Éowyn Kills the Witch-king

The death of the Witch-king of Angmar, the Lord of the Nazgûl, on the Pelennor Fields was not merely a military victory but the shattering of a supernatural tyranny that had held Middle-earth in dread for millennia. It was accomplished not by a great captain or a mighty warrior, but by a young woman of Rohan and a hobbit of the Shire, acting together in a moment of desperate courage that fulfilled an ancient prophecy and broke the will of Sauron's most terrible servant.

The Fall of the King and the Emergence of the Shadow

The battle had reached its crisis. King Théoden, having charged into the midst of the Haradrim and slain their chieftain, was brought down. His great horse Snowmane, pierced by a black dart, crashed to the earth, pinning the king beneath him. At that moment, a vast winged shadow descended: the Lord of the Nazgûl upon his fell beast. The creature, a naked, featherless horror with vast webs of hide between horned fingers, settled upon the body of Snowmane, and its rider, a black-mantled shape bearing a crown of steel but no visible face, raised a great black mace to finish the king. The knights of Théoden's house lay slain or scattered; only one figure remained standing beside the fallen monarch: Dernhelm, the young Rider who had carried Meriadoc the hobbit into battle.

The Revelation and the Prophecy

As the Nazgûl lord gloated over his prey, Dernhelm spoke, commanding him to leave the dead in peace. The cold voice of the Ringwraith answered with a terrible boast: "Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey!" He declared that no living man could hinder him. At this, Dernhelm laughed, a sound like the ring of steel, and threw back her helm. Her golden hair, released from its bonds, gleamed in the sunrise. "But no living man am I!" she cried. "You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter." She stood between the Witch-king and her king and kin, defying him with a sword in her hand and a shield raised against the horror of his eyes. The Ringwraith was silent, as if struck by a sudden doubt.

The Combined Blow

The great beast attacked, shrieking, striking with beak and claw. Éowyn did not flinch. With a swift, deadly stroke she clove its outstretched neck, and the huge shape crashed to ruin, its vast wings crumpled on the earth. As the shadow passed, a light fell about her, and her hair shone in the sunrise. But from the wreck rose the Black Rider himself, towering above her. With a cry of hatred he let fall his mace, shattering her shield and breaking her arm. She stumbled to her knees. As he bent over her like a cloud, raising his mace for the killing blow, he suddenly stumbled forward with a cry of bitter pain. Meriadoc the hobbit, who had crawled behind him, had stabbed him from behind with his Barrow-blade, shearing through the black mantle and piercing the sinew behind his mighty knee. The stroke went wide, driving into the ground.

The Fulfillment of the Doom

"Éowyn! Éowyn!" cried Merry. Tottering, struggling up with her last strength, Éowyn drove her sword between the crown and the mantle as the great shoulders bowed before her. The sword broke sparkling into many shards. The crown rolled away with a clang. Éowyn fell forward upon her fallen foe. But the mantle and hauberk were empty, shapeless on the ground, torn and tumbled. A cry went up into the shuddering air, a voice bodiless and thin that died and was swallowed up, never to be heard again in that age of the world. The prophecy of Glorfindel, spoken long ago, that the Witch-king would not fall by the hand of man, was fulfilled. The Lord of the Nazgûl was no more.

Consequences and Significance

The death of the Witch-king was a catastrophic blow to the morale of Sauron's armies. The Nazgûl, deprived of their captain, were thrown into confusion. The cry of his passing was heard across the field, a sound of woe and dismay that signaled the turning of the tide. For Éowyn, the act was both a triumph and a near-fatal ordeal. She lay as if dead, her shield-arm broken and her sword-arm maimed by the shock of confronting a foe of such supernatural power. For Merry, the deed was a fulfillment of his oath to Théoden and a testament to the courage of the hobbits. His blade, forged long ago in the North-kingdom to fight the sorcery of Angmar, was the only weapon that could have dealt such a wound, breaking the spell that knit the Ringwraith's unseen sinews to his will. The victory was a shared one, a union of the valiant heart of a woman and the unexpected, steadfast courage of a hobbit, and it became a legend that would be sung for generations.