They spent several days traveling towards the Black Gate. Around day four since Minas Tirith, they came upon the outskirts of Minas Morgul, outside of Ithilien.

"Leave the army here," Aragorn ordered his commanders. "Éomer, stay here in command with Gandalf. I'm going to take the Twins, Miril, and Imrahil with me to scout ahead."

"Of course, my Lord," Éomer nodded.

Miril handed the standard over to Éomer. A scouting mission was not the place for a big sign advertising their presence. She reluctantly let it go.

"Keep it safe," she told Éomer doubtfully.

He softly smiled. "Of course, Miril."

She nodded. Over the past several days, her friends had noticed her increasing solemness. She seldom spoke more than when she was addressed. But then again, most of the others were falling quiet as they drew closer to Mordor, as well.

They dismounted their horses and sheathed their weapons as they walked forward silently. Sneaking forward after about a ten minute walk, they drew to the edge of a cliff face and looked down into the Morgul Vale. It was completely deserted. Some had argued that an assault on that place first would be advantageous, but Aragorn knew otherwise. Minas Morgul was a devious, deceptive, cruel place filled with horrors that would trick men's minds and cause terror amidst the troops. No. They would not try attacking. Instead they merely set the ground alight and left after breaking the bridge.

Two more days passed and at last they reached the place they had been striving for. A great gate, the Black Gate of Mordor, stood there between to arms of the mountains. It was shut tight. Aragorn turned towards his commanders and ordered them to array the troops as he commanded. When all that was done, he sighed.

Miril was looking long and hard at the Black Gate. She felt so much evil emanating from that place, so much it almost hurt. She wondered if the great Fingolfin of the Elder Days had felt like this when he challenged the Dark Lord Morgoth himself to single combat. Or if Hurin the great man, tortured by Morgoth, felt fear as she did now. She wondered if Beren and Luthien, if Fingon the Valiant, if Maedhros the Tall, if any of them had felt as fearful as she did now when they faced the Dark Lord and his minions. She reminded herself that Sauron himself had been one of those minions. Luthien, great half elf, half Maia that she was, had defeated Sauron Lord of Werewolves alongside Huan the hound. But she also knew that of their vanguard, the only one with the power of the elves of the Elder Days was Gandalf. And even he was restricted in what power he could use. Was it hopeless?

"Gandalf, Elladan, Elrohir, Éomer, Imrahil, Miril, Legolas, Gimli, Pippin," Aragorn addressed them sternly. "Follow me. We go to entreat with the Black Gate."

They spurred their horses on slowly. The heralds blasted the challenge forth on their trumpets and Miril raised the standard high. No weapons were drawn just yet. They stopped half way and waited. But nothing happened.

Miril felt hope when she looked upon Gandalf and Aragorn. They were powerful. Perhaps there was hope.

As they went to turn around, finally the huge Black Gate creaked open ever so slightly. A man rode forward on a black horse, followed by a small company of soldiers. He was hideous and wore a large crown like mask over his face that showed only his ugly mouth.

"I am the Mouth of Sauron," he said viciously.

He was a black numenorean, but little else is known about him. Even he had forgotten his own name. Though he was clothed like a Ringwraith, he was not one. He was flesh and blood, highly gifted in sorcery.

"Is there anyone here with authority to treat with me?" he asked. "Or indeed with wit to understand me? Not thou at least!'

Turning to Aragorn with scorn he continued. "It needs more to make a king than a piece of elvish glass, or a rabble such as this. Why, any brigand of the hills can show as good a following!"

Miril drew Galmegil and the Mouth of Sauron quailed instantly. But Gandalf put a hand on her arm and instructed her to put the sword away before she did anything stupid.

"This is a parlay! You cannot attack me," the Mouth said angrily. "And who are you to speak, old grey-beard?"

Gandalf and the Mouth of Sauron sparred with words for awhile, trading insults, some more veiled than others. But eventually the Mouth got to the point.

"Sauron the Great thought you might wish to see these?" He grinned maniacally and drew out a child-size mithril shirt of mail.

Pippin yelped in horror as he and all the company realized it was Frodo's mithril coat. Gandalf seized it from the Mouth after more word play.

"There will be no more parlay," Gandalf spat at him. "Get you gone, slave of Mordor."

The Mouth of Sauron quailed back and rode away. As he turned, the Black Gate opened and suddenly a huge host of Mordor moved forward. Aragorn barked orders that they retreat back to the vanguard.

"We would know if Sauron had the Ring," Gandalf was telling Aragorn. "There may still yet be hope."

Aragorn nodded. He ordered Éomer back with the Rohirrim and Imrahil beside Aragorn with the Gondorian soldiers and Knights of Dol Amroth. Meanwhile he, the Twins, and Miril remained with Gandalf at the front alongside the Grey Company. He drew Anduril. Gandalf drew Glamdring. Miril drew Galmegil. Three shining, ancient swords eager for blood were there ready to fight. At the top of a hill were placed the Standards of Aragorn, Éomer, and Imrahil. Miril now had her hands free to use Galmegil.

"Eru help us all," Miril murmured as the orcs issued forth and drew near, followed by men of Harad and Khand and Rhûn and in the air accompanied by the remaining Nazgûl.

The battle for Middle Earth was beginning.