There was a fire in her eyes. It burned in her heart; branded the sight before her forever on her soul as she looked out on the bloodied fields, suspended for a moment from the battle, entranced by the death that surrounded her. As fear smouldered in her heart, as she looked upon her falling brothers, she felt remorse as she had never experienced it before. It crippled her, dissolving her stubborn courage for the barest of moments. Her steed reared up as sparks flew around him, nearly bucking her in his frenzy.
'Easy, easy,' she whispered softly in his ear. Seconds later, he collapsed beneath her, shuddering, his back legs hewn by a foe she had not seen. Clambering off his back, she whispered softly to him in his pain. Swiftly she eased it with her sword. As tears flew down her cheeks, she pushed the grief back, forcing herself calm, and she stood tall in her heavy armour. She faced her enemies, the noise engulfing her, sweeping her up into the heat of the fight.
She could not know how long it had been before they appeared; winged death, wreathed in black, crying their evil to the world below. As confusion raged around her, all came to a halt, stared up into the sky; blocked their ears against the overwhelming wave of brutal sound that greeted them.
A while away on the plains, the proud King of Rohan reared up on his horse.
'Fight! Fight Eorlingas! Do not let your strength fail you now!'
His horse wheeled round in a frustrated circle as it attempted to get away from this new fear that had accosted it. Rising up in the saddle, Théoden bore his sword before him. The wraith stood, relinquishing the reins of the beast that bore him. The Witch King stood before his fearless pray, sitting strong before him on his proud white steed. In one swift movement, he struck, brandishing his mace, striking hard in his horse's flank. The steed reared once more in pain, throwing his rider to the ground. The king fell hard, soon crushed by the steed that had borne him forth. His body broken, he slipped into darkness.
Eowyn ran to her uncle's side and looked briefly on his face. She had never seen him look so old and tired in her life. And yet it seemed that for a moment, as she looked on his face, his peaceful strength touched her more deeply than ever.
The fire in her heart rekindled andher eyes burned as she turned to the demon that had taken her uncle.
It stood before her on the plains. She felt the creature's hot, rancid breath on her face and it turned the blood in her veins to ice.
'You will not have him,' she declared, her voice steady, her stubborn spirit getting the better of the fear that bordered on her mind. She held her sword with a steady hand and stood in front of her broken uncle's body.
You fool. No man can kill me. The mace swung from the shadows, striking her shield. Her bones splintered beneath the blow, but she would not cry out. She fell backwards in pain. The Witch King strode forward, towering above her delicate form as she struggled to stand, ignoring the pain of her arm. She thought of her uncle, her only father figure, the man who cared for her more than any other, and her heart hardened as the fire streaked down her sword arm. She thrust hard into the blackness beyond the cold steel of the helmet, crying out in rage.
'I am no man,' she said slowly, pulling off her helmet with her good arm; her gold hair falling in a sheath about her shaking shoulders. Her arm stabbed with pain and ice crept up from her sword. It dissolved to the hilt and she dropped it to the ground as her body succumbed to the pain that sought to engulf her. Knees collapsing beneath her, she fell upon her fallen foe, the gold of her hair about her head like a halo. Darkness took her swiftly and she shivered in a world full of cold dark shadows. The fire extinguished, doused in the ice cold waters of oblivion.
