Darkness enshrouded him. Deep darkness. He knew not for how long. Day followed day, month followed month, and year followed year.
His sister son and daughter tried in vain to lift his spirits. The darkness though, was stronger. Wormtongue’s words seemed wisdom, lulling him back to lethargy when inklings of awareness dawned. Dark were his days and darker his disgrace.
Then hope entered the hall. The wizard once grey garbed, now gleamed white. Stretching forth his staff, he kindled anew the King’s fading flame.
Théoden rode forth fighting. Never shone his sun more brightly than at its setting.