A/N: I love this chapter. From the desk of HeraldofManwe I bring you...

Chapter Eleven

The Good Balrog

"We had the strangest visitors today," said Aldamir's mother to her son as they sat around the dinner table. "A young couple by the names of Elerína and Thorongil. I know you've mentioned them before..."

Toldor, Aldamir's father, nearly leapt out of his seat in surprise. "Elerína was here?"

"Is that a problem?" asked Aldamir.

"Well, no," stammered the merchant. "But I would prefer not to be associated with them."

"And why is that?" asked his son.

"Because the council doesn't like them," replied Toldor. "They say that Elerína has Amdirien's - forgive me, Princess Amdirien's - ear in all matters now, and Lord Aragorn showers Thorongil with gifts fit for a king."

"You do realize that each of them have saved me and my friends from certain death!" exclaimed Aldamir, growing angry with his father. "Who on the council has stared down Shelob, or driven back the monsters in The Paths of the Dead?"

"I do not deny their usefulness, nor would I question the King's wisdom in keeping them here. I simply do not want to be associated with them. Let the Lords and Ladies of the Citadel keep to their own business, I say. I have no desire to be caught up in their games."

"Well I know them, and hope to someday be called their friend," proclaimed Aldamir defiantly.

"What did they want?" Toldor inquired.

"Apparently Timothy went to Minas Morgul and found something Aldamir might want," answered his wife. "The King gave it to Thorongil…"

Toldor rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised."

"...and Thorongil wishes to offer to Aldamir, as was Timothy's intent," she explained.

"Be careful, son," warned Toldor. "Don't be too quick to enter into dealings with those of far greater influence than yourself."

Aldamir shook his head. "You didn't raise me to be cautious."

"I raised you to sell cloth," laughed the old man. "Just be careful."

"I'm always careful," laughed Aldamir.

"Then why do these new friends of the king keep rescuing you from certain death!" cried his mother.

That evening Timothy and Amdirien were to dine with the maiar. Both hoped to win favors from Thorongil. Timothy was horribly uncomfortable sitting in the palace dining room beside royalty, waiting for the maiar to join them.

"How have you been, Timothy?" asked the Princess, breaking the silence and trying to be polite.

"Fine, Your Majesty!" exclaimed Timothy so startled he nearly fell out of his chair. The Princess couldn't help but laugh.

"I intimidate you?" asked Amdirien. "You have explored Minas Morgul and the Paths of the Dead! The most powerful Ainu in Middle Earth, whose power rivals the Valar themselves, looks out for you!"

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," answered a downcast Timothy, before smiling a little. "That's a very flattering description of me. Thank you."

"Are you here for anything in particular?" asked Amdirien.

"I am hoping to convince Thorongil to allow my friend Aldamir to know who he is," explained Timothy. "He's already guessed their identities. He thinks life is a fairy tale, and was bound to guess Elerína is in fact Ilmarë, my longtime protector."

Amdirien nodded. "I remember Aldamir. He seems like a good man. He'll be a great knight of the realm someday."

"He'd be very proud to hear you say that."

"Then tell him," smiled the Princess. "I also am here to ask a favor of Thorongil..."

Before she could continue, the two maiar came to join them. They ate without posing their requests, hoping the old soldier would be more amicable after a good meal.

"I think both my students have favors to ask of you," said Elerína cautiously. "Please hear them out."

"Given that you haven't simply told me to do whatever it is they want, these must be large favors," replied Thorongil.

Amdirien gestured to Timothy to go first.

"I need you to tell Aldamir who you are," said the scholar. "He already realizes you must be maiar. He knows Ilmarë has protected me for years, and yesterday he rightly guessed your identities. I can't lie to him..."

"Why not?" interrupted Thorongil. "I lie to you people all the time."

"Husband!" gasped Elerína. "That's not very nice."

Thorongil turned to his wife. "You think this is wise?"

Elerína nodded. "You trust him, don't you?"

"Fine, fine," sighed Thorongil. "You know, Olorin was in Middle Earth for centuries and no one knew who he was!"

Elerína burst into laughter at the idea of following in the grey pilgrim's footsteps. "I am not a wanderer!"

Amdirien asked her question next. "I am scheduled to give a speech next week - a big one - and…"

The Princess paused. Timothy wondered what she could want that would have her so nervous.

Amdirien took a deep breath. "...and my banner bearer is sick."

Thorongil was struck speechless at the thought that he, Herald of the High King of Arda, was being asked to serve as banner bearer for a mortal Princess.

"Please!" begged Amdirien.

"At least she appreciates your historical significance," chirped Timothy, hoping to help Amdirien's cause. She pointed to him and nodded.

"The arrogance, the vanity..." exclaimed Thorongil. "You want me, Manwë's Herald, to act as yours? Purely so you can say that I did it? So that the answer to 'Who has Eönwë held banners behind?' is 'Manwë, Varda, Ilmarë, and you?'"

Amdirien, fully committed to her course, grinned and nodded vigorously. "Yes! Please? I'd be in your debt…"

"Oh you most certainly would!" laughed Thorongil. "Do you realize there are few even among the Valar for whom I would acquiesce to such a request?"

To that last sentence Amdirien had no answer. "Well you can't blame me for trying," she said meekly.

Thorongil turned to his wife.

"Don't look at me!" Elerína laughed. "I told her it was unlikely."

"Please!" begged the Princess, hoping to win him over by sheer determination and the innocence of her request.

Leaning back in his chair Thorongil slowly smiled. "I have always appreciated bravery and defiance in the face of overwhelming odds. Were I in your place I would probably be asking for the same thing…"

"That isn't a no..." observed Timothy.

Thorongil leaned forward and stared straight at Amdirien with such a piercing gaze the mortal felt it might push her off her chair. "Someday my wife may need something from you. When she comes to you, wanting something impossible, you owe her for this."

Amdirien was ecstatic. "Yes sir! Thank you Captain!"

"Manwë, Varda, Ilmarë, and Amdirien," mused the Princess. "I like it."

The next morning Aldamir was summoned to the Citadel where Timothy led him to the tip of the great spur of rock upon which it was set, where Elerína stood looking out upon the Pelennor. Her husband stood with her.

Elerína, always the showman, turned dramatically to face him. "Hello Aldamir."

"Hello," he replied with an awkward wave. "How may I be of service, ma'am."

"Timothy says you have been asking who we are," began Elerína.

Aldamir looked down in shame. "Well, yes ma'am," he answered.

"Tell him, Timothy," smiled the maia.

Timothy was taken aback. "Me?"

"No, the other Timothy" quipped Thorongil.

Timothy rolled his eyes and turned to Aldamir.

"Aldamir, these are Ilmarë, Handmaiden of Varda and Eönwë, Herald of Manwë."

Despite having guessed the truth, Aldamir wasn't quite ready for it. He didn't know whether to salute, or kneel, or bow. All he could manage was to whisper "Varda preserve us."

"That is why we're here, yes," laughed Thorongil.

"Why?" asked Aldamir, unable to form a coherent question.

"Based on all evidence to date? To rescue you and your friends from various dangers," replied Thorongil.

Aldamir blushed and knelt before the maiar. "Never have I heard tale of ones so great who did so much for those so undeserving. Thank you."

"You are most welcome," nodded Elerína.

"Can Astra know?" asked Aldamir, thinking of her worship of the ainur.

"In due time," answered Elerína. "In the meantime, Timothy and Thorongil brought something back from Minas Morgul for you."

Elerína turned back to the Pelennor while Timothy and Thorongil led Aldamir into the barracks of the Citadel guard. In the main training room, which was an open room with a dirt floor that took up most of the first story of the building, a table held the pieces to the most beautiful set of armor Aldamir had ever seen.

"Forged by Sauron for his greatest servant, the one they said no living man could kill," announced Thorongil dramatically.

Aldamir took a frightened step back. "Are you sure it's safe?"

Thorongil nodded. "Yes. Mostly."

"Fortune favors the bold," muttered Aldamir. He removed his coat and with some help put on the armor.

"It weighs nothing!" he exclaimed. He picked up the cloak that went with it. "What is this made of!"

"The armor is a mithril alloy," explained Thorongil. "The cloak is something truly special - metal weaved into cloth - I know only of four who mastered that art."

"You will give us the list, right?" asked Timothy after a long pause, intently curious.

"Aulë, Sauron, Fëanor, Yúlië."

Timothy recognized three of the four.

The armor was a bit too big for Aldamir, much to his disappointment.

"Give it a minute," counseled Thorongil.

Aldamir didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

Within a minute the armor had shrunk down to Aldamir's size.

"Sauron's creations tend to do that," said Thorongil.

Aldamir took his sword and practiced a few swings. Thorongil went to a rack on the wall and took a blunt sword. "Attack."

Afraid of hurting Thorongil, Aldamir turned to get a similar weapon.

"With your good sword," commanded the maia.

"But what if…" objected Aldamir.

"If you can hurt me, we have bigger problems!" laughed Manwë's Herald.

Aldamir nodded. "I suppose so."

The two fought for a few minutes. Aldamir felt awkward fighting in what felt as light as ordinary clothing.

"You need better training," said Thorongil, kicking Aldamir to the dirt floor of the training room for the third time.

"I've had the best instructors money can buy," sighed Aldamir.

"I don't take coin," smiled Thorongil.

"You'd teach me?" gasped Aldamir. "Next time the festival in Dol Amroth comes around I am going to kick Eddil's…"

"If you want the armor, you need to learn how to use it," nodded Thorongil. "Also, that sword simply won't do."

"I get a new sword!" he exclaimed with glee.

"Perhaps I can do something with that one," Thorongil replied, taking Aldamir's elven blade. "You don't have any emotional attachment to this, do you?"

"Not really," replied Aldamir. "Why?"

Thorongil spoke words of ancient power as he brushed his hand along the flat of the blade. He turned the sword over and repeated his work. Aldamir and Timothy stared intently at the weapon, unsure what would happen.

"Is it supposed to do something?" whispered Timothy.

Thorongil rolled his eyes. He picked up the blade and put Aldamir's hand on the hilt, saying more words of power.

'I really need to learn Valarin,' thought Timothy.

Apparently content with his work Thorongil stepped back. Aldamir stood silently staring at the blade. Soon he saw countless tiny points of light appear, as runes slowly formed on both sides of the sword.

"New plan!" suggested Aldamir, only half joking. "We sell enchanted swords and make more money than we know what to do with."

Timothy was equally impressed and very excited to have seen Thorongil use his power. His favorite stories of the elder days were full of such displays, and he wished Elerína weren't always so subtle with her gifts.

Aldamir's jest received no answer and his mirth was extinguished as Thorongil drew his real sword and his black armor materialized upon him.

"Try again," he commanded.

Pointing to the rack of training weapons, Aldamir hesitated. "I'd feel a whole lot better if you were using one of those!"

"Now!" roared the maia.

Aldamir quickly noticed the changes to his blade. It seemed to change weight as he fought with it, light as a feather as he prepared to swing and then heavy as a great-sword as he swung a blow. "Well this is certainly different."

"Fëanor first developed the art, as he did with so many," explained Thorongil. "It was the only way he could effectively fight with Balrogs and Trolls."

Aldamir jumped with joy. "You are going to teach me how to fight Balrogs!"

"Patience, patience," laughed the maia. "Let's start with learning how to fight me."

"Well you're kind of a Balrog, right?" claimed Aldamir, trying to feel important.

Timothy grinned, seeing his chance to return the maia's incessant teasing. "Of course! He's the subject of the classic elven children's book: The Good Balrog."