Berzerkergang.

It was odd to feel the old battle-blindness come upon him again. Odder still to see it come upon one so young, and one so old, and yet not upon Háma or Théodred or any of those who lay before the Hornburg. But those words “Gamling, follow the king’s banner down the center,” those had been enough to momentarily distract him from the mental list-checking of weapons, of tack, of armor, of the lock of hair beneath his shirt, and startle him into here, into now, into how his liege, so long dazed and passive and distant, had called him to his side.

Then there was no thought; for the sun rose and the Riders descended on rank after rank of stinking pointed blackness, and there was no remembering those who were gone, those left behind, there was thought only of ahead, of forward, of keeping eyes on the fluttering green and gold of that banner and the great hoarse shouts that should have been beyond him, but yet were necessary, and so were found; those who followed must go where he led.

In time, he knew, should he survive, individual images would come back to him, but then there was only the tunnel before him, his restored king at its end under the double banners of rippling green and wafting white when Théoden’s braids had come loose. Gamling responded to the threat of the Mumak without plan, without intent, with only the need to do and to protect, to end it. And it fell. His senses were not his own. His conscious mind had somehow taken a seat at the back of his skull and looked down upon what his eyes cast in as though watching the flames of a hearth fire. Something deeper, something animal had taken over. And that Animal, that great bear wielding sword, shield and bow, was a greater fighter than Gamling could ever be.

And at last, the macabre entertainment ended, and the Gamling in his head rose from his seat, taking on the yolk of consciousness again… never at a worse time.

The battle had moved away, he could see, toward the river where ships lay anchored in the sun. The continuous shriek that set his ears ringing was now attributed to a great black shape swooping above, not merely some external thing to be ignored while the Animal Within did his work without. They must be the Wraiths the little hole-dweller had spoken on, he realized. Then he looked for his king, and instead felt a heavy blow from behind that he turned only just too late to avoid. Bad shoulder now made worse, Gamling nonetheless whirled and retreated to let the Animal come forth and slay again.

The Gamling in his mind saw the creature before him as a curiosity, a thing half turtle, half human-like, with a hairless head and beaky face and great clawed hands with spikes growing from the skin. He’d always disliked turtles for their secretive and violent ways, waiting in the stillest, calmest parts of river bends and ponds, slinking up beneath cygnets and snatching them with a pitiful, innocent squeak and furious splashing. There was no innocence for this creature to snatch away here. They fought as beast to beast, eye to eye, breath buffeting breath. The Animal Within worked first one arm free, then the other, whirling Gamling’s body behind the creature. Outflanked thus, the creature moved slowly, slipped in the boggy muck of the battlefield, and the Animal in Gamling’s clothes caught it at the arms, thrust it to the ground with a kick to the knees and fell upon it. Taking beak in one hand, skull in the other, the Animal gave a great twist and the turtle-creature’s features contorted through the cracking and popping of a neck broken still audible over the growl from Gamling’s throat. But the cracking did not cease. The popping did not stop, and looking up, the Gamling in his head cried out in shock and anger. Armor was rent, the mount fallen, and beneath it, the king restored had fallen as well.

The Animal Within fled, leaving only Gamling left to come forward and give direction. But with that man came pain flooding in from all sides and he stopped part way up to kneel beside the dead turtle orc and remember how to breathe. His king! Someone must—

A Rider stood, thin and young, but determined, and drew on the hulking black shape that had tossed a grown man and horse about as a rag doll. He severed the winged serpent’s head with a great downward stroke of a sword that, at this distance, seemed too large for his frame. The lad could only be but sixteen! And yet, the Fell Beast fell, unseating the rider while Gamling tried to rise again. He heard no more than a death rattle, and yet knew the Wraith spoke in those tones of the grave. The lad would need help, he must rise, but mired in mud and tangled among the dead, the task proved time consuming. It took longer for the man who was now Gamling again to rise wearily to his feet than it did for the lad to fling off his helm and reveal himself in his true form. The White Lady herself, just as battered and worn as any still breathing on that field, yet standing defiant in the face of embodied darkness.

No!

How?

And then blackness pitched forward toward her and a shout leapt from Gamling’s battered throat, sure he was watching the end of the royal line, powerless to stop it, but the sword that looked so heavy in her hand shot forward again and pierced clear through the helm the Wraith wore. With a shriek more piercing than any Gamling had yet heard, the thing crumpled onto itself, sank into the mix of dirt and blood that was the field, and moved not again. And, exhausted now, Gamling could only do the same.

Gamling awoke to a sound of anguish so clear, he had no moment of confusion upon waking. He had fallen, he knew, watching his king lie dead and the girl he’d watched grow into a proud Shieldmaiden earn her title forever. But much time had passed and he felt cold and stiff where he lay on his face in the muck. Was the girl yet alive? Had something fallen on her while he, Gamling, slept? Had he failed another of those he had sworn to protect? Again the shout came “NO!” and “How came you here?” and the voice brought to mind its bearer. Éomer, not dead as was expected; now king, ever brother, had found his sister at last.
~*~

A. N.:

* "Berzerk" or "Berzerker" is a term from the late dark ages/early middle ages for a specific type of Norse 'shock troops'. For more information see The Viking Answer Lady. No, he's not wearing a bear skin, and yes, he still has his shirt on. But, he fought with no helmet, as shown in the movies, which might be crazy enough to count.

* I have a confession to make: I don't like snapping turtles. I don't bear them any ill-will or want to see them eradicated; I just have a healthy respect bordering on fear of something that can grow to the size of a bike tire and eat the family pet (and anything *else* it can get into its mouth). So, the orc here featured, and Gamling's distaste for it, come purely from my own (irrational?) fear of having a toe amputated by something that looks like this. Stepping on one once was quite enough!