"It's been 84 years..."
Better late than never, right ? 😭
"No... No... NO !"
No, this couldn't be happening... How could a woman, a woman defeat the Witch King ? His most valuable asset ? This was impossible ! Had He really been so careless ?
He should have known, he should have-
No, now was no time for misery. The Ring was close and his bearer was weak. He could feel it. He had to act quickly.
The foreseeing man was lost.
Oh, Sauron could get him back, yes, but Isildur's heir was with him now, and the Lord was not ready to fight him yet. Besides, the man's foresights had given him all he needed already.
Now, the Dark Lord had to take care of what was happening in front of Minas Tirith, since the Witch King, this fool, had failed his mission. How was he supposed to find enough strength ? He could not afford to fight the army on the Pelennor and take care of the Ringbearer ?
He needed his army to both fall back and inflict as much damage as they could to Gondor and Rohan, for Isildur's heir would be back on the throne, this was now a certitude. There was nothing he could do to prevent it, he needed to save his strength.
Now he just needed to find a weak spot... Quickly...
The battle was raging around King Théoden. Hundreds of Orcs seemed to have gathered around him and a rather small group of fighters. Swords were clashing restlessly, piercing flesh, spilling dark and hot blood on the dry grass of the Pelennor. The men were yelling louder than ever, throwing themselves body and soul into the fight, not paying any attention to their wounds or bruises. And so did Théoden. His brave and loyal horse had fallen, so the King was know fighting on the ground, amongst his men, with the fierce determination to throw his very life in what might be his last stand.
The King exhaled sharply when his blade met, once again, the Orcish flesh, which did not please his broken ribs very much. The exhale rapidly turned into a groan of pain. One of the Orcs (probably the most clever one around him) saw its chance and, while blocking one of Théoden's blows with its scimitar, gave him a very powerful blow in the chest with its foot, which caused the King to fall flat on his back, a few inches away.
His breath caught in his throat as he landed hard, Théoden couldn't help the gasp that escaped his lips as a mix of both numbness and extreme pain settled into his chest and back.
He didn't have time to react before the Orc was standing over him, a proud grin on its face, its weapon in hand, ready to deliver the fatal blow.
Théoden was accepting his fate. He was to die on the battlefield, proudly, like a brave Rohirrim would. He had had a long life already, and his sacrifice would not be vain, he knew it.
But the blow never came. In fact, the Orc even backed up, eyes open wide, filled with obvious terror. The King turned around, only for his gaze to be met by a cloud of smoke and fire headed towards his own forehead. He barely had enough time to close his eyes before it hit him, fire spreading through his skull and smoke clouding his mind.
"Mat, kaumn !"
The Rohirrim could not believe their eyes. At a time when the battle was raging at its highest, King Théoden and many other high-ranked horsemen appeared to have lost their mind. Their swords were swinging widly around them, hitting not Orcs, but their own men.
Even the Orcs looked taken aback by this sudden and unexplainable madness, taking a few steps back to stay clear off their striking area but not daring to attack them. The creatures' momentum did enable some unaware Rohirrims to break through the their weakening defence a bit more, but it came with the cost of watching their own brothers and companions getting striken down by their own King and officers without even daring to strike back.
Suddenly, a powerful batlle cry rose from the top of a rock, where an incredibly tall and muscular Orc had taken refuge. All men and Orcs turned to him, fearing the worst or answering his call. Surprisingly, the Orc did not attack anyone, it simply stood there pointing at King Théoden with the tip of its scimitar, its other hand raised and curled up in a fist.
Fearing for their king's safety, a few Rohirrim came to form a protective circle around him, only to get thrown off their horse or stabbed by the same man they had sworn allegiance to.
The perched Orc let out a guttural laugh, before yelling in a deep voice which managed to echo all around the battlefield :
"Our Lord has joined us !"
The Rohirrim could only watch and take a step back as King Théoden and a few other officers, as though possessed, raised their swords and let out a battle cry that sounded awfully similar to an Orcish one.
"Etheldred !"
The young Rohirrim turned around when he heard his father calling his name, just in time to parry one of his officers' blow, so powerful it made him fall flat on his back.
"Oi, what do you think you're-"
His first reflex was to get angry at the soldier for his carelessness, but his rage soon turned to fear and disbelief as the Rohirrim now standing over him raised his sword above his head, preparing to strike a blow that would no doubt be fatal.
"Please, what are you... What are you doing ?" Etheldred's voice was weak and his breaths were quick as he raised an arm in front of his face in a futile attempt to shield himself from his upcoming doom.
The Rohirrim seemed to hesitate for merely a fraction of a second, but hopefully this gave Etheldred's father enough time to get closer to the mad officer, "I'm sorry Erkenbrand," he heard his father whispering before he plunged his blade into their comrade's side, who fell heavily on the dry floor.
"Are you alright, boy ?"
The young man nodded as he got up unsteadily, grabbing his father's outstretched hand. He stared for a moment at the body laying in front of him, disbelievingly. This was the body of a man he had probably known, fought with and celebrated with...
"What is happening?" he muttered quietly.
His father grabbed his shoulder tightly, grounding him in reality.
"I don't know Ethel. Some of us seem to have turned."
Blood was oozing from their comrade's side, wetting the dirt beneath him, and Etheldred could not bring himself to look away from it.
"I'm sorry boy... I tried knocking them out, but it doesn't seem to work."
Etheldred barely had time to process the information before an Uruk-hai charged him, forcing him to part with his father.
He was fighting with both rage and absentmindedness, so were most of Rohan's soldiers.
Their leaders' turning had given them a very short-lived advantage before they realised what was happening, but they were now steadily losing ground as they vainly tried to spare their comrades.
Etheldred knew the Orcs were getting very close to the White City once again. They had no other choice but to kill their own, or else all would be lost.
It was in this moment that the Haradrim joined the fight perched on their Mûmakil, crushing ruthlessly both Orcs and Rohirrim. Human cries of pain were now filling the air and before they knew it, the Orcs and Haradrim were banging on the doors of Minas Tirith once again.
Etheldred knew he shouldn't, but he was utterly terrified. His fighting had turned from offensive to defensive as he tried desperately to evade the Mûmakil's blows and to reach his father. He knew the fight was lost, and the only thing he was hoping for now was to die at his father's side.
He found him, fighting two Uruk-hai at the same time, down on one knee, blood trickling down his arm, and suddenly all fear vanished from the young soldier as he charged, ignoring his own exhaustion and cut one of the beasts' arm and head off. His father managed to get back up and prepared to finish off the other creature, alas his recovery wasn't quick enough to save his son from a nasty gash to his side.
Etheldred let out a strangled gasp as he felt the blade slicing through his flesh and fell to his knees.
"Ethel !"
He felt the arms of his father wrapping around his shoulders as he breathed raggedly, pressing a hand to try and prevent the blood from flowing out of his body.
"It's alright boy, you're gonna be alright," his father commented frantically, holding his son close and letting him rest his head on his shoulder while he tried to catch his breath.
That's how Etheldred saw him.
King Théoden, still on his horse, armour splattered with blood that didn't look like his own, charging forward, sword aimed at his father's back.
"Father, behind you !" he shouted as strongly as he could, pinching to the side in an attempt to get his father put of the sword's trajectory.
His father turned around, eyes opening wide as he realised he wouldn't have time to save both him and his son, despite the younger man's best efforts. He closed his eyes and murmured a soft "I'm sorry" into his son's ear as he laid down over Etheldred, shielding him with his own body. He was at peace when the all too familiar blade plunged deep into his back.
Etheldred winced and closed his eyes as he felt the tip of a blade pressing on his abdomen, only to reopen them a fraction of a second later as the body over him went limp.
He remained quiet for a moment, his weakened senses trying to make sense of what had happened. His arms were still wrapped around his father, and blood was now trickling down them. Blood that did not come from him.
"Father ?" he asked, his voice trembling, already knowing he wouldn't receive an answer. "Father ! No !"
Gritting his teeth, the young man managed to turn and lay his father under him. He felt something hot wetting his cheeks as he uselessly tried to rouse his father by shaking his shoulders. But his face was already too pale, turning grey.
"No..."
The sound of a horse's neigh reached his ears, but he let his head hang low, crying freely now. But the horse continued neighing, as if warning him. Eventually, the man turned his head to find Théoden, readying himself for another charge.
His grief soon turned to anger, and the man somehow managed to stand up and hold his sword firmly, staring at the man he had once loved and respected with rage.
Théoden was staring back, but something was off. His eyes looked scared, sad, yet his attitude and grip on his sword were determined. His face morphed into something apologetic as his feet kicked the horse's side and charged the younger man.
Etheldred held his ground firmly, sword raised in front of him as the king got closer. He had done this a thousand times in training, and was simply hoping his injury wouldn't slow him down.
He could practically feel the horse's breath on him when he turned to get out of its way, extending his sword arm to successfully knock Théoden down from his mount.
The king of Rohan hit the ground hard and remained stunned for a few seconds, giving Etheldred just enough time to come and stand over him, the tip of his sword pressed against Théoden's throat.
Etheldred the son wanted nothing but to strike down his father's murderer, but Etheldred the Rohirrim could not bring himself to be his king's killer. And so he remained here over his stunned king, indecisive. Suddenly, something shifted in Théoden. His jaw seemed to unclench and his limbs relaxed as he whispered in a pleading voice "You must end me. You must."
Etheldred's sword backed off a little in surprise, and as soon as it had begun, the king's momentum was over and he seemed to fall back into madness. Etheldred had to take a few steps back as Théoden's boot collided with his chest, forcing out a yelp of pain as it jarred his wound. And before he knew it, Etheldred was parrying blows from his king while desperately trying to disarm him.
The fight went on for a few minutes. The young man fought with all his willpower, still torn between vengeance and clemency, but his strength was slowly leaving him together with his blood. Théoden was fighting like a madman, in a manner that was so unlike the Rohirrim, and soon Etheldred found himself overpowered, falling on his back as Théoden raised his sword to finish him. The scene felt painfully familiar, the only difference being that Etheldred could no longer hope for his father's assistance.
The young man was already preparing himself to meet his ancestors, but the fatal blow never came. Indeed, Théoden had gotten distracted by a green cloud now filling the whole battlefield.
The Army of the Dead was back in battle, and so were the King of Gondor and his companions.
Etheldred knew he wouldn't get another opportunity. The king's last sensible words were ringing in his ears now.
'You must end me.'
The man knew there was no other choice. A command such as this one could only mean the king of Rohan knew it was a necessity.
Someone had to do it, and so Etheldred, using his last remaining strength, plunged his sword deep in between Théoden's armour plates.
"Forgive me my Lord."
He could have sworn the king of Rohan looked somewhat relieved as he fell, before his own mind fell into darkness.
I know it definitely wasn't worth the wait but... at least it's something 😭
I'm currently reworking on the previous chapters as well :)
