Main Characters: Éowyn
Rating: PG
Pairings: N/A
Genre: Drama
Length: Short story
Summary: The Battle of the Pelennor Fields from Éowyn's perspective
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But Théoden was not utterly forsaken. The knights of his house lay slain about him... Yet one stood there still: Dernhelm the young, faithful beyond fear; and he wept, for he had loved his lord as a father.
So many dead bodies around me, is this how it will all end? And now that my uncle lies with no life, nothing but revenge I shall live for. Dark, immortal and dangerous in the eyes of all, but in mine, just one thing: the creature that killed my uncle.
If a King it once was, a selfish one it must have been. But it is of no matter.
Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!
The beast had done the damage, could it not leave and let us cry for the ones we lost? Was it so heartless that nothing but my sword could stop it?
Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thee turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the lidless Eye.
Death is what I came here for, and death I shall get.
Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may.'
'Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!
Living man? The fool is it, not me, for since I am the only one who stands alive, he assumes I am a man. Now my disguise I shall get rid of, for no man I desire to be anymore! I am stronger than any man, and not only just in hand, but in soul, for no living man could bear the pain that I do.
Then Merry heard of all sounds in that hour the strangest. It seemed that Dernhelm laughed, and the clear voice was like the ring of steel. 'But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.
Now I see doubt in its face, though the creature he sat on screamed with rage. And again, I feel no fear, for it is not a deadly creature in my eyes, but a creature that had challenged me, Éowyn, the shieldmaiden of Rohan.
Still she did not blench: maiden of the Rohirrim, child of kings, slender but as a steel-blade, fair yet terrible. A swift stroke she dealt, skilled and deadly. The outstretched neck she clove asunder, and the huge shape crashed to ruin, vast wings outspread, crumpled on the earth; and with its fall the shadow passed away. A light fell about her, and her hair shown in the sunrise.
Out of the wreck rose the Black Rider, tall and threatening, towering above her. With a cry of hatred that stung the very ears like venom he let fall his mace. Her shield was shivered in many places, and her arm was broken; she stumbled to her knees. He bent over her like a cloud, and his eyes glittered; he raised his mace to kill.
Now I see it was all in vain. The creature is indeed deadly. The physical pain I do not feel, for the pain in my heart is greater. Should I indeed have stayed with my part in the house? Should I have accepted my fate as a healer and not a fighter? Nay...for like my uncle I shall die with honor, and in peace rest at last, for in this world only pain I seem to find. And so I fade away, and the black image fades as well.
But suddenly he too stumbled forward with a cry of bitter pain, and his stroke went wide, driving into the ground. Merry's sword had stabbed him from behind, shearing through the black mantle, and passing up beneath the hauberk had pierced the sinew behind his mighty knee.
And though I see nothing, I can still hear voices, and among them one stands out, a cry. I hear my name, but cannot answer. Was it Aragorn? Was it my brother? Whoever it was, it was a hero, for I am still alive... at least my body is.