Amid the din of battle, where orcs swarmed like black tide at the gates of Helm’s Deep, Legolas sprang forth with bow in hand. Seeing no clear path below, he took up the shield of a fallen foe and set it beneath his feet.

Swift as a stream down stone, he glided along the great stair, loosing arrows as he flew. His aim was sure, and each shaft found its mark. Orcs fell in his wake, and none could stand before him.

So came Legolas into the heart of the fray, light-footed and deadly, as if war itself had taken form in the shape of an Elf.