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"Let me lie here- to keep the Ford until Éomer comes."- Théodred's dying words.
"Remember Théodred at the Fords, and the grave of Háma in Helm's Deep!"
(Lord of the Rings: Two Towers)
"In the War of the Ring, Théodred fell in battle with Saruman at the Crossings of Isen."
(Lord of the Rings: Appendix A)
The sound of swords clanging, horses' hooves shaking the earth echoed around him. Théodred urged his men forward but he was losing the battle. Already the bodies were piling and he did not miss the eagerness of the enemy with which they drew nearer to him. Éomer's doubts were at last proven true. Saruman wished him dead. It will be a severe blow on Rohan if the line of Kings was crippled. After him, he was certain Éomer was next.
He cut down another opponent from atop his horse, making sure none drew near to kill his mount. He could still run if he wished but he'd be damned to leave his men behind like a coward and much less let Saruman gain ground and yet another victory. With grim acceptance, he spurred his horse on. Seeing their leader take the front, the Riders pushed harder.
"Riders of Rohan! Press on with your prince!" Théodred cried out. The Riders answered him and followed.
The first blow took down Théodred's horse in the middle of the chaos. It went down, throwing Théodred forward in his saddle and then falling on his side. His leg was trapped with the foot in the stirrup, between the horse and the ground. His sword had fallen out of his reach. The second blow came when the sword raised high above the head of the orc that would be his killer. Unable to move much, Théodred moved as far left as he could. The blade caught on to the area between his neck and shoulder. There was sharp pain and then heavy fluid gathered behind his ear and drenched him beneath the armour. An artery was hit. The orc raised his sword again but the blow did not come. An arrow pierced the orc, felling him. Horns echoed across the plains and he heard singing of a newly arrived éored. But where he lost one orc, another took its place, this time with a spear. Raising it up, the orc embedded it deep into his chest.
Théodred took in a sharp breath of pain. The orc too was cut down but the spear remained in place. The sky was bright, with not a cloud in sight, the wind forcing some strands of his hair into his eyes. His helmet had fallen back and he felt the grass was uneven and comforting just the same. He felt the urge to sleep. A face broke his vision of the sky but it was a familiar one.
"My prince!" The cry was full of anguish. He felt tears drop on his cheeks.
The man was obviously babbling words of comfort, lies that his wounds were not serious. And then silence fell and he felt Elfhelm's hand smooth back his hair and place his sword in his hand; he would die a proud warrior. Théodred tried to summon the strength to force out his words. His comrade's eyes widened at the mention of Éomer. He was an heir to the kingdom after Théodred's death. But nothing mattered to Théodred.
Sleep claimed him and when he awoke, he was welcomed to the halls of his forefathers as a hero who would not flee the battle for his own preservation.
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