The Fell Beast was already on the ground as Eowyn spat her first defiance at the Witch King of Angmar—-as Dernhelm. It was only after she had slain his mount and been taunted by the Witch King that Dernhelm threw off her helm to reveal she was no man. She withstood his terrifying presence and a blow from his mace, though it broke her arm and marked her with his deadly cold.
Yet for all that, Eowyn drove her sword straight and true, deep into the Shadows of Mordor that lay over the mortal form of the Witch King. Even as she struck, the fighting knife of Numenore, brought over the sea by the Faithful, struck a blow for those so often dismissed by the mighty. As the sinews of ancient sorcery unraveled, the Witch King’s form began again that slide from corporeality to invisibility that marked his rare downfalls. But this time, the sword of Eowyn struck home as the spells unwound. And in that blow was all the love, grief, anger, and loss that she had endured for so many years. Against that Power, not even the Lord of the Nazgul could stand unbroken.
Maybe, had but one of the strikes landed, the Witch King would have fled his mortal housing—-the armor and robes that gave him visible shape—-and returned to his Master; for the Power of the Ruling Ring over the Nine was absolute. There, in his place of Power, Sauron the Maia might well have again restored his vanquished servant to a physical presence, robing and providing for him a mount innurred to Terror.
But two blows landed. Both were driven by love, grief, and lion-hearted courage. Both struck home, deep into the Shadow. Both struck the not-yet dead but long unliving flesh of the Witch-King of Angmar. One touched his ancient form with the Fire of The West. One parted his neither-dead-nor-living body from his malignant spirit, at last inflicting a mortal blow upon that Wicked Man.
The Lord-Lieutenant of Minas Morgul fell upon the field of Pelannor before the Ride of the Rohirrim. If Theoden did not kill the terrible foe, still his courage and Kingliness was such that he himself did not blanch; as the Fell Beast bent to feed upon Theoden’s broken horse, that King made neither plea nor cry. But waited grimly for his fate. The weakness of the Ages old Tyrant of Carn Dum was his vanity, and in his desire to humiliate and dishonour the King whose Rides had broken the Witch-King’s orc levies and upset his plans, the Lord of the Nine rid himself of all of his advantages accruing from his extraordinary mount and his own great Power. Instead, he placed himself afoot to face an unknown foe, and unsupported by underling or Peer, he was surprised by an attack from behind that made him fumble his killing strike. His other opponent, now revealed to be a woman, at once drove her sword into his face with all her might and Heart.
Thus Fell the Lord-Lieutenant of Minas Morgul, Witch-King of Angmar, Lord of the Nazgul. Who he had been was lost to time and Sauron’s wiles. But that he was no more even The Dark Lord on his Dark Throne, in the Land of Mordor where The Shadows Lie, could not dispute. How that may have changed the Battle before The Gates of Mordor, who can say?
Whither have gone The Nine and their Master, none know. But Eowyn walks in the Fair Fields of Home, and her pain and sorrow are healed, and in the Light That Was Lost she gleams like the Sun and the Moon, for she is Crowned with Glory.
Pretty good Witch King, though. ;-)
