When daybreak shone on Minas Tirith, the small ragtagged army of the men of the West marched toward the Black Gate of Mordor. As they traveled the week-long journey, Nazgûl on Fellbeasts followed them overhead. They made no cries or attempted to attack them, and they continually ascended to where they could no longer be seen, but they lingered. Their mere presence inflicted enough dread.

Only once were they challenged. Easterlings and orcs ambushed them on what she heard Aragorn call the Cross-Roads. No one fell as the Enemy was dealt with, and it didn't take long either.

With the coming of night on the fifth day since they left, their small army made camp. In the morning, they would arrive, so Gandalf requested all captains and others of importance to take counsel together.

The wizard gave a layout of the blasted land they would soon come across. He advised Aragorn and the others to arrange their forces upon hills orcs have made since most of the land was reeking with mud and foul-smelling pools.

Finished giving his strategic suggestions, Gandalf asked her for further guidance.

"The Mouth of Sauron will appear, but do not trust a word he says," Rowan began. "Events have changed, though I have faith in what he speaks will be lies."

In the Extended Edition, he tells them Frodo is dead and presents his Mithril shirt as proof. He reveals more items in the book (if she remembered right), but it has the same effect on the remaining Fellowship: dismay and despair. She couldn't believe Frodo would be dead if the Mouth of Sauron procures anything belonging to the hobbit.

She would not.

Unless it was his head...

Rowan shuddered at the thought.

***

As predicted, the landscape changed in the morning. The green, rolling hills became dry and crunched under hooves and feet; rocks grew in size to large clumps of boulders; and the firm ground eventually turned to loose shoal as the Black Gate of Mordor appeared.

Within the earthwork of Cirith Gorgor, the vast Black Gate sat across the mouth of the pass, from cliff to cliff. The two tall and dark Towers of the Teeth on either end loomed over them. Built in a dull black with jagged, sharp points, the Morannon was as ominous and evil-looking. Dark, gaping holes had been bored into the cliffs for caves. Like Gandalf said, murky pools were scattered between the hills they stood on and the closed black doors. The air reeked of old mud and rotting things.

After arranging the men as suggested, the party consisting of Aragorn, Gandalf and Pippin, Éomer, Rowan and Merry, Legolas and Gimli, Elrohir, and Elladan rode toward the iron gate. As they stopped where the gate swinging open left tracks, there was no movement atop the battlements. Nazgûl riding their Fellbeasts still circled overhead like vultures.

"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Justice shall be done upon him!" Aragorn called.

No sound answered him. All remained quiet and still.

Rowan expected this—for it's done in both the book and the movie—but doubt still seeped into her heart. Did Sauron not take the bait? Would he choose to ignore them?

She released a grateful breath when metal creaked and groaned as locks were released and a door on the Gate swung open.

A form astride a black horse emerged, flanked by a small company of black-harnessed soldiers. One held a black banner bearing the red Evil Eye. Riding closer, the Mouth of Sauron was depicted just as he was in the movie: swathed in black robes, a helmet coming down to the top of his lip so only his grotesque, bleeding mouth could be seen.

They halted before them.

"My Master, Sauron the Great, bids thee welcome," the Mouth said with false cheeriness before flashing them a hideous smile. Black blood ran down his gums, outlining his yellow and unusually pointed teeth.

No one responded to his greeting.

"Is there anyone in this rout with authority to treat with me?" he asked. "Or indeed with wit to understand me? Not thou at least!" he said, turning to Aragorn. "It needs more to make a king than an Elvish blade, or a rabble such as this. Why, any brigand of the hills can show as good a following!"

The Ranger didn't rise to the Mouth's insolence; he instead just looked at the other. Sitting there, Aragorn emitted patience, wisdom to hold his tongue and not react (like the growling Gimli); he looked and acted like a king. Rowan was proud of him.

Even though he couldn't see, the Messenger snarled—not feeling anger and insult coming from him.

"We do not come to treat with Sauron, wicked and accursed; still less with one of his slaves," Gandalf said. "Tell your master this: the armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

The Mouth's head turned to the wizard. He smiled. "So, you art the spokesman, old Greybeard. I have a token I was bidden to show thee." He signed to one of his guards, and he came forward bearing a black bundle.

Unwrapping it, the Mouth held forward the recognizable white Mithril shirt Frodo wore. Rowan could tell by the quick intakes of breath around her that the Fellowship believed the hobbit was lost. Merry whispered 'no' behind her.

She put a hand on his grabbing her waist. "Do not believe it," she whispered.

"To doubt is folly, One-Who-Does-Not-Belong," the Mouth said, bringing her attention back to him, looking her way. "Do you believe your eyes lie? Perhaps you will hear truth in thy ears." He shook the shirt, making the mail-shirt jingle. "This is no deceit."

"Nay, it is not."

"What do you question? The Halfling has been caught and will suffer much pain depending on your choice. Or do you hold on to foolish hope when there is truth before thine eyes?"

Rowan straightened. "Neither. I doubt your words, Messenger. This may indeed belong to one we know, but where is this prisoner you claim to withhold? Let him be brought forth and yielded to us, then perhaps we will consider treating with the Master of Treachery."

Her words heartened those with her—light returned to their eyes and they now looked upon the Mithril shirt with distrust, not dismay.

The Mouth snarled. "Surety, you crave! Sauron gives none. If you sue for his clemency, you must first do his bidding. The rabble of Gondor and its deluded allies shall withdraw at once, taking oaths never again to assail Sauron the Great in arms, open or secret. All lands east of the Anduin shall be Sauron's forever, as well. These are his terms; take them or leave them!"

"This we will take!" Gandalf said. Throwing back his cloak and raising his hand, a blinding white light shone forward. The Mouth recoiled—as did the soldiers with him—and the wizard rode up to snatch Frodo's Mithril shirt. "This we will take in memory of our friend, but as for your terms, we reject them. Your embassy is over and death is upon you. Be gone!"

Utter shock and disbelief seen in the gaping of the Messenger's mouth was soon replaced by rage twisting his cracked and bloody lips. He yanked his black steed around and hurried back toward the open door, his soldiers flanking him. But as they retreated, two blew trumpets—a signal.

Drums suddenly rang, clashing and booming like thunder. The Nazgûl's shrieks pierced the air. More trumpets and battle cries answered the calls. The Black Gate began to swing outward, and a great host swarmed out of it. The uppermost tower of Barad-dûr holding the flaming Eye of Sauron glowed brightly. Further back sat the raging volcano of Orodruin.

As their party returned to their men stationed on the hills, dust rose in the air as more of the Enemy hidden in the shadows of the furthest Tower emerged. Easterlings and Haradrim. Many orcs crawled out of the caves, bored into the surrounding hills like cockroaches.

The men of the West were surrounded in jaws of steel.

Just as planned.