Albus Dumbledore stood on the newly erected ramparts, overlooking an army quite large.

"I want to talk to the one in charge!" he heard a voice say from the multitude, there he saw the speaker, he was wearing a white helmet and carrying a magnificent sword in his hand.

"I am the one in charge here," he replied.

"Who are you and what are you doing in the realm of Gondor without the King's consent?"

"I am Albus Dumbledore, representative of the Ministry of Magic," he said.

"You do not answer the entire question," the man retorted.

"We are here because we do not have enough room in our world, another realm as you may call it."

"And where is this." he was cut off before he could finish the sentence by screams coming from the West. He turned to see what was happening, and saw a group of crouched over almost goblin-like creatures attacking the army. It did not take long; these men knew what they were doing and quickly demolished the enemy troops. He decided to head back in, this man would have his hands full for a little while. Talking could wait.





Banash's army had been in the trench for what seemed like days even though it was probably only a couple of hours. Banash was glad he was in command, at one point he had been one of the foot soldiers scrounging for food wherever he could find it. He was thinking, not one of his favorite activities, but sometimes it must be done. He was about to attack the army amassed on the plain above the trench, he knew it was a large risk but if he succeeded he would be rewarded. He turned to his lieutenant, he could never remember his name, "when I give the signal tell the troops to attack. You will take fifty soldiers on the right flank and I will take fifty on the left, while the remaining hold position in the center.



When he heard the shouts Aragorn immediately turned to see what was happening, it was the orcs again. The ones with the strange symbol, an arrow pointing to the upper right that was broken in half as to form the head of another arrow. He ran to the struggle and began to give orders. It did not take long. It didn't seem like these goblins had seen action in a while. After it was done he counted the losses and began to set up more extensive patrols along the perimeter of the camp. He wondered of the strange people in the fort had anything to do with it, but for some reason he doubted it.

It was night now the patrols had brought back no reports of any more sightings, and the King had sent a messenger to the fort to propose a talk at the seventh hour of the next day. These were interesting times thought Faramir, almost like the affair of the Ring all those years back. Then they knew who their enemy was now they had no idea, though they had begun to get strange reports from the land North of the Shire, the realm formerly known as Angmar. The name still frightened him, even thoug he knew the Witch-King had died at the battle of Pellenor (right spelling?) Field. He couldn't come back, could he?