The Unexpected

Okay, be prepared for a long post! This, as you might say, is the sequel to my writing on point of view. Last time I wrote from Eowyn's perspective, but now I am a different character. You should be able to guess pretty quickly. . . .

The Unexpected (until another title is thought of)

Ah, there he is! I spotted the king of Rohan far beneath me—what was his name? ThÀoden, I think it was, but it little mattered what puny name he should choose to call himself. He was still part of the foolish enemy that dared resist my master’s hand.

Even as I drew closer upon my winged steed, the little king’s wretch of a horse was struck by an ally’s dart, causing him to fall with the king underneath it. This was perfect, I thought. Urging the creature upon which I rode, together we swooped down while she chortled with delight at the prospects of a royal meal.

Swiftly she landed and grasped the horse with her claws while stooping her long, graceful neck toward her victim. I didn’t even deign to watch what she would do to the miserable animal, and instead turned my attention to the frail king beneath it.

Then I saw him—a skinny soldier with spindly arms and legs, the only one left standing among his fallen comrades.

“Begone foul drimmerlaik, lord of carrion!” the swordsman yelled at me, taking a giant step forward as if to appear bold. “Leave the dead in peace!”

What was this boy thinking? And why didn’t he quake under my gaze, as greater men did? Perhaps he did not know his rashness, and why must I have to waste my time to prove it to him?

“Come not between the Nazgõl and his prey,” I replied, making my voice sound as menacing as possible in hopes of dissuading him from his fruitless resistance. “Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”

That should scare him, I thought with satisfaction. But even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t hesitate to do what I had just threatened; I only wished that the extravagant use of my energy, no matter how little, didn’t unnecessarily honor this common soldier by having it spent on him.

However, the scrawny thing was persistent. His sword clang as he jerked it out of its sheath, a little less clumsily than I had expected for one so young. “Do what you will: but I will hinder it, if I may.”

Hinder me? This was even more serious than I had thought. The silly fool didn’t even seem to care about his recklessness! It was pathetically disgusting.

“Hinder me? Thou fool,” I answered with contempt. “No living man may hinder me!”

What happened next was something I would have least expected. The lad opened his mouth and from it, of all things, came laughter! Cold and light the laughter was, and I was surprised to hear no trace of that penetrating fear I was accustomed to hearing when others were in my presence. It was anything but unnerving.

“But no living man am I!” he cried.

Was he mad? But before I could wonder more, he was lifting his helm from his head and yellow hair burst from its entrapments to flow over his shoulders all around him. Indeed, this was no lad. A grown woman stood before me, her eyes grim yet flashing, gripping her sword fiercely as she stood in bold defiance. Suddenly I realized that she was still speaking.

“. . . ‹omund’s daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you if you touch him.”

My mount screamed at her in irritation. She didn’t like her meal to be interrupted. I remained silent, however, regarding the woman before me. It was true, it had always been said that no living man could harm me, but no one had ever considered mentioning the possibility of a woman doing so. Now perhaps the enemy had thought of this and had trained a highly skilled daughter of kings in the slight hope of defeating me. Could this be possible? But even then, as I first noticed the quiet tears streaming down her cheeks and saw her raise her shield slightly to block my gaze on her face, I knew the idea to be absurd. This woman was weak as all others of her race and it was impossible for her to stand up to me for long. The mere thought of it was ridiculous.

A slight movement caught the corner of my eye, but I paid it no heed. Instead, giving no visible sign, I urged my steed to take action. A mighty gust encompassed me as she flapped her great wings. As I reveled in their strength, the woman below me seemed to increase in fragility, like a thin reed being blown by a gale, and I felt like laughing over her slight, vulnerable frame. Then my beast sprang suddenly into the air and dropped with a shriek upon the girl.

Alas, if only the creature’s beak had been a trifle more speedy, then it might have lived to enjoy another meal. But instead, with no hesitation our intended prey raised her arms and hacked mightily on the sinewy neck of my pet. Her stroke was surprisingly deft, and as my unlucky steed’s head fell to the ground, her leap backward was unusually agile. I had little time to notice this however, as I was thrown from my perch to land heavily on the earth.

Anger boiled inside of me; churning, frothing, bubbling, just waiting to spew forth to burn and to kill. The woman’s insolence had gone too far. I confess that beyond the glimpse of a moment I didn’t truly regret the loss of my steed. After all, it was just another tool my master had given me, and tools aren’t meant to be kept for long. But I did hate the woman for daring to slay my fine transportation.

I rose to my full height, seething. Slowly I turned towards the woman. She seemed just a bit taller now, though nothing in comparison with my stature. No hope glimmered in her eyes, yet they were determined, and she didn’t waver under my dark stare. My hatred was kindled, and I despised her with a fierce hatred. The feeling consumed me and quickly spilled over into a cry that contained every ounce of my loathing. Swiftly I swung my mace and with an experienced aim it shattered her shield to splinters. She stumbled to her knees under the impact of my powerful blow. So easy, I thought, stepping forward and raising my mace for the deathblow.

Suddenly a sharp pain jabbed the back of my knee, sending an electrifying tingle through my whole body. I cried out, and dropped to my knees with a shudder. My own rage was scalding me, and I longed to release it by killing the maiden in front of me. But it was too late.

“‹Eowyn! ‹Eowyn!” I heard a voice low behind me call. So that was her name. But before I had time to ponder this, she was wearily grasping her sword. Sweat and grime streaked her brow, and with a desperate exhaustion she stood. The next thing I remember is going cross-eyed as her sword was thrust into my face.

I screamed, as excruciating anguish, hot yet empty, coursed through my every nerve. Then it was gone, and I found myself looking down at my empty hauberk as ‹owyn fell on it, while all the time I rose higher and higher. My anger was gone, and my pain with it, and I realized that I was no longer in bondage to the cruel Master of the Ring. And with that thought in mind I flitted away, to roam the far reaches of the world as I would wish. At long last, I was free.