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- Джон Толкин
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- Властелин колец: Возвращение короля
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- Стр. 93/277
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Éowyn
it
was
,
and
Dernhelm
also
.
For
into
Merry
's
mind
flashed
the
memory
of
the
face
that
he
saw
at
the
riding
from
Dunharrow
:
the
face
of
one
that
goes
seeking
death
,
having
no
hope
.
Pity
filled
his
heart
and
great
wonder
,
and
suddenly
the
slow-kindled
courage
of
his
race
awoke
.
He
clenched
his
hand
.
She
should
not
die
,
so
fair
,
so
desperate
At
least
she
should
not
die
alone
,
unaided
.
The
face
of
their
enemy
was
not
turned
towards
him
,
but
still
he
hardly
dared
to
move
,
dreading
lest
the
deadly
eyes
should
fall
on
him
.
Slowly
,
slowly
he
began
to
crawl
aside
;
but
the
Black
Captain
,
in
doubt
and
malice
intent
upon
the
woman
before
him
,
heeded
him
no
more
than
a
worm
in
the
mud
.
Suddenly
the
great
beast
beat
its
hideous
wings
,
and
the
wind
of
them
was
foul
.
Again
it
leaped
into
the
air
,
and
then
swiftly
fell
down
upon
Éowyn
,
shrieking
,
striking
with
beak
and
claw
.
Still
she
did
not
blench
:
maiden
of
the
Rohirrim
,
child
of
kings
,
slender
but
as
a
steel-blade
,
fair
but
terrible
.
A
swift
stroke
she
dealt
,
skilled
and
deadly
.
The
outstretched
neck
she
clove
asunder
,
and
the
hewn
head
fell
like
a
stone
.
Backward
she
sprang
as
the
huge
shape
crashed
to
ruin
,
vast
wings
outspread
,
crumpled
on
the
earth
;
and
with
its
fall
the
shadow
passed
away
.
A
light
fell
about
her
,
and
her
hair
shone
in
the
sunrise
.
Out
of
the
wreck
rose
the
Black
Rider
,
tall
and
threatening
,
towering
above
her
.
With
a
cry
of
hatred
that
stung
the
very
ears
like
venom
he
let
fall
his
mace
.
Her
shield
was
shivered
in
many
pieces
,
and
her
arm
was
broken
;
she
stumbled
to
her
knees
.
He
bent
over
her
like
a
cloud
,
and
his
eyes
glittered
;
he
raised
his
mace
to
kill
.
But
suddenly
he
too
stumbled
forward
with
a
cry
of
bitter
pain
,
and
his
stroke
went
wide
,
driving
into
the
ground
.
Merry
's
sword
had
stabbed
him
from
behind
,
shearing
through
the
black
mantle
,
and
passing
up
beneath
the
hauberk
had
pierced
the
sinew
behind
his
mighty
knee
.
'
Éowyn
!
Éowyn
!
'
cried
Merry
.
Then
tottering
,
struggling
up
,
with
her
last
strength
she
drove
her
sword
between
crown
and
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
lo
!
the
mantle
and
hauberk
were
empty
.
Shapeless
they
lay
now
on
the
ground
,
torn
and
tumbled
;
and
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
.
And
there
stood
Meriadoc
the
hobbit
in
the
midst
of
the
slain
,
blinking
like
an
owl
in
the
daylight
,
for
tears
blinded
him
;
and
through
a
mist
he
looked
on
Éowyn
's
fair
head
,
as
she
lay
and
did
not
move
;
and
he
looked
on
the
face
of
the
king
,
fallen
in
the
midst
of
his
glory
,
For
Snowmane
in
his
agony
had
rolled
away
from
him
again
;
yet
he
was
the
bane
of
his
master
.
Then
Merry
stooped
and
lifted
his
hand
to
kiss
it
,
and
lo
!
Théoden
opened
his
eyes
,
and
they
were
clear
,
and
he
spoke
in
a
quiet
voice
though
laboured
.
