Behind Stone Doors

By The Last Evenstar

A/N: For all of you unfortunate enough not to have read the books, the Standard of Arwen is a bright white banner that Arwen sewed in secret for Aragorn, and in it wrought nine jewels. He bore it at the Battle of Pelannor Fields and again at Mordor. I believe they portray it in the movie as the banner Arwen carries when she approaches Aragorn in the end. Who couldn't love that scene?

Thank you to everyone that reviewed! Beach house yet to be paid for, though.

Chapter Two: The Standard of Arwen

When he stood atop a high hill, Aragorn could still see Minas Tirith in the distance. He sighed, wishing with all his heart that men were not so seduced so easily by the thought of power. The Ring may be gone, but its effects still linger, he thought. In truth it was not the corrupter, but simply the key that opened the hearts of men. And now these invaders from the south will stop at nothing to reclaim the lands promised to them by Sauron.

There is so much evil in the world, he marveled as he walked slowly down the hill. The stone walls of Minas Tirith faded over the horizon. But for every evil that brings me despair, there is a shining star of good that drives me on. He smiled wistfully, seeing in his head the radiant face of his beautiful wife.

"Sir!" Faramir rode up, breaking into the King's thoughts. "We'd best move on. Already it is daybreak and we have many miles to cover."

Aragorn nodded and saddled up his horse. "Men! We move out now!"

The encampment scurried into a frenzy of activity, men pulling on their armor and suiting up their horses. In a few moments they were assembled into five regiments.

Aragorn smiled at the squire who rode beside him. The young man was proudly carrying a glistening white banner, emblazoned with the White Tree of Gondor and crowned with nine shining jewels. Though it was three years old and had weathered many battles, the cloth still shone as good as new. Four of the nine jewels were radiant, but the others, though still beautiful, seemed to have lost their light. Aragorn frowned.

"Take care that you mind that standard, my boy," he said to the squire, who gulped upon being addressed by the King. "It is very dear to me."

"Yessir," the boy mumbled, and Aragorn pitied the youth, who looked only about fifteen, far too young to see battle and lose the innocence of childhood.

The King shook his head and signaled to the riders. Men with horns played out a short order, and the army began to move.

Arwen sighed and hugged Éowyn fiercely. "Be safe."

The former shieldmaiden grinned. "I'll be fine. Honestly, you and Faramir! You're the official worriers of Middle-Earth!"

Arwen shook her head. The girl was so headstrong and carefree that it worried her sometimes. "Éowyn, you give us all the reason to! Are you sure that you need to ride to Ithilien this soon?"

Éowyn nodded. "I just came to see Faramir off. It's a court tradition. But I need to go back and take over leadership before everything turns to chaos."

"But don't you think you should wait for word of the situation before you leave? The fighting could have reached Ithilien, and I know Faramir would want you to stay far away from that."

Éowyn groaned. "Arwen! You're the ultimate mother hen! Honestly, I feel sorry for your children!"

The elf smiled grimly. "At least when they're born they'll have more sense than you in all your twenty-six years of life."

"Probably." Éowyn swung aboard her horse. "Don't WORRY, Arwen. I'm riding with an escort. I'll write you with news."

Arwen shook her head helplessly and waved the girl off. "Go on then." As the shieldmaiden spurred her horse and turned, she called out, "Goodbye, Éowyn! Be careful!"

Éowyn turned her head briefly. "I'm not going to get killed! Honestly, what makes you think I'd start now after dodging death so many times already?"

Arwen gave up. "Just leave, you!" she shouted fondly. Éowyn turned and galloped away.

With a small sigh, the Queen made her way back inside. It had seemed that the trying times were over when the Ring was destroyed, but now it seemed that the problems a ruler faced were endless. And to be honest with herself, it didn't help that she worried constantly about Aragorn.

I know he's an excellent fighter, she amended. But sometimes that doesn't matter. I know that he would come out well if facing men, but the riders from the south bring with them a herd of Mumikil. Even Aragorn is in great danger from those beasts.

She lay down on her bed and cried. For a week she had been trying to rule over Gondor, but she had no strong arms to take comfort in when things went wrong. At the end of the day, she was left only with her worries and her fear. This time, there were no armies of the Dead for Aragorn to summon. There was nothing that could be destroyed in time to save him.

My power is failing, she realized, looking down at her trembling white hands. There was a time when I could watch over him in thought as clearly as if I were there. I saved his life that way more than once. She remembered the long nights in Rivendell, before the War of the Ring, when she would find her beloved in great danger. He would tell her upon his next visit not to tire herself by helping him, but even he knew that without her, he might have been lost once or twice.

But my magic is fading. I can no longer find him in the dark reaches of the world. Even if I could not help, it would be a comfort to know where he was.

She remembered as vividly as if it was now the day she realized her power was fading. The choice to give up her immortality was taking its toll. The Life of the Eldar was leaving her. She knew that Aragorn was in grave danger, so she poured her last traces of magic into nine shining stones. In secret she did this, for if her father had known he would have insisted that she abandon it. So day by day she wrought these gems, and with her magic they shone with the light of the Evenstar. She fixed them into a standard, onto which she embroidered the emblem of Gondor, and sent it with Halbarad to protect Aragorn.

She often wondered if she was rash in doing this. Aragorn was certainly capable of protecting himself, and in draining her magic she had put her life in danger. But Aragorn had emerged from each battle he fought in triumphant, and for each battle a gem on the standard had burned dim.

She prayed to the Valar that there was enough magic left to keep him safe now.

Aragorn stiffened. This was it. The tidings of invasion, the muster of troops, and the call to action – it had all led up to one huge confrontation. He grimly surveyed the lines of men and beasts approaching on the horizon. On one side, Them. On another side, Us. The classic battle scene. And when it is over, the fields will be littered with bodies. There will be no more Them. There will be no more Us. There will only be Dead.

He shook the morbid thoughts from his mind, and signaled to the troops. The white banner flowed beside him, reminding the King of everyone he fought for. "Ready!"

For an innumerable amount of moments, there was the great pounding of hooves as the armies rode up. Five Mumikil were silhouetted against the dimming night sky. "Fire!"

A stream of Gondorian arrows let loose over the hordes. Aragorn calculated quickly; there must have been five thousand men. "Hold! Aim! Fire!" Despite the skill of the archers, the southern riders appeared undaunted. Aragorn swallowed and reigned in his horse. He hand-signaled to the generals. The horns of Gondor rose up to meet those of the enemy. An in an instant, the two armies converged.

Aragorn, as quick on a horse as he was on foot, managed to unseat an officer right from the start. Most officers favored a stallion for their war-horse, but Nimrodel, the King's lanky mare, was twice as light-footed and held her own as a soldier. She reared up, using her front hooves to send two men down at once.

"Go for the Mumikil!" Aragorn's hoarse shout was lost in the sea of metal clangs. He spun sharply to parry and enemy blade and rode quickly towards the nearest beast. "Use rope to bring them down!"

He secured a length of rope to an arrow and shot it directly into its fleshy leg. The creature didn't even wince. He circled it quickly, knowing that one wrong move in the thick throng of bodies would get him squashed.

As he pulled tighter and tighter, nearly unseating himself, the beast finally fell, its knees buckling against the force. But he had made a grave error in calculation, for the creature was about to fall directly on him.

Sweat gleamed on his brow as he tried to urge Nimrodel out, but no horse was that fast. He opened his mouth to scream as the dark bulk slammed down.

But it didn't touch him. Aragorn could have sworn the great body seemed to swerve in midair. I should be dead just now. Remembering that he was fighting a battle, he shrugged it off.

He looked up to see that Faramir and a host of Ithilien rangers had managed to bring down another one. His heart fell, though, when he saw six more approaching from the south.

"Gah!" A nearby lance slammed into Aragorn's shield. He winced from the force of it, then turned and drove his sword neatly into the attacker. Upon spinning his mare about, he saw the squire who had born Arwen's standard go down. He rushed over, stopping only to kill tow more men. As he scooped up the standard, bearing it proudly, he said a silent prayer for the boy.

It was only then that he noticed something strange.

Another gem in the cloth had gone dim.