The walls of Minas Tirith held fast. The citizens of the Reunited Kingdom watched from windows as everything stood still. For the Easterlings had withdrawn to a hundred yards from the lowest wall. They had tried to break open the mithril gates, but none had succeeded.
Berúthiel strode forward and stood before the gates, a dark sword in her right hand, her left hand bore her ring. Her armored chest piece, forged from a black metal, sparkled in the light of the day. Her black sword dripped blood. Long, midnight locks fell about her and her eyes gleamed.
Aragorn, Eldarion, and Aderthon stood atop the gates. The king knew it was only a matter of time until reinforcements arrived from Dol Amroth, or even Rohan would be on the way sooner or later. But he hoped his people could hold out.
"Kneel." Berúthiel smirked as she spoke to the king and his commanders. "Kneel before your rightful queen."
Aderthon growled at her angrily. "Never."
"You are in my city," Berúthiel spat angrily. "I will have my city back. And I will kill every one of our people to reclaim it."
"Our people?" Prince Eldarion quivered in anger. "Our people? You are a Black Numenorean, a queen stripped of her titles. We do not recognize your claim!"
Berúthiel narrowed her eyes. "I will kill you first, boy. When I burn this city to the ground, it will be you who dies by my hand."
Aderthon glanced at his best friend, and his king, and drew Galmegil. "You will have to go through me."
Berúthiel smirked at him, not frightened in the slightest. "That can be arranged." She raised her hand to command her forces advance on the city.
The nephew of the King scrunched his face. "I demand single combat," Aderthon shouted at her. "You and me, now."
Aragorn, Eldarion, and all assembled turned to him in shock. Eldarion immediately began to object, and then spit curses as Aderthon shook his head. Aragorn remained silent, his face draining of color.
But Berúthiel merely smiled. It was a sick smile, and Aderthon felt a chill creep up his spine. But his city had lost too much that day, and if he had a chance to kill her, he had to take it. Eldarion was the heir, far too precious to the city. But Aderthon... he was fair game.
"I accept your challenge, child." She sheathed her sword. "Come down, out of your hiding place, and we can settle this."
"I get five companions of my choosing." He called down to her. "To ensure my safety until the duel."
She scoffed. "Agreed."
Eldarion insisted on going as Aderthon had known he would. "You idiot. You idiot!" The prince got into his face as the climbed down from the gate house. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Kir said that if we can get the ring off, she's vulnerable, right?" Aderthon tried to explain as he gestured for Círeth and Fëalas to join them. "This is our best shot!"
Kir and Akilina came striding up, their black armor creating gaping shadows in the daylight. Both would he accompanying him, too.
Círeth looked as angry as Eldarion. "Aderthon this is madness!" She tried to get between him and the mithril gates.
But he merely nodded to the gate keeper. The man heaved the mechanism and opened the gates wide enough for them to exit one by one. Aderthon went first.
He approached Berúthiel slowly, eyes narrowed. She stood, her sword drawn from its sheath. It was black as night. And he recognized it.
Berúthiel smiled. "This is Anguirel, ancient sword of Maeglin, son of Aredhel, daughter of Fingolfin. My predecessor, Halion, obtained it long ago. He gifted it to one named "Tinneth." You knew her, did you not?" She paused to watch the agony and fury morph Aderthon's expression. "So it is true. She was your sister. How wonderful."
"Your words do not frighten me, servent of darkness." He drew Galmegil, though tears threatened to spill down his cheeks.
"That certainly is a nice sword." She smiled at him. "I cannot wait to own it, too."
The companions Aderthon had selected stood behind him, nearer to the gates. But he himself strode forward, eyes never leaving Berúthiel's. Behind him he heard the closing of the Gate of Minas Tirith. All fell silent for a moment.
Berúthiel's smile stretched from ear to ear. "Begin."
They circled one another like vultures, sizing each other up. Aderthon's armor allowed him a good range of movement, composed of a mix of leathers and chainmail along with steel and mithril armor pieces. But his opponent remained well armored as well.
He stepped in to strike, but she positioned her sword well, catching his swing and pushing it away. They broke apart again, and circled. It was Berúthiel who made a move next. Aderthon parried, then returned the favor with a slash of his own. But she dodged it easily. This time Aderthon used his full might to slam his sword down on hers. She caught the blow, but visibly shuddered as his strength exceeded her own. He swung again, and yet again. Each time she managed to catch or deflect the blows.
With each swing, Berúthiel weakened. But on his fifth attack, she spun into it and caught him off guard. She managed to catch his side and he staggered back, blood on his hand as he covered the wound. His companions' faces echoed the dismayed reaction of the peoples of the city.
Now Aderthon drew himself up, angrier than ever. He increased his attacks, driving the false queen back until at last he caught her leg. But with a spell in muttered black speech, she managed to send him flying back before he could land anything else. He crashed onto his back, dazed.
He couldn't make out the screaming around him, but he registered pain when a dagger dug itself into his left shoulder. He shouted in agony, but at least his mind cleared. Berúthiel stood above him now, her sword hung beside her. A smirk adorned her face and she raised her right hand to deliver the final blow.
Aderthon saw his chance despite the searing pain in his left arm and entire side of his body. The blood from his minor side wound felt hot and sticky beneath his armor. But quickly, with his right hand, he swung a dagger with such force it sliced three of Berúthiel's left fingers clean off, including the ring.
She howled in fury and pain, staggering backwards and clutching at her bloody hand. Her three fingers lay next to Aderthon and he groped at the ground trying to find the ring that he knew was there. Finally the metal reached him and he made a decision.
"Krimp. Nazg. Say these words," Kir had told him.
He slipped it on and touched the ring to his blood, whispering the black speech. Beruthiel, recovering, saw the action and words, and screamed in fury. She rushed forward and tried to murder Aderthon before it could take effect. As she stood over him where he still lay on the ground, unable to move his left arm much, a whistling noise was heard and she froze.
Aderthon saw in amazement that a black dagger hilt protruded from her chest. Her eyes left Aderthon's and met someone else's as she dropped her sword. It clattered to the ground.
"This is not possible," she murmured, blood beginning to pool in her mouth. She choked on blood as her lungs filled, and finally dropped to the ground, eyes left eerily open.
Eldarion darted to Aderthon's side, grabbing him beneath his arms and dragging the injured man back inside the opened gates. The soldiers of Rhun, seeing their immortal leader dead, murmured and muttered to themselves. Some chose to advance on the city, but not all. And it was at that moment a great many horns sounded.
"Dol Amroth!" Fëalas grinned and shouted to the others. "They've arrived!"
Círeth and Fëalas arranged their squadrons of archers on top of the walls and began raining down arrows as the city's forces again rushed out, courage and faith restored. Seeing their general defeat the enemy's leader had restored their strength it seemed.
Eldarion and Kir each took a side of Aderthon and rushed him up the city to the Houses of Healing. Aragorn instead led the charge to join the knights of Dol Amroth.
All color had drained from Eldarion's face. He looked at Kir as they reached the healing houses and left Aderthon in their care. "What did he do?"
Kir frowned with a sigh. "He did what needed to be done."
Eldarion slammed his fist onto a nearby desk. "What did he do?"
Kir explained slowly, "He rebound the ring to himself, as I would have done."
But Eldarion seethed as they stood in the entrance of the Houses of Healing. His eyes blazed in anger but his voice was low. "And how in Elbereth's name did he know how to do that."
"He came to me last night," said Kir simply. "He asked for the words of power and the instructions."
Eldarion punched Kir in the jaw. But at that moment Círeth rushed in and grabbed the prince. The Coven leader massaged his jaw and glared angrily back at Eldarion.
"Eldarion!" Círeth snapped furiously. "Calm yourself!"
"You gave him the words?!" Eldarion massaged his own fist. "How could you!"
"Your friend asked me for them. I protested but he insisted, and another knowing the ritual increased our chances of defeating the witch." Kir spoke calmly and without malice. Then his eyes hardened and he glared. "We do what must be done for the safety of Middle Earth, no matter what the cost!"
But Eldarion shook his head, tears in his eyes. "This cost was too high."
He stormed out of the Houses of Healing, Círeth hot on his tail. She finally caught up to him and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn to face her.
"He bound his spirit, then?" She frowned sadly. "Eldarion do not give up hope. We will find a way to destroy the accursed ring once and for all. But for now, we need clear heads. Rohan has entered the battle as well, and the tide is turning." She gestured to the nearby door to the Houses of Healing. "Aderthon needs to recover physically. Who knows what might happen if he dies while bound to the ring. Stay with him."
Eldarion gritted his teeth but knew the redhead spoke correctly. He sighed and relaxed his fists and jaw. "You should be there as well."
"I am counting on that." Círeth led the way back inside.
Kir had disappeared somewhere and Eldarion followed Círeth hesitantly. She went further than the entrance room, pushing past the healers to see her brother. The Prince followed.
He lay motionless on a soft bed. They had removed his shirt and armor and a young healer did her best to wash the dagger wound with athelas water. She glanced up at the two spectators. "Be quiet and stay out of the way." She sewed up the shoulder wound and turned to his cut side.
All Círeth had eyes for was the serpent ring upon her brother's right hand. A fire smouldered in her eyes. Despite her words to Eldarion, she felt as furious as he. Partly because she had been unable to fight with her injury, and partly because she had told him to be careful and smart. Now he lay injured, bound to a ring they did not know how to destroy.