Disclaimer: I am so sick of writing these things. I can't come up with anything new to say so I'll leave it at this. Ditto to all I have said in my past disclaimers.

A/N: Some new parts to this chapter.

Chapter 21: Broken Swords

            When Éowyn awoke again, it was shortly before sunrise. She could see a faint glow coming up over the horizon and on to the Pelennor Fields. She noticed her sword lying on a table near the door; the memories of her battle with the Witch-King flooded back to her. The voices came back into her mind, echoing. She wanted so much to block them out, but it was impossible. She found herself back on the battlefield, the Witch-King laughing at her.

"Hinder me! Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!"

"But no living man am I!"

Removing her helm, she had seen the look of horror on the face of her foe, this satisfied her. She had stood fast against its terrible creature. She had hewed its head and watched it fall. But the Witch-King had turned on her, sword poised to attack. A blow came down upon her shield arm, pain shot through her body, numbness followed. The King of Angmar now stood above her once more, but a shriek only came from him. She saw him falter, Merry stood behind him, blood now covering his sword.

"Now, Éowyn!" he cried. "You must kill him now."

She thrust the blade upwards, between mantle and crown. Her sword shattered into tiny pieces, the Nazgûl fell, defeated. Darkness. Nothing more she remembered.

Her eyes grew clearer, as if waking from a deep slumber. Her senses returned to her gradually. A thought flashed across her mind. She must find Merry, to thank him. In all of the action during her fight, she had forgotten that he had been there, had helped her, had broken the ancient spell from long ago. Without his help, she could not have defeated the Lord of the Nazgûl, one of the most feared creatures of darkness. She placed the sword back on the table and left her room.

Merry was sitting quietly in the gardens when Éowyn found him. He had been watching the colours of the sky change as it grew lighter. When he saw Éowyn approaching, he immediately stood up and bowed low.

"Master Meriadoc," she said. "I have been searching for you but could not find you in your room. I have wanted to thank you for all that you have done for me, on the Pelennor Fields. You saved my life and I am eternally grateful to you."

She smiled warmly at him. The young hobbit felt is cheeks flush crimson.

"You are embarrassed, my little friend," laughed Éowyn. "Do not be so, for there is no need. You are worthy of this praise and should be proud of what you did. Few saw what occurred against the King of Angmar but I saw the bravery you carried against him. Do you know of the ancient prophecy, Merry?"

Merry shook his head. "No, my lady, what does it say?"

"Long ago, an elf named Glorfindel spoke of the fall of the King of Angmar in a fierce battle against him. He spoke these words to Eärnur, Captain of Gondor. 'Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall'. I faced the Witch-King, and I saw the fear in his eyes. He, too, had heard these words, long ago, the words of his downfall. Words he would wish to forget, but could not. He remembered when I told him, 'no living man am I'. These words wrought fear into his heart. Little did I know then of their significance to him. I dwelt on them, however, after the battle was done."

"What has this to do with me, lady?" asked Merry, still confused. "You killed the Nazgûl, not I. It was your sword which smite him."

Éowyn smiled. "Do you know of the history of your sword, young Merry?" she asked. Merry pondered for a while before speaking.

"I was told that it was forged by the Men of Westernesse."

Éowyn smiled again. "And what do you know of the Men of Westernesse?"

Merry thought again. "They were also called the Númenóreans, the first line of Men in Middle Earth."

"That is right," said Éowyn, nodding. "They were a great race but fell to the King of Angmar. They were the most ancient of enemies to the King but he proved to be their downfall. But in turn, they would prove to be his. Glorfindel knew of the ancient magic that still remained of the once glorious civilisation. That magic was at work during our battle. You held that magic in your blade. The only magic which would break the spell upon the Witch-King, the spell that made him invincible."

She gazed at Merry's blade.

"How otherwise could you explain why your blade is in tact and mine lies shattered." Éowyn appeared saddened by her last comment but turned to him and smiled.

"You deserve the praise more than I, Master Merry and I shall not be the one to deny it to you."

"You deserve as much praise as I," said Merry, confidently. "I watched you against him, defending Théoden. I had never seen such courage."

Éowyn went pink and laughed a little but said nothing.

Just then, Faramir entered the garden, having just woken up. He stared at Merry and then at Éowyn, as he had never seen either of them before. Merry reminded him of the little people who had come with Gandalf, but Éowyn was what fascinated him.

She was as beautiful and radiant as the sun rising behind them, her golden hair shone in the morning light, her eyes were so vibrant a blue of anything he had ever seen. 'Was she just a dream, an angel?' he thought. 'Or was she real, was she there in the garden?' He approached them now.

"Good morning," he said politely. "I do not think that we have met, as if we had, I am sure I would not forget," he said, addressing Éowyn now.

She was already blushing and this comment had made her even redder. She lowered her head to hide her face. Faramir simply glowed; his smile was so broad. Éowyn looked at him now.

"I am Éowyn, shieldmaiden and Lady of Rohan, sister to King Éomer; and this is Master Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Éowyn, Master Meriadoc. I am Captain Faramir of the Ithilien Rangers, younger son of the late Denethor, Steward of Gondor."



A/N: Don't you just love Faramir's very suave entrance and introduction? I thought that if Aragorn was going to fall in love with Éowyn, then he had better have some decent competition. And Faramir won't go down without a fight, I promise you that. Look at the difference between Aragorn's description of Éowyn and Faramir's. They are similar in a way; both refer to her as appearing to be a dream. But our ever so sensitive Aragorn sees past the mere beauty to the pain behind it, her dark past whereas Faramir looks at her beauty, he is smitten with her. She is the epitome of beauty. He thinks that she is the most beautiful creature in the whole of Middle Earth (aww, cute). Aragorn sees that and more in her. He knows her past, her pain, and sees beyond her outward appearance (All those years in Rivendell have taught him to read minds and souls and understand people. Damn elvish methods of telepathy! Never a secret to be kept with those damn blue eyes!)