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Your Heart Will Be True

By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries

available at the top of chapter 1)

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Chapter 15

Dwarves For All Needs

April 22

Somewhere in the woods of Gondor

A squirrel sat on a branch, its tail curled, its body erect. The only movement from the creature was a slow turning of its head as its beady black eyes followed the inexplicable passing of… a dwarf. Alone. On foot. Running headlong through the woods. Soaking wet. And cursing.

"Blasted tree!"

Gimli staggered a little, trying to favor his right leg until the pain in his stubbed toe subsided. "And to think that after Aragorn's granite-for-brains plan to run across Rohan in less than a week I swore to myself that I'd never do this again." His breath was beginning to wheeze audibly over the wet clanking of his gear. "At least not without a sturdy pony beneath me… But no! Shies at water, does it? Foul beast. Even the elf would agree. Whoever named that four-legged fiend 'Braveheart' obviously never tried to stay atop the animal when a river came in sight." He indulged in several long sentences of swearing in his native language, a diatribe that sounded like a lot of fist-sized stones being chewed up by a dragon.

One of his faithful axes slipped and he made a grab for it, catching it easily, but his body angled sideways and the back of his right hand impacted with an oak as he passed it. Even with chain mail and gloves on, his knuckles felt the crack.

"Blasted tree!" he roared again. "What does the elf SEE in them? 'Stone is cold and lifeless,' he says. Well it's a good sight better than 'alive and trying to kill you'! What's the good of a whole lot of them standing so close together like this anyway… blocking the trail… whose rotten idea was that?" His heavy shoes punched holes in the turf as he ran in silence for a few moments.

"Ah, lads," he muttered huskily. "I should have known you couldn't keep out of trouble. As if Aragorn becoming king was supposed to help; made it a pretty sight worse — Mahal take it all. You'd better be watching each other's backs even closer than usual. There's the glint in the eyes, Legolas. You're the fool who tried to teach me how to read human faces — don't be letting the honor of the traitorous rat's uncle cloud your vision!"

The dwarf's head had slowly lowered until he was plowing between the trees head first, fast like a charging bull. "You've got good hearts, lads; I knew it all along." He scowled suddenly, running even faster, heedless now of his surroundings, "And what happens when the pair of you get it into your head to save Middle Earth? Gimli the dwarf winds up running his legs off through every Valar-forsaken patch of forest on the face of Arda! Have they got salt for brains!"

WHAM!

With a spine jarring impact, Gimli head-butted the wide trunk of sturdy pine he had been too preoccupied to notice. The blow smacked him backwards so that he sat down hard, his legs splayed in front of him. His helmet was ringing… or was that his head?

"BLASTED TREE!"

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April 22

Between Gondor and Rohan

Legolas' feet moved lightly over the stones, crossing the small creek that wound past them. It was as much habit as a desire to keep his soft shoes out of the cold water. Landing on the grass on the other side the elf let out a long sigh. The air today was perfect, clear and fresh — even if a little chilled from the rain that had only just passed. It was a fine day for traveling.

Sloshing noises behind him caused the elf to turn and discover Aragorn walking through the creek, seemingly heedless of the water washing over his boots. Bemusedly Legolas waited as his friend came to stand beside him.

"It's cold out here," Aragorn commented somewhat grumpily.

Legolas chuckled out loud as the man contradicted his previous admiration of the weather. "But my dear human, this is a fine day for travel and the cool air will surely keep us alert."

Aragorn did not look impressed. He was again drenched from head to foot from the rain that had woken them that morning and he couldn't help wincing as a chill wind blew past them. "My dear elf, if this were fine whether (and I might add that I think that is assuming a lot) I would not expect it to stay that way given our recent luck."

Legolas shook his head. "Strider, you sound like Bartho! What's wrong? You are surprisingly bad-tempered this morning."

"Being awakened by rain, a swarm of screeching birds, and peels of thunder does that to humans. Besides that, I don't know how I slept on my left arm but it feels like five frozen fingers and a broken elbow just now."

Legolas grinned impishly. "You have been out of the wilds too long, my friend."

"Not so," Aragorn corrected with a half smile. "Ask any of the Dúnedain you please, I have never liked traveling in April; there is nothing that makes a human more despondent than excessive rain, especially when it's falling on you."

"At least we avoided the mud slides this time." The elf quickly ducked a playful swing from the ranger and turned in time to see Tantur coming up beside them, leading the horses.

Legolas grinned at the man. "And what of you, Gondorian? Do you find this morning's conditions so unbearable?"

Tantur didn't get a chance to respond before the elf's expression suddenly changed and he whirled around.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked automatically in the grey tongue.

"I hear something." Legolas was frowning in a peculiar way that brought Aragorn closer as he tried to hear what the elf was hearing. "Strider…" Legolas turned to his friend in confusion. "Do you hear…singing?"

Aragorn listened harder and in a moment he caught it. He couldn't make out words but some group of beings was definitely singing somewhere in a grove of trees ahead.

Without conference, both friends slid into the trees, aware of Tantur tying up the horses to a tree and following cautiously after them.

As the trees began to thin towards the center, the words became more clear.

"We chance the dread of dark below

We carve and hew the rock and stone

We keep the trove of land and sea

We find the door, hold fast the key."

Here the song trailed into some other language that Legolas recognized and Aragorn seemed to understand immediately.

"Dwarves," Aragorn mouthed to his friend, though there was hardly a need. As he spoke a group of dwarves appeared ahead of them, cutting through a clearing in the forest. Trailing noisily behind was pony drawing a cart of building tools, a load that seemed too ungainly for the small beast.

Then, amidst the tramping of sturdy legs and the bristling beards of all shades of black, brown, and auburn, a familiar face shone through. Leaving his startled friend's side Aragorn stepped into the clearing, and in a moment Legolas followed.

"Nowin?" Aragorn called.

The song cut off immediately as several dwarves pulled out their axes to face the newcomer. The dark-haired dwarf at the front looked up the most sharply and Aragorn smiled down at him as recognition glowed.

"Strider? Legolas! I don't believe it!" Nowin roared happily at the two friends and Legolas smiled back, finally recalling the dwarf from their time in Gundabad and the battle for Mt. Gilthad many years before.

"Hello, Nowin."

"Did someone say Strider and Legolas?" another voice chimed in, and with the words came a stouter dwarf with red hair and beard.

"Rorin?" Aragorn was even more surprised to see him.

"I knew he wouldn't forget," Rorin joked to the dwarf behind him.

"Not for want of trying," Legolas said wryly. "But were you not in Moria?"

At this Rorin's face fell and he let out a sigh. "Yes, I was in Moria, but shortly before… Well, Balin had sent me up to Gilthad. I was to bring back valuable supplies for Moria, but as you already know if half the rumors be true, none were left there alive on my return."

"I am sorry Rorin." Aragorn remembered the cold feeling when they had entered Moria and found Balin dead with the remains of former dwarves strewn throughout Khazad-dûm. He had assumed Rorin Coppercryer had been among them.

"I went back to Gilthad after that—" Rorin's words were interrupted by a shout and a loud crack.

Everyone turned to see what had caused the noise but there was no one in sight.

"Pay him no mind," Nowin grunted. "He's been clubbing rabbits ever since we left Gilthad."

Legolas glanced at Aragorn; they had no idea who the 'he' was that Nowin referred to, but decided not to ask.

"Why are you so far away from Gilthad, Nowin?" Legolas asked.

"We received word that King Elessar was in need of dwarves," Nowin explained. "So we are on our way to Gondor. Mayhap we'll see you there sometime?"

"I am sure you will," Aragorn said with a smile. "King Elessar will value your extra help, not to mention Gimli son of Gloin. Legolas, Tantur, and I are on a errand now, but we intend to return to Gondor afterward."

"Off on some crazy adventure again are we?" Rorin asked with a grin.

"You could say that," the elf acknowledged, but Nowin was frowning.

"Did you say you and Legolas were on an errand?"

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, and Tantur."

"Who is Tantur?" Nowin asked, glancing around. Only then did Aragorn realize that the man was no where in sight; it could not have taken that long to tie up the horses.

"Is he the human I just knocked over the head?" a voice spoke up from behind Nowin.

"Kori!" Nowin rounded on the dwarf.

"Well I didn't know it was a human." Kori looked irritated. He was a very young dwarf and had the shortest beard Aragorn had ever seen on one of his kind.

"Where is he, Kori?" Aragorn asked anxiously, realizing that must have been the sound they had heard.

"On the ground I think." Kori scuffed his foot in the dirt, vaguely gesturing to the trees. "I didn't hit him as hard as all that."

"I apologize, Strider," Nowin said quickly. "Kori is Lord Dorm's son and I'm stuck with him." Kori glowered at Nowin in response to that comment.

"It's alright, we will see to him, and you should be on your way; Gondor needs you."

Nowin nodded and saluted them both with his axe. "I hope our paths may cross again."

"As do I." Aragorn watched the dwarves go for a moment before turning to Legolas.

"I suppose we should see to Tantur," the elf said and started towards the trees. He stopped when he felt a hand on his arm and turned back to see Aragorn frowning at the trees.

"A moment Legolas, I wished to speak to you about Tantur."

"Yes?"

"I… well, I am concerned." Aragorn shook his head still frowning.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know." Aragorn's frown deepened. "He seems very determined to follow us and I find myself…wary when around him. I cannot easily doubt his character — I trust Duurben's influence — yet I wonder if they might not have had some sort of falling out. Is he following along to aid us, or merely to evade something else?" The man shook his head. "As I say, it is only an impression and I cannot know for certain. I just wonder."

"You see the hearts of men in ways most elves cannot, my friend." Legolas had been watching his friend closely and now he looked towards the trees. "I confess that I have felt some disquiet as well. But I have no better theories than yours."

The words broke off then as Tantur himself came through the trees, holding his head.

"Tantur, are you well?" Aragorn called, moving over to the Gondorian man.

"What hit me?" Tantur asked. His bandaged hand came away with blood from a cut on his head.

"A dwarf. I think he thought you were a rabbit." Legolas concealed a smile.

"I'll bandage it," Aragorn said, seating the man on a nearby rock and digging through his pack.

"Dwarves?" Tantur was still disoriented and confused.

"Yes, they were moving towards Gondor to help rebuild our gates," Aragorn explained, bandaging the man's temple as he spoke. "Legolas and I recognized two of them from our treks north, long ago."

"Indeed?" Tantur seemed suddenly interested.

"Yes, but they still only knew him as Strider," Legolas assured the man.

Tantur glanced between the two. "There is not a chance they will pass our names onto others?"

"Nay, I would not worry about that." Aragorn shook his head, slitting the ends of the bandage and tying them firmly.

Tantur nodded and then winced. With a look of sympathy Aragorn repacked his bag.

Suddenly Tantur stood up, looking around him wildly. "My pack? Where is it?"

"Your pack?" Legolas frowned, also looking around him.

"I had it a moment before…it must still be in the trees." With that the man went running back into the trees.

"Are all humans as attached to their travel packs as that?" Legolas asked good-humouredly.

Aragorn didn't reply as Tantur returned to them, his pack safely in hand.

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April 23

Minas Tirith, Gondor

Torin son of Thuren gave a disgruntled sigh, tugged at his dusty black beard, and kicked moodily at the gate. It was in need of repair, surely, but he couldn't wait to scrap the whole thing and start again. As it was the sentries had begun to supply constant reminders to 'treat the gate with care' until his crew could build a new one. Torin understood the wisdom in that, but it was rather late to be making such demands since the gate was already mostly in pieces.

Truth be told he was getting tired of the whole ordeal.

"How goes your progress, master dwarf?" The voice did not startle Torin so much as it might have. He had had plenty of people interrupting him all day and was only glad that they were leaving most of his men alone to work.

"T'would be going smooth as a sanded stone if you troublesome louts would stop interrupting a dwarf's work," Torin grumbled, in such a mood that he didn't care if he was heard.

"I am sorry to hear that, Torin, Thurin's son," came the reply with unconcealed amusement. "Though I had come hoping for better news, I shall trouble you no more and be satisfied with the reports of my men."

Torin jumped, finally recognizing the voice, and turned round. "Apologies, Captain Duurben," he amended hastily. "I thought—"

"I can only imagine; but I'm sure you need not trouble yourself to explain. I understand the sentries have been giving you trouble. Is that why the work goes so slowly?"

"That's only being the half of it, I'm afraid," Torin grunted. "It's this fool wood cutter's door, meaning no slight to Gondorian craftsmanship, of course, but I've seen better gates down a collapsed mine and we don't fix those — we start mining anew elsewhere, understand."

Duurben nodded. "Yes, I do Master Dwarf, but, until there is a new gate, mending this one will have to do… if that is at all possible."

"Oh, it's possible." Torin looked over to where several other dwarves were mending the gate's frame. "But to be honest, we need Gimli. He'd know what to do without hardly glancing. I'd hate to be the one to admit it, but I think all that time around elves have given him double-eyes when it comes to stone craft. As it is, with everything apart like this, we can't likely put it up again until sundown tomorrow. Even then it would have to be temporary just until we can make the new one."

"No sooner?" Perhaps it was his new paranoia about his guard duties, but Duurben found that the idea of no firm barrier against intruders in the inner circle greatly concerning to him. He was already displeased with the dwarves for dismantling what was left of the gate in the first place; he had the definite impression that, in the absence of their usual foreman, the dwarves may have taken on more than they could handle at once.

"Afraid it's the best I can do," Torin shrugged, eyeing the ground with a sudden glare. "Course, it would be helpful if our tools wouldn't keep disappearing."

"Disappearing?" Duurben looked at the ground where Torin was standing.

"Aye, that's the third hammer to disappear and my iron bolts have been vanishing by the handful."

"Who has been around this area lately?"

"You mean 'who hasn't'?" Torin snorted, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Everyone wants to see the dwarves work! I've had more curious traders through here than I'd rather see in a lifetime."

Duurben let out a breath. Something was nagging at him, tripping the sensitive warning bell in the back of his sharp mind. The curiosity of his youth had hardened into the keen intuition of a soldier, but not all warnings came with specifics, and though all this seemed to be adding up to trouble he couldn't point the finger at just what it was. It was best to be prepared.

"Well, see what you can do with it Torin, and…keep your eyes open."

Torin caught the meaning of the words but didn't make much of them. "Whatever you say, Cap'n."

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"Well of course I'd be willing, Captain Duurben," Pippin replied amiably. He drained the last of his ale and moved towards his commanding officer.

"Thank you, Peregrin." Duurben's grateful smile did not quite hide his burgeoning concern. "I know that you are not on duty right now, but I would feel better if it were you."

"It's no trouble at all, sir, and you'll be pleased to hear that my awareness is only a pint worse off."

Duurben glanced at the empty ale tankard and smiled again. "Well I am glad to hear it. You may need to be especially watchful this night… something is wrong, but I don't yet know what."

"Don't be concerned," Pippin reassured him easily, walking alongside the captain. "You know I will defend the King's family with my life… and they'd never get past the Lady Eowyn at any rate."

Duurben nodded, his attention once again distracted by an ever present sense of danger. "Thank you Pippin, I know you will do your duty. Now I must speak with Anárion. With the gate gone his job will be all the more difficult tonight."

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Bartho changed direction last minute and started for the inner circle. A moment later he turned on his heel again and started back towards the garrison; they might be in need of his assistance. But… perhaps just for a moment.

He turned towards the inner circle once more, this time with confidence. Surely it was his duty to check on her; she might be— they might be in need of help, and at the moment he had nothing better to do.

He made sure to avoid taking the route that would lead him past the Houses of Healing. He had evaded them for two days and was just certain that one of his caretakers there would be sure to hail him in to confirm that he had not aggravated his wounds.

Bartho was not entirely sure what his next move should be. He wanted above all to join Lord Faramir, but before he left he desired to see…

Bartho's thoughts trailed off and his footsteps followed suit, bringing him to a slow halt in the shadows of a shop just outside the dismantled inner gate. He leaned against the building beside him and watched Anárion and his men set up a perimeter around the gateway for the night watch.

Perhaps he should leave now. He wasn't sure he was ready to see her again. Likely it would turn out badly and be a mistake.

His grim thoughts tail-chased themselves for a few minutes, but something else stirred him. Something he hadn't felt in a long time… in fact he was not sure he had ever felt anything quite like this. Bartho leaned harder against the shop, determined to take as long as possible about making up his mind.

It was in that moment that he felt something brush past him, and with the touch came an odd feeling of foreboding. Bartho stiffened in the shadows and the sensation bristled against his skin again.

A cry of alarm was on his lips, his suspicion flaming to full certainty — when chaos erupted.

A group of men, like black ghosts, rose up to sudden visibility beneath the rising moon and in one motion they fell upon Anárion and his men.

Anárion gave a shout and Bartho was quick to the task. The attackers' intent was clear. They were trying to get inside.

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Duurben heard the call moments after he sighted the men at the gate. He called down to the sentries he had held in reserve and dispatched them to help Anárion. It was imperative that these strangers did not breach the walls.

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Anárion's blade cut through one of the attackers but he couldn't tell whether the wound was fatal or not; it was impossible to tell any detail for, though the moon shown brightly, it was not nearly adequate with the constant passing of clouds above.

He had realized, however, that his call had been heard and help was coming. He also found to his surprise the Bartho was fighting close beside him. Somehow the presence of the seasoned Dúnadan was comforting.

"Anárion!" Bartho called as he parried a blow that flashed at him from the dark. "Where is Duurben?"

"He is coming!" Anárion managed before being forced to concentrate more fully on his opponent. "He held down a level in case of ambush!"

At that moment Duurben reached them, doubling the defenses and hammering down on their enemies. Unfortunately now it was nearly impossible to tell friend from foe as they were once again cast into complete darkness. Bartho could make out the shapes of men fighting and could only hope that some of the Gondorians had held at the gate.

However, though before he had been certain that they were trying to push through the entrance, he realized now that they were far more intent on fighting the Gondorian sentries. Something was wrong with all this.

Pulling away from the fight Bartho cast a glance into the shadows along the wall of the inner circle. During the battle at Peleanor the enemy catapults had torn great gashes in the stonework at this level — openings that had been patched — but a possibility was now forming in Bartho's mind.

Then he saw them, barely visible in the darkness. Four figures moving quickly towards a half destroyed line of houses built into the wall.

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Vardnauth watched as his three companions moved into the broken down building. It was by pure chance that they had discovered where the collapse of the stonework had given them a way through the wall; now it was a vital part of his plan.

In his dark heart he knew he had failed in sending that ignorant traitor to do his work. He would hardly make the same mistake twice.

Vardnauth glanced over his shoulder at the chaos that reined near the gateway and smirked slightly. The Gondorians had no idea how much more he had in store for them. No idea at all.

Turning back he followed his men through the hole in the wall which led them straight to the inner circle.

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Pippin glanced down the hall; he was sure he had heard something a moment ago, it had sounded like…well, humming actually, but that seemed unlikely. He knew the sentries here in the inner circle fairly well and they were not taken to humming, especially while on guard. Nevertheless, he followed the sound doggedly, hoping to find its source.

It was proving unnaturally difficult; for some reason, the torches in this hall had been put out. He would have to speak to the sentries about that; it was not good to have complete darkness in these halls in case of ambush.

Pippin felt his way across the corridor, becoming ever more certain that he had heard someone humming. Suddenly his foot caught on something on the floor and he was pitched forward.

He got back up grumbling — if that had been the toe of one of the sentries…well they had just better not say it was his fault.

"Hadrian, if that was you—" Pippin broke off suddenly. As he felt his bruised knee, it came away sticky with…something. Was he bleeding? No. Not hobbit blood.

Suddenly frantic Pippin moved back to the place where he had tripped and tensed as he felt a body lying across his path… a still body.

Pippin choked back a cry as he got quickly to his feet. Hadrian had not been the only sentry here. A moment's groping on the floor found the other sentry. Still, but to his relief Pippin found that he was still alive, if barely.

Getting quickly to his feet Pippin started back the way he had come, but he stopped when he reached the door. His eyes widened at the sight that met them: the palace doors had been firmly bolted and barricaded. There was no way Duurben's men could get back into the palace. They were trapped in here. Trapped, with whatever else lurked in the darkness.

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Arien touched the Queen's face with a barely contained sigh. The elven lady had not woken in some time from her poison induced sleep and Arien felt her prayers rising in her heart once more. She prayed for the Queen, she prayed for the King. Arien could not bear to think what would become of King Elessar if his lady should fade from this world. It would break his heart and shatter his spirit, of that she was certain.

The handmaid shuddered slightly as a cool breeze played over her bare shoulders and she rose to pull a thin shawl over her sleeveless gown. That was when she saw the window standing open, letting the cool air inside.

Arien moved to it with a frown; she was sure that she had closed the window, and was surprised to see it open again. She reached the frame and looked warily out into the night. From the distance sounds of commotion were carried on the wind and her unease increased. What would disturb a night like this? She shivered again, this time from a chill within.

Her hand stretched up to close the window, but just as her fingers brushed the latch she heard the rustle of something behind her.

Time slowed as she turned, a dark figure loomed up at the foot of the queen's bed, and she let out an involuntary cry. Without giving her actions a thought, she rushed to the bed, her feet carrying her faster than she had ever run, and she threw herself on top of Arwen's prone form, wrapping her arms around the queen's head in desperate protection.

A dark chuckle sounded above her and the handmaid looked up through the darkness at the invader. She let out a gasp — the being could not be what she thought.

"Brave girl." The voice was raspy and coarse; for some reason it scared Arien more than anything she could remember. "There is no need for you to die… at least not by the death I could give you… not if you step away."

Arien did not reply, except to tighten her grip on her elven queen.

The figure seemed pleased with the choice. "Very well then, let us see how strong you are."

Arien was not sure what he meant, but then, like the whisper of ashes, she felt his hand slide across her left temple and tensed as a strange feeling pressed her mind.

All of a sudden, pain like she couldn't have imagined coursed through her and she felt memories well up in her like echoes and tattered pictures. With a soundless rush the good memories seemed to pass her by, offering no comfort… but she remembered her brother. She saw him fall, his face shocked, his screams, arrows in his chest, calling out… she remembered him dying. She remembered the orcs, convulsing with laughter. Her home was burning, great gouts of flame and ash in her mouth as she hid, trembling. She remembered her eyes running red with tears, her own cries choked behind her hands lest the monsters heard her. She remembered—

Distantly Arien heard herself screaming, agony piercing her as the memories replayed, more vividly each time, sucking her down into the dark and tormenting her past all bearing. Then through the pounding, as if he whispered close to her ear, she could hear the strange being speaking.

"Poor, poor Arien. Do you see him dying? Do you smell the blood? Can you hear him, Arien? He's screaming your name. Why didn't you go to him, hm?"

Arien whimpered brokenly as she clutched Arwen tighter, and she saw her brother dying again, falling, striking the earth and crying out to her… wouldn't someone come find her? Couldn't anyone hear her screaming?

TBC…