Journey's End
Pairings: There are book pairings.
Events: This fiction is one that follows the path of Rohan through the end of the War of the Ring. Beyond the end of the story, there are chapters concerning the first few years of the Fourth Age, after the passing of the Ringbearers into the West.
Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien owns 'The Lord of the Rings' book series. Joss Whedon controls the world of Buffy. Peter Jackson and company own "The Lord of the Rings' films. We only own a part of the plot.
Summary: Buffy is summoned to fulfill an oath before she can rest in peace.
In Gratitude: Currently this thing is half-way posted! As for speculations on whom our dear Slayer is paired with, I will answer nothing now. I am not one to divulge into details and while he may seem the only choice, he remains not the only one by a distance once this battle is over! I am finally starting to feel better and getting more writing and editing done. Thankfully my daughter is recovering as well. It may take a few days before we start returning to normalcy, but at the very least I can move around for a few hours without feeling the need to sleep more.
Chapter Summary: The war for Middle-earth has begun, as one of the final battles begins.
Chapter Warning: This chapter is a mixture of the books and the film. I could not help but admire this scene in the films. I thought it did the battle justice except for a few tiny details – there was no Prince Imrahil! This part has been placed into two because the battle was far too long for one chapter. I intend to post the second-half of this chapter come morning, since I just have this lovely thing on my computer, and despise posting everything at once. Yet, these chapters (especially the second) are amongst my first in writing actual battle scenes, of which I have some pride in. Once again, I hope you enjoy.
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Chapter 15
The Battle of Pelennor Fields
Part One
By Alyson Kay
-
Through the darkness two figures sat upon dark steeds upon a hill set before the city of Minas Tirith. As the gullies dug before the city were filled with flame, great catapults sent burning rock crashing into the city walls. Great plumes of red smoke mingled with the stench from the thousands advancing on the city.
The wall set to protect the city lay directly beneath the hill along the eastward road. Great parts of the wall had been broken, the crumbled remains smoldering upon the ground. There were large trolls set along the walls, armed with hammers and they seemed hell-bent on destruction.
Buffy quietly backed Sador up several paces and scampered back down the hill. She'd seen enough, she thought with disgust as she rode to the other scout, wearing a face of disgust and examining his gloves.
She quietly told him what she'd found as they made their way back to the camp less than an hour's ride to the west.
It was deep night at the encampment as thousands of men rallied their horses into two long lines on either side of the road. In the distance they could see a great red glow. Merry glanced up in time to see two riders bearing quickly from the east. They slowed down to a halt before the King.
Dernhelm shifted before him, his eyes cast out as the King and Marshals rode forward to converse with the scouts from the city.
"The city is in flames," Buffy said in an undertone, riding up beside the King. "We can't wait anymore. They won't last much longer."
"It is maybe a three-hour ride from here," the scout said, still breathing heavily from the speed they had taken. "There are few foes along the outer wall."
"That's because they're too damned busy destroying it," Buffy growled. ""But the fields are full of them. We won't have a problem finding something to hit."
"The time has come at last," the King said, glancing at the young woman riding by his side. She gave him a curt nod, her eyes narrowing slightly. She may not know what was at stake but he was willing to bed she wouldn't stop fighting until the end.
She noticed that Éomer was the one that rode forward, surrounded by the knights of his house. "Riders of Rohan!" he shouted as all came to a halt. "Riders of the Mark! Oaths ye have taken! Now, fulfill them all, to Lord and land!"
There was a single shout from many of the men as they beat upon their shields.
The King moved to stand beside his nephew and as he did, the sky seemed to brighten slightly over their heads. Buffy glanced up as she felt a cool wind on her face and realized then the wind had switched directions. Breathing in the smoky air, she lowered her gaze to the two men sitting before her as they once again rallied their cavalry into movement.
"Éomer, my son," Théoden said, directing the movements as they continued to pass as though planning the invasion of Normandy. "You will lead the first éored behind the King's banner. Elfhelm, lead your company right after we pass the wall! Grimbold, take your company ranks left. Strike wherever the enemy gathers! Forth now, and fear no darkness!"
As they charged forward, Buffy found herself riding alongside the King. Seeing that Éomer was close-by, she decided to go for the more sarcastic approach. "And where would you place a woman?" she asked in a loud, ringing voice.
Théoden glanced at her before eyeing the riders behind him. "I should like you by my side," he said quietly so that only she could hear. "If I were to fall, you have led men in battle. They will follow you until whatever end."
"And your nephew?" she prompted, quite surprised her sarcasm wasn't picked up on. "I hardly think he'd let some woman take control of his—"
"You are not just any woman," Théoden said, and for the first time Buffy caught sight of the weight the King had been burdened to endure for all of these years. "Not since the times of old have women fought beside their men. Today, you ride for the free peoples of Middle-earth and should the time come when the great Lord of Rohan falls, I should entrust such responsibility for the one who could take it."
She considered these words for a moment before sighing, "Let's make sure you don't die, okay?" After all, this man was the reason why she'd been brought here in the first place. She wasn't going to let him die. She'd spent the past few weeks getting to know these people and she quite liked being around them.
Slowly, she turned her head around, catching the eye of the Marshals and Captains. When her eyes met Éomer's, she glanced away.
In the distance, they could hear the sounds of the drums beating.
-
A dozen great beasts came through the thickets of Orcs and wicked men, bringing with them a great rolling device bearing the flaming head of the iron wolf. As the Orcs took in the sight of their beloved hammer, Gandalf watched quietly from above. Archers were positioned along the walls, firing down the Orcs that had attempted to break through the main gates leading into the city. In the distance, more foes approached from the river, driven on by their great Captain, the leader of the Nine and his infamous lieutenant, Gothmog.
Prince Imrahil stood by Gandalf's side. "What say you?" he asked, after ordering his own archers to join those of the city's to bring down the foes. However, battalions of Orcs were climbing upon the iron axels and firing line after line to the archers shooting from above.
"We must wait," Gandalf said, his eyes cast towards the west. The sky was lightening and with it came a change in the wind. Glancing at the city burning around him, he cast his eyes back towards the tombs when great cries of "Grond! Grond! Grond!" brought his attention towards the battle field.
"Come, quickly!" he said to the Prince, and they pulled the archers from the towers and turrets. Gandalf called for the men to rally behind the gates as the Prince set off to find his own cavalry at Gandalf's request. He had said that many would not follow him, yet all seemed particularly keen to live and to listen to one who knew how to direct a battle would be wisest to come from this battle alive.
The wolf's head known as the underworld's hammer Grond struck the gates with such force the chains rattled menacingly before the trolls, out of their sheer exertion, pulled the head back to release it a second time. Lines of soldiers ran into position, lifting pikes and readying arrows.
"Steady!" Gandalf shouted as Shadowfax tossed his magnificent head. "Steady! You are soldiers of Gondor!"
Grond was released against the gates for the third time. This time, debris and chunks of wood were ripped aside as they fell to the paved ground. Gandalf lifted his eyes as the sound of the enemy intensified. Behind the wall waited a black creature and atop it, a black Knight, his sword in hand. As Grond pulled away, the exertion ripped the gate apart as the door fell in riven fragments to the ground.
Inside the broken gates rode a black creature. As the men quailed under the sight of the lord of the Nazgûl, one remained. The figure turned to spy Gandalf sitting on his horse, facing him, the staff held tightly in his grasp.
The figure would have smiled if it had had a face.
"You cannot enter here!" Gandalf shouted and the huge shadow came to a halt. "Go back to the abyss that awaits you and your master! Go!"
The Black Rider flung aside his hood and behold, he had a kingly crown upon which no visible head was set. "Do you not know death when you see it, old man?" he asked, his voice a mere hiss that seemed to rain like nails along a blade of a sword. "This is my hour!" That said, he lifted his sword and red flames ran down the blade.
Gandalf did not move. His eyes were cast upon the figure before him, yet above, through the thick clouds of smoke, a new dawn was arising. His eyes lowered.
"Fool!" the Black Rider continued in his taunt. "You have failed! The world of men will fall!"
Then, it seemed to Gandalf that a cock crowed above him and with that came a blissful glimpse of the new dawn. As if to answer the call, a new sound came from the distance. Horns. There were a great many horns, sounding beyond the foes on the fields.
Rohan had come at last.
-
The way had been perilous. Their journey had finally come to an end in the pre-dawn light before the flame-red sky in the distance. As they passed the crest of the hill, the King made the sign for the horns to blow. As the sound filled the entire valley, the air around them seemed to change.
What they saw as they came over the hill was a disaster.
Buffy felt her jaw drop. Sure, she'd seen everything just hours before when there hadn't been any light. This was different. There were more of them. She'd done a hell of a lot of things. But seeing over two hundred thousand enemies in the valley below attacking a seven-tiered city was beyond her comprehension, considering she was living on two hours of sleep the past forty eight.
The King rode slightly forward as the sounds of the horns died away.
They had ventured towards the city, riding as hard as they could. Once they came to the walls, they easily overwhelmed the few foes remaining. Buffy grinned as she had replaced her sword after a few swift blows. She returned to her place in line behind the great Captains of Éomer's line and waited as, at last, they came to the top of the hill.
In the valley below, she could see figures moving to strengthen their weak flank. There were both pikes and archers, and for this, she glanced at her own bow, her hand caressing the slender arch. Even in the darkness, her advanced sight could see the different weapons flashing in the fiery glow.
She took a deep breath and edged her horse forward. She felt the other men in the company do the same. And yet there was an air of defeat and of fear. Théoden himself seemed to shrink in stature, and Buffy glanced around and saw the look in every single set of eyes she saw.
Well, she never thought her job was easy.
Time seemed poised in uncertainty. There was heaviness in the air that couldn't be explained by anything, really. They were too late. The city was already burning.
And then, she felt it. It was a cool breeze from the north and with it came a scent she remembered a long time before – home.
A soft streak of pale gold appeared on the horizon. With it came a cool wind and a renewed sense of hope.
Buffy felt a vicious smile cross her face as she surveyed the enemy below. With the sunrise at her back, she felt as though she finally got her wish. One last California sunrise was what she'd asked for, and judging by the way the coral streaks lit up above her, she knew she'd gotten it.
With this sense of hope came a sense of extreme testosterone, she realized as she noticed the number of males beating their shields into the ground and pounding their staffs against the armor on their horses. Barbaric, yes, but also sort of… endearing in a way.
She'd have to thank whichever power brought the sun at a later date.
Tall and proud the King stood and turned to them, his voice rising above the barbaric clank of shield on metal. His voice carried far over the thousands gathered behind them and for one Slayer, she felt prouder of him now than she had at any moment. He was really starting to grow on her.
And yet his call was uplifting, rallying his men behind him. Buffy turned her own horse and stood in her own column as the orders they had been given the twilight before remained in their minds.
"Arise, riders of Théoden!" he called out, giving his sword a magnificent twirl as he turned to face his troops. "Fell deeds awake! Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered, a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!"
Buffy had to give it to him; he certainly knew how to make a speech. Her eyes spent their time assessing the strength of the enemy now gathered to take them on. But judging by the fact they were on horse-back, it really wouldn't matter.
She was going to follow the King's banner down the center. It was her own appointed task, since she could have gone dancing backwards had she asked for it. For some odd reason, they no longer questioned her motives. They trusted her to do the right thing because they had far too much else to worry about.
Théoden rode backwards then and grasped the great horn from his own appointed carrier and blew another great blast on it, followed by the blasts of other horns around them. The very ground beneath their feet trembled.
"Ride, ride now to Gondor!"
Turning back, he held out his sword to call the charge. Behind him, three columns of Rohirrim started moving forward. Buffy found herself caught up in the charge as the entire force moved downhill, the dust rising behind them blotting out the sunrise. Swords were lifted and spears were made ready. Buffy lifted her axe and held it tightly in her hand. The sun burst through the gloom behind them as the leading forces took on the long line of archers and pikes in the front lines of the Orc ahead. The King led the stampede and not even his strongest knights could overtake him.
The moment the forces clashed, it was a deluge of horses pounding and spears flashing. The joy of battle was on them as they fought and slew, breaking the lines of Mordor. The flank led by Grimbold swept to the river, leading many with him. Buffy stayed with the King's company, her own axe flashing through the bright light now spilling into the valley.
The progression forward slowed as more enemies came, and not just Orcs.
-
Sitting on the top tower of Minas Tirith, the Lord of the Nazgûl gazed out at the brilliant sunlight pouring onto Pelennor Fields. Fortune had betrayed him at the moment, but he wasn't out of ideas yet. His arm was long and his mind was cold. These forces had one man at their helm and they would crumble without him. He was still in command. It was time to show these beings that there were still great weapons to use. He left the Gate and vanished, his creature rising into the sky.
-
With the arrival of the Rohirrim, Prince Imrahil set out for Gandalf at once, all of the men that could be spared riding out from the city. Those that remained behind now fought back the many foes that had charged past the destroyed gates after the Black Rider had suddenly taken to the air.
Gandalf was waiting for him, giving the order for all women and children to leave the city. Still, great balls of flaming rock descended upon many and there was a cry as women and children fled from the first level. Turning Shadowfax, he cried out, "Fight! Fight to the last man! Fight for your lives!"
"Gandalf!" Prince Imrahil said, finally riding next to the Wizard, his sword in hand. "The Rohirrim are fighting on the fields of Gondor! We must gather all the strength that we can find!"
"Go, take command in the Lord's absence," Gandalf advised him, before coming about to beat back the newest foes charging towards him. Above at the outer wall, the great war machines had opened and hundreds of Orcs were now fighting with all that remained of the guards. The Nazgûl circled high above the city, still a formidable threat. Turning his eyes back to the present matter, he rode onwards until he heard a smaller voice shouting at him from a distance.
"Gandalf! Gandalf!"
It was Pippin. Frowning slightly, Gandalf turned Shadowfax about to face the young Hobbit, his face red from exertion as he came, breathing hard, to Gandalf's side.
"What are you doing here? Get back up to the Citadel, quickly!" Gandalf said, hoping to dismiss the Hobbit quickly and return to rouse the men into battle. But Pippin refused to budge, his face alight with horror as Gandalf took a second look at the younger being, frowning slightly. Something was amiss. "What is it?"
"Denethor has lost his mind!" Pippin cried. "Something terrible may happen up there! I fear for Faramir. He is not dead, yet they may still burn him alive!"
"What of this?" Gandalf asked. "Speak quickly!"
Pippin only had a few seconds to tell his tale before a great roar emerged from behind them. Prince Imrahil was leading a charge through the broken gates, his banner waving in the air.
"Come now," he said, pulling Pippin onto Shadowfax before him. "Up, quickly!"
"Will you not come, Mithrandir?" the Prince asked, turning back as his knights sped through the gates.
"I will come," Gandalf replied. "I have one errand to see to quickly. Go, and make haste!"
The parties separated as Gandalf rode as hard as he dared through the broken, smoldering streets of Minas Tirith.
-
Two main forces of Rohirrim were now coming onto the Fields. As the King sought out new foes, his knights circling around him, Buffy watched the rearguard, as this was the position she was most used to. She didn't want to leave the King behind, but they were so far outnumbered, she didn't have the time to think. They certainly didn't have any shortage of enemies to strike down, that was for certain.
Sador darted left and right as Buffy wove her way cleanly through the Orc. There were new enemies approaching from the river and Buffy and her guards were among the first to see them. She rode forward, made for the lieutenant, Éoran, to blow his horn and summon what forces remained in the rear of the King's banner to charge the enemy swarming in from the south. Turning, she held her axe tightly in her hand and made forward, digging sharply into Sador's ribs as the horse came about.
They were the Haradrim foot soldiers, and as they came to pass, the rearguard swept quickly through them once before doubling back. Turning back, they charged again, this time meeting more resistance. A single banner was floating in the breeze and when Buffy felt the enemies clear the path ahead of her, she saw Théoden fighting one-on-one with another group of men swarming upwards – the Southrons. Buffy twirled her axe in the air and shouted to her own group and they came forward. Pushing forward, she easily cleaved off one helmet before jabbing the blunt end of her axe into another helmet before swinging herself off of Sador to kick a third figure away from her horse.
Pulling herself back onto Sador, she continued to fight off the enemy that seemed to be in never ending supply.
On the other side of the King, Dernhelm was fighting his own battle, Merry the Hobbit in his lap as their horse twisted and turned this way and that, paring with their swords. As they realized that they were being wiped out more quickly than they had wanted, they all turned and fled, the cavalry laid to waste.
A great shrieking cry sounded above them then, and the morning's light was blotted out. Buffy glanced up just as the King sent out his rallying cry.
"Rally to me!" he cried out. "To me!"
Something hard hit the edge of Sador and both horse and rider were tossed off-balance. As Sador reared, Buffy barely held on, trying to calm down her steed with soothing words. She barely missed the tip of a large black wing as it skimmed inches above her head.
A great shadow descended from the sky and a beast came upon Snowmane. As the beast twisted around, Snowmane dropped from its grasp, the King falling beneath his own horse. The rest of the guards started to flee, but were cut down by forces rallying to their great captain. Dernhelm watched with terrified eyes as his King was dropped brutally.
Buffy didn't have much of a choice. The enemies were growing again and she made her own call to the guard as they turned to sweep the defenses. As much as she hated to abandon the King to the winged beast and the Ringwraith atop it, she couldn't. There wasn't enough time. The foes were already cutting her off from the place where the King had fallen and she had little choice but to fight her way towards him.
She closed her eyes and pulled back, bringing the others with her.
Dernhelm on the other hand was forced to abandon his horse when it reared, tossing both he and Merry from the steed. He landed hard, yet his eyes were alert. He saw horses running around, all with a hint of chaos as they fought off the enemies pressing around them. He raised her eyes and saw the reason he was staying. It was the black winged creature hovering over his Uncle, his beloved King. Pulling out his sword, he threw herself in front of the creature with a snarl.
On top of the creature was a hooded a figure with a black mace in his hand, wielding it as a torch as he stared at the forsaken figures strewn on the ground around their King. Until his eyes fell on a smaller figure who had just hurled into position before his creature, the sword flashing in the light returning to day.
"Be gone," the figure said, holding out his sword, "and leave the dead in peace."
A little ways away, Merry sat up, coughing as he glanced at the dead men and horses lying around him. As his eyes rested upon Dernhelm, his heart sang for surely this man was still alive. But he was standing before the winged creature. The Hobbit got to his feet and glanced at the creature now directly in front of him. This figure alone was defending the remains of the King, and Merry found within himself the courage to take one step forward. He knew he couldn't leave his King behind, yet there was blackness in his mind. Then, through this darkness, he thought he heard Dernhelm speaking, and yet the voice seemed strangely familiar to him somehow.
"Do not come between the Nazgúl and his prey," the voice snarled as the creature lifted its dark head, two-inch long teeth glittering in the sunlight.
"I will kill you if you touch him," Dernhelm repeated, holding his sword out. There was no mistaking the fear in the eyes under the helmet, but there was strength there, courage too.
"You fool," the Lord of the Nazgúl hissed. "No living man can hinder me."
Merry's eyes widened when he heard a much different sound; laughter. The clear voice was like a ring of steel as a gloved hand reached up and removed the shining helm. "I am no man," she said, and there was deep pride in her eyes as the helmet fell aside. "I am but Éowyn, daughter of Éomund. You look upon a woman, and not the only that fights in this valley, lo! For living or darkness undead, I will still kill you if you touch him!"
The winged creature screamed at her, but the Ringwraith made no sound, as though doubtful of the creature before him. She stood there, glistening like gold, her sword raised in her hand, her eyes no longer holding fear. Very amazement conquered Merry's own fear, as something the Dagnir had said returned to him. His eyes opened and truly the darkness vanished. Such an innocent creature shouldn't die so beautiful and so alone. Summoning within him his courage, he pulled out his own sword and clasped it in his hand.
The beast gave a great cry and reared its large wings and struck. Éowyn lifted her sword and with a ferocious cry, she leapt away from the creature, drawing it from the King's body beneath her feet. She struck out with her sword and clove its hideous neck asunder. Backward she leapt as the creature fell to ruin, and with the fall of its wings, the shadow passed away. A light fell around her as she lowered her sword, breathing hard. From behind the shield sticking partially into the ground, Merry peered over and saw Éowyn move and collect a spare shield lying at her feet. Her eyes held some fear in them as she watched the cloaked figure move upwards from the body of the shadowed creature.
With a cry of hatred that stung every ear like venom he swung his mace. Éowyn ducked and twisted away, bounding over the fallen Snowmane. She cried out as she rolled away from a second attack and lunged backwards from a third. On the fourth roll, the mace shattered the shield she carried, and the force snapped her arm, breaking it. She screamed in pain as she fell to her knees, but a black hand reached forth and took her by the chin, forcing her to look up into a non-existent gaze.
The Ringwraith raised his mace to kill.
Merry came forward then, stabbing forth his blade of Westernesse through the black armor behind the knee. The mace shot went wild and his hand released Éowyn's tender throat as she collapsed back onto the form of Snowmane, gasping as her senses returned. Glancing up, she saw the figure twist before seizing her own sword. With a triumphant cry, she thrust forward into the black face, the hood falling away as the crown shattered and exploded.
Her strength spent, Éowyn fell over the body of the foe. She felt a sob somewhere deep inside of herself as she saw the Hobbit collapsing across from her. "Merry?" she asked weakly. "Merry…" Both of her arms were useless, one broken and the other feeling as though it had been ripped from her very figure. She lifted eyes as she turned, struggling on her knees as she reached her King. "No…" she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I will not lot you…"
Her strength gone, she collapsed on the body of her King, her golden hair blowing lightly in the wind.
Merry forced himself up, collapsing on his right arm. Rising, he stared at his arm, which felt numb and cold from the shoulder. He stumbled until he fell down to his knees beside his King. His hand gently reached out to touch the golden head at her King's feet, yet she did not stir. He turned back and reached out his own hand to touch the King's face.
His eyes slowly fluttered open as his broken gaze lifted to meet Merry's. "Farewell, dear Hobbit," he said, his voice shaken from the extent of his injuries. "My body has been broken. I go now to my Father's, in whose might company I shall not now feel ashamed. This is a grim morn, a glad day and will be a golden sunset."
Merry couldn't speak. He just bent his face to his lord's shoulder and wept. "Forgive me," he said, raising tear-filled eyes to the body before him. "I broke your command and have done nothing in your presence but to weep at your parting."
The old king smiled. "Grieve not! It is all forgiven, young Hobbit." He closed his eyes and his breath became more tight and full of pain. Merry bent down to better hear him. "Where is Éomer? For my eyes darken, and I would wish to see him before I pass. You must do one thing for me… send word to Éowyn…" His eyes fluttered shut again as Merry cast a panicky look towards the figure lying on the dying man's legs.
"My Lord," he said sadly. "She…" His words failed him as the figure breathed once more before remaining still beneath his touch. With wide, terrified eyes, he pulled away, just as a great host of riders came forward.
Merry had almost forgotten that there was still a great battle being waged. He heard the sounds of metal clinking on metal growing closer before he moved away.
But not before the riders came forward, led by the woman.
Buffy had done everything in her power to return to the spot where the King had fallen. But the enemies' number had been far greater than her original count, and soon she was calling for help as her men fell one after another. Why they had made her a captain, she wouldn't know. After a grueling fight, she was joined by none other than the First Marshal, and they immediately went to the place where the King had fallen.
They both leapt from their steeds, staring at the extent of the damage around them. Buffy felt her eyes widen as she saw Théoden lying on the ground, broken, bloody and pale. "No," she said softly, feeling a strong urge to run forward just as another arm held her back. "No!"
Éomer stood above his Uncle, his proud eyes cast downwards. He knew the men and could tell everyone their names. It was then his eyes fell onto a shining golden head. "What madness is this?" he gasped, pushing forward. Buffy pushed the arm aside and ran to Éomer's side, bending down over the figure of the King. And, at his feet, her hair blowing in the breeze, was Éowyn.
"Oh, my God," Buffy gasped, pulling back as Éomer let out a loud cry, one that all could hear.
Feeling as though her breath was caught in her throat, she saw Éomer take his sister into his arms, tears of anger, pain and regret flashing through his features.
"Éowyn, no," she gasped, dropping down before the pair, her gloved hand moving to touch the woman's pale cheek. She lifted grieving eyes to meet Éomer's, and the First Marshal looked away before gently settling her to the ground.
Buffy rose to her feet, feeling every breath pass as an eternity as she looked all around her for some explanation as to how this sister could have ridden to war with them. Had Buffy known, she would have made certain Éowyn was right beside her! Instead, she saw something else rippling on the ground from the brisk wind. Rushing forward, she stooped and lifted the great banner from the hand of the dead knight carrying it. She took it in both hands and closed her eyes, feeling the great power of this people through the single banner. She turned and glanced at the First Marshal.
There was a sound next to them and she turned her head to see Théoden beckoning at her. "Give… to him…" he rasped, the light dying in his eyes. "Long may… he defend… as King." His eyes drifted to her. A slight smile came to his face before he released his final breath and died on the ground.
She turned to Éomer and handed him the banner. "It belongs to you now," she said, acting on the King's last wishes. "You're the King."
He took it from her, their hands meeting briefly. He could see in her eyes that she was no longer afraid. She was angry. She was damned angry. Turning, she raced back to Sador and pulled herself back onto her horse. Seeing the new King standing before her, she turned to issue the order.
"We stop at nothing!" she shouted, pulling out her axe again. "Do you hear me? We stop for nothing!" She turned to Éomer, still staring at the body of his fallen Uncle and sister. "They'll take care of them," she said softly, dropping her hand on his shoulder. "They need you now. They need their King."
He met her eyes and once again saw the same strength and resilience. No wonder his Uncle trusted her. No wonder the men trusted her. She was a pillar of strength and courage when little existed. He gave her a curt nod as she turned about, prying the horn from her hand. "Form ranks!" she shouted out, issuing the appropriate order as she would as Captain.
Éomer came to her side on his own steed, his eyes dark as he glared at the enemy swarming forward. After one last, tense glance, he lifted his voice, "Ride! Ride to ruin, and the world's ending!"
"Death!" the men cried, throwing their horses forward as the second great charge was called, dust rising all about them.
Merry watched as a small group of soldiers remained behind to pick up the pieces of what remained.
Yet as the great brigade rode forward, their present halted suddenly at the great sight looming before them – the mûmakil. For a moment, the entire defense of the Rohirrim gathered, pressing around their leader. He glanced to his counsel, yet he saw the same determination in her eyes he felt in himself. It was now or never.
One way or another, this battle was going to end.
-
It does not really make much sense to explain what will happen next... alas, the battle ends and the healing begins.