Middle-Earth, Edoras, the Stables: T.A. 3019

'That Man is a Fool…he thinks he's leading them to safety, but all they'll find is a trap.'

The Wizard clothed in his new garb of power could be intimidating to mortal eyes in the most pleasant of moods, now he was positively terrifying. Or rather he would have been if the two mortals following him hadn't been focused on not falling out of earshot of his rant, to be afraid of it.

'He's just trying to do what he feels is best for his people…Helms' Deep has protected them before.' Aragorn's speech might have hit home a little harder if he hadn't had to hop and skip to try and match the wizard's pace.

'It will not do so this time.' The old man said in such a sweeping finality that it almost brought the three companions to a stop. But they had reached the stables, and Gandalf was far too intent on his purpose to be slowed at this stage.

'Then ye are tae flee fae them in rooze? Fin they might need the power o a wizard the maist, jis kis ye dinna get yer wye?' 1

Calgacus had really tried to be polite with the wizard when their journey had first begun, but at this point, well…somethings just had to be said.

The wizard paused, his hand curled around the mane of Shadowfax and turned to look at the boy. Strangely marked, and oddly portly, the child had been a question mark to the great wizard since first he had stood unbidden or planned at the council. Gandalf had met many men over his centuries of life on these shores, and good or bad he could anticipate their actions like a clock hitting the mark every hour. There were men of honour like the men of Rohan or Gondor – heroes, warriors, who sometimes let it all go to their heads. There were kings and leaders like the Dunedin, and poor souls lead astray like the men of the East and South and of course, there were the Savages.

Men who refused to acknowledge the power of the Valar – following their own gods and allying with the enemy more often than not. He had never…never really thought too hard on them, too busy with guiding the fate of the world. The fight between the Dunlanders and Rohan was by no means one sided, he knew that there had been injustices on both sides and that maybe if Gondor had handled the situation a little better this bitter feud need not have ever arisen at all. And yet it had always been so much simpler to sympathise with the men of Rohan, they were so less alien to the free peoples of Middle-Earth…their motivations, their beliefs and their alignments laid bare for anyone to see. Not so the Dunlanders, who were strange and bizarre even to each other…and yet, this boy had stood up at the council…had said he'd protect Frodo just as loudly as any man from Gondor.

And then, like a strike to the face the wizard knew what had to be done.

'We ride where we must son of Leomhann, now saddle up, the sun is waning, and our journey will be long and treacherous.'

'Fit?'2

'Oh, did I not tell you? You're coming with me.'

'Days o riding, urging oor mounts onward an nae a sign aat the Wizard ah'll let us pause even fur braith.' 3

'I can hear you.'

'Guid, ah wasn't lowering ma vice. Fin are we gonna stop? We've been riding fur sivven hale days an aire's nae been even a sign o those fleet-footed Strawheads.' 4

'We will ride until we find them, and I would thank you kindly to keep any such remarks to yourself, the Rohan do not take kindly to slurs.'

'Well neither div ah, bit ah had tae sit back an take it according tae yer future King o Gondor.' 5

Shadowfax jolted to a stop and Calgacus' own mount slammed into the back of him, causing both horses to rear up dangerously. The Wizard glared at the boy over his shoulder.

'You had to sit back and take it because you were sitting in the heart of the Rohan Kingdom – a kingdom that your people have seen fit to beseech with terror and bloodshed – had you said something they would have killed you.'

Calgacus scowled.

'Fit why div ye people keep implying we're still deein it, fin we're locked ahin ma Mither's trees?'6

The Wizard sighed, it had been a very long seven days…perhaps it was time for a rest, if nothing else but to make the boy be silent. And in another life, another world, perhaps they would have but the thunder of hooves very quickly put to bed that notion.

The Riders of Rohan, thundered towards the wizard and the boy in all their glory…their leader, Eomer, his head bared for once and his grin almost vicious as he pulled his mount to a stop just in front of the two.

'Well, Gandalf Stormcrow? But it has been many months since last you stole that horse you sit upon from my Uncle's stables. Tell me what business brings you back, perhaps to steal another horse, or a sword, or my Uncle's keep?'

'I was given Shadowfax Lord Eomer, as you well know.'

'But only with the understanding that you would return him within a matter of weeks, and then you never came back.'

'It is not for the minds of men to wonder what a wizard may do with his time, son of Eomund'

Gandalf's voice was strong and self-assured – yet Calgacus couldn't help but feel a strong sense of familiarity with this scene. As if the memory of Aragorn spewing very similar nonsense had suddenly possessed the wizard.

'It is when they wander away with his property? But never mind, perhaps you had your reasons – and perhaps they were so grand in scale that I as a 'lesser man' cannot even begin to fathom them, but they can hardly be stranger than your reasons for choosing this creature to ride with.'

Let it be the horse, let it be the horse, let it be the horse.

Of course, it wasn't the horse, it was never the horse.

All eyes turned to Calgacus, and he felt the stirrings of rage again. How dare he, how dare this inbred son of a cross-path whore look down on him and his people. How dare any of these men set themselves above him, it was not his ancestors who had invaded from a far north land – run rabid across the countryside killing every man women and child who wouldn't bow to their law. His people had lost their home, their lives. Their culture beaten out of them and forgotten and why? Because it didn't fit with what these blond, straw-headed, inbred donkey-testacles thought were right and true.

Because it wasn't…it wasn't…based on the ways of the Sea-men.

It was too much, too much to expect him to hold his tongue here while that man that son of a murderer unsheathed his sword and urged his mount forward – a sneer plastered over his blotted features. The shield in Calgacus' hand felt heavy as it should, at twice as long as his own body it hung halfway down his steed's legs. It was much more a weapon than a shield really – especially in Calgacus' hands, the tip of its bottom sharp enough to slice a man's throat from ear to ear.

'Ma name is Calgacus Aon-adharcach, son o Falkirk Leomhann, ah am o the people o the Glittering caves defiler o the deid an chosen o the Aon-adharcach. Ah am the child o she fa wis stained wi the blood o the slain a prince o the clan o the Cave Lion – ah am nae creature, an ah'll nae be caad sae bi a sister-fucking gype like yerself.'7

'Why you foul, loathsome whoreson. I shall do to you what the Rohan of old should have done to your pathetic little people.'

Sword and shield raised against one another, ready and willing to strike for their masters and then the Wizard really lost his temper.

Between the two young fools the ground cracked and rumbled, causing both horses to raise up and throw their respective fool from their backs.

'Enough!'

It was closer to thunder then a yell from an old man, and both sons of men clapped their hands over their ears but as you should know by now, no wizard is ever so easily shut out.

'Do you think this is all a game?' said the White Wizard, trembling dangerously on the back of Shadowfax. 'Do you think the free people of middle earth are at war to serve your personal vendetta? That the whole world stops and ends with the feud between the Men of the Hills and the Rohan?'

Eomer's men were helping him to stand, floored as he had been, but Calgacus remained on the ground – his jaw bruised and slit by the impact of the fall.

'There rides now a great army of the enemy for your uncle's gates Eomer son of Eomund, and if you are anywhere near the man your father was…the man your uncle raised… then you will put aside this childishness and ride with us to his aid.'

'An Army of his people rides to my Uncle's gates, so tell me wizard why shouldn't I cleave his head from his shoulders? Why should I spare him?'

And then both man and Wizard were startled by the sound of a high, broken cackle. Calgacus still laid where his horse had thrown him, his head thrown back and his eyes closed as he roared with laughter.

'And what precisely is so funny…Dunlander?'

'Ach, ah am gye sorry… it jis aye take me bi hech fin Outlanders spik aboot ma kind like we're the evil. Like we're really the hoojakapiv aat ye shid be feart o fin the sun sets tonight.' 8

'I am not afraid of you…you savage child of the Hill; I am disgusted by you.'

'Ach please,' said Calgacus as he struggled to his feet and leant against his horse just to stop himself from collapsing with mirth. 'Ye really think ye ken fit disgust is lord o the gentle plains. Fin the land ahin ye holds the wrath o the deid back, the walking, wriggling wretches aat slither fae their graves. They hunt ye aat nicht, fin ye sleep, fin ye think ye're safe, aat's fin they hunt…aat's fin they feed.' 9

'Ye think ma kind; the people o the clans, are the worst this world has tae offer, son o Rohan? The worst aat can scare ye, or harm ye, or pip yer throat oot. Ye ken naething o terror, o waking in the nicht knowing aat ye aren't alone…kis they nivver sleep, they nivver stop an ach…ah can assure ye…they're always hungry.' 10

'Sae, the Wizard's richt, in a wye, Riders o Rohan. Oor people's feud is sma, petty a completely useless kill me if ye like ah care not, bit ye're straw aa the wyen through if ye think aat'll even putten a dent in the armies o yer enemies. Div ye think the dead waist time fighting amon themselves?' 11

With a timing that almost felt intentional, a flash of lightning lit up the sky and a roll of thunder accompanied Calgacus climbing onto his horse again and Gandalf nodded at him in almost approval.

'The Sky itself calls to you now Riders of Rohan, heed the call and return to your people…or ignore it and fail them entirely.' Said the Wizard.

'The call?' said one of the younger riders, a boy younger even than Calgacus. 'Who's giving the call, I thought we were banished? Is it the King, has he reneged on his judgment? Or is it Lord Wormtongue…and another trick?'

Gandalf did not address his reply to the boy, but rather his general.

'Come home Eomer Son of Eomund and the Riders of Rohan – your king is healthy and whole of mind, and free of influence unjust. And he calls for you now…tell me, will you answer it…or be forever trapped within your now self-imposed exile?'

There was the ripple of sound across the width of these mighty riders, and Eomer looked torn – on the one hand, his uncle was not only well again and free of Grima's influence, but he called for Eomer. Called for him to return and fight at his side. On the other hand, to heed that call would mean to follow the wizard, and to follow the wizard would mean…not slaying his savage companion where he sat on one of the Rohanian horses.

Rage boiled up in side of him at the sight of that and yet…and yet…the world was larger than his hatred of the Dunlanders. They would pay, oh yes, he would make sure of that, but now was not the time, right now his uncle needed him for greater deeds than the slaughter of one, husky, Dunlander.

'Men of Rohan join me, for we ride now for the king of the Mark and home!'

There were none left to greet them when the riders of Rohan returned home. Not so much as an old crone baking in her hovel, but they could ride no more, they would have to stop and rest there if only for the night. The journey to Helms Deep would take another week entirely, and that was only if they pushed their steeds to their limits.

Gandalf didn't like it, with each passing hour they wasted here the enemy's victory grew ever closer, but even he had to admit that most horses had not the endurance of Shadowfax and that death was not a fair compromise for speed.

Calgacus was a boiling pot of rage only kept in control by his own exhaustion. Stay away from Eomer and try not to provoke the others…that was what the wizard had said at the beginning of their journey. He'd already broken that rule once, he was not about to do so again here, within the home of the riders, with the shadows growing ever darker by the moment.

He was not a fool, least not anymore, the Dead may be the enemy, but the Riders of Rohan were no friends.

'And so, this is where he hides during the dark hours of the night?'

Calgacus froze over his horse's mane, the dark strands of the horse's hair clutched between his fingers. He should have known this was how the lord would seek him out, he should have known this was how the fight would end. The Son of the Mark was a proud warrior, and the thing about proud warriors, no matter what race they were from, they always seemed to want to hold the moral ground. The Lord could have killed him in front of the wizard – which in its self would be its own kind of stupidity – surrounded by his men, and a hundred or so heavy spears. But he hadn't, and not because he didn't want to watch his weapon plunge into Calgacus' body – but because it wouldn't have been unhonourable to do it like that.

There would have been very little chance Calgacus could have fought back then – but now, one on one – it was a much more honourable match.

'Anely fin the lord slinks in aifter him.'12

Calgacus turned and faced his pursuer.

'Sae, is this fit ye've planned it then, take a knife tae me in the mirk? Hardly muckle mair honourable nor letting yer men div it in braid daylight, is it?' 13

'Perhaps I'm not honourable at all, you'll find boy that in the real world, ancient codes of chivalry matter less and less.'

The blue faced man laughed at that.

'An ye think ye ken the real world, dive ye? Running aroon on the back o yer great mount, a sword in yer hand, an a legion willing followers aat yer back?'14

A growl from the prince, much more animal than man really.

'These days are dark days indeed, boy – the enemy is ever watchful, and he sends his soldiers into every corner of my people's lands. To Rape, pillage and slaughter them into compliance – I have seen things, brat, things that would make your soft form tremble at just the thought of them. Men and Women torn apart like dogs, the half breed offspring of Man and Orc waddling around like it really had any right to breath – but then why am I telling you? After all it was your people who started it all, who crawled from their mudholes into the lands of decent folk, and muddied and ruined everything they touched.'

'We might hiv said the same o yer kind eence, fin ye first crawlt fae the north on the leash o Gondor. Ye raped, pillaged an slaughtered across oor land until aire wis naething left it – an then ye teen it an pretended ye'd owned it aa along.' 15

'We were given it; it was our land to own.'

'Gien it bi fa? A people aat had nae bade on it fur near on centuries coontin? Ach aye, clearly, they had the richt aire, noo didn't they? Obviously, we were in the wrong fur building a lyffe on a patch o toom land.' 16

'You're trying to play the victim with me? After all your people have done to mine?'

'Weel noo, we should baith say aat, Horse Lord. But ah'll nae go doon aat road wi ye… too lang an trachle bi half ah shid think. Sae, shall we jis cut this part, an hiv done wi the murder already?' 17

'I haven't come here to kill you.'

'Really, noo aat is a shock.'18

'I am not so fool as to lay harm to the companion of a Wizard, but I do have to ask…why?'

'Why?'

'Why are you here? What has a Dunlander to do with the fight of the free people of middle earth, other than to be slaughtered by them that is.'

Calgacus couldn't help but to smile despite that comment.

'Ma, bit ye really div hiv a heid fu o straw. Ye've nae heard a single word ah've said, hiv ye?'19

'What?'

'Think aboot it this wye, fit wye would ah be cooperating wi a man fa could literally shoot the power o the gods oot o his walking stick? Fit could be sae terrible aat ah need tae cosy up tae aat kind o power?'20

The Horse Lord cocked his head in complete bewilderment.

'Ach, ye peer thing, ye really div belive aat orcs are the worst ye'll ever see in yer lifetime. Orcs are mortal jist like ye an ah. Fin ye run them ben wi aat sword, they'll drop jist as ah will – bit the dead won't. Ye can't kill fit is nae even alive tae begin wi. Ye shid ken aat bi now, ah certainly fair go if they had taken any kin o mine.' 21

'And what exactly do you know about my kin?'

'Ah ken yer sister's hine mair intelligent than the lot o ye.' 22

Eomer laughed at that, it almost sounded genuine to the ear of Calgacus.

'I could have told you that myself.'

They both smiled, and it felt strange to both men to share any comradery with…with a man like this. A man of their enemy.

'Ah ken yer Uncle cannae last much longer, even wi aat Wizard oot o his heid aat last. An ah ken yer cousin's dead.' 23

'That is a lie, he was alive when I left and…and Gandalf would have told me if…if they'd buried him.'

'Ach nae, ah never said he wis buried. Ah said he wis dead, that doesn't mean he's in the ground. He's up alright…walking aroon, drinking his aul-man oot o hoosie an hame – bit he's nae alive, Eomer.' 24

It was the first time that Calgacus had referred to the Prince of the Mark by his given name.

'An he's nae yer cousin anymore, he's something else, something quite dead. He'll walk an blether like a man, weel enough aat he might even be able tae fool a wizard – bit ah'm fae the land folks caa "Dunland", an ah ken ma dead-men.' 25

'You know nothing, my cousin is a man greater than you shall ever be.'

'Oh aye,' laughed the man of the Clans. 'He's a man alright, aat least until the day he gives inta his craving. The craving aa the dead hiv… the craving fur the flesh o the living. Ah wouldn't be surprised if aat's fit wye he buries himself in his cups, tries tae fight fit he really is on the inside.' 26

'And what exactly is that?'

'A monster.'

'And you would know all about that?'

'Mair than ye fair go?' 27

'You really are insane.'

'Aye, ah shid think ah am bi noo. Ah shid think we aa are.' 28

And he laughed, laughed as he hadn't done since…since Boromir's death: loud, and with a kind of sheer abandon you only really found in children, and by the time he was done the Prince of the Mark had faded back into the shadows.

I could tell you of all that happened then, I could tell you of the seven days ride those tired, angry young men partook in –no rest, no slowing, barely enough time to stop to fill their bellies before…before they reached their destination.

Helms Deep.

It should have been a sanctuary, a fortress to hold off even the worse of the Kingdom's enemies…but it wasn't. Not anymore, for the thing was not only under siege, it's walls were battered and crumbling. The last hope of the people left stranded inside was the slim chance that those stones, those centuries old stones would be able to withstand the besieges of the orcs all around it. Not men…not mostly anyway…Orcs, large orcs, larger than they should have been. Orcs, Eomer knew, with the white hand of Saruman plastered to their breast plate. He'd been right, he'd known he'd been right and now…well now everyone else knew it too.

'A lethal thing, isn't it?'

Eomer's head snapped to the sound of the burr that had crept up beside him. The Dunlander was not smiling in glee, as Eomer would have expected him to. He was scowling, scowling down at the battlefield like it had done him a personal injury. The bright blue shade of his soft features casting a rather unnatural shadow over the young man's strange face.

'What?' said Eomer, half expecting to hear some snarky reply instead of…

'Always bein right.'

Eomer did not respond, for his hands were shaking too greatly on the reins of his steed to be able to make the gesture he desired. Besides which it was too late, the wizard was already rearing up to signal the charge.

And so, the battle began.

A short Battle, hardly it felt, worth the fourteen-day ride it took to get here. The orcs were tired and worn down by the time the Riders of Rohan had arrived in the last hour to save the day.

And then wouldn't you know it just as they were chasing them off the field, ready to strike the killing blow on the shivering cowards…the Trees of Fangorn swung in. It was all they could do to rein in their horses before they too met the horrifyingly fate of the orcs. It was not a clean death…no quick slice to the throat or stab in the gut for the orcs of Saruman… it was what they deserved, but still such deaths sat uneasily on the shoulders of the Riders of Rohan.

Now the only thing left to do was decide what should happen to the Men that had fought with the enemy. And if Eomer was to be honest…he felt uneasy at the proposed prospects of calling for their death; just a few weeks ago he would have been the loudest voice in the crowd baying for their blood.

A great feast was in the making for the heroes returned and the victorious dead, so the main hall in their fortress was all done up in splendours galore. As Eomer made his way through the several gallons of Holly some serving wench had managed to locate around the walls of Helms Deep, he tried not to get lost with his own morose thoughts. His sister had barely said two words to him after they had embraced at his return, too busy mooning over 'Isidor's Heir' to even notice that her brother was alive at all.

And his cousin…well…he hardly possessed the courage to look at him at all. The Dunlander's words echoed in his mind…they weren't real…they couldn't be…dead men didn't walk the earth like that. It just wasn't possible. Was it?

Few of the men of the Enemy had survived the night – Eomer told himself that he didn't care, after all they'd reaped their own path to this fate. And yet, as he stood beside his Uncle's temporary throne, his Cousin on the other side, looking down at these strange ragged men he couldn't help but pity them. Had History's course been different it could have been Rohan Men knelt on the floor before a Dunland King. Oh, many would claim that men of the Rohan would never stoop to follow the enemy, but then would they have? Could they have ever become so desperate…desperate to escape their fate…their land…their home that they would sign over their souls in a heartbeat just to see the light of day for one more hour.

'You have chosen the Enemy's banner to fight behind,' said his Uncle in a tired voice, as if he'd done this too many times to really care anymore. 'And yet, you are not orcs but men, and men have a choice whether to do good or evil. You must be punished, but I do not believe that we of the Second born can so easily condemn one another's actions.'

Throughout the speech Eomer's eyes kept trained on the three bent heads of the enemy war Chieftains. They lacked the facial markings of the boy…Calgacus…and yet there was something familiar about them. Their skin was pale, and their chests seemed so still down there on the floor that it hardly seemed they drew breath at all. They had not looked up at his uncle throughout any of his speech, almost as if they lacked the strength to hold their necks up under their own freewill.

Again Calgacus' words rose up to haunt him – I'm from Dunland, and I know my Dead men – could these men too see it in his cousin.

'And yet, we cannot ignore what you and your people have done to mine and so a punishment fitting the crime must be decided upon. I shall not kill you or the men that served you…instead I shall send you to work, rebuilding that which you have helped destroy in the first place. And then once that is done, I shall send you home with the promise that none of your people shall ever darken my land with their greed, their pain or their anger again.'

As if one animal, the three men looked up and Eomer stepped back. For those were not the eyes of men at all, but something older, something colder, and far hungrier. Without realising it Eomer's sword was out of its scabbard and he was lunging at the creatures sat before him, but as usual the prince of the mark was too slow.

For these were not living men, forced to work around the fragility of their own mortal bodies, they were not even dead men, but shells housing something greater than that. They moved as if they were very wind, the very dust itself and before the prince could so much as swing his sword they were on the king like hounds to a fox.

And so, it was, that the king of Rohan died.

Long Live the King!

That's what they said.

Long may he reign!

That's what they screamed.

Idiots and fools the lot of them.

What did they know of kingship? What did they know of responsibility? What did they know of the terror, that sheer white-hot terror that came with knowing that you could never live up to any of it?

'Your majesty?'

The new king of Rohan drew his gaze away from his shaking hands curled around the goblet of wine, and looked up.

Speaking of fools.

King Théoden's fool approached his new king with all the bravado that only the truly peasant bread of soldiers seemed to possess.

'Your cup runneth over and spillith on the floor if you keep shaking it like that my king.' Giggled the fool.

The King tried not to scowl, he really did, but the fool unnerved him…in fact all Halflings unnerved him. There was something distinctly unnatural about them, no creature should ever be that small…why even dwarves were bigger than them.

The creature hopped up onto the stool beside the throne and smiled at him.

'Shall I say you seem troubled, but the death of a father in times like these would be enough to worry anyone.'

'Yes, what's your point, fool?'

'Nothing, for I am a fool, not a Wizard and therefore I need no point to speak. I can just say what I will and, as king you must listen or feel the wrath of your pretty court.'

The King laughed, and his wine sloshed to the stone tiles of his father's floor.

'I am king, the court has no sway over me.'

'Aye, if that were true then a warrior your father would have been to the day, he died…but in battle he did not fall my king.'

'No at the teeth of the Dunlanders he fell…you don't have to remind me.'

'Tis a fate worthy of song some would say.'

'Oh, Valar you're not going to make it into one of your horrible little ballads, are you?'

'Perhaps, for who would weep for the fire king if they did not know why he fell as he did. Why he plunged on even when others told him to stop Why the Turtle-Fish ate him? Aye who would weep for Théodred lost prince of the Horse lords, choking on a piece of bread?'

The King stilled, the cold hand within his fine robe curling around the armrest of his father's throne.

'What did you say?'

'Say? Say nought I for the fool sees all and then again nothing at all, for who would believe him if he did. Again, my lord I am not a wizard, the fate of your world concerns me not.'

'And what world does concern you fool, if I may be so bold to ask?'

'Mine, my lord.'

'And what world precisely is that?'

'Why the world that shall come after the players have finished, and the curtain has closed, and the professors and doctors have given their closing remarks. The world that shall come after you my lord, when you and your kin are buried deep underground and mine dance in the sun with the lesser men you once thought beneath you.'

'Is this a joke?'

'Isn't everything?'

'Get out.'

'Aye, and so I shall…for I fear we shall have a long march ahead of us when the fires of Gondor light the ways of the living and the paths of the dead.'

'What are you…'

And then the door burst open and the ranger swept in, a scream on his lips.

'The Beacons are lit! The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!'

Théodred glanced at the smirking fool, and then turned his gaze back to the panting ranger.

'And Rohan will answer.'

Doric Translation

1 - 'Then you are to flee from them in anger? When they might need the power of a wizard the most, just because you don't get your way?'

2 - 'What?'

3 - 'Days of riding, urging our mounts onward and not a sign that the Wizard will let us pause even for breath.'

4 - 'Good, I wasn't lowering my voice. When are we gonna stop? We've been riding for seven whole days and there's not been even a sign of those fleet-footed Strawheads.'

5 - 'Well neither do I, but I had to sit back and take it according to your future King of Gondor.'

6 - 'Why do you people keep implying we're still doing it when we're locked behind my Mother's trees?'

7 - 'My name is Calgacus Aon-adharcach, son of Falkirk Leomhann, I am of the people of the Glittering caves, defiler of the dead and chosen of the Aon-adharcach. I am the child of she who was stained with the blood of the slain and prince of the Clan of the Cave lion – I am no creature, and I'll not be called so by a sister-fucking idiot like yourself.'

8 - 'Oh, I am very sorry…it just always takes me by surprise when Outlanders speak about my kind like we're the evil. Like we're really the thing that you should be afraid of when the sun sets tonight.'

9 - 'You really think you know what disgust is lord of the gentle Plains? When the land behind you holds the wrath of the dead back, the walking, wriggling wretches that slither from their graves. They hunt you at night, when you sleep, when you think you're safe, that's when they hunt…that's when they feed.

10 - 'You think my kind; the people of the clans, are the worst this world has to offer, son of Rohan? The worse that can scare you, or harm you, or rip your throat out. You know nothing of terror, of waking in the night knowing that you aren't alone…because they never sleep, they never stop and oh…I can assure you…they're always hungry.

11 - 'So, the Wizard's right, in a way, Riders of Rohan…our people's feud is small, petty and completely useless. Kill me if you like I care not, but you're straw all the way through if you think that'll even put a dent in the armies of your enemies. Do you think the dead waste time fighting amongst themselves?'

12 - 'Only when the lord slinks in after him.'

13 - 'So, is this how you've planned it then, take a knife to me in the dark? Hardly much more honourable than letting your men do it in broad daylight, is it?'

14 -'And you think you know the real world, do you? Running around on the back of your great mount, a sword in your hand, and a legion of willing followers at your back?'

15 - 'We might have said the same of your kind once, when you first crawled from the north on the leash of Gondor. You raped, pillaged and slaughtered across our land until there was nothing left of it – and then you took it and pretended you'd owned it all along.'

16 - 'Given it by who? A people that had not lived on it for near on centuries counting? Oh yes, clearly they had the right there, now didn't they? Obviously, we were in the wrong for building a life on a patch of empty land.'

17 - 'Well now, we could both say that, Horse lord. But I'll not go down that road with you…too long and painful by half I should think. So, shall we just cut this part, and have done with the murder already?'

18 - 'Really, now that is a shock.'

19 - 'My, but you really do have a head full of straw. You've not heard a single word I've said, have you?'

20 - 'Think about it this way, why would I be cooperating with a man who could literally shoot the power of the gods out of his walking stick? What could be so terrible that I need to cosy up to that kind of power?'

21 - 'Oh, you poor thing, you really do believe that orcs are the worse you'll ever see in your lifetime. Orcs are mortal just like you and I. When you run them through with that sword, they'll drop just as surely as I will – but the dead won't. You can't kill what is not even alive to begin with. You should know that by now, I certainly would if they had taken any kin of mine.'

22 - 'I know your sister's far more intelligent than the lot of you.'

23 - 'I know your Uncle can't last much longer, even with that Wizard out of his head at last. And I know your Cousin's dead.'

24 - 'Oh no, I never said he was buried. I said he was dead, that doesn't mean he's in the ground. He's up alright…walking around…drinking his father out of house and hame – but he's not alive, Eomer.'

25 - 'And he's not your cousin anymore, he's something else, something quite dead. He'll walk and talk like a man, well enough that he might even be able to fool a wizard – but as you've pointed out yourself, I'm from the land folks call "Dunland", and I know my dead-men.'

26 - 'He's a man alright, at least until the day he gives into his craving. The craving all the dead have…the craving for the flesh of the living. I wouldn't be surprised if that's why he buries himself in his cups, tries to fight what he really is on the inside.'

27 -'More than you would.'

28 -'Yes, I should think I am by now. I should think we all are.'