“Yes, occasionally I am mad,” said Garethred calmly.
“Listen up, Nareloth! I shall not repeat this again. What you are heading into is the worst absurdity I have ever met! No man can defeat him, and I cannot say women are capable of doing so. You are a man and a man will you be; you know that very well, yet you do not seem to mind. Throwing your life away like this? Madness! Pure dementia!”
Garethred sat on Malheru’s back and silently stared forward, the steed walking calmly along a massive formation of rocks, blocking his view to the south. The tower of Orthanc and the burned fields that were once covered by dark woods could be seen far to the north. Carfaron walked beside them and looked at Isengard, stopping for a second. He thought of a new approach.
“Look at that, Nareloth! The Witch-King is but one of a dozen of –his- minions. Curunír waits at your homeland’s doorstep, ready to wipe its existence from history. You could face him instead and the chance on your and Rohan’s survival would yet be high.” He glanced at him with the corners of his eyes, checking if he pays attention now.
He didn’t.
Carfaron sighed and dropped his head, shaking it in incomprehension.
“NARELOTH!”
Malheru stopped and Garethred turned his head around, glaring at him. His face did give the impression of insanity. His eyes were open wider than usually; his breathing was faster than the optimal. Carfaron looked up at him and shoke his head again, now slowly and with a certain sense of pity.
“I won’t let you. Turn him around and make your way back to Sarngarth, for Muiliel needs –you-, not your corpse. Can you imagine what would happen if you died, Nareloth? –Nobody- would mourn your death, -nobody- would miss your arrogance and –nobody-, NOBODY would miss your ‘superior’ experience with sword, spear and leadership. But SHE would die for you and that is exactly what will happen. And bear my words through this pathetic journey, for you shall at the last moment realize that I was right.”
Garethred’s face turned white, then purple. He turned his gaze back forward, but stood still. He answered in a calm tone: “My dear Carfaron. If you still value your life, I suggest that you now turn around and run back so I do not have to jump off, cut your throat and stake your body on a spear. I always liked you as a friend, but whenever you speak I get the feeling I am being scolded by my mother – peace with her.”
Carfaron began to slowly back away, his head twitching in absolute shock and despair. He turned around and ran back west.
Garethred’s face remained stone cold and Malheru resumed his crawl through some bushes that tried to block their way. His eyes looked sad; he was worried for his master just like the others were.
Garethred thought of all the possibilities he had, and to encounter the Witch-King seemed to work for best, at least from what he thought. They’ve reached the countryside of Rohan and surely he would be haunted by old memories wasn’t it for his mind-absence and partial insanity. The sky was gloaming and the Gondorian border was only about five hundred feet in front of them. Garethred jumped off and decided to stop for the night. He didn’t bother with a campfire, for the mass of stars above him was all he needed...
