The Daughter of the Moon Volume III

Chapter 3 : Loss

All prospect of victory seemed to have left the ranks of the enemy army.

The King of Rohan, followed almost immediately by Elenwë who had become separated from his brothers, was far ahead, surrounded by enemies.

— Sire Théoden! Elenwë said to him, a little worried. We are surrounded!

What really worried her was the arrival of the three Nazghûls in the distance.

For the moment, the battle was going in their favour.

But suddenly, in the midst of the king's glory, his golden shield became tarnished.

The new morning was wiped from the sky. Darkness surrounded Elenwë and Théoden. She believed that their last hour had come. Trembling, she whispered a prayer to herself.

The horses reared and screamed.

Men were thrown from their saddles and crawled to the ground.

— To me! To me! Theoden shouted. Get up Eorlingas! Fear no darkness!

But Nivacrin, mad with terror, rose to his full height, struggling against the air, and then, with a great cry, collapsed on his side: a black arrow had pierced him. The king fell beneath him.

— THEODEN! Elenwë shouted. She climbed down from Ebony and rushed towards the King of Rohan.

Already the ancient wizard-king of Angmar, Lord of the Nazghûls, had dismounted from his foul, glowing mount of darkness.

He was approaching the immobilised king under his inert horse.

Elenwë struggled to join him, beheading and slicing the enemies who came in successive waves closer and closer.

Where was Eowyn? Her uncle was living his last moments. No doubt.

In desperation, Elenwë finally joined them as the Nazghûl raised his mace, ready to thrust it into the Rohirrims' ruler's chest.

She rushed at the Nazghûl and rolled to the ground with him. He shouted in rage and with a sweeping gesture sent Elenwë to the ground. He approached the king again. Elenwë rushed to the front of the king, still held down by the heavy body of Nivacrin.

— You will not have it! Servant of evil! Poor master of Darkness! Get back!

Elenwë stood in all her strength and determination. Her grey eyes shone with a dangerous and ominous glow. The Nazghûl reached out his hand and poured an evil force into her.

Elenwë felt her strength ebbing away so she thrust Antel into the dark lord's belly. The dark lord hissed with rage and turned towards Elenwë who had just dropped to the ground, weakened.

Her hissing voice reached the ears of the elleth.

— You are finally in your rightful place. Female elf!

Elenwë glared at her and tried to stand up. The Nazghûl laughed and a glint of madness passed through his dark eyes.

He turned to the dying king and said to Elenwë:

— I will deal with you later. The master wants you alive.

Elenwë shuddered with terror. She could not move. She felt panic invade her muscles. She wanted to stand up but could not. Paralysed, she could only watch as the servant spirit raised his club, closing in on the figure of Theoden.

Suddenly a rider stepped in. Elenwë recognized Eowyn. She also discerned the small figure of Merry, who looked frightened.

— Begone, foul Dwümmerlaik, lord of carrion! Theoden's niece shouted.

A cold voice answered her:

— Do not come between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not kill you in turn. He shall carry thee to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured and thy withered spirit left naked to the Vigilant eagle.

A sword sounded as it was drawn from the scabbard.

— Do what you will, but I will prevent it as far as I can.

— Prevent me? Poor fool. No man alive can!

Then Merry and Elenwë heard the strangest of all sounds at that hour.

It sounded as if she were laughing, and the clear voice was like the clink of steel.

— But I am not a living man! It is a woman you see. I am Eovvyn, the daughter of Eomund. You stand between me and my lord and kinsman. Be gone, if thou art not immortal! For, living or dark undead, I will smite thee if thou touchest him!

Eowyn, not without fear, stood bravely before her enemy.

The Nazghûl's mount attacked Eowyn once. Then another.

She still did not bat an eyelid: daughter of kings, slender but like a steel blade, beautiful but terrible.

She struck a swift, skilful and deadly blow. She split the outstretched neck, and the severed head fell like a stone. She leapt back as the huge form crashed, its vast wings outstretched, to curl up on the ground, and with its fall the shadow disappeared. A light fell on Eowyn, and her hair shone in the rising sun.

From this collapse rose the Black Rider, tall and menacing, towering over her. With a cry of hatred that bit at the ears like venom, he brought down his mace.

Eowyn's shield shattered and her arm was broken, she fell to her knees. He bent over her and raised his mace to kill. But suddenly he too fell forward with a cry of sharp pain, and his blow went astray, sinking into the ground. Merry's sword had struck from behind, piercing the sinew behind her powerful knee.

— Eowyn! Eowyn! Merry shouted.

Then, staggering to her feet with a great effort, she put her last strength into driving her sword between the crown and the Nazghûl's cloak. With sparks, the sword broke into several fragments. The crown rolled away with a metallic sound.

Eowyn fell forward on her fallen enemy. But the cloak and shroud were empty! They lay now on the ground, torn and shapeless, a cry went up into the quivering air and was lost in a high-pitched moan, it passed with the wind, a thin, incorporeal voice that died, was swallowed up never to be heard again in this worldly age.

The lady of Rohan lost consciousness.