Note: for ladyhadhafang on lj


She wanted to die.

Not a long, slow, creeping death. A death befitting Éowyn, Éomund's daughter, Théoden's sister-daughter, last of a house of kings—and warriors, too, not mere nursemaids to Edoras. She had endured through long years of misery and drudgery, while Wormtongue haunted her steps and poisoned the very air of Meduseld. Duty had been her only comfort for all that time; she had served, and served, and she deserved this much.

She would die today.

Éowyn's heart thrilled in her chest as she followed her uncle onto the Pelennor, and she laughed and sang with every other rider of Rohan.