Behind Stone Doors

By The Last Evenstar

A/N: In an effort to make up for my recent untimely update, I worked extra hard to get this one here fast! I suppose this is the second-to-last chapter *sob*, but I will try make it EXTRA long – or at least very action-packed.

Chapter Eight: United Once More

The men of Gondor shifted uneasily as they waited. Aragorn had sent out another small group of scouts, and no one had returned. The force approaching from the East appeared to be formidable.

Aragorn sat on his horse, head held high. Yet inside, his courage was failing. How could I have let this happen? I promised a reign of peace and prosperity. And now the last army of Gondor rides out to meet a legion yet unreckoned. Where did this enemy come from? A better King would have known . . .

Faramir rode up on his sand-colored stallion and put on a brave, reckless grin. "Do not lose heart, my King! The battle is never decided until it is over!"

Aragorn smiled at his Steward, a thousand times grateful for the man's spirits. "You're right, Faramir. And a battle is never over until it is fought!" With that, he gave a mighty cry and spurred Nimrodel forward. With equal enthusiasm his men arose and rode onward over the crest of the hill.

And there they stopped short.

Aragorn blinked his eyes to make sure they were working right. He heard Faramir swear in astonishment. Beregond gaped, his mouth open, as they surveyed the approaching army.

The scout had said they numbered five thousand. Aragorn could see that there were clearly more. The men, untried and fresh for battle, rode atop gleaming white horses. The call of their horns rode on the wind, clear and pure.

Leading the legion of Rohirrm were Legolas and Gimli, grinning proudly atop a slender brown mare.

"Hail!" The Elf's cry rang out, unmistakable, in the silence. "What news?"

Aragorn finally found his voice and turned to Beregond accusingly. "You said they were enemies!"

Beregond was just as astonished. "The scout died before he could tell us truly, but I assumed, because he was attacked –"

Eomer rode forward, a triumphant grin on his face. "You didn't think we'd miss the fun, did you?"

"It will be a cold day in Mount Doom before a dwarf skips out on battle!" roared Gimli.

All of a sudden Aragorn broke into a grin. "Hail, my friends! Forgive us your sorry welcome!" He paused, confused. "Why did you come?" he asked Eomer. "How did you know of our need?"

The King of the Riddermark smiled knowingly. "Your chief advisor contacted us four days ago. We had the men ready to march, so it was not long in the coming."

"But – but how did he know?"

Eomer shrugged. "He said that the Lady Arwen left with much haste, and he feared she had gotten news that something was dreadfully wrong."

"LEFT?" roared Aragorn, his heart suddenly pounding out a symphony. "What do you mean, LEFT? Where is she? Is she not safe in Minas Tirith?"

Eomer gulped. "I don't know. He said she rode out of Minas Tirith in great haste two days ago."

"WHAT?" Aragorn felt faint. He remembered the dream in which he had been warned of the armies at Ithilien. I never asked how she knew, he realized. What could have happened? How can I ride into battle now, with no news of her whereabouts?

He noticed that he was trembling violently. Faramir and his brother-in-law stared with concern. And suddenly, it all came together. "Éowyn." She mentioned Éowyn. I didn't tell Faramir because I assumed that Éowyn had been foolhardy enough to ride off alone. I never dreamed that Arwen would have gone after her – "Of course. Arwen would have gotten your letter, Faramir. She left to stop Éowyn." His eyes began to fill with tears. "She always puts other before herself. That's what I love about her. And now –" he turned toward Ithilien with fury, "now she's in trouble." He remembered how she had said goodbye. A red-hot fury coursed through his veins. "If anyone has so much as harmed a hair on her head –"

"Calm down," Faramir interjected nervously. "I'm sure they've managed. They're very capable women."

But Aragorn could see his distress in the news. Meanwhile, Eomer turned pale and advanced angrily on Faramir.

"You! You said you'd keep her safe when I agreed you could marry her!"

If the situation had been any less grave, Aragorn would have laughed. Instead, he turned his horse around and shouted to his men, "Make haste! We ride to reclaim Ithilien!"

Arwen bit her lip as the sound of horses thundering past filled her ears. She turned to Éowyn, who poked her head out of the cave nervously.

Suddenly, the girl screamed in delight and toppled to the floor. She sat up, her eyes a daze. "The Rohirrm! They've come! Oh, I knew they would!"

Arwen laughed at her delight. "How wonderful! Now they outnumber the enemy by at least a thousand!"

Suddenly, Éowyn grabbed her sword and belt. "I'm going with them."

Arwen gulped and tried to face her calmly. "You are not."

The shieldmaiden glared. "You may be Queen of Gondor, but you have no power over me! I'm going to fight for my country!" She began to tug on a chain-mail tunic. "Faramir is a powerful fighter, but he needs someone to watch his back!"

Arwen rolled her eyes as she realized what this was really about. But Éowyn's words carried a heavy impact. Aragorn no longer had the protection of her standard. And after all this, she was not willing to take any risks on his safety. "I'll tell you what we'll do. Go strip the dead outside of all their arrows. We ride as a company to Ithilien."

Éowyn looked shocked. "But – you can't! What about your baby?"

Arwen smiled with a devilry usually reserved for her brothers. "We're doing this together, or not at all! And I have a feeling that the Valar will be on our side."

This is it. Aragorn surveyed the scene. The Southerners had not had much time to fortify Ithilien. Instead, they rode out to meet the combined forces of Gondor and Rohan on the fields of battle. He knew not to overestimate himself, but Aragorn could still feel the relief of a battle he knew they could win.

"Charge!" he cried, rushing into the foray. In a moment the familiar sensation of battle was upon him. The sound of metal on metal, the agonizing cries as someone went down – Aragorn shuddered to think of how accustomed he was to it.

An enemy advanced on him, and Aragorn wasted no time in driving Anduril straight through his heart. He smiled as he remembered how, after the last small skirmish at Osgiliath, Arwen had come out and blessed and prayed for all of the bodies, even the enemy, because "they all had a home, and a family, and once upon a time each one was a little boy whose mother held him and told him he was the best, brightest child ever. And when he doesn't come home, she'll cry for her brave little boy, and her life will be unhappy for the rest of her days."

Arwen! It pained his heart to think of her now, knowing that her safety was uncertain. Everything he loved about her was rushing into his mind from that small memory.

The first rule of battle was not to get distracted. Aragorn had done so, and now a heavy Southerner was about bring a double-bladed axe crashing into his skull. He tried to dart out of the way, but it was too late. The axe fell –

And landed several feet short of the crouching King. His attacker fell to the ground, and arrow in his back. Aragorn stared; it was a southern arrow, not one of Gondor's. Shrugging, he turned back to the battle with renewed energy.

Foe after foe fell at the helm of his mighty sword. As each man went down he saw the face of his queen, and spurred his strength on the next enemy.

Twice more he was saved just in the nick of time by the strange enemy arrows. Could it be a coincidence? he wondered. Are they really just missing me and hitting my foes by chance?

Arwen let loose arrow after arrow. Her keen Elven eyes found their targets and with remarkable precision she struck each one. The Southern arrows Éowyn had taken from the dead were heavier than the Elven ones she was used to, but the sharp steel at their tips made up for the extra weight.

Éowyn had long since abandoned her futile attempt at archery and had run off into the heart of battle. Arwen was forced to concentrate on her as well Aragorn. The girl was a good fighter, but three years of rest had left her reflexes a bit rusty.

It was not so for Aragorn, however. He moved with perfectly timed precision, thrusting and lunging in endless patterns of attack. His arm muscles bulged, and sweat gleamed on his brow. Arwen found it hard to concentrate on the battle when this happened.

"My Lady!" One of Éowyn's companions pointed over the hillside. "They're coming up, Your Highness! They've seen us!"

Arwen gave a silent prayer and drew her sword. She was no fool; if the slightest danger appeared to threaten her unborn child she was ready to run. But the men charging up the hill we tired and angry – a poor mood for fighting.

She thrust with the curved blade, taking down one of the enemies immediately. The men from Éowyn's escort managed the other three. Arwen looked around to see if there were any more, and found herself face-to-face with a huge axe. She ducked instinctively, and it went flying over her head.

She went to run, but the man caught her with the butt of his axe and she went flying headfirst into a nearby rock. Through the blood in her eyes she saw him advance on her, and reached for her sword. To her horror, it had flown out of her hand and landed twenty feet away.