It was cold. It was windy. It was raining. His armor didn't fit properly. Thorongil was miserable. Amdirien, by contrast, was enjoying every minute of her day with Eönwë as her herald.

"One last stop," said the Princess, all but skipping down the streets of her city.

"Is this what you do all day, just follow Amdirien around from one boring appointment to another?" whispered Thorongil to his wife.

"Just because you don't appreciate courtly duties doesn't mean this isn't important, exciting work," replied Elerína.

"I can not wait to get out of this armor," muttered Thorongil. "It's made of steel! Steel!"

"You want to take armor off? Usually I have to tell you you aren't allowed to wear it!" laughed Elerína.

"My armors in Valinor are the finest garments I could ever ask for. My black armor is a manifestation of my thought. This, by contrast, feels like wearing a barrel."

"Well we're almost done," replied Elerína, rolling her eyes. "It is hard to believe you used to spend weeks behind enemy lines hunting our most dangerous brethren. How was that not infinitely more uncomfortable?"

"I had an important purpose. And my armor. And my wings!"

After one final speech Amdirien and her maiar companions returned to the citadel under the last light of the sun.

"Thank you so much for today," said the Princess. "It meant a lot to me..."

"You're welcome, Your Majesty," replied Thorongil with a bow. "I know it did. That's why I did it."

"Go change into something comfortable, darling," said Elerína, at which Thorongil left in a hurry. "We'll go for dinner in a hour."

Elerína turned to her young friend. "You know, I haven't heard my husband call anyone 'your majesty' since we left Manwë and Varda on the docks of Tirion."

Amdirien swooned. "I wish I could repay him."

"He made it clear what he expected," smiled the maia. Thorongil had made it clear it was Elerína who Amdirien owed the favor.

"I still wish I could give him something," sighed the Princess.

Elerína had no suggestions. "Perhaps you'll get a chance."

The next morning Timothy and Eddil both went to watch Aldamir train with Thorongil. This was Eddil's first chance to see Aldamir's new armor. He was intensely jealous, but happy it kept his mind off Caranel who had recently been sent back to the front. Word had come to Eddil from some friends of his in Faramir's Hall that an offensive was planned for that very evening. At dawn the next day five hundred of Gondor's finest, led by Aderthon and Captain Anders, would attack the ruins of the Black Gate.

About two hours into their lesson Aldamir was too exhausted to continue. Thorongil ended their lesson and his armor dissolved away, replaced by simple, if expensive, clothes.

"Do you think the attack on the Black Gate will succeed?" Eddil suddenly asked, interrupting Thorongil's final advice to Aldamir.

Thorongil was concerned that Eddil had any idea an attack was planned. "How do you know about that!" he snapped.

"I have my sources," replied Eddil.

"Not for long, if I can help it," replied the maia.

Timothy was now curious too. "Well?"

"It's a bold strategy," answered Thorongil, who had seen the most recent drafts of Aderthon's plan. He would have said more but Lady Amdirien arrived.

"Captain Thorongil, any thoughts on tonight's attack?" she asked concernedly.

"And how do you know about... well I suppose it makes sense that you might know," sighed Thorongil. "As I was saying, it's a bold plan that relies on Aderthon breaking through the center of the enemy's lines before the rangers on the flanks can be overwhelmed..."

Suddenly another visitor stepped through the door to the training room: Eldarion, Aragorn's first born, Crown Prince of Gondor and The North. He wore gilded armor of mithril and a cape of black satin with the White Tree proudly shimmering upon his back. At his side hung a beautiful sword whose hilt matched Thorongil's for jeweled vanity.

"Clear the floor!" cried the Prince of Gondor with a grin. "My sister mentioned I might find you here, Thorongil."

Aldamir, Eddil and Timothy scurried to Amdirien's side as Eldarion drew his sword and stepped into the dirt that covered the middle of the hall. The Prince looked as though he meant to say something suitably grandiose in challenge to the maia but paused awkwardly.

"They all know who I am," smiled Thorongil, guessing the Prince's apprehension.

Eldarion laughed. "Good! For fifty years my father has told me how he used to spar with Glorfindel in Rivendell! I will not have it said that while Eönwë, Manwë's Herald and Varda's Champion lived in my city and I did not face him in honorable combat!"

"I do not think this is wise," replied Thorongil politely.

"Afraid of losing to a mortal?" mocked the Prince, hoping to irritate the maia sufficiently.

Thorongil threw out his arms and in an instant his armor sprang upon him as countless pieces of the strange black metal were pulled from the air around him. His eyes glowed red and the light in the hall dimmed for a moment. "I don't want anyone accusing me of hurting a child."

Amdirien gasped as she stepped back against the wall in fear. She had no experience in the presence of such menacing power. Her brother, who had faced a Balrog and other monsters in the east, laughed merrily. He would get his chance to spar with history's most accomplished duelist.

"Be careful," warned the maia.

The two warriors fought for a while. They were both artists with the blade, true masters who knew how to fight without risking lethal injury to the other. Amdirien could not decide whether she was hoping her brother would win or lose.

Aldamir marvelled at the Prince's speed and finesse. After weeks of training under Manwë's Herald he had been wondering just how far he was from the skill of Gondor's great heroes - clearly, he was still a long way off.

After about a quarter of an hour the two combatants began to tire, and their strokes grew slowly less precise. Suddenly Thorongil leapt back from the Prince and held up his hand.

"Enough," he declared.

"You surrender?" asked Eldarion, laboring for breath.

"No, but if we continue, one of us may be injured," replied the maia.

"If you call it off, I win!" said Eldarion defiantly.

Thorongil raised his sword as though he meant to carry on, but slipped his left hand behind his back. "We're playing to first blood?"

"That's fine," nodded the Prince, raising his sword as well.

Hardly had Eldarion finished speaking when with a movement quick as lightning Thorongil threw a silver dagger. It sailed just past Eldarion's right cheek and with incredible force embedded itself into the stone wall fifty feet behind him.

"Done," he laughed.

Eldarion looked puzzled, but a second later felt something on his cheek. He wiped it off and saw blood on his finger.

"That's cheating!" he objected.

"Is that what you told the Balrog when he pulled out his whip?" asked Thorongil taking a second knife from his belt. "We're done."

Not accustomed to losing, Eldarion was quite unhappy. "Well we'll call it a draw."

"No, you had your chance for a draw a moment ago!" roared Thorongil. "You lost."

Eldarion knew better than to push his luck. He quickly saluted his foe. "Until next time!"

"I look forward to it," replied Thorongil.

Many hours later, with a half moon high in the sky, fifty of Gondor's finest Rangers were huddled in a dell only a handful of miles north of the black gate. Captain Anders had just finished the briefing.

"So if we get caught sneaking into position, or it turns out the ruins of the northern Tower of the Teeth is impossible to climb, what happens?" asked a Ranger.

"We improvise," replied Anders.

"And if the army can't break through their lines and relieve us before we run out of arrows?" asked Caranel.

"Don't worry, we've got Aderthon," chirped a Ranger who had fought beside the son of Miril in the past.

"Isn't 'Don't worry, we've got Aderthon' generally Aderthon's entire plan?" replied another. The whole company laughed.

"Contact!" cried a lookout sprinting into the dell. "Enemy patrol, two miles south-east."

"Did you engage?" asked Anders.

The Ranger nodded his head. "We had no choice! They ran right into us. We took them down but we didn't have time to hide the bodies."

"Let's move!" shouted Anders. "We circle north!"

At dawn the next morning a horn sounded forth on the Morannon as the first light of the sun broke shown between the mountains. Not since Aragorn sounded his challenge to Sauron's legions had such a beautiful note been heard on that ancient battle plain. Aderthon and four hundred men in shining armor stood ready to meet the forces of Mordor. Hundreds of orcs came streaming up the road which led to the Black Land.

As they passed between the ruins of the mighty towers which had once formed the first line of defense of Sauron's realm they were met with a hail of arrows. One hundred Rangers were split evenly between the ruins of the two mighty Towers of the Teeth. Though they were now little more than piles of broken stone and twisted iron, they provided an impressive defensive position.

As the arrows fell among the orcs about half turned either north or south to face this new threat. Many ran headlong into their brethren who were continuing the rush towards Aderthon's line. It was into this confused rabble which Aderthon charged headlong, his red-cloaked knights cutting down entire companies like grain before the scythe.

As more and more orcs surged through the ruins of Sauron's once impregnable fortress Aderthon's advance slowed. The Rangers soon found themselves busy shooting orcs trying to clamber up the ruined towers to reach them. Suddenly there came a sound in answer to Aderthon's mighty horn - the piercing howls of a hundred wolves.

The next wave of orcs was more organized, owing to superior leadership. Burt the troll, once Mirumor's second in command, had more tactical sense than his orcs and the brute strength to enforce discipline within his ranks. He marched a legion of five hundred orcs and seven trolls in a proper battle line straight at Aderthon's armored infantry, while sending his wolfpacks against the Rangers on the towers.

Captain Anders in the northern ruins and Captain Carter on the southern tower both recognized the threat of the wolves at once, ordering their rangers to leave the orc column to the infantry below. As a hundred hungry wolves descended on each tower they sent volley after volley at them but the beasts pressed on. These hunters of the northern mountains had nimble paws well suited to the rocky remains of the Towers of the Teeth. They swarmed up the rubble faster than a man could run across open country.

The Rangers were expert marksmen and slew many of the wolves before they could reach their positions, but nearly a third of their number were unharmed as they came to the summits. A fierce melee ensued - sword against claw and knife against fang. The leather armor of the rangers and fur hides of the wolves were no match for tooth and steel. Few of the Rangers survived unscathed and every wolf was slain. Captain Anders took a claw to the face, and Caranel's left arm was terribly mauled. The few Rangers who could still fight scrambled to find bows with good strings and unbroken arrows.

As they looked down upon the battle below they saw that the fight there went only slightly better. Garmegil flashed in the sunlight as Aderthon killed three of the trolls within minutes. Burt, recognizing that a duel would not be in his interest, kept away from the half-elven warrior, hoping he and his remaining kin could kill enough of Aderthon's soldiers to force the captain of Gondor to withdraw.

"How goes the battle?" Captain Anders shouted to his men who were firing down onto the orcs below. Unable to see through the blood streaming down his forehead he chose to help bandage the wounded instead of take up a bow.

"Well, the trolls are inflicting significant casualties," shouted a Ranger in reply, before turning to his wounded comrades with a grin. "But don't worry, we have Aderthon!"

The bloodied Rangers all laughed.

As the battle on the road raged neither side seemed to be making any real progress. Aderthon decided to play his final card. He signalled a withdraw, slowly backing his army westward along the road before suddenly rotating southward, so that his enemy was arrayed on the road and his army stood to the south of it. He then blew his horn, and from the west came an answer in kind. The Rangers looked west and saw a sight every soldier of Gondor hopes to someday see: a hundred knights in white and blue, lances held high before a charge. Their polished armor and weapons glistened like mirrors in the rising sun.

"Dol Amroth!" cried a Ranger. "Forget Eagles, Dol Amroth is coming!"

At the center of their line a brilliant banner fluttered in the wind: a swan-ship upon a field of blue. Beneath it sat Erchirion, brother of Elphir, commander of the Knights. He drew his sword and cried in a loud voice. "Dol Amroth!"

"Dol Amroth for Gondor!" roared his men in answer.

Lances were lowered and horses reared. The orcs quailed in terror. Burt tried to shout orders but his army was already fleeing back down the road to Mordor, and he with it. Some of the orcs tried to push their colleagues to the ground, hoping the knights would be slowed as they killed the stragglers.

"No quarter!" shouted Erchirion as he led the charge.

The knights slaughtered more than half the orcs before reaching the rubble of the Black Gate - terrain over which their horses could not run. Burt narrowly escaped and led the survivors - or more accurately, was able to run the fastest among the routed army - south toward Durthang.