I
My uncle's voice rose above the clamor of orcs and Grond. His voice soared and reached all the six thousand Riders there, anticipating the moment of battle. Merry, who was infront of me, shivered and he reached for my hand.
"Are you afraid, Lady?" he whispered.
"None that I can feel, Merry," I whispered back. "Courage, Merry. Courage for our friends."
"And those you have yet to come our way," Merry said and gave a wry chuckle. I laughed too, though I felt sapped of my emotions.
What if my uncle died on this battle field--may the grace of the Valar prevent it--thinking that his beloved niece was back in Edoras? What if Éomer died right before my eyes? I thought about Aragorn. How would he react if someone brought news of my death to him? Will he ever be the High King of Gondor? It was all too much for me. I wondered if this was a good decision.
"Do you think," I asked Merry, "that my coming here was a good choice?"
"Yes, Lady," Merry said. "A very good choice indeed."
"Forth, and fear no darkness!" Uncle Theoden cried. "Arise. Arise, Riders of Theoden. Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered. A sword day... a red day... ere the sun rises!"
"Whatever happens," I told Merry, "stay with me. I will take care of you."
"Ride now! Ride now! Ride. Ride for ruin and the world's ending!" Uncle Theoden shouted. "Death!"
"Death!" we cried, thrusting our swords into the air. The sound was overwhelming. In my heart, I felt a new courage. Courage that I have never felt before. We will defeat this Darkness and we will emerge victor.
"Death!" Uncle Theoden shouted.
"Death!"
"Forth Eorlingas!" Uncle Theoden cried and we charged down the slopes. Horns trumpeted, joining the din. The ground shook and trembled.
Arrows sailed through the air above us. A man fell down beside me, crushed by the wave of hooves. I winced as I narrowly missed an arrow, no doubt splashed with the dark poison of Sauron. More men fell down by me.
The wave of Riders rushed onto the orcs. Dark orc blood splashed onto my horse's flank as we trampled him to his doom.
"Lady!" Merry cried. "Watch out!" He swung his sharp dirk and a head flew past us.
"Well done, squire of Rohan!" I said as I caught an orc in the throat.
The next thing I knew, oliphaunts appeared. I gasped at the sight of them.
"Aim for their heads!" a familiar voice shouted. I turned. At least I knew that Èomer was safe. Where was Uncle Theoden? There was no time to look. Merry took hold of the reins, which had slackened in my hands, and guided my horse. We dodged the crushing steps of the oliphaunts and the thorns tied to their feet.
A Rider got swept up with the spikes tied between their tusks. His body was thrown around and mangled before the oliphaunt threw him back into the thick of the battle.
Oh Eru, let that not be my fate, I thought and slashed the foot of the massive beast.
"Lady! Look ou--!" Merry's warning was stopped short as our horse toppled over. My world was plunged into darkness.
-
When I awoke, Merry was nowhere to be seen.
"Merry?" I called, my voice lost somewhere within me.
I turned and saw a small but upright figure rush toward the gates of Minas Tirith.
"Merry!" I shouted. I thought I shouted but my voice seemed so distant to me. Minas Tirith was burning. No doubt the little Halfling wanted to fine Pippin. I ran, dodging orcs. My armor seemed to weigh me down.
"A suit of armor is a man's best friend in battle, Èowyn." It was my father talking to me. He patted his heavy Rohirric armor and picked me up."Soon, your brother will be riding and fighting just like me."
"Can I come too?" I giggled. I kissed Father on the cheek.
"You may," Father laughed. "You may."
He died the next day.
I burst through the gates of Minas Tirith just as the soldiers of Gondor shut them. I tripped and my chin slammed onto the stony ground. My head felt like I was walking on thin air, but this was not a time to faint.
"Gandalf!" a small but loud voice was saying. "Where is Gandalf? Mithrandir? Do you know where Gandalf is?"
I walked toward the source of the voice. Sure enough, there stood Peregrin Took, all hysterical in his black-and-silver uniform. He saw me.
"Do you know where Gandalf is, good Horse-lord?" he asked.
"Pippin," I said, laughing a little. "Do you not know me? I am Èowyn!"
Pippin squinted and cried. "Èowyn! Thank goodness it's you! Lord Denethor is burning Faramir alive!"
"Who?" I asked, confused.
"The Steward is burning the captain alive!" Pippin said. "They all think the captain is dead but he isn't. Oh Èowyn! You have to do something!" Pippin was close to tears.
"Where is this Steward you speak of?" said I.
Pippin pointed up the road whence he came. "Up there. Climb until you reach the top."
"Go find Gandalf, Pippin," I urged him. "Quickly."
Pippin nodded and he ran, wiping tears away with his grubby hands.
I was not sure who was this Steward was, nor this captain. But I felt like I should help an innocent life. I ran as fast as my weary feet would let me go.
Finally, I reached the top of Minas Tirith. Smoke from Pelennor Fields scorced the air. I could smell oil. Lot's of oil. Oh Eru, let me not too late.
I opened the doors. There, a figure underneath heavy coverlets lay on a bed of wood. Nay, a pyre. It was a pyre. Pippin was right. An old man was standing on the pyre.
"Set a fire to our flesh," said the old man.
"No!" I cried, my voice seemed so loud to me. "He is still alive! Do not kill him!"
But it was too late. The assistants, standing around like a group of thick-headed Harads, kissed the torch to the wood. The smell of burning wood filled my nose.
"Do you not get it!" I cried, running toward the pyre. Now, I could smell singed hair and clothing. I pulled my helmet off for it was annoying me. "He is still alive! Do not burn him!" What is it with these Gondorians? Without thinking I reached into the flames and pulled the young manoff the pyre.He was heavy. I lost my balance and he ended up on the floor under me. His eyes opened a little and I got a shock of pale blue eyes. His lips parted a little. The old man's face turned red with rage.
"Do not take him from me!" he shouted. He jumped from the pyre and grabbed me by my hair. "Do not take him from me!" he repeated, pulling my face up to his. I could smell pipeweed on his breath. "Do you not get it? The West will burn with the new power that is rising. None will escape it. It will come like wild fire. It will burn down all that oppose it!" He turned to the assistants. "Now we shall all burn!"
A new voice reached us. "Authority is not given to you, steward, to order the hour of your death!" It was Gandalf! Pippin had found Gandalf.
"You fools," the Steward said. "We will all burn. But I will not wait for them to burn me later. I will burn now, within my house." With that, the steward jumped back into the flames and with a great cry, disappeared into the sea of fire.
-
I turned back to the young man on the floor. His hair was singed, but it still had it's red-gold color. There was a slight burn on the left side of his neck that stretched to his left temple. I think he tried to support himself with his hands but was too weak. I put my helmet back on, tucking the hair into it.
"Take him to the House of Healing," Gandalf said. "What he needs now is a good rest, or die, if that be his doom."
Uncle Theoden! I jumped. I had forgotten about Uncle Theoden. I ran and ran down the seven levels of the White City. As I ran, I thought about Aragorn. Where was Aragorn? Had he really died, treading the Paths of the Dead as Brego had done? I remembered how his jewel, given to him by his elf-maiden, rested gently against his chest. How he had smiled at me at Dunharrow. I love him beyond compare.
Somehow, I managed to convince the soldiers to open the gate. They opened it a crack, just enough for me to slip through.
And the next sight I saw filled me with despair.
Uncle Theoden was beingmauled by a Nazgul.
"Feast on his flesh," an acidic voice hissed.
I knew that voice. It was the Witch-King of Angmar.
I rushed between Uncle Theoden and the Nazgul. I drew my sword and picked up a wooden buckler. "I will kill you if you touch him," I hissed. I tried to keep my voice steady and equally acidic.
"Do not come between a Nazgul and its prey," the Witch-King snarled.
The fell beast opened it's mouth and was ready to snap my head off, I warrant, when I brought my sword down onto it's neck. With one chop, the head fell off, clean. The Witch-King tipped over.
The Witch-King stood up. He walked toward me. My mouth tasted of copper. In his left hand, he had a mace. He swung the mace. I dodged. He swung it again. I dodged and a wild display of fireworks appeared before me. The buckler shattered and my arm exploded with pain. I cradled it at my side. The Witch-King came to me. He picked me up by the neck. I felt my eyes bulge out of their sockets. "Fool," the Witch-King snarled. "No man can kill--" His voice was broken when someone stabbed him in the back. It was Merry! Good old Merry!
The Witch-King was on his knees and at my mercy now. Despite my pain, I stood up and pulled my helmet off. "I am no man!" I cried. "I am Èowyn, daughter of Èomund!" I stabbed him. He shriveled up and with a wild whistling sound, disappeared into the wind.
I was tired. I was gasping with pain. My world spun wildly with pain and I was plunged headlong into darkness.
A/N: This idea came an hour after me watching The Return of the King, deleting Faramir of the Golden Hall, polishing off a bag of Frito-Lays, and surfing around Please review and keep checking for updates. Love, Anna.