Disclaimer: LotR belongs to Professor Tolkien, not me.

Last King of the Mark
by Dernhelm

I.

I look at the shape lying on the trampled ground. I stare, stricken, at that familiar, so beloved face as questions and riddles flood my thought. How? How can this be? How did she come here? What madness is this to deceive my eyes so? My mind cannot understand this devilry yet my heart already screams in my chest, tearing itself apart with this unexpected pain. I fall to my knees beside my sister's lifeless form. I cannot speak. I can only weep, cradling her still form in my arms. Slowly my tears cease to flow and unimaginable wrath builds up inside me. I feel my anger overpower all reason. My voice now regained I speak.

'Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world's ending!'

II.

'The Corsairs of Umbar! The Corsairs are upon us!'

I hear the cries of my men and the blackness is lifted from my mind. Able to think clearly once more, I finally see that my fury has indeed betrayed me. Weare surrounded and more than thrice outnumbered. No aid can reach us from Mundburg as the Műmakil charge towards us and new forces arrive every moment from the East. And now , now even the wind has turned against us, giving speed to the ships and bringing our doom yet closer. This it seems, is the end. I am to be the last King of the Mark. Well then I would have folk remember me by this last stand, here on a green hillock, a great shield-wall under the banner of the White Horse. If this is to be our end, it will be an end worthy of remembrance, even if none are left to sing songs of the last stand of the Éorlingas. Horns are blowing, calling my men to my side. I raise my sword to challenge the Black Ships and I laugh as Guthwine shines in the sun, I laugh at despair, I laugh at my foes, I laugh at my doom.

Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising
I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing.
To hope's end I rode and to heart's breaking:
Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!

III.

They show me to the room in which she lies. As I look at her, lying on a soft bed, she seems pale and fragile to me,as if even a slight touch might forever stop her shallow breathing. But this cannot be my Éowyn. Where is the strength that stood behind our Uncle's throne through so many months and years? Where is that fierce look she always throws me when I tell her that she has to stay behind? Will I ever see those eyes again? It seems that her very spirit is broken, all life and colour gone from her face. Slowly, suppressing my tears, I approach the bed and Aragorn kneeling by it. I can hear him calling her, trying to lift the d arkness from her. My heart begs her to awake, to open her eyes and live once more. What am I without her? How could I ever live alone, last of the House of Éorl? Aragorn tells me to call her. I fall to my knees and gently take her hand. At that moment my grief overwhelms me and I let my tears flow freely.

'Éowyn, Éowyn!' I call. And she wakes.