The trip had been long and the “princess” at the end of it was very disappointing. She was the oldest person Éowyn had ever seen, parchment skin and gnarled hands, and had to be helped into her chair. Her eyes though were still very alive and they watched keenly until Éowyn felt she had to say something or burst.

“I know a strange thing, grandmother.”

“And what is that, child?”

“When the great dark came at the end of the last age, the Witch King was killed by a woman. And she had the same name as you and me.”