[Novnarwen]

He awoke. Or so he thought. He felt like he had dozed off for a couple of minutes, or hours even. Shaking his head, gazing around, he found himself in the middle of a battlefield. How had he got here? Frowning, he realised that this was the attack the Haradrim Army had waited for, for a long time. This was the Poros Settlement, which the Haradrim soldiers were ordered to destroy.

Looking confused and being rather pale, he got a glimpse of Jinan. His fellow companion had thrown himself into the battle, fighting alongside with the other soldiers of the army. Frôzhal, on the other hand, stood motionless amongst a group of men who hesitated to attack. Some looked questioningly at Frôzhal, and he realised why. It was the members of his platoon. They stood waiting for him to dart forwards and into the masses of Gondorian soldiers. But how would someone in their right mind do that. The swords, the sound of metal, made him shiver. Although he was an experienced soldier, and not too bad when it came to handling a sword, all of this frightened him; so much blood, pain and despair. So many lives.

There was a loud crack. A canon had been fired, and the smoke lay thick ahead. Screams of horror rang in his ears. "This is madness," he muttered dryly to himself. Desperately, he looked around once more. He would have to get out of this, but how he would be able to get away; he did not know. Seeing that his men were getting inpatient, (some had already charged forwards by now), he drew his sword valiantly and sprang forwards himself. Shaking with fear, his mouth going dry, he thrust his sword into the first Gondorian he met.

"For the honour and glory of Gondor!” he heard someone cry.

Where was the glory in this? he thought to himself drawing his sword out of the Gondorian. It was a young man, a lad by the look of him. His face was filled with pain, and the sweat was trickling down his forehead. Being cold, knowing that his time had come, he sighed and muttered: "For Gondor."

The platoon followed closely behind, but was scattered as by the wind.

Fiercely taking another Gondorian by the first thrust, he continued to dart forwards facing more of the opponents. With gritted teeth he put all his effort into the first hit, but this time the opponent was stronger and probably more experienced. Blocking Frôzhal's hit, he took a step forwards and made the Haradrim step back. Advancing from side to side, the two of them stared into each other's eyes as both of them tried to thrust their swords into each other. The Gondoiran he was facing was much skinnier, and smaller than himself. However, Frôzhal knew that the minute he thought and was convinced that his size was an advantage; he would be dead before he could say the word 'Haradrim'. Once more there was a loud crack, another canon had been fired. The Gondorian was distracted for a second, and it was then Frôzhal seized his chance. Being fully aware of the fact that he was now able to kill his opponent with a hurried hit, he turned and darted away.