A morning ride over dusty fields soothed tension bought with too many hours at a desk. Did his uncle always have that much paper to deal with? He remembered the man he so admired. No, of course not. He felt tension creep back into his neck at the thought. His uncle had not been himself those last few years and the papers had been dealt with by Wormtongue. Traitor.
He pulled his horse up and looked back towards Edoras, and the mounds at its base. It mattered not what the traitor had done. Théoden King had met an honorable death.