How did it come to this?
Loyal to her family, her lands and her people, Théadain, the illegitimate daughter of Théoden, King of Rohan, has little concern for the world that lies beyond her familiar grasslands. When all that she loves is threatened...
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Chapter 58
"Father!"
The scream was torn from her body as Théadain helplessly watched the fell beast of the Nazgûl clamp its terrible jaws around Snowmane, lifting both horse and the king as if they were merely dolls. A scream of anguish passed her lips as it flung him across the battlefield with a snarl, out of her direct line of sight.
"No!" She cried in terror as she turned to fight desperately towards him, an orc rising up in front of her only for her to cut across its throat with desperate ferocity, driven into a near frenzy of panic as she tried to catch sight of her father. As she wrestled with an orc that lunged at her sheildarm, knocking it to the ground and driving the edge of her shield into its chest with such force that its armour buckled, she heard an awful, gasping growl roll across the battlefield. Straining to see what had happened over the sea of enemies, men and horseflesh, she caught sight of the winged mount of the black rider writhing and twitching as it slumped to the ground, though she could not pick out what had brought it down.
A yell of frustration passed her lips as she was grabbed from behind, just raising her sword in time to block the curved Eastern blade that moved to slice across her neck. Throwing herself back forcefully, she managed to shake off the Haradrim soldier that had caught her, her eyes briefly meeting his as she locked blades with him, feeling that deep-rooted sense of discomfort that came from facing down a member of her own race. She saw him falter, seeing that she was a woman – his brief distraction gave her the chance to knock him soundly in the face with her shield, breaking his nose and freeing him of consciousness.
She did not have time to ponder her morals, not when her father – her king – needed her.
Turning back to where she guessed he had been thrown, her heart hammering in her ears, she choked on a sound of grief and shock as her eyes settled on the fallen form of Snowmane, and her father pinned beneath the white stallion.
That screaming terror flared within her again, tightening her chest like a vice until she almost couldn't breathe. For a single awful, distracting moment, her mind flashed to a heartache that brought the squeals of an injured horse and the gasps of a dying man to her ears. The day she had clutched her mentor in her arms when he had been crushed by his own horse.
Her thoughts were forcefully pulled from that dreadful comparison between her father and Fenmer as her eyes settled on the single soldier that stood between the fallen king and the looming figure dressed in black. A chill pierced her body as she realised that she recognised the familiar form of that solider, and the helm that she had pressed into her cousin's hands only a few nights ago.
"Éowyn!" She choked, though the word was lost amidst the roar of battle. Watching in horror as the Nazgûl strode towards her cousin, she tightened her grip on her sword and moved to dash towards them – just as she was bowled over by a great weight crashing into her side.
