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Thirty sixth and thirty seventh Eowyn/Legolas stories

November 11th, 2007 (10:51 pm)

Title: The rescuers
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings
Characters: Eowyn/Legolas
Prompt: 30 death
Word Count: 780ish
Rating: R



The rescuers

“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.




Title: The changeling
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings
Characters: Eowyn/Legolas
Prompt: 40 sight
Word Count: 612
Rating: R



The changeling

AWWWWWWW!” roared Gimli, advancing on the pack. Eowyn would rescue the elf; it was his job to buy her enough time.

“Who wants to be first?” He swung the heavy, knotted rope—the remains of his bonds—around his head. “Come on, fight!”

One of the men drew a pair of knives and—

Schhhhum! A single arrow, slicing down through the foliage, buried itself between his eyes. The startled man frowned, staggered forwards, and dropped like a stone, his weapons falling from his dead hands.

“Thank ye, laddie!” shouted Gimli to his unseen comrade.

Then he charged, whirling his rope; and the thick knots, propelled by dwarven muscle, hit the next man full in the face. The wolf-man stumbled; Gimli struck again, bringing him to his knees, and again, laying him out cold. He dropped the rope and picked up the dead man’s knives. “Who is next?”

One of the wolf-men turned and fled.

You!” cried the dwarf, brandishing the blades at the larger of the two men who remained. “I will take you next!”

The big wolf-man, intimidated by the dwarf’s relentless advance, looked to his companion for support; but other man, relieved by his own reprieve, was already backing away.

“Divide and conquer,” muttered Gimli. “Forget him,” he shouted, “I have chosen you.”

Reluctantly, the wolf-man drew a battle axe.

“Aw,” growled the dwarf. “Now that is cheating!”

The pair circled; and Gimli, unused to knife work, realised that he was hesitating. “Aw, bugger this!” he cried, and charged.

The wolf-man swung, badly misjudged the dwarf’s height, and missed; Gimli, safely past his enemy’s guard and quicker, despite his armour, stabbed.

With a gasp, the wolf-man, dropping his weapon, clutched at his chest.

Gimli swept up the battle axe. “Never challenge a dwarf with his own steel, laddie,” he cried. “Now—”

But the wolf-man had already fallen—he lay, still and white, upon the ground, staring upwards with sightless eyes. Grunting, Gimli leaned down to close his eyelids.

Suddenly the man’s arms flew out, and his body stretched, his back arching and his hips rising high, twisting and turning, as a terrible sound—like wood splitting beneath a blade—came up from his vitals.

Blood spattered his shirt and breeches.

“The rope, Lord Gimli!” yelled Osgar, who—having shot his last arrow—had rushed down from the flet. He scooped up the knotted cord and threw it to the dwarf. “Is there more?”

“Over there…”

“Bind him, my Lord!” cried the man. “Bind him now, whilst he is still weak!” He ran back to Gimli with a second length of rope.

“By the gods,” muttered the dwarf, “what a sight.”

Even as he watched, the wolf-man was changing—his skin, ripped by his own nails, was falling in ribbons about his face and neck, and dark fur was sprouting from the bloody flesh; his jaws, working furiously, were growing longer and broader, crammed with cruel teeth; and foaming red-flecked spittle was flying from his snarling mouth…

“Now, my Lord, now!” cried Osgar; and man and dwarf pounced, Gimli slipping a hastily-tied noose over one of the flailing arms, Osgar doing the same to a clawed foot. “Over here,” cried the man, and battling with the wolf-man’s growing strength, the pair dragged the shrieking, writhing, blood-soaked creature to the foot of one of the trees and, passing the ropes around its trunk, bound him as tightly as they could.

“Will that hold him?” asked Gimli, doubtfully, as the werewolf, in its determination to escape, began to gnaw at its own wrist.

“I do not know, my Lord,” muttered the man, desperately searching for more rope. “I do not know!”



Author's Note: Parts 36 & 37 of an ongoing story, which is itself part of a Legolas/Eowyn ‘soap’ that can be read here

Comments

Posted by: Mlle de Fer (mlledefer)
Posted at: November 12th, 2007 11:01 am (UTC)
Lotr Eowyn I'm no man anime

Aha! It has been a long time for me:)

love Lord Gimli:) and Eowyn with her sword.

thanks for sharing!

Posted by: ningloreth (ningloreth)
Posted at: November 19th, 2007 07:26 pm (UTC)

Hello Mlledefer! Thank you for leaving a comment. I'm glad you liked them.

(Yes -- Gimli's a love ;-)

Posted by: ((Anonymous))
Posted at: May 31st, 2010 04:28 pm (UTC)
L/E is fake!

Fake pairing!They are not couple.Legolas does not love Eowyn and she is totally in love with her true husband Faramir.
Faramir/Eowyn=best couple!

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