s I gaze out across the Fields of Pelennor
I am reminded of a time long ago but not forgotten. It was a time when
men became immortal, ever remembered in our tales of valor; and boys
became men, never to return to the games of youth. In this hour it seemed
that all hope had abandoned the free peoples of Middle-Earth and darkness
was a common caller at the gates of Minas Tirith. All about us the blood
of brave men flowed freely upon the realm of Gondor as our enemy assailed
us from every direction. It was in this hour of gloom that a ray of
light came shining through, breaking the doom.
was only a lad then and a visitor to Minas
Tirith. My father and I had traveled far from the south in Harondor,
our homeland, to join with the foes of Mordor. My mother did not make
the journey with us having fallen at the hands of the cursed Haradrim.
It was just my father and I now. I was within the gates when I received
word of my father's passing. Too young to join my father in battle I
had tried to make myself busy assisting the pages and squires with their
duties. It was as I was returning from the blacksmith with a replenishment
of arms that I received the fell news. My father had fallen in battle
and his tools of war now passed to me. His body was borne in honor from
the field and presented to me. In a rage I donned his armor and took
up his sword Narmacil and his spear Menelnehta. I could not sit idle
while my countrymen fell. I dashed off to the Fields of Pelennor to
strike a blow for Gondor, to spill the fowl blood of our foes for my
father. The battle was overwhelming. The stench of death was thick in
the air. Fear overcame some. Hopes failed and the hearts of men betrayed
them. I struggled to wield the sword of my father but combat was new
to me. Clumsily I thrust with Menelnehta and slashed with Narmacil.
Some of my blows met their mark and others went astray. Grief and fatigue
were my constant companions.
can recall leaning upon my spear Menelnehta,
surveying the destruction brought upon us by our foes. My sword Narmacil
weighed mercilessly on my battle-fatigued arm. The shield that bore the
symbol of the white tree, and had safeguarded my life, lay sundered at
my feet, split by a wicked mace wielded by a servant of the enemy. The
body of this orc now lay lifeless at my feet. His carcass joined the many
others, both fair and fowl, that had fallen that day and in the days past.
I wanted nothing more but for the end to come. I had lost all heart and
there was no hope in sight to fill my empty cup. Then as if all of this
was not enough from high in the pitch sky he came, foreboding the fall
of Gondor. There, among the splintered timbers of the gate, he met with
the White Rider, of whom I had heard very little. It was at this point
when all seemed lost, as I took in the carnage all about me, that we heard
the crow of the cock heralding the coming of the dawn. The light pierced
the darkness seemingly banishing all-night and nourishing the withered
seed of hope in our hearts. This heavenly ray must surely have come from
Elbereth herself. Once again, as she had in days of old, Varda, mightiest
of the Valié, had answered our common plea, bringing on the morning
light. Now the hand of fate had turned to our favor. Our forces, buoyed
by the light of the new morn, and the coming of the Rohirrim, took courage
and strove mightily against the hosts of Mordor.
ew vigor returned to my limbs and I felt the
rejuvenation brought by the light of Anar and strengthened by the bay
of the horns of Rohan. I fell upon my enemies with the fury of Ulmo's
sea. Menelnehta tore at the corrupt flesh of my foes and Narmacil gleamed
brightly in the dawning sun. I felt the strength of my forefathers sustaining
me as I hacked and hewed at the perverse abominations of Mordor. I beheld
the fear of death in the eyes of the foes that fell at the bite of my
bright steel. The forces of our enemy began to flea. I pursued them, as
my heart was filled with the fury of war. I soon found that my heart was
fuller than my head for I had run headlong into the midst of a large company
of orcs. There must have been a score of them at least. I was hedged in
on all sides. Suddenly I felt the fowl sting of a dark dart in my left
shoulder. I grasped at the sting as Narmacil fell to the ground. Before
I could react I was knocked to the ground by a large orc that was being
pursued by a mounted man of Rohan. And then, blackness.
awoke in the Houses of Healing with a bite in
my shoulder and a ringing in my head. I was dizzy with pain and exhaustion
but the chill of my wound could not extinguish the fury in my heart. The
battle had ended but the war, it seemed, had just begun.
hus begins the tale of Norothon and his coming
to the White City.
<< Fanatics Plaza
s I gaze out across the Fields of Pelennor
I am reminded of a time long ago but not forgotten. It was a time when
men became immortal, ever remembered in our tales of valor; and boys
became men, never to return to the games of youth. In this hour it seemed
that all hope had abandoned the free peoples of Middle-Earth and darkness
was a common caller at the gates of Minas Tirith. All about us the blood
of brave men flowed freely upon the realm of Gondor as our enemy assailed
us from every direction. It was in this hour of gloom that a ray of
light came shining through, breaking the doom. 
was only a lad then and a visitor to Minas
Tirith. My father and I had traveled far from the south in Harondor,
our homeland, to join with the foes of Mordor. My mother did not make
the journey with us having fallen at the hands of the cursed Haradrim.
It was just my father and I now. I was within the gates when I received
word of my father's passing. Too young to join my father in battle I
had tried to make myself busy assisting the pages and squires with their
duties. It was as I was returning from the blacksmith with a replenishment
of arms that I received the fell news. My father had fallen in battle
and his tools of war now passed to me. His body was borne in honor from
the field and presented to me. In a rage I donned his armor and took
up his sword Narmacil and his spear Menelnehta. I could not sit idle
while my countrymen fell. I dashed off to the Fields of Pelennor to
strike a blow for Gondor, to spill the fowl blood of our foes for my
father. The battle was overwhelming. The stench of death was thick in
the air. Fear overcame some. Hopes failed and the hearts of men betrayed
them. I struggled to wield the sword of my father but combat was new
to me. Clumsily I thrust with Menelnehta and slashed with Narmacil.
Some of my blows met their mark and others went astray. Grief and fatigue
were my constant companions. 
ew vigor returned to my limbs and I felt the
rejuvenation brought by the light of Anar and strengthened by the bay
of the horns of Rohan. I fell upon my enemies with the fury of Ulmo's
sea. Menelnehta tore at the corrupt flesh of my foes and Narmacil gleamed
brightly in the dawning sun. I felt the strength of my forefathers sustaining
me as I hacked and hewed at the perverse abominations of Mordor. I beheld
the fear of death in the eyes of the foes that fell at the bite of my
bright steel. The forces of our enemy began to flea. I pursued them, as
my heart was filled with the fury of war. I soon found that my heart was
fuller than my head for I had run headlong into the midst of a large company
of orcs. There must have been a score of them at least. I was hedged in
on all sides. Suddenly I felt the fowl sting of a dark dart in my left
shoulder. I grasped at the sting as Narmacil fell to the ground. Before
I could react I was knocked to the ground by a large orc that was being
pursued by a mounted man of Rohan. And then, blackness.