A/N: This chapter gives a whole new meaning to the expression, 'dressed to kill.' I hope you like it. I know I loved writing it. This is the best part in the whole story, both book and soon-to-be movie.
Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, not me.
Chapter 16: Not by the Hand of Man
Dernhelm stood before the Witch-King of Angmar, both hands gripping his sword as he held it vertically in front of him. The king lay still behind him. Merry watched with fascination and fear.
The Witch-King let out a laugh, which chilled his blood. But Dernhelm stood fast, his face filled with anger.
"Hinder me! Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!"
It was Dernhelm, now, who laughed. Merry thought this strange under the circumstances.
"But no living man am I!" Dernhelm cried out. He threw back his helm.
There stood Éowyn, her golden hair released from the constraints of the helm. Her face was hard, but her eyes filled with sorrow for her lost uncle.
The Witch-King was silent in doubt. He remembered the words spoken so many years ago by Glorfindel.
"…Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall…"
Those haunting words of his fate and fall. Words he had not been reminded of until now.
The winged creature let out a screech, and assailed upon her. Éowyn stood before him, shieldmaiden of Rohan and niece to the fallen king. She did not falter or recoil, but dealt one swift blow of her sword, hewing its head skilfully, jumping back as it fell crashing to the ground.
But the Witch-King was far from dead. He rose up from the body of the dead beast, sword raised, ready to strike a deadly blow. He hit her shield and shattered it into pieces. Her arm was broken with this blow, and she fell to her knees before him.
Her mind was still rigid and unyielding but her body was too weak. She could see his eyes glittering from beneath the heavy black cloak but could not gather the strength to raise her sword against him. Merry was not far from where she stood, but the Witch-King did not notice him. He was not going to let her fall here, so young and so fair. He drew his sword of Númenor, gathered from his adventures at the Barrow-Downs, and drove it behind the Black Captain's knee. He howled in pain and his sword fell short of Éowyn. Merry struggled up.
"Now, Éowyn!" he cried. "You must kill him now."
Éowyn lifted her sword shakily, and plunged it between the Witch-King's crown and his mantle. The crown fell with a clatter to the ground and rolled away. Éowyn collapsed beside it, unmoving.
Merry ran to her side.
"Éowyn! You cannot leave me now!" he cried, tears streamed down his reddening face. He kissed her forehead gently. He saw the king move nearby and hurried to him.
"Farewell, Master Holbytla," Théoden said, quietly. "I am sorry we did not have the time to talk of all things. I would have liked to learn more of your kind."
"I am sorry, my lord," sobbed Merry, "I disobeyed your orders. You told me I would have no place here, and you were right."
"Do not apologise," said Théoden, "You did well today, young hobbit. You should be proud."
Merry nodded, still sobbing, uncontrollably.
"But you must tell Éomer. Tell him, he must be king after me. And say goodbye to my dear Éowyn. She would not have had me die here. But now I shall never see her shining face again."
"My lord. Éowyn, she is here," he said. But the king did not hear these final words. He had passed on.
A horn sounded, as new forces arrived to help in the fight. Éomer came with his men and rode near to where Théoden and Éowyn had fallen. He stared upon the face of his sister with a mix of fury, distress and confusion.
"Éowyn, my dear sister," he said, half-whispered, "how do you come to be here? Tell me you are but a fell dream, and do not lie dead before my eyes."
Merry spoke.
"She challenged the Lord of the Nazgûl, and there he lies dead. But she was badly wounded," he said. "Théoden bid me tell you, before he died, that you are to be king in his place."
"Thank you, Master Merry," replied Éomer. "You have done well today."
Éomer motioned to a handful of guards.
"Bear Théoden King, and Lady Éowyn up to the city. They shall be given proper burials when this is over."
The nodded solemnly and obeyed, lifting the two bodies carefully and taking them to the outer gates of the city. Merry followed them, as he did not wish to leave Éowyn. Éomer rode away with the rest of his men, to help what was left of the army, to fight Mordor.
They reached the gates of the city, where Prince Imrahil was emerging with his knights. He gazed at the bodies as they lay on the bier.
"Whom do you bear, good men of Rohan?" he asked.
"Théoden, King of Rohan and Lord of the Mark," they answered.
Imrahil looked puzzled as he stared from Théoden and then at Éowyn's fair but pale face.
"But, here is no man which you bear, pray tell me her name?"
"She is Éowyn, shieldmaiden of Rohan, sister to Éomer and niece of the king. We had not known of her presence here until now."
He stared more closely at her, captivated by her beauty. He touched her soft hand.
"Men of Rohan!" he cried out, suddenly. "The Lady is alive. She is gravely hurt, but not dead. Take her with all speed to the Houses of Healing."
They made their way to the highest part of the citadel, where the Houses of Healing were. They were situated not far from the High Court of the Stewards and Kings of Gondor. Inside were beautiful, fragrant gardens full of flowers and many types of trees. The Healers had been busy, tending to the injured from the battle.
When Éowyn was brought to them, they observed her critical situation and hurriedly took her away. Her arm was badly broken, this was clear, but as for the wounds inflicted by the Witch-King, they had no knowledge of how to heal it. Merry, too, was taken care of. He had suffered maladies from the Black Captain also. He was weary; the battle with the Witch-King had been hard on both him and Éowyn.
Back down on the Pelennor Fields, Éomer and his men were struggling. The death of the Nazgûl Lord had been beneficial but they were still outnumbered. Imrahil had come to aid them with his knights but greater forces were needed, stronger forces. Then came the salvation that they had been awaiting for several days.
Trumpets sounded and a mist cleared from the battlefield.