Gandalf stayed at the rear as Miriel and Amdir rode to face the troops, her back to the gate. The men looked up at her, awe and determination on their faces as she began to speak.

"Denethor, Son of Ecthelion, Steward of Gondor, is dead. My elder brother is many days from recovery, and Faramir our youngest brother is in the Halls of Healing. As the eldest able child of Denethor, I am Steward until such occasion arises that removes me." The men straightened, and one Captain spoke.

Why have you gathered us, my lady?" She looked over the crowd, and her words filled with power and strength as she spoke loud and clear, her voice washing over them like a tidal wave of change.

"We stand, people of Gondor, before a split in the path. A choice is before us, and each much choose for himself which path to take. Will you continue to hide behind these walls and fight only the rabble that enter? Or will you ride out with me to fight with those who have come to our aid?" She passed her fierce gaze over the crowd, keeping them focused on her. "Rohan has come in our time of need, and I would not have them stand alone to defend a city that is not their own. More than that, the rumors are true! Our King, the heir of Isildur, rides with Rohan in our darkest hour. Would you leave him without the aid of his people?" The men called out loudly in protest, and a warlike grin came to Miriel's face. She did not love battle, but she loved dearly that which she fought to protect. She turned to the battlement and called aloud to the men still above, who had begun to trickle down to join the throng below. "Open the gate!"

The great wooden gate opened, and the shieldmaiden led the forces of Gondor to a hill above the valley where the battle had moved. Ignoring the chaos and falling stone that hit the ground dangerously close to them, Miriel called out again over the loud sounds of battle.

"We ride for our people!" Cheers erupted from the men she led. All who had been left in Minas Tirith had rallied to her. "For Gondor!" More cheers rang out. "And for our King!" This cheer was the loudest yet, and Miriel turned to the valley below, taking the horn that hung at her side in her hand, and sent the booming sound of the Horn of Gondor across the battlefield. The men of Rohan looked up in relief at the added forces, but the forces of Mordor felt something different stir in the depths of their black hearts. They had not counted on Gondor joining the battle, but the feeling erupted to the surface when they saw the woman who rode at the front of that army. She had been reported dead at the hands of one of their own. The last shieldmaiden dead as their master commanded. And yet, there she was, and ready to fight no less. It was then that they recognized that feeling that bubbled up.

It was Fear, and they cowered before her gaze. The evil had remembered the fear of an angry woman, and this time it would not forget.

Her voice rang out again, and entirety of the field heard the message, of not her words.

"Ride now, Men of the West!" She drew her sword, and the red stallion she rode took off at a gallop as she charged, the forces of the White City not far behind. As they swept through the first ranks of orcs, Gandalf watched from behind, and though little ever moved the unflappable man, he was certain that he had never seen such a sight in all his years in Middle Earth.