Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli prepared to enter the Dimholt road, the Path of the Dead.

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In Lothlorien, Miriel stood tall and strong at a balcony. Her strength had returned, no doubt by some magic, and she yearned for the chance to go to Gondor, and see what had become of her people and her love. She felt the presence of another, and turned to see Galadriel, an urgent look on her face. Not giving the shieldmaiden a chance to ask any questions, the elf bade her follow, and walked quickly toward the room the woman had awoken in, speaking as they moved, Miriel holding up the skirt of her nightgown.

"You are needed, my child. Your home, your friends, your family, and your love are in grave danger, and they will need your aid." Miriel looked at her, keeping up with the elf woman.

"What has happened?" The elf began to move even faster, no longer gliding in her hurry.

"Gondor is under attack. Sauron is releasing his army, and your love has taken both Legolas and Gimli with him on a journey through the cursed mountain." Miriel took this in quickly, nodding.

"If anyone can tame them, he can."

"I know. It is not that which spurs us on now. Your father has lost his mind, and your young brother will not survive his crazed and misplaced grief. Your people have evacuated as best they could, but your warriors lose hope. Your brother is in no condition to rally them, and they have lost all faith or hope in your father. They are losing the war. Only you can bring them the courage and hope they need to continue. If you do not go now, there will be no Gondor to save, and no White City for the King to return to." They stopped outside Miriel's room, and Galadriel turned to her. "Ready yourself, and meet me by the entrance that leads towards the Falls of Rauros, for you promised that was the way you would come. My people cannot help you in this." Miriel nodded, and did as she was told.

She changed, once again bearing the weapons and horn she carried, along with her shield on her back, and went to Galadriel. The elf turned to her and spoke again, explaining the large horse behind her.

"This is the eldest of the ancient horse lords, Amdir, the sign of hope. He is the fastest horse ever to roam these lands, and he was ridden by the first shieldmaiden long ago. In you, her spirit is reborn. He is yours and you are his, from now until Eru take you both. Ride hard, and you may make it in time." Miriel nodded, and Amdir's wise eyes seemed to connect with her won, a bond that would last forever as she mounted, turning to the elf woman.

"Thank you." Galadriel smiled.

"It is time for the evil in this world to relearn what it is to feel fear. This is your path, young one. Now you must walk it. Go!" Miriel merely had to think of urging Amdir forward, and they were off, flying across the ground.

Hard and fast they rode, for three days and nights. Neither tired nor hungered, and the power that flowed through Miriel kept her alert and ready to defend, though Amdir's thoughts told of how such power had taken over others. One the morning of the fourth day, the White City came in sight, and they rode on all the faster. The sounds of desperate fighting came from above, along with a familiar voice, and Miriel knew where to go. Hearing her thoughts, Amdir galloped up through the streets of the city, nimbly avoiding the citizens despite his large stature. Miriel readied herself for battle as they moved, drawing her large sword. The red stallion galloped through the city, faster and faster as they approached the source of the voice, preparing to jump the walls.

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Gandalf fought off the orcs as best he could, but the men around him were afraid and disheartened, and of little use to him. He thought for certain they would be overrun, and resigned himself to such a fate, when a loud galloping of hooves sounded behind him. Turning, he saw a low wall, knocked apart by the fighting. For a moment, nothing was seen, and even the orcs waited, seeming nervous. Then, a loud battlecry came from beyond the wall, and a red stallion sprang over the obstacle, landing in the center of the fight. The figure on its back slashed at the orcs, felling one after another with a familiar sword. Soon, the creatures were either dead on the ground, or had run away in terror. The figure and horse turned, and the confirmation of his slight hope nearly knocked all the air from his lungs. There rode Miriel, seated atop the eldest and most noble of the ancient horse lords, who served the first shieldmaiden of Middle Earth. Ancalimire, the shining light of hope. The woman's blonde hair was once again tightly braided against her head, and weapons were strapped to their rightful places, her piercing eyes commanding everything they rested upon.

"Return to your posts!" She called to the stunned troops around her, her voice carrying above the din of battle, and her face restoring their hope. Bolstered by hope and joy at the sight of her, their courage returned, and the woman turned to the wizard, smiling. "You're supposed to be dead." He chuckled.

"As are you, my friend. How?" She smiled widely.

"Lady Galadriel. Her gift to me saved my brother and myself, and I have awoken first. Where is my younger brother?" She asked, expression becoming worried. "Where is Faramir?" Gandalf opened his mouth to answer, when another voice piped over the crowd, calling for Gandalf. The wizard and shieldmaiden turned to see Pippin running up to them. As he stopped, the little hobbit stared up at Miriel, shocked and confused.

"Miriel?" She laughed, a joyous sound that gave strength to the halfling in such hard times.

"Hello again, Pippin. What has happened?" It was then that the hobbit remembered his errand. His eyes grew wide and his tone was urgent.

"Denethor has lost his mind! He's burning Faramir alive!" Miriel's eyes went wide, and she urged Amdir forward, pushing the responsibility of Pippin's transportation to no one, pulling the hobbit up onto the stallion's back, Gandalf following behind. They soon reached the burial chamber, and Amdir reared up, kicking the door open with his hooves, and charging inside. Pippin leapt from the stallion onto the burning pyre, ignoring the crazed Steward as he rolled the young Captain off and onto the ground. Miriel immediately dismounted and knelt at her brother's side, Amdir refusing to let anyone close to his rider. Faramir was breathing, and his eyes opened only slightly, to see the image of his sister's relieved face above him. Faramir turned his head towards the pyre, confused by his hallucinations, and Denethor's crazed eyes met his own.

"Faramir." The Steward looked up at the woman who knelt over his son, and met the blue eyes of his daughter. "Miriel." He smiled shakily, and looked away as her eyes filled with tears, running to the end of the tower's long balcony. Miriel closed her eyes as he leapt, whispering quietly as he fell.

"Namarie, father. May we meet again." Tears escaped her eyes and, though quite confused and dazed, not to mention not believing that she was really there, Faramir reached up to grasp his sister's hand. Gandalf placed a hand on Miriel's shoulder.

"I am sorry, my dear." She nodded, squeezing her brother's hand, and rising to her feet.

"It was his own doing, my friend, and perhaps his time. There is nothing to be done." One of the guards spoke.

"What are your orders, milady?" Miriel straightened, standing as Steward now.

"Three of you take my brother safely to the Halls of Healing. The rest of you, gather our men by the front gate, and I will meet you there."

"My lady?" Another questioned. Orders were being changed? She may be Steward for now, but she was supposed to follow the last order of the previous. They had been told to abandon their posts and remain behind the walls. Miriel's piercing blue eyes focused on the still-burning pyre for a moment.

"There may come a day when even the White City crumbles to dust, but that time is not now." She turned her gaze to Gandalf, and he saw the fire caught in her eyes. "Gondor will not fall this day."