Behind Stone Doors

By The Last Evenstar

A/N: Augh! Do you ever have that feeling like you know exactly what you WANT to happen in a story but you can't get down everything in your head until all this other stuff happens?

Anyway, this will probably be the only thing I can post until next weekend. I'm sorry, but I've got midterms to take, other stuff the I SHOULD be doing right now, and an audition to prepare for. It's going to be a hectic week, and I'll be lucky if I get two hours of sleep, let alone time to write. BUT I'M NOT GIVING UP ON THIS STORY! It will probably have a few more chapters. (sigh) It's past its expiration date and is starting to stink, but I will get around to finishing it.

Big hugs to everyone who reviewed!

Chapter Five: Refuge

Arwen awoke to the frantic, high-pitched whinnying of her horse. She sat up dizzily, trying to remember what had happened. She had been riding toward Ithilien, and making good time . . .

Fool! she cursed herself, remembering her nauseous tumble. I should have been more careful. I should have known . . .

The squeals of her mare brought her attention to a party of riders, approaching in the distance. She gasped and scrambled onto the horse's back. Even her sharp Elven eyes could not make out whether they were friend or foe.

She eyed with disdain the one quiver of arrows and two daggers she had brought. It would not be enough to fend off any manner of enemy. I'm such a fool! she thought. I'm not safe behind the stone doors of Minas Tirith anymore. I'm a sole rider practically unarmed in dangerous territory. Really, she had heard that pregnant women sometimes didn't think clearly, but this was beyond a joke!

She notched an arrow and strained her eyes to see into the distance. As the riders approached, it became clear that Arwen would NOT want to tangle with them. She turned and spurred her horse on, racing for her life.

She rode swiftly toward a rocky enclosure, hoping she could lose them. The stench of old battle filled her nose; the acrid scent of decaying bodies. She stiffened. Gondor had fought here not to long ago.

As she raced, swift as the wind, past the battleground, a shimmer of white caught her eye. She turned her head and instinctively slowed her horse. Upon further inspection she gasped.

Caught on a sharp edge and blowing softly in the breeze, unnoticed in all its glory, was the standard she had sewn so long ago.

Another day, another life-threatening situation, thought Aragorn. It's become so routine.

He sighed dryly as he drove Anduril through yet another foe. This was hardly the era of peace he had always imagined his reign as.

"My Lord!" Beregond, once captain of the Tower Guard and now his chief general, rode up on his brown stallion. "We've taken down three of the Mumakil. They're down to their last four."

Aragorn grinned as he rode head-on to face an enemy officer and knocked him careening off his horse. "Good!" he shouted. "Have the men form squadrons. Attack systematically!"

He unleashed his bow and began to shoot down the riders atop the great beasts. The muscles in his arms bulged as he drew back the bowstring again and again. The velocity needed to reach that far was enough to tire any man. Sure enough, his arms grew weaker and weaker until he could shoot no more, and, turning with a great cry, he charged right at the beast. He drove his sword again and again into its ankles, spinning and rearing so as not to get trampled.

Finally, the Oliphaunt fell. He galloped quickly out of the way as the great creature heaved and floundered. He wiped the sweat from his eyes and looked up. The squadrons of men had managed to unseat two more of the beasts, leaving only one. He decided to let the others handle it and spurred Nimrodel into a group of men, raising his sword and letting it crash down upon the head of an enemy.

The last of the Mumakil was killed not long after. The men of Gondor rode through the Southern legions like a great wave, obliterating all in their path. Within an hour, the battle was won.

Aragorn paused and stopped his horse amidst the rowdy cheers of his men. Something was not right about this. He swiftly calculated the dead on the battlefield, a number that feel substantially short of the army his scouts had reported.

This doesn't make any sense! he thought in frustration. This was all the Mumakil they had left. Why send them all to battle and not the extent of your men? They must have known they would be outnumbered . . .

Something registered in his brain from three years hence. A diversion; a war-winning tactic that had drawn the Eye of Sauron away from the true threat and onto that which appeared the more powerful.

The Mumakil were their Last Attempt, he realized with a start. But they've still got some hobbits up their sleeve!

Arwen dismounted and ran over to the banner. She picked it up and brushed it softly. The cloth into which she had poured her magic and her love was now torn and dirty. The gems embedded in it no longer shone.

She clutched it to her chest and cried softly. Tears stained the shimmering cloth as she tried to console herself. He just left it here. It doesn't mean anything's happened to him!

She folded it carefully and tucked it into her saddlebag. In the distance the group of riders were coming on faster; stronger. She gulped back her tears and swung up onto her mare. Out of the corner of her eye she could see a small cave – the perfect hiding spot until they had passed. She galloped quickly over and dismounted again.

She peered through the small opening. It could hide a person, but not a horse. She glanced around in despair. The enemy riders were close now – she felt sure they had spotted her.

Making a quick decision, she pushed her horse into the cave ahead of her. They may be spotted this way, but she was not going to leave her faithful mare behind.

To her surprise, she had no sooner taken a step inside the cave when her feet fell out from under her. The horse, called Elentari, cried sharply as she fell also.

Arwen stood up, her body a bit bruised. The cave dropped sharply into a long tunnel, deceptively hidden by the low roof.

She led Elentari carefully down the tunnel, wondering if it surfaced nearby. But it only branched off and went steeper and steeper into the earth.

Ahead, she saw a light. Wary, she drew her dagger and crept along slowly.

"Stop!" A figure holding a torch approached her from the end of the tunnel. "Put your weapon down!"

Arwen nearly cried in relief. "ÉOWYN?"

The girl dropped her sword and held up the light. "Arwen?" She stood there, her mouth open, as the elf raced down the tunnel towards her. "Aragorn is going to be LIVID."

Arwen laughed and swept the shieldmaiden into an embrace. "You stupid girl! Is that all you can say? I rode out to find you! To warn you not to go to Ithilien." She smiled at the girl's puzzled look. "A letter from Faramir arrived, telling you to stay at Minas Tirith by all means."

Éowyn's mouth dropped open. "You READ it?" She cringed. "Was it one of his mad poems?"

"No," Arwen laughed, "but I only read the first paragraph." She suddenly sobered up. "Do you know what's happening? Where the Gondorians are?" She shuddered. "There seem to be southerners everywhere, but –"

Éowyn rolled her eyes. "Aragorn's all right. We saw him riding through here only a day ago."

Arwen felt her knees go weak with relief. "Thank the Valar. How did you manage to find this place?" She looked around. Éowyn and her few companions had set up a hospitable little camp.

"Same way as you. We were running, one of the horses fell –" She bit her lip. "But that's not important. What's important is that there's an army of thousands waiting for our men to draw back to Ithilien. It's a trap."

Arwen gasped. Her thoughts moved to the banner so carefully tucked in her saddlebag. "They'll be slaughtered!"

Éowyn nodded grimly. "There's another force waiting to ride into Minas Tirith as soon as all the defenses are obliterated."

Arwen stared. "How do you know?"

Éowyn fingered her bloodstained sword. "I have my ways."

Arwen sank to the floor, her legs giving out entirely. Unwillingly, she clutched her stomach and began to cry.

"Arwen –" The normally stately elf's behavior puzzled Éowyn. "What's wrong?"

Arwen sniffled. "I just feel so helpless. I love him so much, I would do anything to save him – but I can't." Tears ran down her cheeks. "I've got our baby to protect."

The shieldmaiden gasped. "A baby? You're – you're with child?"

Arwen nodded and smiled through her tears. "I can't protect them both. I would give my life for Aragorn in an instant, but I could never sacrifice our child."

Éowyn's young face was set and lined. "You won't have to." As her chin trembled, Arwen had to remind herself that the girl was only twenty-six. "There has to be a way. I tried sending someone to warn our men, but we found him a few hours later with a stick rammed through his heart. It's too dangerous out there."

Arwen sighed. "In some ways this is harder than defeating Sauron. With him, a small act of one little hobbit could end the whole thing. But now, the enemy's destruction will take so much."

Éowyn nodded. "We can't just sit here, though. I'm not leaving Faramir to be slaughtered."

Arwen shook her head. "They need reinforcement." The picture of Aragorn, alone and surrounded by enemy swords, pierced at her heart. "What about Rohan?"

"Rohan?" Éowyn thought. "Aragorn told Eomer they didn't need any help. Besides, they're days and days away."

Arwen trembled. "We need to do something!"

"I know!" Éowyn sounded frustrated. "But we can't get a message to Aragorn without being killed."

Arwen rubbed her hands. They were cold and clammy. She felt the banner inside her saddlebag. Was there still magic? Could she manage . . . Probably not.

But she could die trying.