"What?" Forlong was skeptical. "The man in black? How can he possibly help us, my Lord Imrahil?"

"Don't you see?" Imrahil replied. "He bested Saruman, leaving Isengard free for the Ents to take. He roused the Huron, sending them to Helm's Deep in Rohan's hour of need, and he even persuaded an Eagle – an Eagle, mind you, and you know how reluctant those beggars are to get involved – to save Mithrandir from death! A man like that can plan my onslaught against the foes of Mordor any day!"

Forlong frowned at the Prince, wondering if he were, indeed, insane. Forlong's mother had taught him that men in masks were not to be trusted (unless they had been burned by acid, or something like that).

"Ah, he awakes!" Imrahil was unnaturally cheerful, considering they were facing shockingly certain death. He knelt next to the formerly-unconscious man. "What say you, my lord …er…."

This was another thing that met with Forlong's disapproval – they'd no idea of the man's name. The Man In Black, that was it. Sounded like something you'd call a minstrel, and everyone knew what bad reputations minstrels had.

The man in black sat straight upright, demanding, "Who are you? Are we enemies? Why am I lying in the grass?"

"You've been mostly dead all day," Forlong supplied helpfully. "We had Mithrandir make a miracle pill to bring you back!"

The man in black narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "And what do you need me for?"

"Let me explain," Imrahil began, then, thinking better of it, "No, there is too much. Let me sum up. Osgiliath has fallen and the hordes of Mordor are laying siege to Minas Tirith. All we have to do keep them from breaking through the City walls, fight back Orcs and Uruk-Hai and Southrons—"

"—don't forget the Nazgûl," Forlong hissed.

"—yes, and Nazgûl," Imrahil continued smoothly, "go to Minas Morgul and keep Sauron occupied so that these periannath have a chance to throw the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom so that all of Middle Earth will not be destroyed. Oh yes, and announce to Denethor that the King is here to claim his throne."

"Hmmmm," the man in black hmmmmed. "That doesn't leave much time for dilly-dallying." He drummed his fingers on his knee in thought.

"You just wiggled your fingers!" Forlong exclaimed, amazed.

"I've always been a quick healer," the man in black replied. "What are our liabilities?"

"Both my nephews are out of commission, Denethor is quite mad, we're outrageously outnumbered, and…ah…yes, all the hordes of Mordor and their allies." Imrahil still appeared stupefyingly confident in the man in black's strategic abilities.

"And our assets?"

"Your brains, the fighting men of Gondor and Dol Amroth, and the noble belief that we are right!"

Both the man in black and Forlong gaped at Imrahil at this less-than-impressive list of assets.

"That's it?" The man in black was aghast. "Impossible. If I had a month to plan, maybe I could come up with something, but this?" He shook his head in disbelief.

"You just shook your head!" Forlong pointed out. "Doesn't that make you happy?"

"Both his nephews incapacitated, a mad Steward, and….all that other stuff he said, and you think a little head-jiggle is going to make me happy, hmmm?" The man in black was glaring at him, and Forlong had to admit he had a point. "Now if only we had a wheelbarrow, that would be something!"

Imrahil glanced at Forlong. "Where did you put that wheelbarrow the catamite had?"

"Over the catamite, I think," Forlong answered.

The man in black rolled his eyes. "Well, why didn't you list that among our assets in the first place? What I wouldn't give for some highly-trained cavalry!"

"There we cannot help you," Imrahil confessed, still holding on to his confidence.

Forlong reached into his tunic and pulled out a letter. "Would this do?"

Imrahil stared at the letter, took it, and read it aloud. Been delayed. Will be there shortly. Leave some Orcs for us! Love, Theoden son of Thengel, King of Rohan. "Where did you get that?"

Forlong shrugged, unreasonably pleased at the look of admiration on the faces of the other men.

"All right, all right," the man in black said, gesturing for Imrahil to help him stand. "Now, I'll need a sword eventually…"

"Why?" Imrahil wanted to know. "You can't even lift one."

"True, but that's hardly common knowledge, is it?" the man in black pointed out. "Now, there may be problems once we've started fighting."

"I'll say," Imrahil agreed. "Namely, how do we utterly destroy the Enemy when we're so heavily out-numbered? Once we do, how are we going to distract Sauron at the Black Gate? Once we do that, how are we going to explain to Denethor that the King's returned?"

Unexpectedly, Forlong took pity on the man in black. "Don't pester him," he rebuked the Prince of Dol Amroth. "He's had a hard day."

"Right. Right," Imrahil said, abashed. "Sorry."

They began making their way toward the waiting troops.

"Imrahil?" whispered Forlong.

"What?"

"I hope we win."