Hi everyone, here is the next chapter in the story, this time from the perspective of Éowyn, and wow I didn't realise how difficult I would find it writing from her perspective.

She's such a complex character, and I feel that because she's a warrior woman, the other aspects of her personality are overlooked, so I wanted to explore that. Éowyn is complicated, she does not necessarily want to fight, she wants recognition, she wants love, she wants to prove herself equal to men. I feel the Éowyn we see before the battle, is an Éowyn that has built walls around her to protect herself, but in this story I have had Faramir begin to break those down, so the real Éowyn comes out, as she does after the battle, though that will be in following chapters.

In terms of the battle, as previously mentioned, I don't write them well so it's sort of glossed over.

As usual, a huge thank you to everyone who left feedback on the last chapter, I appreciate it and love you all.

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters/locations etc. belong to the Tolkien estate and New Line Cinema. Some dialogue is borrowed from the three books/films in 'The Lord of the Rings' trilogy.

Perhaps it is time I stopped placing my faith in men, Eowyn thought, her mood dark after the events of the last few days. The men in her life always seemed to leave her, or let her down in some way. Of course, they never meant to, but somehow that made it worse. Several women she had spoken to often spoke of how unreliable their husbands were at times, and naively as a teenage girl, she believed her future husband would not fall into the same category, but as she grew older and understood men more, perhaps they were right.

Most of her family were men, she had grown up surrounded by them. In many ways, she knew men better than she knew her own sex.

Her father, dead. Théodred, dead. Éomer, months away at a time when she needed him beside her the most, and even when he was present, he missed how alone she felt in the halls of Meduseld. Her Uncle, a shadow of his former self. Though perhaps it was unfair to think like that, after all, it is not like her father and cousin chose to die, nor did Théoden choose to have his mind enslaved, and Éomer had his duty, which took him from Edoras for long periods of time, and he couldn't have stayed when he had been exiled. And now, she was able to add Faramir to that list.

She had let him in, let him see a side to her that no one else had, not even her brother. A more vulnerable side, and through this she felt some kind of unexplained connection to him, a man she barely knew but felt as if she had known her whole life. She loved Éomer more than anything, but her brother was sometimes blind to her feelings, he was unaware of how she truly felt, whereas Faramir seemed able to read her like she was that book of his, gifted to him by the Lady Galadriel, that he often seemed to have his nose in.

She considered herself a strong woman. She had been broken, yet she carried on, had somehow found strength from somewhere whilst that worm was taking everything from her. She did not depend on any man, but somehow, she felt let down by Faramir's disappearance. She knew she was being petty, after all, Gondor was his home and as a soldier, he had every right to return and try to save it from ruin. But she hated to admit that she missed his presence, for he understood her in a way no one else did, and he did not treat her as if she were about to break. And perhaps most important of all, she felt she could trust him in a time when she could trust few others, and trust was something she valued above all else.

The wall Faramir had broken down over the past several weeks was beginning to make its way back up, and she had returned to the closed, somewhat sullen maiden she was before he arrived at Edoras. She mentally kicked herself for getting so upset over a man she had known for such a small amount of time

The wall he had broken down over the past several weeks had made its way back up. Mentally kicked herself for getting so upset over a man she had known for such a small amount of time, but she would be foolish to deny the connection they immediately had. She had begun to feel things for him that she did not know how to process, and the kiss they shared upon the balcony only confused her more. In truth, she had never really considered men before. She had grown up mostly around men, there were very few women of the Court and her Aunt had died years before she was born, but the men she grew up around were either as old as her uncle, or who had known her since she was a child, and in many ways, they still saw her as that child.

Of course, as she grew, men became interested in her, she was not blind to that, but Théoden did his best to ensure that no man would set unwanted prying eyes upon his niece. She was aware that he rejected several marriage proposals from high ranking Lords of the Mark for her hand in marriage to their eldest sons whilst she was a teen, and at the time, she had been incredibly grateful, for she did not want her life to be bound to a man she barely knew. Obviously, as she grew, she began to take note of the opposite sex as well, and there were many men she found handsome, but at the time she never had a desire to court any of them.

Then, when she reached twenty, her life was thrown upside down, and young men were sent from Edoras, told never to return by the King's new advisor., until the only man who ever looked at her was Gríma, and she was so worried that he would forcibly claim her one day that she often wished her uncle had given her consent to any one of the marriage proposals, for surely the sons of the Lords could not be worse than a worm.

Gríma made her skin crawl, even now he continued to do so though she knew she was safe from him. She knew the look in his eyes, she had seen it often in the eyes of other men as they tried to sneak a glance at her as she grew into a woman, though in them it was harmless and she ignored it, and their gaze did not linger for too long or else they would be on the receiving end of a punch from one of Théodred or Éomer, and they also respected her too much to lust after her, but the lust and desire in his eyes was different, and it made her feel sick, leaving her wary of the gaze of men, but Faramir was different. His eyes were honest and gentle, and though she could read them and see that he felt something for her, she had never seen the lust in his eyes that had terrified her with Gríma.

But, she forced herself to take her mind from Faramir and Gríma, and instead focus on what was to come. The beacons had been lit, and her Uncle had answered Gondor's call for aid. She was currently a part of the camp at Dunharrow, where in the morning, the men of Rohan would prepare to ride to war.

The mountain here had ever scared her as a child, even if she would never admit it, for she would have been endlessly teased by Éomer, though she knew that he also feared the mountain as a child. After arriving at Edoras following the death of her parents, she had heard the stories of the mountains and how men would never return there, and on more than one occasion, nightmares of what lies within had driven her to see comfort from her uncle, who would do his best to sing her back to sleep with the song her mother used to sing to her.

"What do you think, My Lady?" a voice said, startling her, and she turned around to see that Merry had entered her tent, dressed in his new armour to signify his position as Esquire of Rohan. In one hand was a helm, and the other a sword.

"Nearly there, you just need your helm, master hobbit." He placed the helm on his head, and she helped him fasten it, a large grin on her face as she saw his happiness. She had grown to like Merry and Pippin quickly, and their happiness was infectious.

"There, now you look the part. A true Esquire of Rohan."

Merry took his sword, and began to swing it a little, almost hitting her in the process, but she jumped out of the way, laughing slightly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. It isn't all that dangerous though. It's not even sharp."

"Well that's no good. You won't kill many Orcs with a blunt blade. Come on, to the Smithy."

She ushered him out of the tent, laughing as he made his way, swinging his sword to and fro. Her brother was sitting beside Gamling around a campfire, a grim look on his face.

"Éowyn, you should not encourage him."

"You should not doubt him," she replied.

"I do not doubt his heart, only the reach of his arm," Éomer replied, eliciting a laugh from Gamling. She knew Éomer did not mean to truly insult Merry, but Éowyn still felt the need to defend him.

"Why should Merry be left behind? He has as much cause to go to war as you?"

At this, Éomer stood and walked towards her. Her brother was a tall man, broad shouldered and was no doubt an imposing figure on the battlefield. Strength was needed at war, she knew that. But perhaps they needed someone smaller like Merry, to help in ways Éomer and men such as him could not.

"You know as little of war as that hobbit. When the fear takes him, and the blood and the screams and the horror of battle takes hold, do you think he would stand and fight?" he asked, his question seemingly rhetorical, for he did not wait for a reply before continuing. "He would flee, and he would be right to do so."

Éowyn looked down, not meeting her brother's eyes, knowing that Éomer was right, she knew nothing of war, nor did Merry, whereas Éomer, still not yet thirty, was already a veteran of many battles, but she also knew that Merry would fight as hard as any man of Rohan to protect those he cares for. Éomer placed his hand under her chin, lifting her head so she looked at him again, and placed an hand on her shoulder, for comfort she guessed.

"War is the province of men, Éowyn."

She sighed, and removed his hand from her shoulder, giving it a squeeze, but her manner was somewhat cold and distant as she replied to him.

"You should get some sleep, brother. You ride early in the morning." And with that, she returned to her tent, and slipped into a restless sleep as she contemplated what would happen when the sun rose.

Morning came, and she rose early, far earlier than anyone else, for when she left her tent, she was the only one outside and the world was still in darkness. As she walked to the edge of the encampment, she could hear men in their tents, awake, but not yet wanting to leave the comfort of their wives before they rode to war.

As she walked, it did not escape her notice that two horses she had grown used to seeing were not tied up where they were supposed to be, and a certain sword, bow and axe were also missing.

She found a spot near the edge of the mountain, and sat on the ground, overlooking the sunrise in the distance as it appeared from behind the trees. Watching sunrises had often been something she would do if she was in need of peace, which happened often whilst the worm was at Edoras. It gave her joy to see such natural beauty in the world.

She thought about the conversation she had with Éomer last night, about war, and it had been the main reason that she had been restless all throughout the night. She made it clear to him that she did not agree with his assessment of Merry, nor his assessment of herself. She knew Éomer meant no offence to either her or Merry, but sometimes that was the problem with her brother, he was unaware of how his words could be, and often they left her feeling undervalued. She knew he never meant to make her feel such a way, but last night was not the first time.

In truth, she often felt like the men of Edoras did not value her as they did other men. She knew even women of Rohan, who are allowed to practice with swords, were not truly valued by the men, other than to provide children one day, and that was something she had long wished she could change. Whilst the worm was present at Edoras, she had long dreamed of the chance to prove herself, and earn the valour she desired by freeing her Uncle, but she was not able to do so, yet there was still a large part of her that longed to prove that she could too gain renown and glory in the same way that men do. She had made a decision on what she was going to do, but she still doubted whether it was the right choice, but she felt she had to take this opportunity to prove to others that she was worth something.

She was unaware of how long she had been sat near the edge of the mountain, lost in her own thoughts, but a cough from someone alerted her to a presence behind her, and the sun was still slightly hidden, but it would not be long before the new day was truly upon them. She stood up to face whomever had coughed to get her attention, and her uncle began to approach her.

"Uncle," she said, and he winced as he saw unhappiness in her eyes.

"It occurred to me last night, that with everything that has happened, you and I have barely had a chance to talk. I am truly sorry, Éowyn, for everything."

"You have no need to apologise," she assured him. What had happened over the last few years was not his fault, and she could not bear the thought of him believing he was to blame.

"Perhaps not, but let me. It was my duty to protect you, and I failed at that," she went to protest his words, but he held his hand up to silence her, as he was not finished talking. "Despite all you have faced, you have become a remarkable young woman, and I am proud of you. Our people love you, and they respect you, and that is why I have left instructions for the people of Rohan to follow you in my stead. Take up my seat in the Golden Hall, and long may you defend Edoras, should the battle go ill."

"I noticed we are missing a few horses," she said, speaking of Aragorn who had obviously left in the night, "is there no hope for victory?"

"Aragorn must follow his own path, as me must follow ours. And I believe there is hope, even if that hope is slim. We must cling to it, and use it to inspire us." He walked closer to her, and took her hands, holding them in his own as he had several times before. "And my great hope is that one day, you will smile as you used to. I have only ever wanted you to be happy. It would seem that a certain young man from Gondor has brought back a little of the smile I used to see every day."

At his words, she could not help but blush slightly, rather uncharacteristic of her, and she smiled gently, though the thought of the man in reference was still quite bitter as she recalled his absence.

"He is a fine young man, and he's so very clearly in love with you. And you can try to deny it, but you are in love with him too."

Was she? It was a question she had not truly thought upon. She knew she felt something for him that she had never felt for another man before, but whether or not that was love, she was unsure, though her uncle seemed rather certain.

She embraced her uncle, and held onto him tight, aware that this may be the last chance she ever had to do so, and she tried to blink back the tears that were forming in the corners of her eyes. But he had spotted the tears and wiped them away with his thumb, a gesture he had often performed when she was a child.

"I shall see you upon my return," he said gently to her, bringing her forehead to his own, but the words 'If I return' remained unspoken.

She watched as he walked away towards his tent to begin his final preparations before riding for Minas Tirith, and after their conversation, she was hit with a fresh wave of guilt for what she was about to do. He expected her to return to Edoras, and rule in his absence, faraway from death and war, and she was going to betray him, and go against his wishes.

She almost changed her mind, and prepared to return to Edoras with the rest of the women, but there was something that was preventing her from doing so. She was not one to believe in fate, but it was as if something was pulling her towards Minas Tirith, like she had to be there. And as much as she hated to disappoint her uncle, the feeling of the pull from Minas Tirith outweighed her guilt, and she walked to her tent, prepared to fetch her armour and ride with the men to battle.

"Éowyn!" a familiar voice called from the distance, and she turned to see Éomer running towards her. "I had to see you before I left. I could not stand the thought of riding to war with bad blood between us."

"Bad blood?" she questioned, and then realised he must have realised her tense mood from their conversation the night before, but she did not wish for him to feel guilt over his words. "Éomer, there is no bad blood between us.

"Éowyn…"

"There's none, I promise."

"I'm sorry," he said, rather suddenly, his eyes full of emotion, though he refused to look at her.

"For what?"

"For everything. You do know that I love you, don't you?"

"I know, and I love you too." The siblings embraced, and remained so for a while, and just as she had known with her uncle, she knew this could be the last time she embraced her big brother, her best friend, her protector, and a man she would always love.

After Éomer had left, she hurried to her tent, before she lost her courage, and threw the armour on. It was slightly big, but it was the smallest she could find, and she had kept it in her room for over a year, anticipating a moment such as today would come. For the duration of the journey, she would not remove the helm, and she would stay as far out of sight as she could, for all of the men towered above her, and she could not afford for one of them to start enquiring about the slim and short Dernhelm, the name she had chosen for herself as she rode.

But she would not be riding alone. As she was to be left behind, so was Merry, currently stood looking hopeless, as everyone other than he prepared for war.

"You can ride with me," she said as she approached, trying to make her voice sound deeper, but she was aware that she had failed to do so, and realised she must also be silent for the duration of the ride.

"The King is right, a battlefield is no place for a hobbit. I should stay behind, and not burden anyone."

"There are some who would say that a woman does not belong on a battlefield," she said, tilting her helm slightly so he could see her face, and he gasped in shock.

"My-My Lady…"

"They call me Dernhelm," she announced, and Merry then understood.

"I am Meriadoc. It is a pleasure to meet you, Dernhelm."

She offered him an arm, and helped him atop her horse, and she listened as her uncle began to shout the orders. They were to move out, Minas Tirith awaited.

Just as she was beginning to think she had made a mistake by riding with the men, and bringing Merry along with her, she heard her Uncle's voice.

"Minas Tirith! In the distance! Ready yourselves!"

And there it was, the White City. She had never visited herself,

She had not spoken a word since she had helped Merry atop her horse, for she knew that to speak would be to give her away. The armor was not as well fitting as she had hoped, and the helmet was the worst of all. It was incredibly uncomfortable, slightly too small for her, meaning that her hair was pulling and her head was itching, but she knew she could not take it off.

And then the men...some of the things they spoke of were truly vile. She had never felt less comfortable in anyone's presence in her life. She tried to stay away from them, to protect her hidden identity, but also to stay away from their vulgar stories. She was twenty four, and therefore was aware of things that happened between men and women, but these tales from the men and what they do in brothels were horrific. No doubt they would be horrified if they knew they were talking about such things in front of her, but as of this minute, they were unaware the King's niece rode with them, so they spoke as she assumed they normally did.

But she also felt more free than she had for a long time. Nothing made her feel at peace more than riding at pace, as she had loved to do since childhood. And when they approach Minas Tirith, and the horns of Rohan sound their arrival, she felt exhilarated, and she could feel her blood pumping around her body in anticipation. And then the speech her Uncle gave, shouting for death and glory made her feel like she was invincible. Merry joined in with the war cries, and so did she, before urging Windfola forward at pace. It was only during the charge, that she realised the size of the army they were about to battle. But she was a woman of Rohan, and therefore knew the advantages of riding on horseback. She knew that a cavalry charge would wipe out a significant portion of the army before them.

There was a sickening crunch, as the Rohirrim collided with the orcs. Windfola knocked down dozens of the opposing army, and the Rohirrim made use of their significant advantage on horseback.

She and Merry swung their swords, slashing at the orcs who were attempting to stumble out of the way of the oncoming slaughter of horses, and Éowyn felt invincible.

But that feeling changed suddenly. Windfola reared, throwing his riders from his back, and he sprinted off, clearly startled by something. And now, no longer on horseback, Éowyn was in the thick of the battle.

Dazed slightly, she picked herself off the floor quickly, sword in hand, and it was then that she noticed that Merry was missing. She panicked, for even the tallest of men were dwarfed by the Rohirrim horses still charging overhead, but Merry stuck down her struck fear into her heart. I should not have brought him, she told herself.

But she did not have time to look for him, because orcs began to charge at her from all corners, and she put the many hours she had spent training in sword fighting in the halls of Edoras into practice. It was clear that she was not as well trained as the men of Rohan, but she had a natural gift with a sword, and cut down many foes without issue.

She began to struggle to catch her breath, a mixture of exertion and panic. She had once said that she feared nothing but a cave, and now she realises how naive her words were, for a battle was something everyone should fear. She felt as if she were in a bad dream, unable to escape. Everywhere she looked were the fallen bodies of her people, intertwined with the dead of Sauron's forces. Everything was happening far too quickly, and her panic continued to rise as she heard the awful screeches of the Nazgûl from above.

Though she did not allow herself to dwell on it, for she knew she would pay with her life if she lost concentration, she realised that war was horrific, and that last night, Éomer had been trying to shield her from something that no man or woman should have to endure.

But then, as she watched in horror as the Lord of the Nazgûl threw her Uncle and her King from his horse, that fierce rebellion and sense of determination set in once again. And nothing was more important than saving him. He was lodged underneath Snowmane, his loyal horse who was not moving, and had seemingly been killed. But she could see her Uncle squirming slightly, trying to get the mighty weight off him.

Théoden stopped his struggling for a minute, and stared at her, recognising the eyes showing between her helmet, and she could've sworn she swore a flicker of a smile grace his pained face, giving her courage she didn't know she had.

Her blood pumping and giving her a new found sense of bravery, she stood between her Uncle and the foul creature, defiant as she shouted.

"I will kill you if you touch him!"

The Witch King hissed, a sense of arrogance about him, but his presence was terrifying and unlike anything Éowyn had ever experienced. To be near this foul creature was to feel darkness, and she began to shiver, though she still stood tall.

"Do not come between a Nazgûl and his prey!" and he descended from his fell beast, and Éowyn's eyes were drawn to the weapon he held.

The Witch King's sorcery made him a formidable opponent to anyone, but it was rare he would actually lower himself to battling with humans. But Éowyn knew the giant mace he held would've caused the end of many lives. Her eyes bulged, for the mace, dangling from a chain, must have been the size of her entire torso. And standing before the Witch King with nothing but a sword and shield, Éowyn knew true fear.

But she did not let that stop her. She was Éowyn, Éomund's daughter, niece to the King and Shieldmaiden of Rohan. She would not cow before this evil creature and allow her Uncle to succumb to his terror.

One advantage she had with the Witch King using such a heavy weapon was that she was faster, and she was able to dodge the mace as he swung it wildly, but clearly well practiced. She was constantly dodging, meaning she was unable to strike back at him, but at least for now it kept him from her Uncle.

She must've put a foot wrong, because the Witch King finally managed to hit her, though she did not receive the full brunt of the attack. If she had, it would've likely killed her. Instead, the mace hit her shield, shattering it into several pieces, forcing her to fall backwards. She also swallowed a cry, for the impact of the mace had not only broken her shield, but also her arm.

She was too slow to get up, and she felt her body leave the ground as her foe grabbed her by the neck and hoisted her into the air. Up close, he was even more terrifying than from afar. And she shook as she stared into the gap between his helm, where she was met with nothing but a black void.

"Fool!" The Witch King spat, and Éowyn felt a coldness upon her as he spoke. "No man can kill me. Die now!"

And then suddenly, the Witch King recoiled, letting out an almighty shriek that shook the battlefield. Merry, brave and wonderful little Merry, had stabbed him in the leg, and Éowyn once again dropped to the ground. This time, however, she stood straight up, ignoring the searing pain in her left arm. She snuck a small glance to her left, where Merry lay on the ground, unconscious after his efforts at weakening their deadly foe.

But even the sight of her dear friend did not make her cower, and the Witch King's words repeated over and over in her head. No man can kill me.

She removed her helm, revealing her long golden hair, and stared down at her foe, the complete opposite of what the situation had been before Merry's intervention. She stared straight at the back hole of his face, and stood tall and proud, a daughter of Rohan.

"I am no man!" And with that, she thrust her sword into the black hole between his helm, and for a second time in a matter of moments, the Witch King let out a pained screech, or perhaps a screech of shock, as for many years he believed himself invincible, yet this woman of Rohan had defeated him.

Éowyn recoiled herself, dropping her sword for she had lost all feeling in her right arm, and she dropped to the ground, a weird feeling overcoming her as she watched the Witch King appear to implode. And Middle-Earth was finally free of his tyranny.

She was exhausted, and she felt a darkness begin to overcome her, but her job was not yet done. She may have slain the most deadly of foes, but she found every ounce of strength within her, and crawled to her Uncle, whose eyes had begun to gloss over. But she saw them light up slightly as he recognised her.

He tried to reach his hand up to cup her cheek, but he could not raise it. However, when he spoke, she allowed herself to smile slightly.

"I know your face," he said, his voice pained but full of love, "Éowyn...my eyes darken."

And his words broke her. Though she could see his body was crushed by Snowmane, she still held onto the belief that she could save him.

"No, I'm going to save you," she said, willing him to fight.

"Éowyn, my body is broken. You have to let me go."

She shook her head slightly, but deep down she truly knew there was no saving him. The tears began to stream as he continued to talk about his life after death, but Éowyn was struggling to listen as she began to contemplate her life without her Uncle, a man who had raised her as if she were his own, who had soothed her when she had nightmares or scraped her knee as a child, a man who she had only just got back.

The feeling of dread that came with the Nazgûl seemed only to amplify her sorrow, and when his head lolled to the side and the King of Rohan lived no more, Éowyn sobbed, truly sobbed, for the first time since her parents had died.

After cradling the body of her Uncle, the sounds of battle returned to Éowyn's ears, and she remembered where she was. She attempted to stand, but her feet were unsteady, one arm was in pain and the other had no feeling at all, and her mind was clouded by darkness. She made it all but four steps before she fainted, dropping to the floor as if there were no life in her.

Even up close, it appeared that she had no life in her. She was incredibly pale, showed no sign of movement, and her breaths were so small and few, it was as if she was not breathing. And so when the battle was over, and people were searching among the bodies, the battlefield was filled with the anguished scream of a grieving brother.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and my characterisation of Éowyn. As mentioned before, she's incredibly complex especially at this point in her life. My interpretation of Éowyn is that of the soldiers in WW1 who wanted to achieve valour and glory for their country, but then when they arrived at war, realised how horrific it was. She feared the Witch King and feared the death and fighting around, but that doesn't make her any less a hero. That is what I believe Éowyn's story was modeled on, and Tolkien hoped to promote the message that peace and healing provides more valour and honour than war and death, and that is why I wrote Éowyn the way I did towards the end, where she fears the things she is seeing. I feel like her time in the Houses of Healing is her recovering not just physically but also mentally from the horrific things she saw on the battlefield.

I've written quite a lot of the next chapter so it shouldn't be long before it is up. But famous last words I suppose :D. It will be back to Faramir's POV, and we are beginning to head to the end of the story.

Hope you liked this chapter, thanks for reading.