Cold and proud, yet fair of face,
Woman of Rohan, beauty and grace;
Golden hair flying in wind that doth blow
Pale cheeks glisten with tears hasty to flow.
Sword in hand, she’d leap from the ground
And battle an enemy no-where around
For we cannot see that which she fights
But the White Lady does, on long lonely nights.
There once was a chance for her to be healed,
Or so she first thought, if he would yield
His love up to her and break his troth
Made with the lady he loved, upon Cerin Amroth.
But this Man’s love and longing did dwell
In faraway lands; in fair Rivendell,
Where his immortal love did unbearingly await
Tidings of him and her untimely fate.
And so again the White Lady was bitter and sad,
Her heart once rejoiceful, hopeful and glad
Burned once again with envy, and hate
For what she was condemned to, her sad lonely fate.
And so, when ordered that she should stay,
With the hosts of her kingdom she rode away
As an image of a valiant and unhardened youth,
And not one soldier guessed nor imagined the truth.
The fire in her heart grew now hard and cold,
And came she to war not for love, nor for gold,
Nor for freedom or pride, but to take her last breath;
The White Lady sought pain, and thereafter death.
Long did she fight, and not in all vain
For in her cold wrath many were slain,
Then to aid her King she came with speed
Who’s bane was his beloved and faithful steed.
But blame did not fall on the King’s loyal friend,
As the fault of the death was not his in the end,
For his snow-white body had now been defiled
By the creature that perched there, rancid and wild.
From the rank creature’s back a horror arose
So vile and horrific the White Lady froze
And try as she may, for a moment she stood
Unable to move, or do what she would.
Never such an image the lady had seen
But once valiant and brave had this horror been,
A great King of Men long ago he was called,
Before his life was forsaken by his Dark Lord.
Finally stirring from the dark creatures hold
The lady raised her sword, became once more bold
And she cried out a challenge and stood unafraid
Then bravely awaited the next move to be made.
But the creature just laughed, and scorned her goodwill
And told her no man this creature could kill,
But she pulled off her helm, turned her face to the sky
And as her golden hair fell, cried “No man am I!”
For a moment the monster wavered in doubt
But it recovered itself and delt a blow stout
Which snapped clean the bone in the Lady’s shield-arm
And the creature believed he was now free from harm.
But strong was the Lady, and she rose once again
And with the help of the Halfling, ended the reign
Of the Witch King, of an evil stong and deep,
And then the White Lady fell into dangerous sleep.
At length she was found lying faint in the dirt
For lying not far from her, the Halfling stirred;
And her brother wept for they should never have come;
And now it did seem his fair sister’s life had all gone.
They carried the Lady, the Halfling, and King
To the gates of the city, white and shining,
For out of the darkness arose the fair sun,
In glory of the new King and the battle now won.
The Prince of Dol Amroth frowned at her ‘death’,
For his keen eyes saw that she still drew breath
And so the grief, the pain, the tidings of sadness
Turned to hope, to wonder, and tidings of gladness.
To the Houses of Healing she was taken at last
To be tended by healers, and to seek rest
But skilled as they were, nigh seemed her death
For they could not shake off the evil black breath.
The Lady grew worse and time was short
Then hopeful news an old healer brought,
For once it was said of Númenorean Kings:
Healing a touch of their hands would bring.
And so the hands of him she once loved did heal
The wound of the touch which life would steal,
But her eyes still held their ice like shards of glass
For bitter was she still of what had not come to pass.
Long did she wander in gardens so fair,
Healed of her wounds, but not of her cares,
The fountains and trees of fair Minas Tirith
Try as they might could not lighten her spirit.
But along came a man also wounded from war,
A man who loved her from the moment he saw
Her sorrowful face, both proud and fair,
Surrounded by waves of her long golden hair.
He begged for her love, in the days that passed
As they wandered through flowers, trees and grass;
And as they looked out over blood-stained fields
The Whity Lady softened, and her heart did yield.
For she realised now where her love really lay
And so something changed in the Lady that day,
The ice in her eyes, once strong, now thawed
And shield-maiden she vowed never to be more.
And so on Midsummer’s day they were wed
Along with the King, for whom her heart had once bled,
But though he was wed to the star from above
The White Lady cared little, for she at last had her love.
A land named Ithilien the King gave to them
And named her new love a Prince among men,
And there they abided in peace, without sin,
Lord Faramir of Gondor, and the Lady Eowyn.