— You have some skill with a blade.
— Women of this country learned long ago: those without swords can still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain.
— What do you fear, my lady?
— A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them. And all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire.
— You are a daughter of kings... A shieldmaiden of Rohan. I do not think that will be your fate.
— Leave me alone, you snake!
— Oh, but you are alone. Who knows what you have spoken to the darkness... in the bitter watches of the night... when all your life seems to shrink. The walls of your bower closing in about you. A hutch to trammel some wild thing in. So fair. So cold. Like a morning of pale spring... still clinging to winter's chill.
A cold voice answered: «Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled 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».
«Hinder me? Thou fool. No living man may hinder me!»
Then Merry heard of all sounds in that hour the strangest. It seemed that Dernhelm laughed, and the clear voice was like the ring of steel. «But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund’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».