--------------
Part Seven: Dernhelm
--------------
The Muster of Rohan was to set off that day. Éowyn saw that the only one as grieved as her at the parting was Meriadoc, and empathised with his position.
"Come," she said kindly, "And see the gear I have prepared for you. This request only did Aragorn make to me, that you should be armed for battle. I have granted this, as I could, and my heart tells me you shall need it ere the end. No mail have we to fit you, but here is a leather jerkin, a knife and a belt."
Merry bowed, receiving these things, plus a helm and a shield his size. Éowyn smiled. "Take all these things and bear them to good fortune. Farewell, Master Meriadoc! We shall meet again, you and I."
Two hours later, Théoden and Éomer bid Éowyn a fond farewell. No sooner had they left than Éowyn dressed in the gear of a Rider and mounted her horse. She did not want to miss her only chance of an honourable death! She looked at the Hobbit, and thought of how she had escaped his plight. She looked away as he noticed, in case Merry recognised her.
At Edoras, Merry made a final plea to Théoden, but it was kindly refused. "Denethor calls for Riders. You will be of no use."
"Where will wants not, a way opens, so we say," she said, "And so I have found myself. You wish to go whither the Lord of the Mark goes - you shall go with me. I shall bear you before me, under my cloak until we are far afield, and this darkness is yet thicker. Such good will should not be denied. Say no more to any man, but come!"
"Thank you indeed!" exclaimed the Halfling. "Thank you, sir - though I do not know your name." Éowyn smiled. Her disguise was cunning. He who had seen her well the night before knew her not.
"Do you not? Then call me Dernhelm."
Later, they got word of a host of Orcs invading over the Wold, leagues to the North. But Théoden dismissed it. "We have no time; Gondor's need is greater."
They came to the Drúadan Forest, and were aided by the Wild Men in finding a safe road to Gondor. The horns of Rohan blared at sunrise. The fields of the Pelennor were overrun by Orcs and evil Men. And Éowyn smiled. The battlefield beckoned.
--------------------
Part Eight: The Pelennor
--------------------
Théoden led the charge, straight into the midst of the Haradrim and slew their king. Éowyn followed him ever. Then the Witch-king appeared on his fell steed. All other Riders had either been slain or bourn away on terrified horses. But Éowyn stood over her king. His horse, Snowmane had lain down in terror with the king underneath. He was crushed as the Witch- king bore down upon him.
"Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!" Her very cry displayed the courage of the House of Eorl. Then the Witch-king answered:
"Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy 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." [Graphic. Sorry -EB]
Éowyn drew her sword. "Do what you will; but I will hinder it if I may."
"Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!" The foul being laughed. Éowyn's courage and love for her uncle kept her steady on her feet. Her burning desire to see Aragorn again maintained her will to live. Éowyn laughed also.
"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."
The Witch-king's uncertainty was plain to see. He had not counted on this. As proof, Éowyn tore off the bonds that held her hair in her helm. A river of gold cascaded over her shoulders. Éowyn stood as the Nazgûl and his steed came upon her. She beheaded the beast in a single, swift, skilful stroke. The Witch-king was even more threatening on foot, if he had any.
Éowyn gave a shout of pain as he smashed her shield-arm with his mace. As she regained her balance, he prepared to finish her. Éowyn thought only of Théoden, Éomer and Aragorn as she raised her sword again. 'My death is near,' she thought.
But the stroke pummelled the ground, not Éowyn's fair head. Looking up, teeth clenched through the pain, she saw Merry plunging his Barrow-knife into the Witch-king's leg from behind. The Nazgûl stooped in shock and Éowyn drove her sword between its shoulders.
Suddenly the Nazgûl evaporated and an eerie, piercing scream went up with him. Éowyn's last thought was that she would never again see Aragorn, then the Darkness took her.
There she lay, until the forces of Rohan found her and the King a few minutes later. It was even as she passed through the gates of Minas Tirith, and Prince Imrahil pronounced her living, as the armies cried, "The Corsairs, the Corsairs!"
They were, of course, the reason for Aragorn's taking the Paths of the Dead. He had summoned the Dead and with their help captured the fleet of Umbar, which was attacking the Falases of Gondor. He took the ships up the river Anduin, along with seven thousand men who had been defending the coastal regions. The tokens of the House of Elendil flew from the ships.
Aragorn fought his way to the hillock that Éomer held strong. Together they won through to Minas Tirith. There, Aragorn came at last to the Houses of Healing, for it is said in Gondor that 'the hands of a king are the hands of a healer, and thus the true king could ever be known'.
Part Seven: Dernhelm
--------------
The Muster of Rohan was to set off that day. Éowyn saw that the only one as grieved as her at the parting was Meriadoc, and empathised with his position.
"Come," she said kindly, "And see the gear I have prepared for you. This request only did Aragorn make to me, that you should be armed for battle. I have granted this, as I could, and my heart tells me you shall need it ere the end. No mail have we to fit you, but here is a leather jerkin, a knife and a belt."
Merry bowed, receiving these things, plus a helm and a shield his size. Éowyn smiled. "Take all these things and bear them to good fortune. Farewell, Master Meriadoc! We shall meet again, you and I."
Two hours later, Théoden and Éomer bid Éowyn a fond farewell. No sooner had they left than Éowyn dressed in the gear of a Rider and mounted her horse. She did not want to miss her only chance of an honourable death! She looked at the Hobbit, and thought of how she had escaped his plight. She looked away as he noticed, in case Merry recognised her.
At Edoras, Merry made a final plea to Théoden, but it was kindly refused. "Denethor calls for Riders. You will be of no use."
"Where will wants not, a way opens, so we say," she said, "And so I have found myself. You wish to go whither the Lord of the Mark goes - you shall go with me. I shall bear you before me, under my cloak until we are far afield, and this darkness is yet thicker. Such good will should not be denied. Say no more to any man, but come!"
"Thank you indeed!" exclaimed the Halfling. "Thank you, sir - though I do not know your name." Éowyn smiled. Her disguise was cunning. He who had seen her well the night before knew her not.
"Do you not? Then call me Dernhelm."
Later, they got word of a host of Orcs invading over the Wold, leagues to the North. But Théoden dismissed it. "We have no time; Gondor's need is greater."
They came to the Drúadan Forest, and were aided by the Wild Men in finding a safe road to Gondor. The horns of Rohan blared at sunrise. The fields of the Pelennor were overrun by Orcs and evil Men. And Éowyn smiled. The battlefield beckoned.
--------------------
Part Eight: The Pelennor
--------------------
Théoden led the charge, straight into the midst of the Haradrim and slew their king. Éowyn followed him ever. Then the Witch-king appeared on his fell steed. All other Riders had either been slain or bourn away on terrified horses. But Éowyn stood over her king. His horse, Snowmane had lain down in terror with the king underneath. He was crushed as the Witch- king bore down upon him.
"Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!" Her very cry displayed the courage of the House of Eorl. Then the Witch-king answered:
"Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy 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." [Graphic. Sorry -EB]
Éowyn drew her sword. "Do what you will; but I will hinder it if I may."
"Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!" The foul being laughed. Éowyn's courage and love for her uncle kept her steady on her feet. Her burning desire to see Aragorn again maintained her will to live. Éowyn laughed also.
"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."
The Witch-king's uncertainty was plain to see. He had not counted on this. As proof, Éowyn tore off the bonds that held her hair in her helm. A river of gold cascaded over her shoulders. Éowyn stood as the Nazgûl and his steed came upon her. She beheaded the beast in a single, swift, skilful stroke. The Witch-king was even more threatening on foot, if he had any.
Éowyn gave a shout of pain as he smashed her shield-arm with his mace. As she regained her balance, he prepared to finish her. Éowyn thought only of Théoden, Éomer and Aragorn as she raised her sword again. 'My death is near,' she thought.
But the stroke pummelled the ground, not Éowyn's fair head. Looking up, teeth clenched through the pain, she saw Merry plunging his Barrow-knife into the Witch-king's leg from behind. The Nazgûl stooped in shock and Éowyn drove her sword between its shoulders.
Suddenly the Nazgûl evaporated and an eerie, piercing scream went up with him. Éowyn's last thought was that she would never again see Aragorn, then the Darkness took her.
There she lay, until the forces of Rohan found her and the King a few minutes later. It was even as she passed through the gates of Minas Tirith, and Prince Imrahil pronounced her living, as the armies cried, "The Corsairs, the Corsairs!"
They were, of course, the reason for Aragorn's taking the Paths of the Dead. He had summoned the Dead and with their help captured the fleet of Umbar, which was attacking the Falases of Gondor. He took the ships up the river Anduin, along with seven thousand men who had been defending the coastal regions. The tokens of the House of Elendil flew from the ships.
Aragorn fought his way to the hillock that Éomer held strong. Together they won through to Minas Tirith. There, Aragorn came at last to the Houses of Healing, for it is said in Gondor that 'the hands of a king are the hands of a healer, and thus the true king could ever be known'.