Éowyn Defies the Ringwraith Lord: the Updated Version
[We join our story already in progress…]
The Pelennor battlefield is bloodied with Rohan warriors and agents of the Dark Lord Sauron as King Théoden lies crushed beneath his horse Snowmane, his heart pierced with a
poisonous dart. A great shadow has descended upon the field, casting utter despair across the land. The Lord of the Ringwraiths sits astride his Nazgûl, a foul creature poised to rend the flesh of the noble steed with its
blade-like claws.
Suddenly, a fair voice cries out:
“Begone, foul dwimmerlaik.” (noun: from the Latin “he who parties with the undead”) “Leave our fallen in peace!”
Stunned that the paparazzi had already
disclosed his whereabouts, the Witch King cried out:
“Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. Instead, he will bear thee away to Las Vegas, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind shall be brought naked before Pat Sajak on the Wheel of Fortune.”
A sword rang as it was drawn from its sheath. “Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may.”
The Ringwraith cried: “Hinder me, thou fool! No living man may hinder me!”
A swell of laughter rippled
across the embattled field. “But no living man am I! Au contraire. You look upon a woman who stands between you and my lord and kin. Begone, for living or undead, I will smite you if you touch him!
A
smile grew slowly across the shieldmaiden’s face. “And truth be told….I’ve been itching for the opportunity to ‘go forth and smite’ someone after a lifetime of hearing ‘You’re just a girl…you can’t play with swords!’
Right now my blood sugar’s a little low, my hormones are all screwed up and you’re looking like a pretty good target.”
The Nazgûl lifted its bloody eyes and long neck, arching its deadly claws to attack her. With
a surge of Snicker-induced energy, Éowyn raised the sword she had cleverly slipped pass Homeland Security experts at the airport. Polished to a soft luster with Barkeeper’s Secret, the blade was a study in elegance and
would soon be immortalized by Williams-Sonoma in their Middle Earth kitchen knife collection. Displaying grace and dexterity, she looped off the Nazgûl’s head, filleting his scaley flesh with the skill of a Ginzu master.
The rotting head fell to her feet.
A piercing scream tore through the dark as the Ringwraith wailed his displeasure. Where was he going to find another naked, featherless creature raised on rotten meats at this time of night? At the sound of the retched scream, Rohirrim troops were stunned to immobility, yet Éowyn merely smiled: “Did you honestly believe that high-pitched, girlie shriek would paralyze me? Obviously, you’ve never spent the night pacifying a cranky, teething one-year old.”
The evil lord bent toward the carrion and raised a mass of decaying flesh in his hand. This…this was the key! Surely no mere mortal could withstand this horror?
Yet the woman stood her ground, hands on hips, shaking her head. “You call that disgusting, Mr. ‘Look-at-me, I’m-the-Undead!’ ? I’ll match you the rotting flesh of the Nazgûl and raise you the stench from an office refrigerator that hasn’t been emptied for two centuries!”
At this challenge, he wretched opened his blackened clock and waves of putrid odors filled the air. “HA!” she laughed at him.
“Is that the best the all-powerful Ringwraith can do? Putrid odors? Try changing the diaper of a child weaned on pureed spinach while holding a 4-year old vomiting fruit-flavored lemba.”
His head rolled back and
from his mouth a flood of decaying worms gushed unto his breast. The Lord of the Ringwraiths cried out, “I will spare you no mercy!! You will know excruciating pain until you beg for the sweet agony of death!”
And to this she replied, “I have three words for you, Bubba: Bikini Wax Job. After you’ve had one of those, we’ll talk about excruciating pain.”
With a cry of hatred that stung the very ears like venom he let
fall his mace. Éowyn’s shield was shivered in many pieces, her arm broken. He raised his mace to deal the fatal blow as she stumbled to her knees.
Suddenly, Meriadoc Brandybuck (a Hobbit who, even though he
was only half her size, still received higher billing on the credits) pierced the Witch King’s sinew with his Elfin sword.
Luckily, Merry had paid for the extended warranty option that included royalty in addition to the standard 30,000 Orc limit. The Ringwraith stumbled forward with a cry of bitter pain and his mace stroke went wide, driving into the ground.
Éowyn, grasping her opportunity, drove her sword between crown and mantle, where it broke sparkling into many shards.
The crown rolled away with a clang as Eowyn fell forward upon her fallen foe, deftly missing the body with moves she learned in the
‘Tae-Bo: Level 4’ video.
But lo! the mantle and hauberk were empty. A cry went up into the shuddering air, and faded to a shrill wailing, passing with the wind, a voice bodiless and thin that died and was swallowed up and was never heard again in that age of this world.
Éowyn whipped out her day planner and placed a neat check beside “Face Death” on her ‘Things To Do’ list. Turning toward the stunned Hobbit, she said with calm resignation: “Only a woman who can organize,
feed, entertain and transport the citizens of an entire kingdom while wreaking havoc upon the decaying undead can fully appreciate that
timing is everything.”