WhenInMiddleEarth:Theedited,revisedandface-liftededition:

When in Middle Earth, do as the Middle-Earthlings do. Sakura finds herself in the midst of Middle Earth, immersed in a war she has no part in, saving a world and people she doesn't know, and why? Because Naruto would be disappointed in her if she ever got back and told him she hadn't...

Chapter Nine:

In which Sakura earns her keep

Disclaimer:

The Lord of The Rings, it's associated characters and components are copyright and property of its author J. R. R. Tolkien, the actors that played them, and the director of the trilogy of films of the same name, Peter Jackson. The character Sakura and any components associated with the manga and anime 'Naruto' are property and copyright of Masashi Kishimoto

The story continues:

Water pressed in on all sides; the raging torrent tore at her clothes, pounded her eardrums, blinded her eyes, and all the time bore her rapidly onwards down the river. Sakura felt her lungs burn, and only sheer, bloody minded determination stopped her from crying out as she was slammed against the rough boulders that made this section of the river one long, dangerous, white water rapid. The weight of the water was crushing. She had no idea how deep she was, or even if she was right-side-up. She couldn't see; she could hear only the roaring of the flood. The only thing she was sure of was the cloak twisted around her hands, and she clung to it like a limpet to a rock. Only the jerky, unnatural tugs on her arms told her that the creature within it was still fighting.

The familiar feeling of nausea washed over her as Sakura felt herself tumbled head over feet over head. Pain lanced through her side as something hard and small made sharp contact with her ribs, and she wondered if she hadn't been swept by a panicking, drowning horse, and gotten kicked. Her shoulder dragged along a rough, abrasive surface – another boulder, the riverbed; Sakura wasn't certain – but her skin warmed and stung, and she knew it was bleeding into the water. Her lungs screamed for air; the corners of her mouth trembled as she fought her instinct for control of her jaw. It was no use. She'd been under too long; she was going to have to take a breath…

The spiked armour, worn by the Wraith in her hands, dug painfully into her legs as the two were toppled one over the other. She hissed involuntarily, and then gagged as a stream of water swooshed into her mouth. She kicked out blindly, only to strike her knee on something solid. Without thinking too much about what she was doing, Sakura willed her chakra into her feet. The speeding water flipped her once, twice…and her foot struck bedrock. In that one moment, Sakura poured every ounce of her will into one almighty kick. Foot digging into the riverbed, the water flashed and lurched upwards as she launched herself toward the surface. The river surged and sprayed upwards like a fountain, as a plume of water rose from its depths – its spearhead a pink haired girl: eyes streaming and red, mouth spitting out water like it burned her.

She skidded as she landed on top of the river. The water was so turbid and fast moving that she couldn't stand still. Not to mention that the struggling Nazgul in her hold was throwing off her balance. She allowed the current to bear her down-river, half skating, half sliding across the surface of the churning water, until her feet found a suitably flat rock. Water washed over the top of it in surges, keeping her toes wet with each swell. But it was solid, and with her feet firmly planted on said solid rock, Sakura finally turned her attention to the matter, quite literally, at hand.

The Ringwraith was much less intimidating a creature with its cloak soaked through and clinging wetly to its armour – which creaked with every jerky, fretful movement it made. The fingers of its gauntlets were spiked, like claws, in some sort of black metal. It grasped at her; the spikes dug into Sakura's forearms, leaving deep welts and scratches, but her grip didn't falter.

Her knuckles were clenched white under her gloves – now damply plastered to her hands – and her fingers were beginning to go numb; but whether the coldness of the water, or the length of time they'd been curled up so tightly, she couldn't say. Her own cloak felt slightly choking as it hung limp from her neck, and she erupted in goose bumps as the wind blew over the wet, exposed skin of her shoulders, arms and knees. Her hair was darkened to near-magenta by the sheer amount of water in it, and cold drops fell uncomfortably down the back of her neck.

Panting slightly, Sakura regarded the creature. Aragorn had talked about these things like they were immortal, and she was beginning to see why. After all, so far this one had been punched into a pillar at a force that would break a neck, blown up, set on fire, pushed off a tower, blown up again, had everything from kunai to trees hurled at it, been dragged into a flood and practically drowned and still wasn't dead. Even up close, she could see nothing beneath its hood. It felt heavy, but it was the heaviness of a suit of armour and not of a living being, and Sakura was led to wonder if there was anything inside the cloak at all. And yet, she could clearly feel its fingers bruising her arms, so the armour at least was a solid form. And she'd hit something inside that hood before, atop Weathertop.

The creature struggled more violently, gauging deep cuts into her flesh with its clawed hands and releasing one of her arms to reach for her face, as if aiming to do more damage. She swiftly jerked her head back, twisting and snapping its wrist in a completely instinctual move as she spun around out of its reach. The abrupt change in momentum popped Sakura's ears, and she instantly wished that they hadn't. Even as water streamed out of her ears and down her neck, the creature screamed its shrill scream. Ears no longer blocked, Sakura's head pounded at the sound of it, and without thinking she released her hold to clamp her hands over her painfully sensitive ears.

The next moments slowed to almost snail-pace in Sakura's perception, as her waterlogged brain finally caught up with her actions. The Ringwraith pulled away from her, even as she realised her mistake and hurriedly snatched for it again. Her fingers snagged its cloak as it prepared to jump from the boulder, jerking it backwards – only to meet her other fist charged with chakra and swinging into its back. With a resounding SMACK the creature went flying across the river and skidded deep into the riverbank, leaving long skid marks in the shoal. At the same time, its armoured glove sheared off where she'd snapped its 'wrist' and the armour fell to the rock; empty metal.

Sakura spared a half second to take note of that, before she kicked the metal hand into the water and cleared the river in a single leap. Her feet sank into the bank as she landed; splatters of wet sand and mud spat up and covered her boots and knees; the shoal and soft silt covering her feet halfway to her ankle. The Nazgul was staggering to its feet. The orange light of the setting sun threw its dented breastplate into sharp relief – a reminder that immortal or no, they could still take damage. It was an encouraging thought. After all, if this one had survived then no doubt all eight of the others had too.

Sakura weighed up her opponent, sliding out a kunai and shifting into an offensive stance. The Wraith groped at its belt, and though it had no expression, Sakura could feel the smugness coming off it as it found that it still had a knife there, and that it had not been lost in the flood. The slow, dramatic way in which it pulled the long knife from its sheath would have been quite a lot more intimidating, Sakura felt, bemused; if water hadn't splashed over the sides of the sheath as it was unearthed, and if the blade itself hadn't been dripping water all over the ground. The amusement was taken out of it rather quickly however – Sakura recognised that style of weapon. A similar knife had been plunged into Frodo's shoulder six days ago and he was fighting for his life because of it. It was going to be a close-quarters fight, with an opponent that was near-impossible to kill and poisonous, generally evil weaponry at hand. Oh, and low chakra reserves to boot.

'Right,' thought Sakura grimly. 'No problem.'

The Nazgul held its knife easily in its left hand, and Sakura felt stupid for assuming that an unnatural creature of darkness would have an issue with such a thing as left or right-handedness. She glanced at its right arm – there was nothing there. The hollow tube of its armour simply stopped with a clean-cut end, and inside she could see nothing more than the same darkness that it wore under its hood. It was like the whole suit was empty. She thought back to the empty hand. It had screamed like it was in pain, when she'd broken it off, but there was nothing there that she could see. No blood, no flesh, nothing.

She was reminded, oddly enough, of Sasori. All hollow puppet limbs and nothing inside but chakra, and his heart in a box in his chest. What had Aragorn said about Ringwraiths?

"They were men once, great Kings of men… But in their greed the nine rings, which answer to the One, overcame them, and they became slaves to its will... They are bound to the Ring…"

If they were once men, then surely something must be left. Even Sasori wasn't invincible. Even if the only thing left of his humanity was his heart…But she didn't think the Ringwraith had a heart. If it had, surely there would have been some blood somewhere. And if that was the case, then what did that leave?

Nazgul and ninja stood a bare six feet apart, but neither moved to close the gap – both waited for the other to make the first move, to make the first mistake. Sakura watched as the Wraith carefully slid its foot back into a defensive position. So, it was to be a waiting game then. Sakura's eyes flitted over her enemy, taking in anything and everything she could use to her advantage.

Sakura lost patience first. She flicked out another kunai and, in quick succession, threw them both with unerring accuracy. The first sailed past the Ringwraith's hood, cleanly slicing the cloth as it jerked its head to the side a second too slow. The second kunai was aimed at its feet and the Nazgul had to do an awkward sort of half-jump to avoid it. And, with its stance well and truly ruined, Sakura darted forward. Her kunai clashed with its knife. Little sparks flew up as the blades dragged along each other, and Sakura quickly disengaged before her knuckles got too close to that poisonous metal. But the Wraith was a skilled knifeman, and followed quickly.

Duck. Parry. Swing, slice, slash. It went on and on. Sakura blocked a violent stab with the flat of her kunai, pushing the knife away from her face with her own weapon and going slightly cross eyed as she tried to focus on it – it was so close.

This was not, suffice to say, an ideal situation. Sakura needed a plan.

'Think Sakura, think.' Sakura tugged out another kunai and began to dual-wield in the hope of blocking a little better. She wasn't doing quite as well as she'd hoped with one-on-one close combat without chakra. Clearly she'd been neglecting her basics. She'd have to remedy that… as soon as she'd disposed of this nasty bastard.

'If I was stripped of absolutely everything, what would I be? No flesh, no bones, no blood or guts or heart. What's left over when you strip away everything else?'

She wasn't religious enough to believe in souls, and the medic in her told her that chakra couldn't sustain itself without a body to keep it stable. Even Sasori had had to keep his heart going to support his chakra system in his puppet body. Did people here even have chakra?

At home, even civilians had chakra. They just couldn't use it without ninja training – that was what the academy was for. Well, that and teaching impressionable young children the best way to kill someone without dying yourself. But nobody here knew what a ninja was – everything she did was a shock and a wonder to them. Clearly, there was no Middle Earth equivalent to chakra-training. Did that then mean that they simply hadn't discovered chakra use here? Or did they really just not have it at all?

A shrill 'Shiiiiiing' sounded out as the morgul blade met the crux of her two kunai, crossed defensively over her heart. Chakra-less fighting wasn't getting her anywhere. She might not have a lot left, but she could still tilt the odds a little bit. Sakura twisted her kunai, trapping the Wraith's weapon between them and pushing it down and away. Unable to let go of its knife, the Wraith was forced to follow. Her knee came up swiftly, enforced with the barest amount of chakra, and SLAM. It was bent nearly double as her knee hit it in the chest, in almost the exact same spot as the dent.

Sakura observed with a smirk as it staggered back – the dent was considerably wider and deeper. Good. She had a weak spot. She'd noticed that it used only its left hand, reinforcing her theory that without the armour it didn't have a corporeal form to use physically. So, in theory, she could just pull its armour apart and it wouldn't be able to do a thing…until it got new armour. And of course, that approach – while apparently painful – didn't seem to actually kill it. Anyone else would have bled out if their hand was snapped off in the middle of nowhere. But how could she kill it if she didn't know what it was?

"…They are bound to the Ring…" Aragorn had said. She looked at its hand. Was it possible that chakra, or some form of it, could be bound to an object? She could have kicked herself. Of course it could – the hidden villages had survived for years by sealing demons into objects. The sand village had sealed Shukaku into a frigging teapot before Gaara came along, for goodness sake. And she was supposed to be a damn genius. Clearly her brain was still waterlogged.

Nine rings given to the Kings of Men…So, she mused, as she resumed her defensive stance and waited for her opponents next move; working on the assumption that the Wraith was more or less just some sort of chakra and conscious, bound by one of the nine rings, could she kill it by separating it from its ring? In theory, that would sever the bond keeping its chakra stable and together, and without it the Thing would just fall apart. She'd already managed to break off one hand by sheer force – but doing so again meant bringing herself within uncomfortably close range of that knife, and one poisoned person was enough for the group to deal with already. Besides, she wasn't sure she trusted elven healers, assuming they even found her in time to save her. No, it was best to keep her distance. How then, was she to do it?

It was no good aiming for the armour – she had to be certain that it was the Wraith itself she was hitting. And the only way she knew of to attack chakra was with more chakra. Chakra; which she was in short supply of. Even soldier pills couldn't replenish chakra. They gave you a boost, nothing more.

Sometimes she really wished that she'd taken up katana-training. Tenten might have taught her – she was nice – and the girl was a weapons genius! Sai could have taught her, even if he was a pain in the ass. A long reaching weapon would have been great right about now.

The Ringwraith lunged for her. Sakura ducked under the blade and made to kick out at it, but the Wraith spun away faster than she'd anticipated. How was it that she was getting slower as she tired, while this thing was getting better? A glance around her told her the answer. This was a dark creature, less dangerous in the sunlight, and much more deadly at night – and dusk was already falling. It stabbed downwards and she only just managed to scramble out of the way, blocking with her kunai at the last second. Sakura let herself fall onto her back. The wraith was momentarily thrown off balance at the sudden loss of contact and she used that moment to curl her legs up, and kick forcefully against its stomach. It was without chakra, but it was strong – she wasn't a ninja for nothing. The Nazgul stumbled and fell back. Sakura flipped herself back onto her feet.

Without missing a step she launched forward, aiming to catch the creature off guard. She struck out with her kunai, but it blocked with its arm and angled its blade toward her. She quickly disengaged and tried to put some distance between them, but – too slow – Sakura got the distinct feeling that she'd just fallen into a trap. The poisonous metal dug into her forearm, close to the crease of her elbow. Her flesh burned; the whole joint felt aflame. She clenched her teeth in pain, nearly biting through her tongue.

But if she was poisoned, she wasn't poisoned for nothing. Jaw locked, she dropped her kunai and grabbed the Wraiths shoulder so tightly that she could feel her fingers bruising against the hard metal. She spun on her heel and jerked the creature around with her, using her momentum to fuel the motion of her left hand, charged with chakra, as she brought it slamming into the dent in the Wraith's chest. The force was so great that the already weakened metal stood no chance. The chest-plate warped and fractured under her knuckles. It burst inwards, and her fist continued through it. The sharp, broken edges gouged deep wounds as her arm passed through, embedding her hand within the Ringwraiths chest. But the wounds were nothing compared to what that hand experienced.

Her skin burned with cold. Every nerve she had screamed out in pain and it felt like her very blood was freezing. She cried out in agony, and her chakra released uncontrollably. It veered outwards from her hand in random, undirected bursts – like lightening it sheered away, coursing through the Ringwraith's body in a matter of milliseconds, ripping it apart from the inside out. The Nazgul's cloak was sliced into tatters as the chakra left it, and within it she felt her glove do the same. Its scream was terrible. It struck her eardrums like a knife – the only thing to break through the pain she was feeling. In the last moments before the Wraiths armour shattered and fell, Sakura summoned enough will to clench her frozen knuckles around the edge of the hole. She felt her skin crack and split, spilling chilled blood all over her hand.

Just as the pieces began to fall, Sakura summoned the last dregs of her chakra, poured every fibre of her being into willing it into shape, and brought her right hand – stiff from the poison but glowing with a shaky chakra scalpel – down across the armoured fingers of the Wraith's left hand. They severed and fell with a series of clinks. The scream faded away, the cloak fell in ribbons to the ground and the armour landed with a dull thud, splintered and broken.

Sakura crumpled. Her right arm was pale and her fingers were shaking. But her left hand – the hand that had been inside the Ringwraith – that was blackened and dead looking. Blood and a watery sort of pus were seeping from the cracks across her knuckles and the whole thing felt simultaneously like it was freezing and burning. She whimpered in agony, and a heavy feeling of despair set like a weight on her shoulders as she realised that she had no chakra left to heal herself with. Already the signs of severe chakra depletion were setting in – nausea, light-headedness – though those could just have easily been from the pain. Sakura had never been in so much pain in her life – not even when she'd been hit by Naruto in Kyuubi-form had it hurt this much.

In the back of her fuzzy, pain-laden mind, Sakura knew that she was probably miles downstream and far from help. She didn't know where the other eight enemies were, and she was as good as a sitting duck here. She had no more arms to use, no more chakra, and she was poisoned. So, she had two choices – sit here and wait to fall unconscious, or get up and start walking back in the vain hope of survival. It was unlikely that she'd be found, and even less likely that she'd get far enough to stand a chance of it.

But she was a ninja. She'd had survival instincts drilled into her head since age five. Even in the face of insurmountable pain, she couldn't bring herself to sit there on her knees and wait to die.

Such was the 'Will of Fire' that the ninja of Konoha prided themselves on. Sakura's knees shook, and it took her several attempts to stand again. Her arms hung useless and bleeding at her sides and she fell many times as she staggered back upstream. She didn't know how long it was before the black spots began to swim in front of her eyes, and her brain began to feel like someone had wrapped it in cotton wool. She pressed on, at times all but crawling and all the time trying desperately to stay awake.

At first she thought that the blurred black shape was just another sign of her failing conscious. But, as she drew slowly nearer, she was able to make out the body of a black horse laid half in the water, and half on the bank. Its leg was twisted at an unnatural angle – likely broken, and blood bubbled around its mouth. She wondered detachedly if this had been the one that had kicked her. She let herself fall at its head, gut twisting amid her own agony to see that the animal was still alive, and dying slowly.

"I wonder if it hurts as much for you as it does for me," she mused in her own language, in the faraway sort of voice that showed that her consciousness was failing fast. With great effort, she stretched out her hand to touch its head, letting her body lean heavily against its side.

"You and me both," she murmured, as if half asleep, "I'm sorry."

She searched for some last dreg of chakra, somewhere, anywhere within her. She placed her hand flat against the horses head, and tried to will a little spark from her hand, if only to stop the suffering. But the blackness and the faintness overcame her at last, and without knowing whether or not it had worked Sakura finally fell into the blissfully pain-free realm of unconsciousness.

Aragorn and Glorfindel led the party at as fast a pace as the short legged hobbits could manage. They had yet to see or hear any sign of the Nine, though they had heard their shrill calls, and deafening explosions ahead. They weren't certain what worried them more – the fact that they had started, or the fact that they had stopped. All was silent when they reached the bridge, and it was there that the trail of destruction began.

There was no bridge. The wooden supports were splintered and cracked, standing at crooked angles either side of the river. Some debris was scattered about the banks, but the majority of what once was a wide and well-used bridge was now missing entirely. The entire area smelt of smoke and burning wood, and there were scorch marks on the road. Or what little was left of it. The road from the bridge was shattered and a deep fissure stretched across it.

The group were forced to walk farther upstream to find a place shallow enough that Bill could cross it with his short pony's legs. The hobbits were piled unceremoniously atop Glorfindel's grey horse, and while squashed together quite uncomfortably, remained well above the water, which would easily have reached their armpits if they'd attempted the crossing on foot. Glorfindel led them across, while Aragorn came behind with Bill. They picked their way carefully, but even the elf slipped on one occasion, and by the time they reached the other side both Aragorn and Glorfindel were wet up to their waists.

They looped back to the road, but what lay ahead was no more comforting. The road was littered with hoof prints, and as they reached the tree line they were forced to leave the track and pick their way around scores of fallen and splintered trees. In places the trunks were enormous and blocked the road entirely. Again, the smell of smoke and burning paper was in the air, and when Pippin tripped and fell quite roughly on his face, they discovered that thin wires stretched between some of the trunks and made a spider web across the path. At one point it became clear that the marks of the horses left the road and veered into the forest. Aragorn was sorely tempted to follow them, but Glorfindel reminded him of their haste and the need to get the hobbits to safety, and they reluctantly stuck to the road.

For a time they saw nothing more of the passage of Frodo before them. Dusk drew in. They came to the Ford at last, only to stop in amazement to see the river flooded and impassable. It stretched wider than it had ever been, and yet the soft wet ground reached to some feet above the waterline, as if to show that the river had recently been yet higher still. A little farther downstream a black shape could be seen – the bulky body of a dead horse, dashed against the rapids. Water flowed over and around the sad sight. On the side of the river that they stood on, they found sharp star-like metal objects, deeply embedded in the trees and ground.

Aragorn guessed their origin and spared a moment to carefully gather them, mindful that their owner may yet need them. Even as he did so, Glorfindel waded carefully out into the river, stopping when the water reached his belt. Just as he turned to tell them that it was too deep to cross, a strange, bell like sound came down from the valley. The water increased its speed; a wave formed and washed itself away downstream, leaving the river behind it low and slow moving. Glorfindel found himself suddenly no more than ankle deep, and the party hurried across lest the water return.

In the soft earth on the opposite side they found just one set of tracks – a single horse, laden but fast moving. It gave them hope like nothing else the group made haste for Rivendell. Aragorn's heart leapt with joy to see Arwen awaiting them at the gate. He ran forward to meet her and heedless of propriety, he embraced her tightly, murmuring relieved, loving words in elvish. But she was tense and troubled as she had never been in his arms, and he worriedly withdrew.

"What is wrong Arwen? Please tell me that it is not too late for Frodo," his eyes flitted anxiously between hers, alarmed to see her looking so pale. The hobbits did not understand what was being said, but they saw the expressions of their faces and heard the name 'Frodo'. Frightened, they begged Arwen to tell them if he was alright, cutting off anything she might have said in reply to Aragorn. She seemed to swallow before she spoke, as if it was hard for her to do so.

"Frodo is safe," she began in the common tongue, voice thick with worry, "He is with my father as we speak. He told me that he expects that he shall make a full recovery, with enough time." The hobbits cheered to hear this, but Aragorn was silent. Something was terribly, terribly wrong, and with a feeling like a lead weight dropping into his stomach, he realised who was missing from the welcoming party.

"Arwen, where is Sakura?"

Her eyes were wide and her mouth turned down, her face pale. "I don't know," she whispered. "She hasn't returned."

Aragorn went white.

"No," he whispered hoarsely, "It cannot be."

Arwen looked at him fretfully and helplessly.

"I saw her pull a Ringwraith into the flood, I…She told me to take Frodo. I thought she would follow, but she…she hasn't come back."

Without another word Aragorn spun away from her. In a quick movement he'd snatched the reins from Glorfindel's hand and mounted the dappled horse, spurring it without a word back toward the river. He heard the hobbits call out behind him, but he paid them no heed.

His heart was heavy, and pounding within his chest. He had promised her that he would not abandon her.

Like a ghost in the dark he rode downstream. His eyes strained against the deepening night, flitting from one side of the river to the other and sweeping every expanse of water in between. He came across the bodies of horses, littered about the river-banks like abandoned rubbish. A cloak floated in the shallows and was crushed underfoot. The ground was muddy and soaked – the plants bent flat in the aftermath of the torrent of water that had passed.

At long last, the glimmer of something pale caught his eye on the other side of the river. Heedlessly, he urged the horse onward, splashing through the deep water to the shoal bank. He found her collapsed, unconscious, between the legs of a dead horse. Its eyes were wide and glassy under her outstretched hand, but he found that he had no eyes for the animal. Sakura looked frail and broken. Her cloak was soaked through and matted with blood and dirt. Her skin was as white as chalk, and dappled with bruises. Her breathing was so shallow that he could barely feel it even with his hand pressed to her mouth. Her pulse was feeble at best.

Aragorn could not see it in the gloom until he lifted her, but when he did his breath caught in horror. Her cloak fell away as she was moved, revealing arms that were covered with blood – each bore deep lacerations the length of her forearm. A deep wound in the crease of her elbow, he recognised as the wound of a morgul blade – the same as Frodo's – and his heart clenched with worry. But what truly made him despair was the sight of her left hand.

At first, he was horrified to think that she had lost her arm completely – but the truth was much worse. Sakura had not lost her arm, but it was as black as pitch, deadened and dry. The skin had cracked, and pus oozed from it in thick rivulets and crusted orange around the open wounds, where it mixed with her blood and congealed. He felt sick to look at it.

She was so light in his arms; it was like carrying a child. Why had he let her go so recklessly? He felt wretched with grief. He handled her like she was made of glass, carrying her carefully and picking his steps so as not to jostle her already weak and battered body. He reached a dilemma when he at last stood again beside his mount. How was he to get Sakura and himself into the saddle, without doing her further damage?

But the elf mount, as if sensing his problem, carefully lowered itself to its knees before him. In wonder, Aragorn thanked it quickly in elvish, even as he carefully stepped astride it and settled into the saddle with the injured girl across his knees. The horse eased itself to its feet again, and with near-unnatural fluidity it took off at a smooth gallop, as if it knew the need for haste. Aragorn found that he did not need his hands to direct it, instead speaking to it in elvish when he felt it was needed, and otherwise murmuring fretfully to the girl he held, begging her to hold on in every language he knew.

Completely new chapter: All new, never before seen content.

I have often wondered about how one goes about killing a Ringwraith – we know that Eowyn kills the Witch King after all, but I have to wonder if that whole 'No man can kill me' bit just applies to him or whether it's a general stipulation for all of them. Can you kill them at all?

This is my take on it: Yes, provided that you are Wonder Woman. Or maybe Minerva McGonagall (They are more or less the same person, let's face it)

If you are not Wonder Woman, you will just have to make do with being a ninja or a shield-maiden of Rohan. You should probably be a woman, just in case. The author does recommend, however, that you don't make killing Ringwraiths a habit, as side effects tend to include grievous bodily harm. Very, very grievous bodily harm. The author also recommends doing it Eowyn's way – its much less messy than sticking your hand inside a Nazgul, though the grievous bodily harm still applies.

…and then there were eight.

~Devi1OnUrShou1der~