The next morning, the Riders were on the move again, riding slower than before, keeping their horses at a comfortable pace so none of the fieriness of the horses would be lost. It was just after noon when they reached the Fords of Isen. They stopped at the water's edge, watching the sparkling river move down towards Isengard where its blithe path would be halted by Saruman's dam.
"Scout around for Saruman's soldiers!" Théodred shouted and the Riders broke into smaller groups to do so. The rocky terrain provided the ideal cover for any troops who may have planned an ambush and it was not long before the Orcs revealed themselves.
As Théodred, Éomer and a few of the other Riders passed by one rocky overhang, Brego suddenly started, his ears folding backwards in fright as he shied away from the overhang. He half-reared and then there was a harsh screech from above.
A Warg snarled as it leaped from the overhang, dropping between Théodred and the others. At the sight of its already-empty saddle, Théodred glanced upwards instinctively. The Orc that had ridden the beast dropped from the rocks onto the back of Brego, behind Théodred. Before the creature could strike down with its blade, Brego swerved sharply, disturbing the Orc's precarious balance and sending him falling. Quickly turning the stallion, Théodred drew his own sword and killed the Orc before it could rise.
The Warg roared loudly and charged at another of the Riders, but a long spear impaled it before it reached the man or his horse. The element of surprise lost, the rest of the Orc-Warg troops attacked, streaming out from behind the small hills and rock formations that surrounded the Fords.
Shouts and screeches of both anger and pain filled the air as the Rohirrim and Orcs clashed. Horses reared and fell, the fear in their eyes urging them to run but the pride in their hearts forcing them to stay. Their riders were similar; there was no man there who was fearless, but there was no man who allowed his fears to drive his actions. They were well trained and already battle-hardened from other skirmishes with Saruman's forces.
Théodred backed Brego out of the center of the fray, hoping for a quick moment in which he could count the number of the enemy as well as the number of casualties. The stallion was eager to return to the battle and tossed his head and hooves impatiently as Théodred's eyes scanned the battlefield. The Rohirrim and Orcs were nearly equal in numbers and the expertise of the Riders was matched by the primal ferocity of the Wargs. As he spurred Brego forward, a Warg leaped from a rock formation, slamming into the Prince and knocking him off the stallion. Brego neighed loudly, angrily, and reared, slamming him hooves down on the Warg's snout as the beast crouched to rip Théodred's throat out. There was a sharp yelp of pain from the Warg and it backed away, its nose bleeding from the horse's attack. Getting to his feet, Théodred looked around for the sword that had fallen from his grasp when he was knocked from his horse.
He had just closed a fist around its hilt when a panicked whinny from Brego caught his attention and he turned his head to see three Wargs between him and the stallion, snarling at the horse, forcing him back towards the battle. But before Théodred could attack the Wargs, one turned and leaped towards him, ducking under the sword blade and knocking Théodred to the ground.
The Orc-riders of the three Wargs appeared then, hovering over him, one of them with a claw on the Warg's halter, restraining the beast, pulling it off the Prince. As soon as the Warg was gone, a sword was hovering at Théodred's throat.
"Théodred, Second Marshal of the Mark," the sword-bearer said in twisted Common Tongue. "You would be a fine prisoner for Saruman."
"You know my name?" Théodred asked in surprise.
The Orc cackled. "The spies of Saruman are many."
"Gríma," Théodred spat in reply.
The Orc smiled hideously and lifted the sword blade a little, inadvertently giving Théodred enough space to raise his sword to push the Orc's weapon to the side. He quickly plunged forward with his sword, pushing the weapon through the Orc's chest. The other two Orcs were quick to respond though, and one let go of the Warg's halter while the other one gamely battled the Prince, whose sword blade caught him in the throat. With a snarl the Warg charged at Théodred who had half-turned away from the dead Orc and was caught off-guard by the savagery of the creature. Its sharp teeth ripped through the armor on Théodred's torso, and Théodred believed he could feel the blood as it leaked from the deep wounds.
It was a burning, nearly unbearable pain that he had never felt before and he faltered even as the Warg renewed its attack. Théodred let the Warg come and fell back as it leaped, and, with a sweeping move of his arm, plunged his sword into its back with such strength that he could see the sword's point glinting from its stomach. The Warg died, still growling, but Théodred couldn't free his sword in time to stop the other Orc's attack. It struck him above his eye with its sword and Théodred dropped to his hands and knees, barely catching himself. As the Orc swung back his sword to deliver the killing blow, a fierce bugling neigh announced the arrival of Brego's pounding hooves as the stallion ran over the Orc.
"Brego," Théodred smiled weakly as blood ran from his head wound to cloud his vision. "You are as great a warrior as any man." The horse nickered softly, nudging concernedly at Théodred's shoulder and the young Prince slowly raised a hand to pat Brego's nose.
"Théodred!" shouted a Rider's voice, sounding distant in the Prince's ears. He was weakening; he could feel the life draining from his body like a trickling stream, small, but quick moving, always flowing and this time, he knew it to be unstoppable.
"Théodred," came the voice again, and Théodred barely recognized it to be Éomer's. The Third Marshal of the Mark was kneeling at his side, trying to raise him to his feet.
"Are…?" Théodred managed to gasp out weakly as the world started to spin away from him.
"The Orcs are defeated, Théodred," Éomer assured him. "We must get you back to Edoras. Brego," he turned to the rider-less stallion. The horse sat down next to Théodred and Éomer was able to drag the half-conscious Prince into the saddle. He mounted behind him, sending his own horse to another Rider whose steed had been killed.
"Rohirrim!" Éomer shouted. "A third of us will return to Edoras with the wounded. The rest will burn the bodies of the Orcs and bury the bodies of our comrades and their horses." Silently, the Rohirrim sorted themselves out and soon, Éomer clicked his tongue to Brego and the stallion led the way on the long journey to Edoras.
AN: Not the end! Close to it, though. I know it says that Théodred was ambushed at the Fords, but I didn't think that he would be foolish enough to go off by himself, so that ruled out the wandering-attacked-by-Orcs scenario. This wasn't quite what I had in mind either, but oh well.