Verse VII

We have waited

So long

For all the threads to be woven

For all the songs to be sung

They knew.

Both of them.

With the certainty, that the knowledge of fate brings, they had known, that time would finally claim its own. Enmity long harbored spun into a catharsis at last, and both could not deny the hour had come.

Gandalf tore the reigns of Shadowfax. Pippin, sitting behind him, screaming in fear as the black beast approached, was gone, and so was the mortal peril of the sun of the Steward, that had sent him racing up the circles of the city under siege.

Gone was Mordor and gone was Gondor.

All that remained was him, and the beast.

He did not even see the little bundle that the wingbeast was carrying, discarding it like a toy as it toppled over on the cobblestones of the gondorian street, before it came to lie still, motionless, on the onmoving stone.

And so it began...

Pippin jumped off Shadowfax as Gandalf took to advance on the witch king. He had not failed to see the determination, with which the enemies had faced each other, a confrontation, that would crush him, if he dared to intrude. But he, unlike Gandalf, had noticed the bundle that had fallen to the earth, and with sudden terror, he was sure to have recognized the green and gold of Rohan.

A rider...

Ducking into the pathways on the side of the streets, he passed the opponents, that had taken on battle, the swords being only the outward signs of a fight, that was going deeper than physical conflict. Nimbly, he hurried towards what was definitely a human being, stirring softly and in pain.

It was only, when he was very close that he understood, who was standing before him.

„Eowyn of Rohan!"

The stern Lady of the Golden Hall, cool and sad, now lay here on the street, moving barely as he touched her shoulder.

„Wake up!"

He shook her, and suddenly, she opened her eyes, wide and in terror. Only a moment later, she focussed on him, breathing deeply.

„Is he gone...?" Her voice was small, timid, scared even unbefitting of the Rohan lady.

Pippin turned around to gaze behind himself, then shook his head.

„No. He is fighting Gandalf..."

„Oh", she whispered, still not herself, and the hobbit could see she was trembling. But there was no time for this, not now, not in this battle that would claim the life of what was left of the house of Madil, if he would not do anything.

„Eowyn, I need your help!"

That brought some life back to her eyes, the prospect of being able to do something. She tried to sit up, Pippin helping as well as he could.

„What?"

„Denethor. He.. .he's trying to burn Faramir!"

She tilted her head slightly, puzzled, as she tried to figure out what he was talking about. Faintly, through the haze, she remembered the names familiar even in Rohan and nodded.

„The stewart..." she stammered. „... his son..."

Pippin nodded, impatiently.

„Yes, yes, we have to go!"

She shook her head, trying to chase away the dizzyness and the stench, that still had not fully left her nostrils. She got up, clumsily, swaying on her feet as she finally stood. Pippin did not wait for her to recover, but took her arm and drew her forward, through the alien stone city, two foreigners racing to save the lords of the city.

Eowyn still felt utterly drained, moving more by instinct then by her own, free decision, but still, she was moving, one agonizing step after another. The stone houses of the stone city raced by, imprisoning her, but she did not care.

There was a prison of another's making that would not let her go.