In a hall gilt with dull gold,
..sits Théoden on his throne.
Whispers in his heart take hold,
..turn it to cold blackened stone.
Once he was proud, with strong will,
..now just a shell filled with hate.
Dear ones only feel the chill,
..unable to change King’s fate.
Wormtongue’s voice, raven poison,
..his true master, Saruman.
Gríma’s price? Silver vision.
..Wizards goal? Rohan beaten.
Gandalf greeted with disdain,
..his arrival unwelcome.
With thunder roll, yet no rain,
..Théoden offered freedom.
King takes first faltering strides,
..his heart wakes and finds the light.
Holding sword Théoden rides,
..‘Forth Eorlingas! To the fight!”