(I have to tell you that my formatting didn't come through in here, so the parts that should be in italics aren't....*sigh*...and the image is the corresponding wallpaper I made for my desktop.) For Love and Honour A dark day of battle and death, a warrior lone, and an enemy black, facing each other with weapons of war, knowing that neither of them would turn back. A shield raised up on high to shine, a tearstained face, hidden under a mask; blackened the foe's heart in hatred and pride, lifting a weapon of grim evil task. Where is the fear, Eowyn, Eowyn? Where is the fear, maid of Rohan? Buried down deep, 'neath the pain and the grief, buried beneath love and duty. A laugh dark and fell amid screams, a challenger fair, desperation did feel; ghastly the voice of a foe beyond fear, hissing his answer, did not make her reel: "Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!" A sword lifting up in response, the beating of wings of a creature now nigh; hideous hide flying next to her face, reply made she ringing, clear to the sky: "But no living man am I! You look upon a woman..." A silence of doubt in reply, the screaming of beast bearing down on her then; deadly the stroke cleaving into the neck, as she faced death-blow, up came her small friend. Where is the fear, Eowyn, Eowyn? Where is the fear, maid of Rohan? Buried down deep, 'neath the pain and the grief, buried beneath love and duty. A terrible foe up above, such twisted hard hate beating down to the ground; desp'rate the sword driving through the fell flesh, Hobbit heart pounding, and honour new-found. Where is the fear, Merry-lad, Merry-lad? Where is the fear, Shire-Hobbit? Buried down deep, 'neath the duty and pride, buried beneath love and honour. A deathly pall clinging to sky, yet changing the airs, and the battle below; honour had found them whose hearts did stay true, yet grievous the wounds that they came to know. Where are the tears, Eowyn, Eowyn? Where are the tears, maid of Rohan? Buried down deep, 'neath the pain and the grief, buried beneath love and duty. Where is the youth, Merry-lad, Merry-lad? Where is the youth, Shire-Hobbit? Buried down deep, 'neath the duty and pride, buried beneath love and honour.