Knife Work 
Author: Thundera Tiger  
swordofomens@hotmail.com


PG  - Action/Adventure 
 

While perusing one of my favorite sections from The Two Towers, I stumbled 
across a passage that had bothered me for some time. Those of you familiar with 
the books will recall that Gimli and Legolas have an Orc-killing contest at 
Helm’s Deep, a contest that Gimli wins by one Orc. About halfway through this 
little game, while comparing tallies, Gimli reports that he has killed 
twenty-one Orcs while Legolas responds with a number of twenty-four Orcs. 
However, just before this, Legolas had twenty Orcs to his tally while Gimli had 
two. How did Gimli manage to come up with nineteen Orcs while Legolas dispatched 
only four during the same interval of time? I thought about this for a bit and 
then decided to write an answer to my self-imposed question. And for those 
interested, here is my theory on this little puzzle…


Knife-work


"Ai-oi! The Orcs are behind the wall! Ai-oi! Come, Legolas. There are enough for 
us both! Khazâd aimênu!"

Startled by the dwarf’s sudden cry, Legolas backed away from the parapet where 
he had been looking to pick off a few more Orcs with his dwindling supply of 
arrows. He thought he had caught sight of someone who appeared to be a leader, 
but he was waiting for another flash of lightning from the departing storm to 
make certain before shooting. Though the moon now hovered above the edge of the 
horizon, its pale light was not sufficient for differentiating leaders and 
subordinates. Yet archery was completely forgotten at the thought of Orcs behind 
the Deeping Wall.

"Gimli!" the elf cried, trying to find his friend upon the dark rampart. He 
could hear noises down in the Deep, but amidst the clamor of battle and the 
cries of commanders, he could not determine whether these noises were Orcs or 
merely confusion among the horses. "Gimli!" he called again, but he received no 
answer.

He must be mistaken, Legolas thought with a frown, scanning the shadowed 
recesses of the area behind the Deeping Wall. Yes, the night was very dark, and 
yes, the senses of men were easily confused and confounded in the chaos of 
battle, but for Orcs to creep behind the wall… The elf shook his head. He could 
not see how this might have happened unless they had scaled the pathless 
mountains behind the Hornburg. Marking this incident as faulty judgement—which 
could be used in the future to tease a certain dwarf—Legolas turned back to the 
battlement, intending to resume his archery.

But as he was leaning over the parapet, another shout along the wall interrupted 
him. However, this time it was the voice of a Rohirrim guard who cried out in 
alarm. "The Orcs are in the Deep! Helm! Helm! Forth Helmingas!"

Under his father’s tutelage and during the many skirmishes with Orcs beneath 
Mirkwood’s leaves, Legolas had learned a few very important lessons about 
battle. If one soldier shouted a warning, it was to be treated with prudence but 
suspicion. If two separate soldiers shouted independent warnings, it was to be 
treated as fact. Following this philosophy, Legolas swung away from the 
battlement just in time to see a legion of Rohirrim leap from the wall and into 
the Deep, brandishing swords as they shouted their challenges.

"Aragorn!" Legolas cried out, readying his bow and preparing to follow the men. 
"Orcs are behind the wall!"

Further down the rampart, Aragorn’s head jerked up at the elf’s shout, and his 
eyes widened in surprise and disbelief. But despite the impossibility of 
Legolas’s claim, the Ranger also began redirecting men off the wall and into the 
Deep. If Orcs were behind the front lines, then they were practically knocking 
at the doors of the Hornburg itself. And if they won through to that, then 
Helm’s Deep was truly lost. There would be no dawn for any of them. Gandalf 
would return only to find a collection of corpses, and it would be his lot to 
drive off the creatures that feasted on the remains.

"What is this of Orcs behind the wall?" a voice suddenly demanded, and Legolas 
looked to the side as Eomer came rushing forward.

"I know not how, but—" Legolas’s eyes suddenly widened as he caught sight of the 
parapet behind the Third Marshall. "Eomer! Down!"

Eomer reacted purely on instinct, dropping to the cold stone upon command, and 
he was not a moment too soon. Legolas swung his bow through the air, using it as 
a staff, and clubbed aside an Orc who had managed to get a ladder against the 
wall and climb over it. The foul beast squealed like a pig at the slaughter, but 
Legolas could not follow up his strike and kill the creature, for an entire 
group of Orcs was suddenly pouring over the wall, sensing the distraction that 
their brethren in the Deep were causing. And with most of the men now fighting 
behind the wall rather than defending it, the goblins were free to attack.

Legolas stepped to one side as Eomer quickly regained his feet, and then Aragorn 
was beside them, along with several other men. "They have coordinated this too 
well," Aragorn hissed, pushing against Legolas’s back as he dodged a sweeping 
blade. "We can ill afford to face our enemy both within the Deep and upon the 
wall. There are not enough of us!"

Legolas nodded and started to respond, but an overzealous Orc forced him to 
shove aside both Aragorn and Eomer as he rolled to a more open area. His move 
cost him, though, as the Orc he had initially struck joined his comrade and 
knocked Legolas’s bow away when the elf was coming out of his crouch. Leaping 
back and trying to find more room for maneuvering, Legolas swept out his hunting 
knife, driving the two Orcs away with a wide swipe at the air. It bought him 
only a few seconds of time, but it was enough for the elf to readjust his 
approach to the battle. Shifting his weight to the balls of his feet, Legolas 
readied himself as the first Orc drove in, sword swinging. Ducking beneath the 
swipe, the elf came up inside the creature’s guard and allowed the goblin to 
impale himself upon the prince’s silver-hafted blade.

Unfortunately, it was not a clean kill, and the Orc’s dying screams grated hard 
upon Legolas’s sensitive ears. Startled and disoriented, the elf missed an 
opening to kill the second Orc, who had overextended his guard in an attempt to 
aid his comrade. The other goblin now moved out of range even as a flash of 
lightning streaked across the sky. Jumping back and pulling his knife free of 
the dying Orc, Legolas turned his face toward his second opponent.

His timing could not have been worse.

Caught between lightning and moonlight, his gray eyes and fair features stood 
out in the night like a signal flare. The Orc that he fought stopped cold, and a 
cruel hatred began to build within the creature as it shouted to its comrades.

"Ilid! Ilid!"

Wincing at the name of his people spoken in the foul tongue of the Orcs, Legolas 
moved quickly to silence his enemy. The goblin tried to block his blow, but the 
elf was swift as a striking viper. Catching the Orc’s sword on the hilt of his 
knife, Legolas swept in and then out, wrenching the weapon away from the goblin. 
It flew over the wall, tumbling out of sight even as the disarmed Orc made a 
futile grab for it. A moment later, his throat was laid open by an elvish blade.

But the damage had been done. The Orc’s cry had been enough to attract the 
attention of every other Orc upon the wall. They had heard the word ilid as 
clearly as had Legolas, and now they all knew that there was an elf in their 
midst. Every eye fastened itself upon the prince of Mirkwood, and a dark 
loathing burned brightly in the hosts of Isengard.

"Legolas!"

Seemingly out of nowhere, Aragorn was suddenly beside the elf, pushing an Orc 
off the blade of his sword even as he tried to turn and face the rest of their 
opponents. Somewhere beyond them on another section of the rampart, Eomer could 
be heard crying a challenge to the Orcs. A few now facing Aragorn and Legolas 
turned, and the ring of steel could be heard beyond the group.

"Must trouble follow you everywhere, son of Arathorn," Legolas murmured, 
readjusting his stance so as to work with Aragorn at his back.

"Those Orcs were not shouting about my race," Aragorn retorted. "If trouble 
follows anyone, it follows you, son of Thranduil."

Legolas snorted at this but gave no answer, for his concentration was now upon 
the Orcs. Though many of them had been distracted by Eomer and the other men, a 
thin circle was still closing upon Legolas and Aragorn. The melee form of attack 
had now been abandoned and they approached with gleeful anticipation but also 
with caution, for they knew the foe they faced. It was an odd picture, actually. 
Battle and war raged upon all sides, yet here, in a close circle with an elven 
prince and a future king in the middle, was a calm. A lull. A lull that precedes 
a storm, Legolas thought despairingly to himself. And even as he reached this 
conclusion, the storm broke.

The Orcs not occupied by Eomer and his men lunged forward, moving as a group 
after the manner of men. It was not the first time Legolas had witnessed such an 
unusual style of fighting in the Uruk-hai, nor would it be the last. But he was 
given little chance to ponder it, for he was swiftly involved in a knife fight 
with two of the largest Orcs, who had taken the pleasure of confronting an elf 
as their own right. Two swords flashed at Legolas from different sides, moving 
simultaneously and with a speed that might have put Gwaihir to shame. In that 
moment, Legolas was given two choices for survival. He could step forward 
between the Orcs and face them alone, or he could back into Aragorn and hope 
that the sudden contact did not disorient his friend and lead to his death. 
Given these options and their consequences, Legolas chose the first.

Kicking against Aragorn’s boot heel as a signal that the Ranger’s back was no 
longer protected, Legolas leaped forward, swinging his knife to the right while 
bringing his left arm up to block on the other side. The sudden movement caused 
both Orcs to readjust their swings, and so the blow from the left glanced off 
the thick leather of Legolas’s gauntlet while he was able to parry the other 
sword with his knife. With both Orcs slightly off-balance, the elf quickly 
pressed his advantage, lashing out with his left fist and driving one of the 
Uruk-hai back while swiping his knife at the other’s gut. It was a fast move 
that all but guaranteed success. It should have worked.

Unfortunately, Legolas’s knife met with chain mail.

Valar! the elf swore silently, feeling the edge of his knife scrape against 
linked metal. It was now Legolas’s turn to be off-balance, and the Orcs 
immediately seized the opportunity. An ironclad fist slammed into the elf’s 
lower back, and Legolas felt his breath knocked from his body as his inner 
organs were forced up against his lungs. But this hard blow was actually a 
blessing in disguise, for it pushed him out of the way of a sword thrust. Moving 
with the punch as the sword missed him by scant inches, Legolas allowed the 
momentum to turn into power behind his own knife thrust, and swinging about, he 
drove the point of his knife through the chain mail that had thwarted him only 
moments before.

A sword dropped from a nerveless hand, and the stabbed Orc let out an eerie howl 
that swiftly turned into a gurgle. One left, Legolas through grimly as he 
started to retract his knife and face the other Orc.

But the problem with lodging a blade in a suit of armor or mail mesh is that 
retrieving it can be difficult. Now was no exception, and the knife did not come 
free on the first pull. Have all the fates turned against me this day?! Legolas 
demanded, trying a second time to pull the knife free. But as before, it did not 
move.

The elf would have tried a third time, but instinct and heightened senses 
suddenly warned of an attack from behind. Releasing the knife and allowing it to 
fall along with the dead Orc, Legolas hit the ground and rolled, barely avoiding 
the sword of the second Uruk-hai. Now unarmed and very conscious of the fact 
that smaller Orcs were beginning to swarm toward them in the event that the 
larger Orc could not finish the job, the elf looked desperately for an opening 
to capture his opponent’s blade or at least rearm himself with something. At 
this point, even a piece of chipped stone might do. But the Orc was giving him 
no opportunities, and the repeated thrusts and swings kept Legolas moving in a 
graceful but potentially fatal dance.

Backwards, forwards, and sideways, Legolas covered the bulk of the rampart as he 
leaped and dodged skilled attacks by the large Uruk-hai. He seemed to be holding 
his own, but he knew well that this could not continue. The other Orcs watching 
the fight were anxious for a bit of the elf themselves. The fear of offending an 
Uruk-hai chieftain kept them back for the moment, but it would not last long.

Fortunately for Legolas, these surrounding Orcs affected not only him but also 
his opponent. The large Uruk-hai was apparently jealous of his right to dispatch 
the elf, and he had no intention of allowing smaller usurpers to steal this 
pleasure from him. Sensing that he had only moments before others started 
crowding in, the towering Orc began to speed up his attacks, making minor 
mistakes in his haste. And these minor mistakes gave Legolas the opportunity he 
needed.

Until now, the Orc had protected himself so well that the elf could not slip 
beneath his guard and gain the leverage he needed for a throw or a twist. And 
being lighter than this creature, leverage was key. But now, with the attacks 
faster and less controlled, Legolas began to see patterns and chinks in his 
opponent’s defense. Good, the elf coaxed silently, making his expression smug 
and arrogant so as to further antagonize the Orc. Faster now. You are too slow 
to hurt me. You must be faster. Faster. Yes, much faster. Faster even than that. 
There!

Ducking beneath a high and rather sloppy punch, Legolas slammed himself into the 
Orc’s midsection, found purchase upon the rough armor, turned, and pulled the 
Orc over his back. With a roar of astonishment, the Uruk-hai abruptly found 
himself flat on the ground. But despite all odds, he had managed to retain his 
weapon, and instinctively swinging it over his head, he almost caught Legolas’s 
chest.

Quickly jumping away and once again cursing the fickle hand of fortune, Legolas 
suddenly stumbled over the Orc he had killed with his knife, and he spotted his 
blade still protruding from the chain mail. It was a gamble, but Legolas took 
it. He had very little to lose at this point. Reaching down, he seized the haft 
and nearly sobbed with relief when the knife came free, making an odd sucking 
sound as it pulled against flesh and tissue.

Yet the moment spent grabbing his blade had been a moment too long. His large 
opponent had regained his feet, and instinct alone saved Legolas from losing his 
head as the Orc’s sharp blade whistled through the air. Hitting the ground and 
using his shoulder to gain momentum, Legolas rolled into a crouch, ready to put 
an end to this. But even as he did so, he sensed a presence behind him and 
lunged to the side as yet another sword came down.

Wondering if the situation could possibly get any worse—and deciding that such a 
question only prompted the inevitable—Legolas turned in his crouch and moaned at 
the sight of a small, mountain goblin who had grown tired of waiting and now 
wished to spill the blood of an elf. In a terrifying moment of truth, Legolas 
realized that there was no escape. The world seemed to slow to a crawl as the 
elf frantically searched his mind for options. He could hear the advances of the 
Uruk-hai behind him, but if he turned to meet that opponent, then the mountain 
goblin would finish him. But if he dealt with the mountain goblin first, then 
the Uruk-hai had a clear opening. Nor did he have time to dodge, for the blades 
were descending. He had to block and counterattack, but he could only act 
against one of them.

It seems you shall win this game after all, Master Dwarf, Legolas mentally 
sighed. My time has been cut short. And with this thought, he surged upward with 
his knife, plunging it into the heart of the mountain goblin. Stroke completed, 
he twisted around to face his other foe. It was futile move, and Legolas knew 
that the Uruk-hai would cut him down ere he could block the stroke. But he 
refused to die without at least making an attempt to defend himself.

But much to the elf’s surprise, he completed his defensive spin without 
interruption. Greatly confused but acting quickly upon instinct, Legolas leaped 
forward in a desperate offensive gamble, his knife up and ready to deflect any 
blows should the Orc by toying with him. As a result, he very nearly skewered 
Eomer.

"Legolas!" the man cried out, hurriedly leaping back and bringing his own sword 
up to the guard position.

"Eomer!? How…what…" Legolas blinked, completely bewildered, and looked about and 
hoping to find something that would explain what had just happened. His eyes 
eventually found his large Uruk-hai opponent lying headless at Eomer’s feet.

"You seemed to be in need of assistance," the Third Marshall of the Riddermark 
explained, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I believe that 
smaller Orc took you by surprise. However, had I known that aiding you would 
incur your wrath, then I might have hesitated before saving your life."

Legolas groaned slightly as he tried to calm his racing heart. If Eomer was 
anything like Aragorn, this incident was not going to be forgotten in the near 
future. Or the distant future, for that matter. Glancing up and down the 
bulwark, Legolas was swift to note that all the Orcs had been dispatched and 
their bodies were being thrown over the side of the Deeping Wall. Apparently, 
his Orc had been among the last to be killed. "My apologies," the elf said 
quietly as he turned back to Eomer. "I did not see you approach. And you have my 
thanks for your assistance."

"You warned me when the Orcs first came over the battlement," Eomer answered 
with a shrug. "A life for a life. The exchange seems fair in my eyes."

Legolas smiled, deciding that, despite their first inauspicious meeting out on 
the plains, he could grow to like Eomer. "A fair exchange indeed. But still, you 
have my thanks. There are some in this world who would hesitate before saving 
one that was not of their kind."

"Perhaps, but I am not one of them."

"Legolas!" a new voice growled, and the elf turned with a sigh to confront 
Aragorn’s flashing eyes. "Will you never cease to try the limits of your 
fortune?! I did not fight my way to your side only to have you leave when 
trouble pressed close!"

"It was either leave or disrupt your fight," Legolas answered. "I have no desire 
to inform Lord Elrond that you died because I backed into you during a 
skirmish."

The Ranger grunted and shook his head, but no other reaction was forthcoming. 
His quick eyes ran over Legolas, searching the elf for signs of injury, and then 
he turned to Eomer. "Gamling sends a message that the Orcs in the Deep have been 
killed. He reports that they crept in through the culvert. Gimli and others are 
now attempting to block it."

"They will choke off the stream," Eomer mused with a frown.

"And hopefully the Orcs with it," Aragorn pointed out. "But there is little need 
to concern yourself over flooding. I foresee that we shall either triumph before 
the waters become a problem, or we shall be dead and it will not concern us."

"Such optimism you display," Eomer sighed.

"I have seen him worse," Legolas commented, searching the wall and finding the 
bow that had been knocked away from him. Slinging it over his shoulder, he 
studied his knife and grimaced slightly. Forcing it through chain mail had 
dulled the point, and there were many burrs along its sides.

"In what circumstances has Lord Aragorn been worse?" Eomer asked.

"Situations far more dire than this one, though I am hard-pressed to name many 
that might qualify," Legolas answered, pulling out his whetstone from a small 
pouch that hung from his belt.

"At least we are afforded a brief respite now," Aragorn murmured, his dark, gray 
eyes reaching out over the lands beyond the Deeping Wall. "The enemy seems to 
have withdrawn for a moment. Use this rest wisely, my friends. It will not last 
long!"

* * * *

"Twenty-one!"

Legolas looked up as he ran his knife over the whetstone for the last time and 
gave a mental sigh of relief at the sight of Gimli whole and upon his feet. And 
wearing a rather smug look of satisfaction, he added to himself. "Good," the elf 
said aloud. "But my count is now two dozen."

Gimli’s brow furrowed, and Legolas could feel the question forming in the 
dwarf’s mind. The elf’s last total had been twenty. During the time that Gimli 
had been gone, the dwarf had killed nineteen Orcs. Legolas had killed four. Why 
such a small number?

"It has been knife-work up here," Legolas explained with a slight smile. There 
was a quiet chuckle on the part of Aragorn while Eomer shook his head in silent 
disbelief.

Seeming to sense that he was missing out on something, Gimli scowled and looked 
as though he wished to pursue the subject. But he did not, instead mumbling 
something about going to the elves for information and then moving to the 
parapet to look out over the hosts that swarmed before Helm’s Deep. And content 
that he was still ahead in their game, Legolas sheathed his knife and began to 
scour the area for arrows. One skirmish had been won, but the battle still raged 
on. And as Aragorn had said, this rest would not last long.

 

 

Khazâd aimênu—The dwarves are upon you. (Khuzdul/Dwarvish)

Ilid—Elf (Orkish/Black Speech)

Some of the dialogue has been lifted from the books. If you want a reference, 
I’m using Ballantine’s 50th anniversary edition of the Two Towers, paperback 
version. See pages 178-9.