Behind Stone Doors
By The Last Evenstar
A/N: This is kind of a . . . bridge chapter. More fluff in the next one, I promise!
And since I've gotten such nice reviews . . .
Blackbird10 - You are so nice! My mother is in despair with me. I tricked her into taking me the third time. And the fourth time was for Latin Club (don't ask).
Cerridwen-Evereven - Thank you for being my most timely reviewer. I wonder as well.
sayinjinj7 - Thank you! Star Wars? Seen it a looooong time ago. Maybe it was in my subconscious.
Queen Arwen - Now really! I would nevereverever kill my beloved Aragorn! Surely you know that? I'm glad you like it, anyway.
Gionareth - Thanks. Who knows? Not me.
Kath - Thanks. Aragorn got mad at me for putting that in. He thinks it makes him seem un-manly.
prettiest in pink - I'm so glad you think the dialogue is believable. I'm sure it pains you to put college ahead of Tolkien.
The Converted - I think they're cool too. I have no idea about the rhinos. Maybe deformed cousins?
b-witched83uk - Thank you for your kind words (I'm running out of ways to say 'thanks' here . . . ). Unfortunately, reading about Aragorn getting all sweaty and fighting doesn't come close to seeing it on the big screen. Oh, well.
Natters - Oh, to hell with it - THANKS! That's all I seem to be able to say to anyone.
Daisy - Thanks. It warms my heart that SOMEONE thinks I'm talented.
And that's all, folks!
Chapter Three: Curse of the Foolish Rohirrm
The manservant found Arwen in the King's study. She was not, he noted, going through ledgers and supply lists as consumed most of her duty nowadays, but rather she was leafing through an assortment of calendars and almanacs, biting her lip nervously.
"My Lady?"
The harried Queen looked up. "Good evening. Do you bring a message?"
He nodded, and her eyes lit up. "Here you are, my Lady." He handed her a stack of papers. "These came through an escort that passed by the King's company four days ago."
"Oh, thank you!" She sorted through the papers. There was a long letter from Aragorn, as well as an official document detailing their progress and a sealed letter addressed to Éowyn. She set it aside and ripped open her husband's letter eagerly.
My dearest Arwen,
By the time you receive this, we will have ridden into battle. We are no more than three days away from the first of the invaders. Don't waste your time worrying – whatever happens will have happened by now. As far as our scouts have reported, I think that to hope for victory in this first battle would not be foolish. We outnumber them in terms of men, and there seem to be no more Mumakil than we were able to defeat at Pelannor.
Everything that followed was written in Elvish, and made Arwen blush uncontrollably. She read it several times before turning to the other two documents.
She started to call someone in hopes to forward Faramir's letter, but stopped when she saw that he had written Urgent! On the outside. She bit her lip. She knew not to read other people's mail, but what if it was something that couldn't afford to be put off?
With a nervous feeling, she opened the letter.
Beloved Éowyn,
I know you had planned to ride for Ithilien come next week, but, by all means, DO NOT GO. A force of southerners is moving swiftly past, and I fear the first battle may be much too close to home. As it is, we've ordered an evacuation, so you should expect them at Minas Tirith any day now. I know you all too well, Éowyn, and you MUST stay in Minas Tirith, no matter how much you would like to come and fight. Please do this . . .
Arwen hastily rolled up the letter. The rest could not be for her eyes. Moaning with despair, she thought hard. Éowyn and her escort had left two days ago. By now, they would be almost into the fray of the battle.
Foolish girl!, Arwen thought, furious with Éowyn and with herself. I told her she would get herself killed!
Rising hastily, Arwen suddenly felt dizzy. Her stomach lurched, and she had to sit back down for a few moments before the nausea passed.
What was that? She wondered, trotting quickly down the hall. She tried to think what could be done. She couldn't let Éowyn and her companions reach Ithilien, especially with no warning, but what could be done? All the able-bodied riders had gone out with the troops. Anyone left here could certainly not catch up to a two-day head start, even if they rode nonstop. She felt sure Éowyn and her escort would rest nights, but what if they were too far ahead already? She would need a skilled rider, and even the garrison at Osgiliath could spare none of its men.
She closed her eyes in frustration. I'm not condemning Éowyn to death! She smiled grimly. For one thing, Faramir would kill me. Her eyes began no fill with unhappy tears. If only the Elves had not left. An Elven rider could overtake them in a day.
Suddenly she stopped dead. I couldn't. They need me here.
A picture filled her mind of Éowyn, her closest friend in the world of Men, caught off-guard by an army of soldiers and beasts. Could I? Unwittingly, she clutched her stomach. It would not be safe.
She grit her teeth. Aragorn will NOT be happy with me.
Aragorn grimaced as he surveyed the situation. His army had taken down six of the gargantuan oliphaunts, but the remaining four were coming on strong. So many of his men had been crushed by the beasts, but they had also taken out quite a few of their own in their hapless strides.
A stinging cut raked his chest, and sweat gleamed on his brow from the harsh sun of Southern Gondor. His mail armor had been cut on one leg by a vicious double axe, and the appendage was bleeding heavily. He had been thrown from Nimrodel as they swerved to evade one of the Mumakil and now ran about, striking as many foes as he could.
There was the unmistakable clash of metal on metal as he turned to parry an enemy's attack. The man was tall and muscular, his red Southern skin far more able to withstand the heat and hurt. Their blades met, broadsword matching glaive. Aragorn thrust Anduril again and again, but the man was a far better match than Aragorn had expected. On his armor, the King noted, was an unusual emblem, most likely signifying a high rank or position.
The Southerner cursed at him, trying to break his concentration. In one final upheaval Aragorn knocked the thinner weapon aside and drove his sword straight and true into the man's shoulder. As the great sword cut further, Aragorn pressing his strength to the very last, the man went down with a roar of indignation. The King panted and straightened.
He noted that the surrounding men began to lose their fervor at the sight of their dead leader. Again and again he and his men struck out, until finally the army began to retreat, not without the loss of three more Mumakil. The Gondorians shot at the last one in vain as it ambled away, the sharp arrows barely sticking the beast's hide.
"On!" Aragorn shouted to his men. "Finish them off!"
As he stumbled forward, he saw Arwen's banner. It clung about his shoes, still shining brightly despite the dirt and filth of a battlefield. He stopped for a moment and buried his face in it, taking in the sweet, unfading smell of his wife. In that instant his heart yearned and tugged, wanting only to hold her in his arms again.
He sighed and looked up, only to see the army falling back towards Ithilien, where in the distance three more Mumakil stood waiting. He remembered his promise to Arwen and picked up his sword.
"My Lady –"
"You'll be fine in charge." Arwen spoke grimly as she saddled up her horse. "The King and I have faith in you."
"My Lady, you cannot simply leave in the midst of a war! The King would not allow you to compromise your safety like that!" Aragorn's chief advisor looked up at her, pleading. "He would have my head for letting you do such a thing!"
"First of all, the King does not command me, and so you have no right to do so," Arwen informed him. He gulped. "And secondly, I MUST reach the escort before they enter Ithilien and are all killed. I just pray I am not too late."
"But why YOU, Lady?"
She grinned, though not a trace of happiness shone in her eye. "I was raised in the saddle, my Lord. I could ride bareback two thousand years before you were born."
Ignoring his cries of dismay, she swung up and mounted. Immediately she felt another wave of nausea. I hope this passes, she thought, biting her lip. I hope to the Valar it's just nerves.
As she galloped through the city, she felt the silence of war everywhere. There was no house that did not have a father, a brother, an uncle or a cousin in Gondor's army. She wondered if any of them were missed half as much as Aragorn, and pitied them if it was so.
With a last look at Minas Tirith, she spurred her horse and rode out from behind stone doors.