A/N: Songfiction based around the song, 'Missing', by Evanescence. Éowyn struggles to be noticed in a world of men and soldiers. Book-based and the alternate ending to this scene that Tolkien originally wrote. Mainly Éowyn's POV of all that happened from the departure of Aragorn to the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, and her thoughts of those she loves most during that time.
Disclaimer: The characters and some of the lines are Tolkien's brilliance. The song 'Missing' is the work of Amy Lee and Ben Moody from Evanescence, even though he's left.
Dedication: This story is written for a dear friend of mine, in celebration of her birthday. Georgina Grey (1989- 2004) who touched so many hearts and brought smiles to so many faces. May you rest in peace…
* * *
BROKENÉowyn wandered the silent hall of Meduseld. A ghost, she was, robed in white, gliding through the corridors. Nothing stirred. All was still. A dark shadow, foreboding, hung over the Golden Hall that night. Her mind was shadowed also. Fear and doubt gripped her, and resentment. Aragorn was leaving to take the Paths of the Dead. He was deserting them, when he was most needed. He was casting his life away needlessly.
A figure came into sight, in the hallway ahead of her. It was Aragorn. A rush of anger filled her, and she glared with such fire at him.
"Aragorn, you are a fool to travel the Paths of the Dead," she said. "Why will you go on this deadly road?"
"Because I must," he said.
"Then let me ride with you," she said. "I have no wish to remain always. I wish to see battle."
"Your duty is with your people," said Aragorn.
Éowyn's eyes flashed dangerously. Duty. How she loathed that word. He was not bound as she. He was free to roam this world. His destiny was far greater than hers would ever be. She would always remain a child in his eyes, in the eyes of her uncle. But she was not a child.
"Too often have I heard of duty," she said angrily. "I am not a child, nor am I weak. I am of the House of Eorl, a shieldmaiden of Rohan. Am I free to choose my own path and travel it?"
"Few may do that with honour," said Aragorn. "But you, lady, did you not accept the charge of governing your people, as your lord requested? If you had not been chosen, the some other captain would have been given the same charge. He could not go and fight, whether he chose to or no."
Éowyn's fury magnified. Is that my purpose, as a woman? I appear to have no purpose, although I am capable of the same as any man. Why does he not see that?
"Shall I always be chosen?" said Éowyn bitterly. "Shall I always be left behind when the Riders depart? They will gain renown and glory, while I shall prepare the beds and food for their return."
"There may come a time soon when none will return," said Aragorn. "A time for valour without renown. And no one will remember those deeds done in the last defence of their homes. And although these deeds shall not be praised, they are no less valiant than those on the battlefield."
"All that your words say is: you are a woman, and your place is in the home. But when all the men are gone, all the houses burned, what shall be my purpose? When all is lost, what can I do as one who has nothing left to fight for? I can ride and wield a blade as well as any, and I fear neither pain nor death."
"What do you fear, my lady?" asked Aragorn.
"A cage," said Éowyn.
Please, please forgive me
But I won't be home againMaybe someday you'll have woke up
And barely conscious you'll say to no one
Isn't something missing
* * *
Éowyn stood atop the steps of Meduseld, dressed as a rider, her resting of the hilt of her sword. She was looking down at the soldiers gathered below. How she longed to ride with them to battle. She needed to get away from this place. Aragorn stood with the men, talking with Legolas and Gimli. He gazed up at her, standing there, a stone statue cast against the early morning sky. She walked inside the hall now, and over to a table, on which sat a golden goblet filled with wine. She lifted it from the table, taking it outside and down the steps to where Aragorn was standing. She took a sip from the cup.
"I wish you well on your journey," she said. "May you return from the shadows swiftly and safely."
She offered the cup to Aragorn, who also took a sip.
"Farewell, Lady of Rohan," he said. "I drink to the fortunes of your House, and of you, and of all your people. Say to your brother: beyond the shadows we may meet again."
Éowyn felt a mixed feeling of anger and grief as she stood before him. She fought back hard the tears which came to her eyes. She would not let him see a shieldmaiden of Rohan weep. But a single tear escaped her, rolling slowly down her cheek. Aragorn reached a hand to her face and wiped it gently away.
"Aragorn, wilt thou go?" she asked him.
"I will," he replied.
Éowyn knew. She may never see him again. The man she loved so deeply, had hurt her so much, would pass from her life to another. Where his heart lay. With the elf princess, Arwen. He would forget her, but she could never forget him.
"Then wilt thou not let me ride with this company, as I have asked?"
"I will not, lady," he said. "For that I could not grant without the leave of the king and of your brother; and they will not return until tomorrow. But I count now every hour, indeed every minute. Farewell."
She would have followed him to death and beyond. But he would not let her. There was so pain and bitterness between them after the night before. She had stormed off when he had denied her leave to go with him. And now he had denied her again to ride with the company. She fell to her knees.
"I beg thee," she cried.
"Nay, lady," he said, raising her up and kissing her hand before he mounted his horse.
Éowyn stared after him, her heart shattered before her feet. What reason had she to say? What purpose did she have here? This was not where she belonged. This was not her destiny.
You won't cry for my absence I know
You forgot me long ago
Am I that unimportant?
Am I so insignificant?
Isn't something missing
Isn't someone missing me
* * *
She wanted to be recognized, not as a Lady, but as a Shieldmaiden of Rohan. She carried the title but had won no glory in battle. She did not know her purpose at Meduseld. She felt out of place. She felt trapped. Caged. She had not wish to sit by and watch as everyone she loved rode off to certain death. She would go with them in disguise. If she couldn't gain recognition in battle as herself, then it would have to be under another alias.
For long days, they rode to Minas Tirith. Merry had no knowledge of her true identity. This was pleasing to her. He could not expose or reveal her to the king. The host of Mordor stood before them. Thousands of cavalry surrounded her and Merry, all waiting for the signal to charge on the enemy. The hors sounded, and the Rohirrim descended upon the foe, swift and deadly.
The sounds of swords clanging, horses neighing, men shouting. The thud and slight splash as men and horses fell down into the mud around them. Éowyn swung her sword, slewing orcs on all sides. Windfola bore them both, knowing her will and pre-empting her actions.
Suddenly, before the remaining Rohirrim, appeared the deadliest of foes, the Witch-King of Angmar. The beast let out a terrible scream. Windfola reared up, tossing Éowyn and Merry from his back. His fell beast swooped down upon Théoden and snatched his horse, Snowmane, impaling him with his claws. She saw Théoden fall from his horse, crushed beneath the great stallion as he was released from the grip.
Éowyn was filled with such fury, and such grief. Seeing her uncle lying there, still as stone. All she had fought for seemed pointless if her king was dead. But she could not betray of forsake her people a last defence. She ran forth and stood before the monster. She stood alone.
Even though I'm the sacrifice
You won't try for me, not now
Though I'd die to know you love me
I'm all alone
Isn't something missing
Isn't someone missing me
* * *
"Begone, foul dwimmerlaik; lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!"
She stood now before the great beast, and its rider; a black hooded character. The air was suddenly cold as he let out a rattling screech.
"Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or thy flesh will be borne, alive, to be devoured by the Lidless Eye."
The Witch-King spoke in a cold tone. She felt all warmth drained from her and the space around her. She spoke clearly and confidently, defiant against him.
"Do what you will, but I will hinder it if I may," said Éowyn defiantly.
She was alone; she knew that. She drew her sword and faced him now. There was nothing to loose, she would not allow this foul creature to take her uncle from her.
A shrill laugh came from the Black Captain. It chilled her blood.
"Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!"
She laughed back.
"But no living man am I! Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter."
She threw back her helm. It was time to claim her glory. It was time to fight, to show her true identity, to reveal her skills. The Witch-King halted, as if in doubt of his fate. A screech came from the fell beast.
"You stand between me and my lord and kin," cried Éowyn, grasping her sword firmly in her hands. "Begone, if you be not deathless. For living or dark undead, I will smite you if you touch him."
The Nazgûl beast swooped down on her.
'I must not show mercy! I shall not give in to him!' she thought.
She hewed the beast's head and watched as it fell to the ground. The body followed. Out of the dead carcass rose the Witch-King. He raised his sword and struck at her, shattering her shield. Her arm was broken, her body weak. The Witch-King stood over her and raised his black sword.
Please, please forgive me
But I won't be home again
I know what you do to yourself
I breathe deep and cry out
Isn't something missing
Isn't someone missing me* * *
But he stumbled; something had struck him. She saw Merry, blade drawn, behind the Nazgûl.
"Now, Éowyn!" His shouts drowned out by the screams of the Nazgûl. "You must kill him now!"
She brought herself up with all of her strength and, grasping her sword tightly, she drove it between the mantle and crown on the Witch-King's head. It fell away, hollow and black. A deadly quiet settled over the Pelennor and the Witch-King fell lifeless to the ground. The host of Mordor fled at the sight of their captain, fallen.
"Éowyn, Éowyn," came a cry. "You killed him. You killed the Witch-King."
It was Merry. He rushed to her side, his face beaming down on her. But she did not move. Her eyes had grown dark. The pain surged in her arm and throughout her whole body. A tear slid down her cheek.
"Éowyn, everything will be fine now," said Merry urgently. "You are going be taken care of."
But Éowyn could no longer render anything. She was falling, falling fast. Into darkness, into death. She was in a state of despair. She could no light to reach for, no dawn for her. Nothing, only black. She could now only Merry's voice ever so faintly calling to her from, as it seemed, so far away. But she had no voice to call back to him. She wanted to say something, but there was nothing to say.
She would die here, alone. Aragorn would not know; if he lived at all. She would die for him.
Even though I'm the sacrifice
You won't try for me, not now
Though I'd die to know you love me
I'm all alone
Isn't someone missing me
* * *
Merry saw Éomer riding over to where the two bodies now lay, and he stood with them. Théoden had instructed him to tell Éomer that he was now King of Rohan in his place. But his eyes were still blurred from crying.
Éomer dismounted and approached the little hobbit. His face was muddy and his expression tired. He saw Merry standing there, teary-eyed. He saw the bodies lay near him. He saw his uncle, Théoden. And then, he saw a thing that tore his heart out. He saw Éowyn.
"Éowyn! Éowyn!" he cried out. "How have you come here?"
"S-she is dead, my lord," sobbed Merry.
Éomer was paralysed with shock and grief. The pain of her death was something he could not bear.
"No, no," he cried. "Say it is not true. Say this is some devilry. It cannot be so."
He reached out a hand and brushed a strand of golden hair from her face. As he did this, he touched her skin. It was cold. He stood up, his face stern.
"She must be taken to the city, with my uncle," he said. "She will have a proper burial when this is done."
And if I bleed, I'll bleed
Knowing you don't care
And if I sleep just to dream of you
And wake without you there
Isn't something missing
Isn't something…
* * *
Thousands had gathered in the streets of the city as the bodies of Théoden, King of Rohan, and Lady Éowyn were borne down from the citadel, accompanied by a glorious entourage. Éomer King rode at the front of the procession, beside him, King Elessar, both with morose faces. Gandalf followed, with Legolas and Gimli, and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Faramir, Steward of the City, young Master Meriadoc, teary-eyed, came after. The three remaining hobbits then came, with the soldiers of Rohan and Gondor, the Elves of Rivendell, Lord Elrond and Lady Arwen amongst them, and of Lothlórien, Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.
To see so many people gathered to watch the funeral processional of his uncle and sister made Éomer weep. To see how many people Éowyn had touched in the short period of her life. Even those whom she did not know, or had not known her, knew what she had given in her time. And to pay homage to his uncle, King of Rohan, who had come out of darkness a short time ago, only to fall once more, beyond all help.
They followed the pyres as they were carried through the streets of the city, poignant, dressed in black, morning the loss of two such great figures. Heroes they were, in the eyes of all. They had sacrificed themselves, as had so many other soldiers. The loss of Rohan's king, and his niece, one so young, was a harsh blow for the country.
Théoden was taken to Edoras, and was buried along side his son. Beside him, was made another grave, for Éowyn. The message etched on the stone door of the tomb read: Éowyn, daughter of Éomund. Lady of the Shield-arm, slayer of the Nazgûl, and avenger of Théoden King. Ferơu Steelsheen. Simbelmynë ever grew on the burial mounds through all seasons, for many years. Many came to visit the tombs over time, mourning the loss of their beloved shieldmaiden. Her body did not enter this tomb, however.
Years later, beneath a tree near the city walls of Minas Tirith in the Houses of Healing, stood Aragorn Elessar, King of Gondor. His face was lined with age, flecks of grey in his hair. A breeze blew softly through the trees as Aragorn laid a single white rose on a plaque under the tree, that could almost not be seen from the grass that had grown over it. On this plaque were the words:
Here lies the body of Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan
You were my light in the darkness,
You were my hope in despair,
You were my joy in sorrow,
May I be your life in death.
His message carried across the breeze, a lament for a love long lost, never known by any except he, but living forever in his heart.
"Farewell, my shieldmaiden."
Even though I'm the sacrificeYou won't try for me, not now
Though I'd die to know you love me
I'm all alone
Isn't something missing
Isn't someone missing me
* * *
Special Note: This has been something I have been working on since last year, when I started writing my fanfictions. In January, early this year, a friend of mine passed away at only 14. I have dedicated this to her.
A/N: I hope you all liked this. A very angsty piece, but you know me; it's part of the trademark ;)
Goodbye and goodnight,
Mousie2