The sky was dark; the City was burning. In this my darkest hour, I thought all hope had gone, that we had ridden to death. I rode across the coaled grass, while thinking: "we are the last."
We rode a little further, hoping not to be discovered. Nothing was to hear, only the small noise of the battle about a mile way. As we approached the City, the noise grew, and I realised that there was no turning back.
I looked back, I did not know what I was looking for, but then I saw something, I had not seen for days; the Sun. And a cry rose from the riders "The wind is changing!" And I felt it; the wind of hope, was flowing in my flaxen-pale hair. It gave me my faith back.
All hope of disguise was lost, but still I was not bitter about it. Inside myself I faced my fate, whether it was death or glory. I remember my father's words "Some choices are never to be redecided, others never to be decided at all, but that does not mean, not to make them".
I raised my head, and something made me gaze; a golden glimpse. The king! The sun twinkled in his golden shield, and he glowed like Oromë the Great in times of old.
His voice rung across the army, even though he only addressed his orders "Éomer, take your éored down the left flank. Gamling, follow the kings banner down the centre. Grimbold, take your company right, after you have passed the wall. Forth, and fear no darkness.
He raised his voice; it revealed an inner fire, and a determination, only seldom seen in the children of Iluvatar:
Arise, arise, riders of Théoden!
Spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,
A sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!
I heard the clangs of metal against metal. The king galloped down the frontline, striking his sword, Herugrim, on the spears, while crying:
Ride now! Ride now! Ride!
Ride to ruin, and the world's ending!
Death!
And, the fields rung with our cries. Death, we cried, not as a longing, nor as an ill joy of it, but as an opponent to it. Again he cried and we along with him; our king. The third and final "Death" rung throughout the army, and our cries, lighted a fire inside me, unstoppable, as the sun itself.
And, when Théoden, son of Théngel, cried "Forth Eorlingas!" The signal to the people of Éorl the young, to was given! We who had a horn, took it, and blew in it, so the fields were trembling.
We began to ride down the hill, and the earth was shaking beneath our horses. Faster and faster we galloped toward the massive army.
The orcs began to fire at us, and a rider at my side fell, but I did not take notice of it, I was focused of one thing; to follow the king in his charge. I cried his words, along with several others: "Death!"
The orcs were beginning to move, as we approached them, and then the king, cried: "Charge!" And suddenly we rode through a black sea of orcs, screaming and fleeing. The orcs fled before us.
We rode and rode, and everywhere we came, the orcs fled. With the fire still burning inside me, I felt the feeling of victory more than ever. The world, my world was saved!
But then, I heard rumble, drums and horns, across the field. The shapes of several huge and grey, four-legged creatures, stamped toward us. They were painted in red, and carried wooden fortresses, armed with the wild Haradrim, of the southern deserts. I had never seen so enormous a foe. What could men, do against such a challenge? Our doom approached.
The King did not despair, and he cried the order: "Reform the line! Reform the line!" I refound my lost courage, and trusted the King. Rather die, than leave the King in his need! And then I heard the horn blow their call to charge, the fear inside me died, and we galloped toward the approaching creatures.
I headed towards one of them. I was only about 10 feet from the creature, when it the frontline was completely shattered, with a throw with its horns. They broke the eoreds, like water on rocks.
And then I was thrown to the ground. I laid totally still, thinking that my bones were broken. I thought that the darkness was about to take me. But; an orc came towards me. To my surprise I could move. I heard a voice in my head, but I could not remember there I was from: "If this shall be our end, then let it an end wordy of remembrance."
I grab my sword, and ran toward the orc, and I slew it. But I heard a voice clung across the field, it was the King: "Rally, to me, to me." No. The King was in danger. He needed us. He needed me. I saw him I his need, but to my horror, a flying beast flew right towards him. It was fouler than death itself, and without any glimpse, of the proud of dragons. It grabbed Snowmane, and the King was thrown to the ground, with Snowmane on him.
I was about to weep, and I heard someone cry "Knights of the King!" No. Not this time. The day was lost, and so was our King.
But there was one that heard the cry, and he stood before the Witch-King himself. The beast was about to kill the King, but he was to hurry, and he slew the beast, with three cut in its throat. The Witch-King fell along with his steed. The king was saved! One man, he slew the King of Darkness.
But, as many times before, my hope failed. I looked on the river, and the black ships of Umbar approached the harbour.
No. This time, the battle was lost. I heard Éomer call "Retreat to the city, the battle is lost!" The order was about to be done, when the Witch-King of Angmar, rose from the ground, in all his mightiness. His great mace of old, was swung several times against the King's saver. He avoided it many a time, proud in front of our dying king, but then the mace broke his shield, and he fell to the ground. Evil had won.
I felt a pain in my bag, and I fell over. I was about to pass out, and die. I looked a last time toward the ships, and to my surprise, there came a large beam of light from the harbour. "It's the death," I thought, but it filled me with joy and peace. Then my eyes closed, for the last time.