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Foreword

The Lord of the Rings film trilogy was a remarkable cinema achievement, and deserving of its many honors. Many purists of the novels however, were disappointed by the many deviations which the director, Peter Jackson took from J.R.R. Tolkien's original writings. One of his lesser known, but significant liberties was transforming the 'Fell Beasts' from not overly large pterodactyl-like creatures, with bird's beaks and naked skin (which could hardly even support a human rider judging from the illustrations that accompanied the original novels), to truly gigantic, scale covered 'dragons', so large that they could snatch up horses and riders in massive talons and toss them away. In all honestly, I must admit that I liked the change as well, and the scenes of these massive flying beasts routing a huge army and destroying a city are among the most memorable in the entire film trilogy. But seriously then, how can anyone of even moderate intelligence believe that Eowyn could lop off the head of such a creature, whose neck is at least as thick as a horse's abdomen and clearly depicted being covered in large overlapping scales? Such a creature would have vertebrae the size of cinder blocks, and strong sinews like fire hoses. So of course she couldn't even injure, much less decapitate such a beast with a mere steel sword. Indeed, it took an extremely strong and skilled swordsman just to behead the average man in a formal execution. (One may remember how King Henry VIII imported a professional executioner from France to behead his wife because he felt there was no executioner in Britain who could do the job cleanly with a sword, as he wished!) And to my knowledge, there isn't a single reliable account of any man ever being able to chop off a horse's head with a sword, much less a gigantic armored leviathan. So how are we to believe that a shapely young woman could sever the head of something with a scale armored neck about the same thickness as that of a T-Rex? Given that the viewer was supposed to take this seriously, this is truly one of the most ridiculous scenes in the history of motion pictures.

This little piece of prose then, describes what REALLY would have happened if Eowyn did indeed face one of Peter Jackson's 'flying Godzillas' instead of Tolkien's relatively small, pterodactyl-like Fell Beasts -- though in all honesty, common sense dictates that she wouldn't have stood much of a chance against the pterodactyl either, though her sword might have at least pierced its 'naked' skin if the creature simply bared its neck for execution as Tolkien's story seems to suggest. And of course, if the Fell Beasts were indeed this large and powerful, we must also concede that Sauron's forces would have undoubtedly won the battle and probably the war. To keep the flavor of the original novel, some of initial text of this piece is borrowed from Tolkien's novel, though the resemblance ends there, and you are warned that Eowyn's fate will not be pleasant. Our story begins just after King Théoden, riding his white charger, Snowmane, arrives on Pellenor Field with his army. He repels the attack of the Easterling cavalry, and personally kills their king with his lance, but then the Witch King arrives on his monstrous mount to spread terror through the ranks of men and horses.......

. Eowyn and the Fell Beast But lo! Suddenly in the midst of the glory of the king, his golden shield was dimmed. The new morning sun was blotted from the sky. Darkness fell about him. Horses reared and screamed. Men were cast from their saddles to lay groveling on the ground.

The great shadow descended like a falling cloud. And behold! It was a winged creature. If bird, then greater than all other birds and it was scaly like a dragon. More immense was the apparition than even the unlamented Smaug the Golden, it was, and like that beast, its vast pinions were as webs of hide between horned fingers; and it stank dreadfully. A creature of an older world maybe it was, whose kind, lingering in long forgotten mountains cold beneath the moon, outstayed their day, and in hideous eyrie bred this last untimely brood, apt to evil. And the Dark Lord took it, and nursed it with fell meats, until it grew to the measure of all things that flew; and he gave it to his servant to be his steed. Upon the beast sat a shape, black-mantled, huge and threatening. A crown of steel he bore, but between rim and robe naught was there to see, save only a deadly gleam of eyes: the lord of the Nazgul. To the air he had returned summoning his fell steed ere the darkness failed, and now he was come again, bringing ruin, turning hope to despair, and victory to death. A great chained flail he wielded.

Down, down it dove, towards the mounted king of the Rohirrim, then, folding its fingered webs, it gave a croaking cry, and seized in its jaws the rearing Snowmane, now wild with terror. As a terrier would shake and throw a rat, the noble steed with Theoden still in saddle, was cast three spear lengths and crashed to the ground pinning the king beneath, dazed, broken, but still alive.

But Théoden was not utterly forsaken. The knights of his house lay slain about him, or else mastered by the madness of their steeds were borne far away. Yet one stood there still, slight of build, face hidden by helm, locks of long blond hair flowing behind. By the knight stood a young Hobbit. Their horse too, had thrown them in his terror. The warrior stood between the beast and the fallen king, and spoke to the black helmed rider.

"Be gone foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the wounded and fallen in peace!"

A cold voice answered, "Come not between the Nazgul and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentations, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh will be devoured, and thy shriveled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye".

A sword rang as it was drawn, "Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may" spoke the unkown warrior.

"Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!" replied the Witch King.

The warrior spoke again, saying, "But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Eowyn. I am Eomund's daughter. You stand between me and my Lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him".

The winged creature screamed at her, but the Ringwraith made no answer, and was silent, as if in sudden doubt.

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 Eowyn, baring its mailed neck to the warrior as if daring her to strike.

Still she did not blanch: maiden of the Rohirrim, child of kings, slender but as a steel-blade, fair yet terrible. Mastering all of her might, a swift and sound stroke she dealt upon the fell creature's neck, as if to smite it from its head. The great sword met serpent's hide with a resounding crack, the impact so hard that the weapon was loosed from the shield maiden's grip -- yet to her astonishment and dismay, scarcely a mark could be seen on the close-knit, green-black scales. The beast was unscathed!

"What folly!" She cursed to herself. She had known that the cattle horn scale armor of her own nation was proof against the hardest strikes of lance and sword, and arrows too, and this foul creature was at least as well girded with hard, dark scales to be sure.

The great beast craned its head uncomfortably close to get a better view of it's ineffectual antagonist, and Eowyn saw both intelligence and malignant evil in the slit-pupiled, serpent-like eyes that bore into her very soul. Its toothy maw seemed to curl into a grin, as if it were amused by the maiden's futile attempt to slay it. And then, as if this warrior-princess of Rohan were no more than an annoying flea, a quick flex of the beast's neck against her body sent her flying backwards to land soundly on her buttocks -- her finely wrought armor jingling. A casual flick of a talon sent her sword flying far out of reach. Now this winged steed of the Nazgul Lord was not only the largest, but also the most intelligent of the brood, and was frequently called upon to perform the most unspeakable acts of horror and depravity at the whim of the Witch King. Like a hound begging scraps beside a feasting table, the beast greedily eyed the maiden, and then glanced to its' master, as if waiting for the command -- drooling profusely at the thought of consuming the tender young meat helplessly sprawled beneath its gaping jaws.

"Hold fast!" The Morgul Lord commanded the winged monstrosity, then he turned and spoke to Eowyn, saying "Thou risked all to protect the fallen kinglet and spoke of him as like a father. Now I recall the history. As thou hath claimed, thou art the daughter of the late Eomund, and therefore niece of the fallen king, who dolts on you like a father. How fitting then, that you now will kill your king and father."

"Never, you fiend, I will sooner die first", Eowyn retorted, and she attempted to rise, but with a gentleness that contradicted its terrible demeanor, the winged reptile pinned the maiden to the ground with one bloodstained talon, taking care not to harm her until its dark master willed it.

"Do not contradict me, child." mused the Witch King. "Thou shall indeed cause his death no matter what you may think." Eowyn tried to speak, but before she could utter a word, the beast's toothy maw split wide, and she was assailed by a horrid stench followed by the warm, wet embrace of the creature's purple-pink tongue across her face. Words left her, and she gagged and vomited up her dawn soldier's meal of venison laced porridge and ale.

The obscene tongue of the monster caused the helm of her secrecy to fall from her, and her bright hair, released from its bonds, gleamed with pale gold upon her shoulders. Her eyes grey as the sea were hard and fell, and yet tears were on her cheek.

With their king down, and the other beast-mounted Ringwraiths routing the remains of the Rohirrim army, a throng of victorious orcs and Easterlings now formed a circle around the great winged creature, eager to see the unfolding drama. Many did not understand or could hear the dialogue between the two, but when they saw that the foolish youth who dared challenge the Dark Lord, was actually a comely maiden, hoots of derision and wonderment filled the air.

Eyeing the multitude, the Witch King boomed, "I require a skilled surgeon to treat the fallen king."

Murmurings of discontent went through the fell host, astonished that the Morgul Lord would dare give succor to such an implacable foe of their Dark Lord Sauron. Yet none dared speak openly of it, and it would be prudent to obey his command. There was a rustling among one section of the crowd, and a captain of the Easterling royal guard pushed an older, black robed and scholarly looking man forward who wore a blood spattered apron and carried a leather satchel that contained his medicines and instruments. The swarthy captain in glittering bronze scale armor made a quick bow and stated, "Sire, this man is the personal surgeon of our late Monarch, who was laid low by King Théoden himself only moments before you arrived."

The Witch King gave a half-nod of approval, and uttered "How fitting, that." Before the surgeon reached Théoden, two quicker thinking orcs in the mob grabbed head and tail of Snowmane, but still living, he kicked and bit until a huge, battle-scarred Uruk-Hai snapped his neck with a quick twist. The now still stallion was lifted from the prostrate regent, and Théoden's head and back were propped up on Snowmane's belly. The Easterling surgeon quickly applied a tourniquet to a bloody fractured leg. He then took a dark green vial from his bag, uncorked it and passed it under the nostrils of the king, bringing him back to consciousness.

The Lord of the Nazgul strode before the coughing and sputtering Théoden and mockingly said to him, "A fine morning for a great battle, is it not? I expected you to be hiding among the women when I visited your camp this morning." The wraith then reached into a belt pouch and tossed some familiar jewelry in front of the King. "Your sisters made a fine breakfast for my mount, though fear the flight may have aroused its appetite again" - and he nodded his head towards Eowyn saying, "Is the nation of Rohan so bereft of fighting men, that you must even conscript your women... nay even your children, for your adopted daughter has been thrown into the ranks to fight your battles for you?"

Théoden bolted up with a start when he recognized his beloved Eowyn squatting in the mud, pinned to the ground by the talons of the huge monster.

"And look Kinglet! See how she now plays with my mount as though it were some pampered kitten in your court? Though at least she stays while all of your knights still living, now fly away in terror."

Grimacing in pain from broken ribs and a protruding fragment of a femur, Théoden spoke with great civility to his enemy in hope that Eowyn would receive clemency, saying, "I acknowledge my defeat, and do with me what you will, but spare my beloved Eowyn. I fear my son Eomer has perished in the fray as so many others. If this be so, Eowyn is of my house, and under her Rohan will serve your Master."

"Know ye this, oh Théoden", the Witch King haughtily replied, "The penalty of any king to bring his nation to war against Sauron the Great is death. But if my Lord were to learn that Eowyn hath slain thee herself on my order, he may be well pleased, and some manner of clemency might be in order for her and your surviving subjects."

Despite the beast's pinning claw and leering gaze but inches from her head, Eowyn spoke, "Never, good father would I harm thee, nor would any of your subjects receive succor from the dark lord. We will fight him to our last breath."

The Ringwraith ignored the maiden's outburst and said to Theoden, "Only say the word, oh King, and I will guarantee your precious Eowyn shall slay thee, no matter her protests. Sauron the Great may be moved by her actions, and spare the Rohirrim of any further retribution. I would be remiss to not grant a king who has demonstrated such great courage on this fields of battle, this last request."

Theoden then turned his eyes to Eowyn and weakly spoke, his strength rapidly diminishing. "Daughter, I lie broken and dying. As it may save our people, I ask that you slay me swiftly, as our enemies command, so that you may live and rule over our people if my son has likewise fallen."

The Witch King then turned to Eowyn saying, "Girl, will you heed your own lord's command and slay him as he now orders?"

As if it understood everything that was said, the great beast loosed its grip, so Eowyn might speak easier. Defiantly the valiant shield maiden spoke, "I cannot, I will not, you fiend."

The Ringwraith moved yet closer to Eowyn, towering above her, and spoke again. "Verily I say you that you will indeed slay your king and father, as you now regard him. By this time tomorrow you will have suffocated him. But since you have the impertinence to even ignore his command, my faithful mount will graciously assist you in his execution. Speak not again, impertinent child, for I grow bored with your tiresome prattle. You have nothing more to say. It is finished." The dark helm then turned slightly, and the Wraith uttered something in an unknown tongue to the winged beast.

Still belligerent, Eowyn opened her mouth to again voice her defiance, but was stopped short by another long, slavering lick across the face, the beast's tongue-tip even entering the maiden's mouth, causing her to gag in revulsion. Sharp talons now groped for purchase under Eowyn's armor, one neatly between her ample white breasts, and with a mighty pull, leather strapping burst asunder and the breastplate tore away, clattering on the stony ground. Seemingly with care not to do grave injury, the murderous talons that had wrought so much death, now methodically stripped away mail, padded hauberk and underclothing alike, Eowyn's most frantic struggling deterring the massive creature not in the slightest.

Poor Theoden turned his head away, not desiring not to see the gruesome fate to come, but the Witch King barked an order. "Surgeon! Make the kinglet watch my little play. If you cannot hold his eyelids open, then cut them off".

The Uruk-Hai warrior that had throttled Snowman now crouched low and held the King's head fast, while the Easterling clipped his eyelids open with iron tweezers, taking a surgeon's care not to cause them to bleed, and spoil the fallen regent's view of the unfolding drama. The beast continued unimpeded, it's questing tongue traveled further down the smooth neck and under an armpit, of the struggling maiden, where it tarried to suckle awhile. Then to the twin ivory orbs, next it came, and they shook and quivered with the monster's ministrations. Eowyn tried to scratch, kick, even bite the persistent, undulating tongue, but her best efforts did not hinder the creature, that now earnestly licked the maiden's taught belly, like a hound might a greasy market sausage. Then it slipped lower, threatening to intrude upon Eowyn's most intimate places, eliciting shrill screams and the vice-like clenching of her thighs in vain hopes of deterring the relentless, snakelike appendage.

But the beast was determined to prevail, and while the maiden sapped strength from every muscle to fight the prodding and probing, the beast exerted no more of its strength than would a tabby lapping milk from a bowl.

The mob of Orcs and Easterlings hooted and howled in delight and the multitude grew greater by the moment. For many, the unfolding tableaux seemed so erotic to their bestial minds, that they openly fondled their privates in wild abandon. Sergeants and overseers would normally beat and whip their charges senseless, to become so distracted in the midst of a great battle, yet the Witch King gave no hint of annoyance, and allowed them to continue. Indeed, their presence and lustful demeanor only humiliated both king and maiden all the more. And besides, the Rohirrim host was now all but destroyed, and soon the gate of Minas Tirith would be breeched and this horde of sex crazed orcs would soon be loosed for an orgy of rape and slaughter.

The exhausted Eowyn could deter the relentless tongue no further, and as her loins relaxed, it thrust deep and hard to experience new tastes in every secret place. In its fervor, and perhaps by design, the beast ploughed the maid with its tongue, several yards through the slick, muddy grass and debris of battle until she came to a stop upon the heap that was the prostrate king and his fallen steed.

Broken and pained as he was, Theoden caressed his adopted daughter in a vain attempt to comfort her amidst the profane onslaught that he could do nothing to deter. Ironically, the King's own broken body now stopped Eowyn's movement and therefore hastened her doom. Thus pinned by her would-be protector, the flying serpent gaped wide its hideous jaws and took in the wildly kicking feet, and quickly scooped her up to her waist. Then slowly, gently, the great jaws closed around the now whimpering maid, and pulled her just out of reach of her king and adopted father.

With the maid now trapped, the wormlike, prehensile tongue tormented her with renewed vigor, probing, pushing, and slathering her with the noxious slime that would hasten her passage down the dark gullet that had already ensconced her flailing feet. Then like a feeding serpent, each side of the beast's lower jaws moved independent, yet in cooperation of one another, each taking its turn, left and right, back and forth, a methodical, seesaw motion that carried Eowyn to her inevitable doom slowly, only inches at a time. All the while, eyelids clipped open, and head held fast, King Theoden watched in anguish as the maiden slowly disappeared down the beast's insatiable throat.

At last, even the warrior's head was drawn into the ring of fearsome teeth, and darkness descended as the jaws slowly closed, only inches from the head of the anguish- maddened King of Rohan. His good hand grabbed at some last strands of drool soddened, golden hair that hung from the scaley lips, but then the beast sharply craned its head, pulling Eowyn deeper, and causing even these last locks to slide from his hand and disappear forever between clenched jaws.

A distinct bulge now appeared behind the monster's head, stretching the creature's hide just enough to reveal panes of greyish-pink skin between the thick, dark scales that had rendered the maiden's sword blow so ineffectual. The lump shimmied and shook on its own accord, as Eowyn continued to resist her fate. Though her naked body was coated in slick slime, her arms were strong enough to push the clamping throat away from her face, and continue to take in gulps of air, that had entered the capacious throat along with her body.

The bright morning sun shown down on the beast, and Eowyn was bathed in a crimson glow, colored so by the web of blood vessels visible in the naked skin between the scales, like some unholy stained glass window. In the dim red light, she saw the loose flesh around her tense up, and form into a distinct ring, which descended all around her head, as if intent to smother her. Her hands rose to stop it, and they were met with a strong cord of muscle that tightly clenched shut at the top of her head, like being inside drawstring bag, propelling her further down the slippery chute. In rapid succession, more of the bands erupted in the neck and closed down behind the first one, smoothly pushing her down the long, serpentine neck.

Theoden screamed as he watched in horror, and could neither close his eyes or turn turn his head due to his captors' restraints. The bulge that was Eowyn thrashed against the unyielding muscles, but could do nothing to slow her descent down the long dark tube, until it vanished into the thicker body of the beast.

The dull red light faded to utter darkness, and Eowyn's flailing limbs were pressed tight. as her body now competed for space with the monster's enormous, pulsing lungs. She could feel, and hear a strong throbbing heartbeat, first by her feet, but soon thundering into her ears, and then behind her as she was efficiently pushed along. She tried to breath, but there was no air in the tight, clammy tube that gripped her face. Then her feet felt a hard knot of muscle, that obligingly relaxed, and her body was slowly fed into a more spacious area, until even her head was released from the slimy grip and at last she could take a gasp of air.

But it was like no air she had ever breathed. It was more of a hot, steaming vapor that burnt tender lips, throat and lungs, and stunk like vomit. At nearly the same instant, the lower half of her body slipped into what seemed like a hot mud bath, her sensitive toes feeling what could only be the softening bones of previous victims. The little cuts she sustained as she had struggled in the beast's jaws now burned with fury, like she had been rolled in salt, and as soon as her groin submersed, the sensitive skin burned like fire. She madly scrambled and thrashed in the total darkness, vainly trying to return up tube she had been sent down, but her slime coated finger met only a tightly clenched valve that would not budge. In the next instant, the walls of her black prison clenched all around her in a mighty spasm, plunging her head and upper body into the sludge, and burying her deep under what could only be the disintegrating bodies of the monster's earlier victims. Now the sensitive skin ofr her breasts, eyelids, ears and lips also burned, and as the stomach relaxed, she pulled apart the simmering, softening bodies of previous victims, in her instinct-driven need to find a pocket of air - unwittingly prolonging her own agony.

But no sooner than the movement stopped, and she filled her lungs again with the acidic fog, the stomach violently contracted again, kneading her weakening body deep into the stewing mass of disarticulated bones and dissolving viscera of the earlier occupants. She had grasped something soft, and oddly familiar, and used it to wipe away the slime that clung to her mouth and nostrils. It was a plait of thickly braided hair, uniquely entwined with strands of tiny pearls, just as she had coiffured one of her Aunt's hair in camp the night before, and then recoiled from the object in horror. She now recalled the Witch King's remarks, and his tossing his aunts' jewelry in front of Theoden only minutes earlier. They must have struck the Rohirrim camp shortly after the army had left.

With the regularity of the monster's heartbeat that incessantly drummed in her head, her prison convulsed again, pushing her deep under the sludge. And again she fought her way up, thorough the grisly, pathetic remains of what she now realised had once been her loved ones. The beast was not even fighting her, but merely carrying out it normal bodily function of processing food, while each one of the involuntary contractions began a new, life and death struggle for her. What seemed like hours of torment was probably only a few scant minutes. And then, tThe rhythmic convulsions were interrupted by a new sensation, as Eowyn violently lurched backwards as the beast sprung into the air. The flapping wings now made the chamber chaotic, tossing the maiden all about and making the search for air pockets all but impossible in the inky darkness. When the stomach contracted again, the exhausted maiden remained submerged.

The Easterling surgeon sighed in relief when the Witch King and his steed departed for the besieged citadel. The Ringwraith's last order was to keep Theoden alive until he returned in the morning - under pain of death should he fail. He worked diligently though the night to ensure the King's survival for whatever fate the Witch King had in store. In the mid morning, the winged monster pushed off from the palace platform of the vanquished Gondorian city, the Ringwraith in saddle, and returned to Pellenor Field.

The ground shook when the great beast landed. It was far heavier than on the previous day, having glutted itself on the high born ladies of Gondor with the fall of the city. The Easterling captain kept a detachment there through the night, and they now all stood at attention with the Witch King's arrival. "How fares the Kinglet? , boomed the voice from the mounted wraith.

"Fine, y-your honor," stammered the surgeon, H-he is much impproved since yesterday. I believe he will make a ....."

The Witch King interrupted and shouted down to the prostrate King, "Kinglet, I have good news. It would seem that the fair Eowyn has had a change of heart and will now execute you as you requested. I am sure the gesture will impress our Lord Sauron."

Still sick with grief, though stronger in health, Theoden raised himself a little, and spoke in defiance. "Stop speaking in riddles you unclean thing, you had poor Eowyn killed by that wicked abomination only a day ago."

"Perhaps so, Kinglet, but even in death she will obey the will of Sauron", said the Ringwraith, as he walked the massive beast right over Theoden's prostrate form, scattering the Easterlings, lest they be crushed underfoot. The creature stopped when the king was just under the base of it long, sinuous tail, which seemed to twitch in impatience. The Witch King uttered a command, and the beast raised its tail high.

The last of the morning sun that had warmed the stricken king, was blotted out by the dark shape that loomed above him. Theoden believed the beast would crush out his life by sitting on him, yet he did not know why the Witch King had rambled on about somehow Eowyn killing him. The scaled belly further descended, and then a stained and crumpled looking area between the creatures legs suddenly flashed a vivid pink as a great, pulsing orifice yawned open in the innocuous folds of skin, accompanied by a cacophony of vulgar noises.

As if the sluice gate of a mill race were suddenly burst open after the spring thaw, slick black sludge that steamed like hot tar erupted from the beast's quivering vent, along with what appeared to be smooth round stones and branches. The foul conglomeration first plopped squarely on the feet, then ankles, legs, and belly of the immobile king. The monster's long neck craned round to insure that the avalanche of filth was deposited exactly where intended. But, lo, the disgusting stench that arose confirmed this was not mud or tar, and upon closer inspection, what appeared to be stones and branches were the yellowed and crumbling skulls and limb bones of what had been only the day before -- living, high born ladies of Rohan and Gondor. The fair Eowyn had been only one among many who were meted such terrible retribution for their kingdoms' defiance of the Dark Lord Sauron's will. One of the skulls tumbled upright on the king's chest as if facing him, its now eyeless sockets clotted with dark dung. The lower jaw long since seperated in the winding bowels, and the bone discolored and much corroded by the beast's caustic bile, but beautiful white teeth were still firmly set, the strong, young enamel resisting what flesh and bone could not. Though the grisly relic might have belonged to any of the doomed young maidens meted the same horrific fate, the Witch King seized upon the circumstance, and wickedly taunted the filth-bedecked regent, saying "Look there, kinglet, is that not the fair Eowyn, coming forth to greet you? Surely her adopted father recognizes those beautiful white teeth, though nevermore shall the wagging tongue that shared her mouth ever berate her betters."

"You depraved monster!" Theoden screamed at the Morgul Lord, as the unrelenting cascade of excrement sought to envelope him.

Feigning indignation, the Witch King smoothly replied, "Why berate me Kinglet, when I have done nothing more than have my noble steed assist the fair maiden in granting you, your last request? Have you forgotten already, hmm, kinglet? You told Eowyn to kill you, did you not? So look now, fool! Do you not see that Eowyn, or at least those parts of her that have not nourished this beast, will soon carry out the very task you requested of her? Hath not the last order of the last king of Rohan been scrupulously fulfilled to the letter? What say you now, kinglet?"

But the noble Theoden could say no more, for the unending torrent of stinking filth had now covered up even his head, and he could only wheeze and choke in the throes of suffocation.

And thus ignobly died the last king of the Rohirrim on Pellenor field, suffocated by the pathetic remains of what had once been Eowyn and other highborn ladies of the alliance against Sauron, just as the Witch King had foresworn. No one returned to give the regent's remains a proper burial, as the remnants of the once proud nation of Rohan were reduced to servitude or worse. No monument marked the resting place, though the mound of dung that entombed Theoden and Snowmane remained a discernable hillock on the otherwise flat plain. For centuries, a luxuriant carpet of verdant green grass grew there, taller, darker and richer than that on the surrounding fields.

Epilogue

No nation of man, dwarf or elf could stand against the forces of Sauron when supported by these massive, flying, instruments of death and desolation that were the Fell Beasts. But an alliance with such creatures, so similar to true dragons, is not without risk. And so it was, that the very same creature, alone and hunting, only some few days later, came upon two foolish Hobbits that possessed a most remarkable ring. While the beasts were careful to never reveal their true intelligence to the Ringwraiths that commanded them, they listened to everything, and understood the importance of the ring. Moreover, the beasts in reality were loyal to a being far greater than Sauron, and one far more like themselves. For the crafty Smaug the Magnificent had not died as everyone had believed, but had merely played the races of man, dwarf and hobbit as fools. Would the wiley dragon really fly into a storm of arrows without his single vulnerable spot protected by strong armor? Never, but it was the perfect ruse to remove himself out of the great conflict he foresaw, and quietyly let the two sides destroy each other. Thousands of hominids would fight and die over the treasure he abandoned, only for him to take it all back again. At the right moment, Smaug and the Fell Beasts made short work of Sauron and his Ringwraiths, and thereafter, the Dwarves, Elves, Orcs, Goblins, and even Hobbits would all vanish forever from the Earth in the pogrom directed by the great dragon, leaving only the pliable, superstitious humans to be his slaves and worshipers in the following centuries. Indeed, thousands of years in the future, when man had reached the moon, the majority still worshiped a deity who was described in their sacred texts exactly like Smaug, with fiery breath, enormous wings, golden hue, a lust for gold, and appetite for unblemished calves and virgin sacrifices...... but that is another story for another time.

As for the nameless Fell Beast of this story, for countless millennia it has continued to sate its appetite for tender young maidens like Eowyn, spanning the globe on its great wings in its never-ending quest, hidden from human eyes by the Hobbit's magical ring. Indeed, in the first quarter of the 21st century, tens of thousands of young women still mysteriously vanish every year, though the imagined culprits are believed to be mere human predators (despite the fact no trace of most of the victims have ever been found). Hundreds of witnesses have even claimed to have seen the dark, scaly, long-necked beasts in one of its favorite, watery haunts, but the remarkable ring taken from the young Hobbit still allows it to vanish at will, and the sightings are dismissed as mere imagination. It is known by many names in the legends of many lands, but most refer to the Fell Beast these days as "Nessie".