She stood upon the battle plain,
above King whose fate she did not know.
Without brother, friends or small swordthain,
against an enemy come to finish foe.
The gaping maw of his fowl mount,
roared as he approached his prey.
But on her strength he did not count,
as her sword sent it upon its way.
But now the rider came forth alone,
this darkest shade of Sauron's black.
A grisly King with no true throne,
but sent to lead this last attack.
His barbed steel mace looked cold as death,
dangling from his black-mailed hand,
he taunted her with his black breath,
as she dared to even make a stand.
He swung and struck and shattered shield,
and all hope soon we thought was lost.
But this brave lass refused to yield,
she'd guard her King whate'er the cost.
But before good fortune from her flew,
the smallest friend did lend her aid,
his Westernessen blade struck true,
and the darkly King was spell-less made.
With a mighty blow and equal words,
she cleaved his mantle near the crown.
No fouler scream had she ever heard,
as this creature crumpled to the ground.
But mortal were their wounds as well,
this brave young maiden and her squire.
And both upon the plain soon fell,
far from Rohan and the Shire.
But darkness was not yet their fate,
as we soon learned before the end.
The One True King was not too late,
to heal the wounds of these dear friends.
Though battle scarred in body and mind,
they left that land and returned home.
And each found peace, with their own kind,
though still to each other their thoughts do roam.