Beauty of the Sun

I will never forget the first time I saw her. At sunrise, early one spring morning, I saw the strong winds whipping her pristine white gown, embedded with golden embroidery, and tossing her radiant golden hair like a doll, as she stood staring off at the sun rising over the mountain range. Her stance was one of power. You could tell just at a glance she was from the strong line of Eord.

It wasn’t until years later that I got the privilege of seeing her face. It was at a feast for the king, not a year after I joined his cavalry, where she was coming around serving the men. As she came to my table, I felt my tongue catch in my throat. If there are such things as Valar, I swear that even they would not compare to her splendor. She glided over to each man’s cup, filling it anew, and leaving the man in a state of shock. As she filled mine, I looked upon her stunning face. It was blank as a parchment before the scribe begins. No emotion lit upon her gorgeous features to give away what her heart felt. However her eyes told an entirely different tale. I read in their cold grey depths pain and suffering; injustice and rebellion. I couldn’t understand how an ainur such as this could feel emotions like that. She passed by, not acknowledging me anymore than the man previous. I spent the rest of that night trying to figure out the look in her eyes.

Then that fateful day arrived. The call to Gondor. Away from our homes, our families, we were called. To aid a dying brother, who never aided us. I didn’t wish to leave my darling wife, my dear little daughter, and strong son. The fear I would not see them again overwhelmed me. Yet my king had called, and I had to answer.

As conquerors we came, yet it could not stay that way. Beasts from the sky swept down upon my kin and me. Horses scattered. Men screamed. Such terror I did not know existed! I was kicked of my beloved horse, landing on my stomach, breaking several of my ribs. It felt as though dozens of little daggers were sent into my chest. There was no way I could get help in time. I would never return from this horrid place. Yet, in the darkness of my agony, I saw her. There she stood, among all the carnage of battle, hair streaming out, sword raised high. There she stood, defying the lord of the Nazgul. My stomach lurched. The essence of light facing the core of darkness. Tears streamed down my face. This wasn’t fair. Yet life rarely is. As the life streamed out of me I could only pray she would live.

Éowyn… White Lady of Rohan… your beauty doesn’t belong among this butchery… do not die… keep the spirit of Rohan alive… through this… massacre… through the end…