Chapter XXV: SHIELDMAIDEN OF ROHAN
Before the city walls of Minas Tirith, morning came with a strong wind from the sea that drove the dark clouds away, and the hosts of Mordor wailed. Terror overtaking them, the orcs fled or died.
The Rohirrim sang as they slew: the joy of battle was on them, and the sound of their singing was fair and terrible. The music even reached the White City.
Eowyn turned in her saddle to see if the hobbit was still holding on, and she smiled. Merry was gripping the saddle with his legs and slashing out with his right arm while he held the shield aloft with his left.
Eowyn concentrated again on the mass of Orcs fleeing from the storming Rohirrim. She and Merry continued their path of blood and death; they had to reach the city.
At the gates stood a mighty enemy, which they didn't see at first: the Witchking, Ringwraith, and Lord of the Nazgul. As he saw his troops fall under the hooves and swords of the Rohirrim, he left the gate of the city and vanished.
*******************
Theoden, King of the Mark, had reached the road that led to the River and commanded his riders through the mass of Orcs flying towards the Anduin, and the Rohirrim went on mowing their way through the enemy rows.
But suddenly, in the midst of the triumph of the king a dark shadow fell on his golden shield. His knights' horses reared and screamed. Men were thrown from their saddles and lay groveling on the ground.
"To me! To me!" cried Theoden. "Up Eorlingas! Fear no darkness!"
But Snowmane went wild with terror and stood up on his hind legs, fighting with the air, and after a few seconds he crashed upon his side with a piercing scream: a black arrow had driven through him. The mighty steed fell, burying Theoden beneath him.
A great shadow descended upon them like lightning. It was a winged creature, neither reptile nor bird. Black and horrible, it gave a mighty cry and settled upon the body of Snowmane, digging in with its claws, biting into the horse's long and naked neck.
Upon the winged beast sat a shape, black-mantled, huge and threatening. He bore a crown of steel, but between rim and robe there was no face to be seen but a pair of deadly gleam of eyes: the Lord of the Nazgul.
However, even in this dark hour the King of the Mark was not forsaken. Though his knights lay slain about him, or were carried away mounted on their terror-maddened mounts, one lonely figure stood there still: Eowyn, in her disguise as Dernhelm.
The White Lady of Rohan stood faithful, beyond fear, and she wept for the only father she had known.
**Through the charge of the Rohirrim towards the city gates, Eowyn and Merry had ridden unharmed, until the Shadow came. Windfola had thrown them in his terror, and ran wildly upon the plain.
Merry was unconscious for a few minutes. Finally recovering from the fall, he thought that he heard Dernhelm speaking. Yet the voice seemed strange, reminding Merry of some other voice that he had known: Eowyn's.
"Be gone, foul lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!" she said, standing her ground, stepping between the Witchking and the body of Theoden.
An eerie voice answered, "Come not between the Nazgul and his prey! Or he will not slay you in return but bear you away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where your flesh will be devoured, and the remains of your mind left naked to the Lidless Eye."
A sword rang as it was drawn. Eowyn's pale face was set in determination as she straightened her stance, sword and shield ready in her hands.
"Do what you will, but I will defend my liege, so long as I draw breath."
"You dare to stand in my way? Young fool. No living man may detain me!" said the voice from inside the cloak.
Then Merry heard of all sounds in that hour the strangest. It seemed that Dernhelm laughed, and the clear voice was like the ringing of steel against steel.
"But you are not facing a living man! You look upon a woman. Eowyn I am, Eomund's daughter. You are threatening my lord and kin. Be gone, if you be not deathless! Be you living or dark undead, I will strike you if you dare to touch him."
The winged creature screamed at her, but the Ringwraith did not answer. He was silent, as if of all a sudden he hesitated. There stood the one whom Merry had called Dernhelm.The helm that had shielded her secret had fallen from her, and her golden hair, released from its bonds, gleamed in the pale light of morning. Her eyes gray as the sea were hard, and yet tears were on her cheeks. A sword was in her hand, and she raised her shield against the horror of her enemy's eyes.
Eowyn it was, and Dernhelm also. Deep affection filled the hobbit's heart and great wonder, and suddenly the slow-kindled courage of his race awoke. He clenched his hand. She should not die, so fair, so desperate. At least she should not die alone, unaided.
The face of their enemy was not turned towards him, but still he hardly dared to move, dreading the deadly eyes if they should fall on him. Slowly, he began to crawl aside, but the Lord of the Nazgul, in doubt and observing with malice the woman before him, did not heed the halfling.
Suddenly the great beast beat its hideous wings, leaping into the air, and then swiftly fell down upon Eowyn, shrieking, striking with beak and claw.
Still she did not move an inch: maiden of the Rohirrim, child of kings, slender as a steel-blade, fair but terrible. A swift stroke she dealt, skilled and deadly.
The outstretched neck she clove asunder, and the hewn head fell like a stone.Backward she sprang as the huge shape crashed to ruin, vast wings outspread, crumpled on the earth; and with its fall the shadow passed away. Light fell about her, and her hair shone in the sunrise.
From the beast's corpse rose the Black Rider, tall and threatening, towering above her. With a cry of hatred he let fall his huge black mace. Her shield burst into many pieces, and her arm was broken; Eowyn fell to her knees.
The Nazgul bent over her like a thundercloud, and his eyes glittered; he raised his mace to deliver the killing blow.
But suddenly he too stumbled forward with a cry of pain, and his stroke went wide, driving into the ground.
Merry's sword had stabbed him from behind, cutting through the black mantle, and passing up beneath the hauberk. It pierced the sinew behind the Witchking's mighty knee.
"Eowyn! Eowyn!" cried Merry.
The White Lady of Rohan staggered, forcing herself and struggling up. With her last strength she drove her sword between crown and mantle, and the great shoulders bowed before her. The sword broke, sparkling into many shards. The crown rolled away with a clang. Eowyn fell forward again, upon her defeated enemy. ***
Merry's sight was hindered by the tears falling from his eyes. He stood in the midst of the slain and looked on Eowyn's golden head, as she lay and did not move. He looked on the face of the king, fallen in the midst of his glory.
Merry knelt by Theoden, lifted his hand to kiss it, and the king opened his eyes. They were clear, and he spoke quietly.
"Farewell, Master Hobbit!" he said. "My body is broken. I go to my fathers. And even in their mighty company I shall not now be ashamed. I felled the black serpent. A grim morn, a glad day, and a golden sunset!"
Merry could not speak, but wept again. "Forgive me, milord, " he said at last, "If I disobeyed your command, and yet I have done no more in your service than to weep at our parting."
The old king smiled. "Grieve not! It is forgiven. Greatness of heart will not be denied. Live now with all blessings, and when you sit in peace with your pipe, think of me! For never now shall I sit with you in Meduseld, as I promised, or listen to your herb-lore." He closed his eyes, and Merry bowed beside him.
Theoden spoke yet again. "Where is Eomer? For my sight is darkening, and I would like to see him before I leave. He must be king after me. And I would send word to Eowyn. She, she would not have me leave her, and now I shall not see her again, dearest as a daughter."
"Lord, lord," began Merry brokenly, "she is . . . " But at that moment there was a loud rambling, and horns and trumpets were blowing. The hobbit saw that they were in danger of being caught in the very midst of the great battle being fought.
Eomer rode up in haste, and with him came the knights that had survived and had now mastered their horses. They looked in wonder at the carcass of the beast that lay there. Their steeds would not go nearer. But Eomer leaped from the saddle, and grief and dismay fell upon him as he came to the king's side and stood there in silence.
Then, one of the knights took the king's banner from the hand of the banner-bearer who lay dead, and he lifted it up. Slowly Theoden opened his eyes. Seeing the banner, he made a sign that it should be given to Eomer.
"Hail, King of the Mark!" he said. "Ride now to victory! Bid Eowyn farewell!" and so Theoden, King of the Rohirrim died. He never knew that Eowyn lay close, struck down while defending him. Eomer wept as he spoke. "Let his knights remain here," he said "and bear his body in honor from the field, or the battle will be held over it! "
He then looked at the slain warriors, recalling their names. Suddenly he recognized his sister Eowyn on the ground. Eomer felt his heart plummet, and his face went deadly white. All what was dear to him, the only family left to him lay on the battleground. He knelt by his sister and lovingly smoothed the tangled golden locks from her face, as the tears ran down his pale cheeks.Cold fury rose in him."Eowyn, Eowyn!" he cried at last. "Eowyn, how have you come here? What madness or foul devilry of the enemy is this? Death, death, death! Death take us all!"
Then he set her head gently on the ground, jumped on his horse, and without looking back spurred headlong back to the front of the great host, and blew his war horn.
Over the field rang his clear voice, calling, "Death! Ride, ride to ruin and the world's end!"
And with that, the host began to move. But the Rohirrim sang no more.
"Death," they cried as if one voice, loud and terrible, and gathering speed like a great tide, their battle swept about their fallen king and passed, roaring away southwards.
****************
The bodies of Theoden and Eowyn were set upon stretchers and brought to the city. Merry, the loyal Hobbit, walked behind the soldiers carrying them to MinasTirith and tried to keep up with their pace, but he felt his strength draining from his body with every step he took. He concentrated on keeping himself walking on.
The prince Imrahil was leaving the city as he encountered the entourage of Rohirrim soldiers. He presented his respects to Theoden's corpse and as he curiously approached Eowyn's body, he noticed that there was still life in the torn body of the shield maiden and urged the warriors to bring her to the Houses of Healing.
The retinue walked faster towards the top of the city, overlooking the small hobbit in their haste.
Exhaustion crept up in him and confused his senses so far that somewhere inside the city he fell behind of the party escorting the King and Lady of Rohan and got lost in a side street.Once he recognized he had strayed away, he just sat down on a doorstep and let despair take hold of him.
"All is lost. I have failed. Those who I was supposed to serve and aid are gone and I have lost track of my friends. I will not see the Shire again," he said to himself, wishing to stay where he sat and just let himself drift into sleep and oblivion, while he wept.
Suddenly a well-known and sorely missed voice broke through the fog of his anguish...
"Well, Merry! Thank goodness I have found you! I thought we would never meet again in the uproar of battle and grievance around here!"
Merry looked up to his friend and the mist before his eyes cleared a little. There was PippinTook, standing by his side.
"Where have they taken the king?" he said. "And Eowyn?"
"They have been brought up into the Citadel, to the Houses of Healing" said Pippin. "I think you must have fallen asleep on your feet and taken the wrong turning. When we found out that you were not with them, Gandalf sent me to look for you. Poor old Merry! How glad I am to see you again! But you are worn out, and surely not fit for any talk. Tell me, are you hurt, or wounded?"
"No, I don't think so, " said Merry,"But I can't use my right arm since I stabbed the Ringwraith. And my sword burned all away like a piece of wood."
Pippin's face was anxious. "You stabbed a Ringwraith? Mighty brave thing to do, my Merry, that will be a tale to tell! Now, you better come with me and we will take care of you. My poor Merry, I wish I could carry you. You aren't fit to walk any further."
Merry felt his head spinning and darkness closing in on him.
"Help me, Pippin! It's all going dark again, and my arm is so cold."
"Lean on me, Merry!" said Pippin. "Come now! Step by step. It's not far."
"Leave me be, dearest friend. Let me die and then bury me," said Merry.
"No, I will not. Bury you? Of course not. Head up and let's keep on going," said Pippin, trying to sound cheerful, though his heart was wrung with fear and pity. "We are going to the Houses of Healing."
************
The sun rose slowly over the fields of Pelennor, the faint rays falling on the weapons and shields of the warriors there, entangled in bloody combat.
Under the south walls of the city the footmen of Gondor drove against the legions of Morgul that were still gathered there.
The cavalry rode eastward to join the forces of Eomer: Húrin the Tall, Warden of the Keys and the Lord of Lossarnach, Hirluin of the Green Hills, and Prince Imrahil the Fair with his knights all about him.
As the day began to turn against Gondor and their hope wavered a new cry went up in the city. It was then midmorning. A great wind blew, the rain flew north, and the sun shone.
In that clear air watchmen on the walls saw afar a sight that filled them with fear, and their last hope left them.
On the Anduin, the far-sighted could see ships that approached Minas Tirith. They cried in dismay; black against the glittering river they saw a fleet sailing up on the wind with dark sails billowing in the breeze.
"The Corsairs of Umbar!" men shouted. "The Corsairs of Umbar! Look! The Corsairs of Umbar are coming! So Belfalas is taken, and the Ethir, and Lebennin are gone. The Corsairs are upon us! It is the last strike of doom!"
Men inside the city ran to the bells and tolled the alarm; some blew the trumpets sounding the retreat.
"Back to the walls!" they cried. "Back to the walls! Come back to the City before all are overwhelmed!" But the wind that sped the ships blew all their cries away.
The Rohirrim indeed had no need of news or alarm. All too well they could see for themselves the black sails. For Eomer was now scarcely a mile from the Harlond, and a great mass of his first foes stood between him and the haven there, while new attackers came swirling behind, cutting him off from Prince Imrahil. He looked to the river, and hope died in his heart. He cursed the wind that he had blessed before.
The hosts of Mordor found new strength and filled with a new lust and fury, they came yelling to the beleaguered Rohirrim.
Eomer's face was set in stern lines, and his mind cleared. He let blow the horns to gather all free men to his banner, for he thought to make a great shield wall as a last stand and fight there on foot till all fell, though no man should be left in the West to remember the last King of the Mark.
So Eomer rode to a green hill and there set his banner, and the White Horse ran rippling in the wind. Once more the fury of battle was on him; he was still unhurt, he was young, and he was king: the lord of the brave Rohirrim.Even as he laughed at despair he looked out again on the black ships, and he lifted up his sword to defy them.
And then Eomer paused in wonder and great joy; he threw his sword up in the sunlight and sang as he caught it. All eyes followed his gaze, and saw upon the foremost ship a great banner unfurling in the wind as the vessel turned towards the city haven.
There on the flagship flowered a White Tree, and that was for Gondor; but seven stars were about it, and a high crown above it: the signs of Elendil that no lord had borne for years beyond count.
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elessar, Isildur's heir, out of the Paths of the Dead, borne aloft on a wind from the sea to the kingdom of Gondor, was arriving just in time to turn the tide of events.
The Rohirrim broke out in a torrent of laughter and a flashing of swords, and the joy and wonder of the city was translated into music of trumpets and a ringing of bells. The hosts of Mordor were caught in bewilderment, and it seemed a great wizardry to them that their own ships should be filled with their foes.They were struck by panic, knowing that the tides of fate had turned against them and their doom was at hand.
**************
Aboard the approaching ships, Aragorn and his forces were ready to engage in combat.
As Aragorn saw the burnt walls of Minas Tirith, the fire still licking the buildings, he felt his heart torn in pain and pride. The city of his ancestors stood still despite the power of its attackers, proud, like the white Towers which silhouette was standing untouched against the landscape.
Isildur's Heir looked at Elladan and Elrohir, Halbarad and the Dunedain standing on the deck, ready to ride into the battle.
It was a moment for decision. He, the last of his line, would save the city and kingdom his forefather had betrayed for power centuries before him.Or die in the effort.
Close to his, the flagship of the small fleet, he could see the next vessel, where the Amazons, Legolas and Gimli were prepared to join the fight as well. Though Aragorn had no keen elven sight, the ship was close enough for him to recognize the figures on the deck.
Gimli's stout form stood next to a red haired small Amazon, in her battle gear. A smile curved his lips, and Aragorn's eyes sought his other friend.
Legolas' lithe form stood by the Amazon princess Cyrene, both alert at the ship's helm, watching towards the battle that was being fought on the land. Then the woman's hand briefly caressed the elf's face and the elven warrior pulled Cyrene close, kissing her, for all to see.
Aragorn turned his eyes away from the couple and raised them to the sky, praying to all elven and human deities for their help and protection in the battle ahead of them. By the sight of the battlefield, they would need all the aid they could get.
His time had arrived.
|
Return to top |
|
Next Chapter |
|
Send feedback |
