council will meet in half an hour,” he said. “You may attend if you wish.”


The guards beside the door bowed uneasily as Legolas—leading Eowyn and Hentmirë, and followed by Gimli and Berryn—entered the Council Chamber. His double was already seated at the table, together with Lords Fingolfin, Caranthir, and Lenwë, and his March Warden, Golradir. “I did not invite your entourage,” he said, quietly.

Legolas bowed. “I took the liberty of bringing my companions, my Lords, since Lady Eowyn’s opinion will be of great value in this matter, and Master Berryn has detailed geographical knowledge of Emyn Arnen, Lord Gimli is an experienced warrior, and Lady Hentmirë—”

“I insisted on coming,” said the little woman.

I have no objection, my Lord,” said Fingolfin, “to hearing the opinions of Lord Legolas’ friends.”

“Nor have I,” said Caranthir. Lenwë and Golradir murmured in agreement.

“Very well, then—please, all be seated. But do remember that we must keep these proceedings brief.”

“Then might I put Princess Eowyn’s case?” Legolas drew her letter from inside his tunic.

His double waved a hand in assent.

“I have spoken to Master Dínendal,” said Legolas. “Aranwë is awake and will join us shortly to describe what he saw at Emyn Arnen. Until then, I will explain what we know from Princess Eowyn’s message.

“Approximately three weeks ago, an army of what she calls ‘dark warriors’ emerged from the rocks immediately south of Caras Arnen. They stormed the city under cover of darkness, taking the people by surprise and inflicting heavy casualties,”—he wrapped a supportive arm around Eowyn—“Prince Faramir, I am sad to report, was amongst the dead.”

Lord Fingolfin gasped.

“By dawn, the dark army was in control. Princess Eowyn managed to escape and, together with the remnants of the North Ithilien Guard, led the survivors to a refuge south of the hills. The following night, a small force of dark warriors attacked but were easily repelled—Princess Eowyn thinks that her present position is—or rather was—relatively safe. Whatever method the dark people use to pass through the rocks, she believes that they cannot use it there.”

“You say that she was safe,” said Lord Caranthir. “What has changed?”

“Aranwë observed a second army on the Caras Arnen road,” replied Legolas. “It will have reached Emyn Arnen shortly after dusk, last night.

“The dark warriors,” he continued, “now have reinforcements. In her letter, Princess Eowyn suggests that the two forces may be planning to attack in concert.”

“But that means,” said Caranthir, “that it may already be too late—the Princess may already be dead.”

“She may—” began Legolas.

“But she may not,” said Eowyn suddenly. “She is entirely alone, my lords—cut off from King Elessar in the west and her brother in the north, and she has appealed to you as a last resort. You are her only hope.” She spoke directly to Legolas’ double. “Please—you cannot ignore her cry for help—even if she is dead, her people still need you.”

Legolas gave her a comforting hug. His double poured out a glass of water, and pushed it across the table.

“Remember, my lords,” said Legolas, “that these dark warriors have already invaded your lands. Princess Eowyn’s letter mentions the Divor Rocks—”

“Oh shi—er—I mean...”

The elves of Inner Council turned towards the new voice. “Do you have something to say, Master—Berryn—is it not?” asked Legolas’ double.

“Yes, my Lord—yes, I do. Three days ago,” said the cartographer, “in our world, several bodies were found in the forest of Eryn Laeg, immediately south west of the Divor Rocks. Now, it may be a co-incidence,” he admitted, “but The Aelvorn, the Divor Rocks, and Emyn Arnen all lie along a crack, or fissure, that seems to join our two worlds...”


Emyn Arnen

Washed and dressed, Eowyn left her tent and, threading her way through the mêlée of people and horses, crossed the plateau to where a group of hastily-erected wooden sheds and canvas awnings had been turned into a field Healing Room.

She paused beside the door of the largest building, screwing up the courage to enter, then stepped inside.


Eowyn was no stranger to battle wounds—she had been injured herself on Pelennor Field—but this was the first time that she had had to face the agonies of men and women who had been wounded as a direct consequence of her own orders.

She let her gaze travel round the room, taking in the broken and bleeding bodies, heaving and moaning and sobbing on their beds of straw and blankets. She bent over the man—no more than a boy—who lay at her feet, and tried to shoo away the flies that were feeding on his wound.

The young soldier caught hold of her tunic. “My Lady,” he sobbed, “please don’t let me die—my mother has no one else—please don’t let me die...”

Tears spilling from her eyes, Eowyn squeezed his hand, but no words of reassurance would pass her lips.

“Your Highness!” The healer in charge—formerly the Palace physician—hurried to her side, gently disengaged her hand and drew her towards the door. “What can I do for you, my Lady?”

“I... It is more a matter of what I can do for you,” said Eowyn. “Is there anything you need, Master Ethelmar?”

The healer smiled tiredly. “Bandages and splints, my lady; clean water, spirits, healing herbs and salves—but I believe that Master Berengar has it all in hand.”

Eowyn nodded. “Good.”

“There is one thing more, though.” He drew her further from the boy, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “A good, strong man, who is not afraid to use a club.”

Eowyn’s blood ran cold.

“To ease their passing, my lady,” he added, softly.

“I will try to find someone, Master Ethelmar,” said Eowyn, the words catching in her throat.

“Thank you—excuse me.” One of his patients was screaming in pain.

Eowyn returned to the boy who had earlier caught her hand. “I will find your mother,” she began.

But his eyes were staring up at her, unseeing.


Eryn Carantaur

Aranwë, though still somewhat drowsy, had given a detailed account of everything he had seen, both on the Caras Arnen road and at the camp in Emyn Arnen.

“Would you say that Princess Eowyn is overmatched?” asked Legolas.

“Indeed I would, my lord,” replied the messenger. “The lady is resourceful—there is no doubt of that—her captains are loyal and all her men love her. But her forces are few and her supplies are running low.”

Legolas turned to his double. “What do you propose to do?”

The other elf addressed his counsellors. “Naturally, my Lords, March Warden, I would value your opinions. What do you advise, Lord Fingolfin?”

“We must aid the lady,” said the counsellor, without hesitation. “It is the only honourable course open to us.”

“Lord Caranthir?”

“I agree.”

“Lord Lenwë?”

“From what I have heard, my Lord,” said the Treasurer, “it is also in the interests of our own security to do so.”

“March Warden?”

“I agree with Lord Lenwë,” said Golradir, “and, in addition, I suggest that we send a small force to the Divor Rocks.”

“It is unanimous then,” said Legolas’ double, with a faint smile.

“How many troops can you raise?” asked Legolas.

“No more than a thousand,” replied Golradir, “without leaving the colony itself unprotected. In time, we may call up another two hundred, perhaps, from the southern settlements.”

Legolas shook his head. “It is still too few...”

“When we reach Emyn Arnen,” said Gimli, speaking for the first time, “we must send immediately to Aragorn and make sure that the message gets through.” He turned to Legolas’ double. “May I make a suggestion, lad?”

The elf’s face froze in a most peculiar expression. “You may, Gimli, son of Gloin.”

“I suggest that Legolas, Eowyn and I leave now, with a handful of volunteers. We will follow the route your messenger took, running the gauntlet if need be, and inform the lady that your army is on its way. Then we will leave for Minas Tirith immediately.”

“Gimli,” said Legolas, “you are a genius.”


Emyn Arnen

Eowyn stumbled from the Healing Room and vomited her breakfast at the foot of the rock wall.

“My lady...” Captain Alfgar remained at a tactful distance.

“I—” Eowyn wiped her mouth before turning to face him. “I am ready to discuss tactics,” she said, resolutely.

“There is no shame in feeling for the wounded, my Lady,” said the soldier gently. Then he added, “We have taken a prisoner. I thought you would want to question him yourself.”

“Does he speak Westron?”

“He has not uttered a word, my lady. But he has a smug look about him, if you know what I mean—as if he does understand what we are saying. This way...” He guided her between two groups of citizens—men and women—practising simple sword skills. “We have put him in one of the refugee tents.”

“Where was he captured.?”

“He had fallen into the gulley and got himself a stake through the shoulder. We missed him in the first search because he had managed to hack through the wood and hide in the undergrowth.”

“Will he survive his injuries?”

“The healer thinks so.”


Alfgar raised the tent flap and Eowyn stepped inside. The prisoner was sitting against one of the tent poles, his hands crossed behind the wood and bound with a length of stout rope.

Eowyn watched him, thoughtfully. With the wound in his shoulder, the position must have been excruciating—I am surprised the healer permitted them to bind him like that—but there was no sign of pain on the creature’s handsome face, nor any fear in his fiery red eyes.

“I want him stripped naked,” she said.

“My Lady!” Captain Alfgar stared at her, open-mouthed. “What—”

“I want our armourers to examine his leather and mail—to test its strengths and weaknesses. Were his weapons found?”

“A long knife, my lady,” replied Alfgar.

“No crossbow?”

“No, my lady.”

“Pity. Have the armourers test the knife, too. Then fetch Master Ethelmar—I want him examined. I want to know his strengths and weaknesses.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And, when Master Ethelmar has finished, send for me and I shall question him.”

Naked my Lady?”

Eowyn chuckled. “No, Captain. You may find him a blanket. Or, better still, a tunic and some leggings!”


Eryn Carantaur

Well?” asked Legolas.

“It is a good plan, Master Dwarf,” said his double. “You have my permission to recruit your volunteers—how many do you seek?”

“Six,” said Gimli.

“March Warden Golradir will assist you.”

I shall need a sword,” said Eowyn.

“I am sure we can accommodate you, my Lady.”


After leaving the Council Chamber, the Lord of Eryn Carantaur hurried to his private chambers and climbed the stairs to his garden flet. He had some unpopular news to break.

Alatáriël was waiting for him, sitting motionless on their swing. Legolas crossed the wooden platform and knelt before her.

“You are going to war,” she said.

All her customary sparkle—all her mischief—had deserted her, leaving her barely recognisable. Legolas lifted her hands to his lips. “Yes,” he said, softly.

“Because of her.”

“Because it would be dishonourable to leave Princess Eowyn to face this threat alone, yes. But also because if North Ithilien falls, South Ithilien will follow soon after.”

“I do not want you to go!”

“I would be disappointed if you did,” said Legolas, gently. “But in time of war, nadithen, a warrior has no choice—”

“Let me go with you.”

“You have not been trained to fight, meleth nín. It would be too dangerous.”

She is going! They will both be there.”

“Yes. They are both warriors.”

“Promise me, Legolas Greenleaf—promise that you will never make love to her—not to either one of her.”

Smiling, Legolas wrapped her in his arms. “I love you, Alatáriël. Do not doubt me, meleth nín.”


Five years earlier, at Edoras

Company for the night! Legolas, still affected by what he had seen in the Golden Hall—and painfully aware of the months that had passed since he had last been with an elleth—reached for Eowyn.

She did not resist.

He lifted her onto the parapet and—kissing her hungrily—groped for the hem of her skirts, pulled them up, pushed her legs apart, and buried himself inside her with a sigh that seemed to anticipate the satisfaction to come.

He felt her gasp, and open her legs wider to take his bulk. Then she crossed her ankles behind him, and drew him in tight...

Sweet Valar!

Legolas grasped her buttocks and thrust—with hard, sharp, sudden lunges—his body trembling at the prospect of release.

Eowyn dug her fingers into his hair, holding his head close whilst she devoured his mouth, moaning, “Yes! Oh, yes!” against his lips.

And when he reached his first climax—bursting inside her with a cry of wonder—he did not feel that what he was doing was wrong...


Eryn Carantaur

The five companions returned to the guest house in silence.

Gimli immediately disappeared into his bedchamber to fetch his axe.

Hentmirë, who had insisted on volunteering for the mission—“I know the journey will be dangerous, Legolas, but once we are there I shall be right at the back—helping to make food and bandages,”—went to change into her trousers and boots.

Lassui...” Eowyn drew Legolas into their bedchamber. “Are you sure,” she asked softly, “that we should be doing this? Since Berryn mentioned the Divor Rocks, I keep wondering—what if the bodies that Master Amdír found in Eryn Laeg were the start of an invasion? Do you not want to go home?”

Legolas took her in his arms. “We do not know what may be happening in our own world, melmenya, but this invasion is real. And this Eowyn needs us.” He hugged her tightly. “When you fell into The Aelvorn, my darling, I did not stop to consider my responsibilities to Eryn Carantaur. I followed you here.”

“The colony did not seem to be in danger then.”

“Do you think that would have made any difference?” He kissed her forehead.

“No. But she is not me, Lassui.”

“I know, melmenya. I know. But there is something... Her hand—her signature—is exactly like yours.”

“Do not confuse us.”


“You will find that I can be a very jealous wife, Legolas.”

Laughing, the elf lifted her off the ground, and kissed her thoroughly.


As Legolas’ double descended from his garden flet, with Alatáriël clinging to his arm, a tiny movement, visible through the window of the guest house opposite, caught his attention and held it, mercilessly.


Five years earlier, at Edoras

“Oh gods...”

Legolas raised his head from Eowyn’s bosom.

“This did not happen,” she whispered. “Nothing can come of it; it cannot have happened.”

“But I am bound to you now—”

“No! You cannot be! I am the niece of a King—his heir, should my brother fall in battle—I have a duty to my people. I cannot be with an elf.”

Legolas moved his hand to her stomach. “I am sorry.”

“The mistake was not yours alone—”

“No...” He shook his head. “No, I mean that we no longer have any choice, meleth nín.” He stroked her belly, and felt her tremble at his touch. “You are carrying my child, Eowyn nín.”

For a moment, she stared at him in alarm. Then she slowly shook her head. “No, Prince Legolas,” she said, “no—for I am barren.”

Legolas frowned.

“I know it for certain,” she said. “If you must hear more, I will tell you. Or we can leave it at that.”

“But I am an elf,” he said. “Perhaps—”

“No. I am barren,” she insisted, tears filling her eyes. “Please, your Highness, say that this never happened.”

Legolas felt an emptiness spread, like ice, from his heart up into his head and down into his belly. “Very well,” he whispered, carefully withdrawing from her body, “I shall say that it never happened. And I shall leave you now.” He rose, and instinctively turned his back to her before replacing himself in his leggings and redoing his laces.

“Thank you.”

She was trying to sound indifferent, he knew, but a tiny tremor in her voice gave him hope. “Eowyn...?”

“Please, your Highness, go quickly, before someone sees us.”

Wearily, he placed his hand upon his heart and bowed his head. “No i Melain na le,” he said, softly. “And if it should prove that you have been mistaken—that you are with child—you have only to send for me—if you ever need me, you have only to send.”


Eryn Carantaur

“You will take care of her...”

Frowning, Legolas followed his double’s gaze to where Eowyn, wearing elven armour, and carrying an elven sword and bow, was mounting Vanyasul. “She is perfectly capable of taking care of herself,” he said. “She has saved me more times than I can count.”

His double smiled. “Of course...” He dragged his attention back to Legolas. “I shall follow you at first light—tell Princess Eowyn—the other Princess Eowyn—to expect me by dawn on the second day.”

Legolas placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head. “You have made the right decision,” he said.

“You will have left for Minas Tirith by the time I arrive.”

“If all goes according to plan.”

“Then—what is it that men do?” He held out his hand. “No i Melain na le.”

Legolas grasped it firmly. “Hannon le, mellon nín. Sílo Anor bo men lín.” He gave his double a final wry smile before mounting his horse and joining the small force assembled in the clearing—Eowyn, Gimli, Berryn and Hentmirë; March Warden Golradir; Camthalion and Orodreth; two Lorien elves, Malgalad and Edrahil; and, to Legolas’ surprise, clad in armour and with a bow, quiver, and knives strapped to his back, Lord Fingolfin.


Emyn Arnen

The prisoner, naked apart from the bandages swathing his slender torso and the blanket draped around his loins, was still bound uncomfortably to the tent pole. As Eowyn approached, he leered up at her defiantly.

“Master Ethelmar tells me that you can see both light and heat,” said the woman, turning up the wick on the small oil lamp she was carrying. “And that too much of either is painful to you. Shall we see how much is too much?”

Crouching beside him, she passed the lamp back and forth in front of his ebony face.

The dark elf did not move, but a subtle change in his expression told Eowyn that the healer had been right. She held the lamp closer, and watched the drow keep his head still and his eyes open—even though tears were running down his sculpted cheeks.

Eowyn smiled. “Captain Alfgar,” she called, “bring the brazier here—right in front of him—and light it. Let us see how long it takes this weakling to beg—”

The drow spat in her face.

Eowyn chuckled. “So you do understand me,” she said, wiping away the spittle with the back of her hand. “That will make things so much easier.”

The creature sneered.

“Do you still want the brazier, my lady?” asked Alfgar.

“Bring it closer but do not light it just yet.” She turned back to the drow. “I have watched your people,” she said. “Every warrior fights alone—you have no loyalty to one another, no honour—”

“You know nothing!”

“Your commanders do not rescue the injured; they do not recover the bodies of the dead—”

“I am not one of those house slaves!”

“What are you, then? Hmm? No one cares that you have been taken. No one begs for your release. It is as though you had never existed.”

The creature settled back against the tent pole and hid behind a blank expression.

“I offer you a bargain, Master Dark Warrior,” said Eowyn. “Tell me everything you know of this campaign—tell me what your people are planning and why. And if your information proves true, when the war is over, I will set you free.”

There was no response. “Very well...” She turned down the lamp wick until the flame went out. “I will give you some time to think about it. Come, Captain Alfgar.”




Contents page


Previous chapter: The guardian
Drizzt hides Wilawen; the elves struggle through the Underdark; Orodreth delivers a message.

Chapter 11

Next chapter: The hook horror
Wilawen and Guenhwyvar face a hook horror; the elves get some unexpected help; Arinna discovers Cyllien's secret.

Chapter 12

No i Melain na le ...
‘May the Valar be with you’.
Sílo Anor bo men lín ...
‘May the sun shine on your road’.