In a moment every mystery and half-formed notion about Dernhelm was transformed into a clear, shocking truth.
"You look upon a woman! Eowyn, daughter of Eomund, shield maiden of Rohan. You stand between me and my kinsman!"
Merry backed up, his little sword forgotten in his hand, the battle around them, fading into a vacuum. "Eowyn!" It was a soft gasp.
And he understood, somehow. Her pride and determination to fight, and her absence of hope. He felt a hot rush of fear, of anger. Eowyn wouldn't stand alone. Not while he was there. She wouldn't fight even this...this most terrible of mighty enemies Merry could ever have imagined.
He moved in, and the sword was no longer forgotten. "Eowyn!" It was a battle cry, somehow, and he stopped the mighty black rider from striking her as his little sword plunged into the back of the beast's knee. There was a loud cry, a shriek like those he had first heard in a distant night in the Shire. Louder, though, and overpowering. He fell, and his arm fell under him but he couldn't feel it as anything but an odd mass digging into his side. His vision was hazy suddenly, but he looked up and blinked hard and watched Eowyn strike at the beast and fall to the ground.
The witch king vanished. With a cry as piercing and terrifying as any Merry had head, he was suddenly gone, and there were only steaming robes and a helmet on the ground to show he had ever been there.
Merry struggled to get up, but the entire right side of his body felt stiff and hollow, like he'd just knocked himself against something immeasurably hard and was still echoing all through. He crawled to Eowyn, and her eyes were shut. She was still as death.
He sobbed out a breath of despair and tried to crawl past her to where the king lay - Theoden, poor Theoden, crushed under the still body of his brilliant white horse.
A hand appeared on his back and he jerked, rolling to his side. Though in his mind he planned to lift up his sword and kill his attacker, in reality his sword was dissolved and the handle had fallen from slack fingers that wouldn't rise anyway.
But it was a man looking down at him, fair brown hair and gray eyes and he blinked blurred eyes and smiled numbly. "Boromir."
A voice spoke in answer, and it came as though from far away. "...brother. You must be Merr..." and out again.
Merry just clutched his arm with his one good hand. "Boromir!"
A growl near them made them both jump, and suddenly the man was rocked backwards away from him, and an orc lunged over Merry to finish the job. Merry screamed out, a surprisingly strong sound, and rose to throw himself and his small weight at the beast, sending a sword-stroke wide and dropping them both to the ground.
He rolled on his side and saw the man still, and saw a flash of red at his chest, and he wept and crawled to him painfully.
"Where is the king?" called a sudden voice, and suddenly there were soldiers all around them, and the man was being lifted and he was being lifted and he struggled against the touch. He was set on his feet and he stood, somehow, and watched with tear-streaked eyes as Theoden was lifted. Dead.
And Eowyn. Dead.
And Boromir.
He stumbled after the group that carried them all, but after only a minute his feet stopped moving and his eyes stopped seeing, and he fell.