Your Heart Will Be True

By Sarah and Hannah (Siri)

(disclaimers, explanations, and summaries

available at the top of chapter 1)

Chapter 17

Desperate Struggles

April 23

Minas Tirith

"Hit it again!" Duurben called loudly into the night. His words were met by the a splintering as the dwarves struck the door again with their mason's hammers.

"It's going sir!" Torin called back with confidence. This door wouldn't hold against them much longer.

Another crack and pieces of wood began to collect at the base of the door. At least now the dwarf knew where all his tools and bolts had gone. Well, he would make sure that no mortal or immortal being was able to use his own property against him ever again.

"Keep it up lads!" Torin shouted to his dwarves as another splintering crack rent the air. "They'll not hold against us!"

Bartho didn't know what was happening to him, but suddenly his mind was filled with old memories. Events that had long held beneath the surface of his consciousness now rose up out of the water and filled his mind and heart at once. He saw faces of men he had lost, he heard shouts and screams of terror and pain, the shadows of faceless and fearful things he had fought alone, the burnings, the old wounds… he lost track of how many deaths, how many failures…

He barely heard the elf, the one who was orchestrating this pain; the hoarse voice held a hint of pleasure as though here at last he had found a trove of old hurts and forgotten misery worthy of his devilry.

But there was yet an obstacle. Bartho was strong, and stubborn, and because of his constant acceptance of failure and hardship, Vardnauth was finding it exceedingly difficult to reach the ranger in the way he wanted. He pressed harder still, and Bartho suddenly feared where these old memories would lead. There were some things buried he had avoided and hoped to forget.

"Lindamar." Vardnauth's voice rasped to Bartho's ears just as the picture of a pretty golden-haired girl swam into view. The elf smiled as he at last felt a change in the other's demeanor. "Treachery Bartho…pain…hurt…" Bartho didn't know whether the words were spoken by the elf or whether his own heart supplied them.

He saw Lindamar turn and leave the room, he saw the men coming to arrest him. He saw Lindamar, outside the bars, a sort of bewildered expression in her pretty eyes, but when he tried to meet her gaze, she turned away. Again she turned her back. Again his heart broke.

"Love is never as strong as the longing to bring pain."

"No," Bartho barely whispered. No, he knew it wasn't true… and yet he saw her… he saw her leave him. It was her who had told her father who he was. He had trusted her.

Bartho stifled a cry as the pain pounded hard as barbs into flesh, dissolving his heart… shattering his soul. He couldn't fight it, not this, not when it was so well armed… when its attack was so unexpected. "Stop." Bartho couldn't manage the word — his lips molded the plea out of silence. He felt the cold finger press against his temple, he heard a laugh somewhere beyond his blinding pain.

Then he heard something crack and shatter.

Was it his mind finally succumbing to the relentless pounding? No, the pain was fading now — he could no longer feel the fingers, nor see Lindamar. He only felt the wall behind him, and his legs barely supporting his weight.

Bartho opened his eyes and was surprised to see Arien. Her hands were shaking as she dropped what was left of an old Numenorian vase. She looked like she would follow it to the ground at any moment. Vardnauth had crumpled to the floor at Bartho's feet and was lying still amidst the shards of glass.

Arien turned her eyes up to Bartho's and she unexpectedly began to cry.

Bartho moved over to her automatically, surprised that he had enough strength to move, and he closed her in his arms and touched the back of her head. He felt her face burrowing into his chest as she continued to cry. She trembled beneath his touch and he felt the need to calm her, but he wasn't calm yet himself. He stroked her hair somewhat automatically and waited until her tears had subsided before pushing her back to look at her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice hoarse and softer than usual.

"Am I alright? Yes, of course… Bartho, are you alright?"

Bartho nodded, not sure how much to trust his voice at this point, he took her hands in his and realized her palms were bleeding where the glass had cut them.

"Thank you." His gruff voice eventually broke the silence as he touched the torn skin gently and quickly ripped two strips from his soft under tunic.

"You saved me first," Arien murmured, glancing past him at the fallen elf. "I don't know what he was doing to me."

Bartho shook his head. "I myself do not know all of what elves can do…but I have never heard of any elf doing such a thing as this."

Arien bit her lip as he wrapped the wounds in cloth. "We must see to the children," she said quickly.

"Yes, he did not come alone," Bartho agreed. "I am certain there are others in the house — here to finish what was started the night the queen was attacked."

Arien nodded numbly. She looked back up, "Perhaps you should—" Her eyes caught something beyond his shoulder. "Bartho!"

Her scream alerted him not a moment to soon. Unsure what she had seen, but moving on instinct alone Bartho felt the cold blade sink into his forearm instead of his chest as he dropped suddenly to the floor.

Pippin's feet made hardly a sound on the floor as he raced through the darkness. It didn't take long to locate the front entrance, and the constant pounding on the other side told him that Duurben was working hard on breaking the door down.

The humming could no longer be heard, but Pippin blundered on in the direction he had heard it come before.

It wasn't long before another sound reached his ears.

"Ada!"

Gilraen. There was no doubt. Pippin drew his sword as he ran, hoping he would not be too late.

The library was just ahead and Pippin could now easily make out the sounds of a struggle. Behind him down the hall he heard a crack on the door again. Duurben would be through any moment, he just had to make sure that Aragorn's family was safe and keep them that way until the Captain of the Guard could reach them.

The hobbit skidded to a halt just inside the library door, and he froze in horror. A dark clad man held Gilraen up against a bookshelf, her feet dangling freely as he pressed a dagger against her throat.

Without many options besides the crazy one Pippin dove at the man and plunged his sword straight into the back of the man's knee. The assassin reeled backwards, dropping Gilraen by accident and turning to the more real threat. Pippin stumbled to his feet and, before the man could recover from shock, he wrenched his blade from the man's knee and plunged it into his belly.

Gilraen screamed as the man let out a strangled cry, clutching at Pippin's blade before stumbling to the floor. The hobbit knew the man wasn't dead, but he wanted to keep it that way. Pulling a curtain draw from the wall and cutting it down Pippin quickly bound the man's hands and feet, ignoring the groans of displeasure his actions elicited.

After finishing with the man Pippin turned to find Gilraen had not moved from the bookshelf.

"Come on, it's alright." Pippin held out a hand to her and after a moment Gilraen moved slowly over to him. Pippin had the warning of a trembling lip before Gilraen was crying wildly.

"I w-want Ada!" She wailed so loudly that Pippin could only hope that no other intruders would overhear.

"Shh…all safe now," Pippin comforted. "You know your father will be home soon."

He must not have sounded like he meant it because Gilraen cried even louder and Pippin had to resist the urge to cover his ears. The little one was tired, worn out, and terrified — not to mention half asleep.

"I have an idea," Pippin said brightly. "Let's go find Eowyn shall we?"

Gilraen stopped crying almost immediately and nodded, her hiccups turning into a yawn. Pippin stood up, glancing surreptitiously over his shoulder at the man bound behind him. "Good, follow me." Trying to be as cheerful as possible, Pippin led the little girl from the room. Inside he almost wanted to faint with relief; he didn't want to think what Aragorn would have done if his little girl had been killed. He could only hope that they would suffer no more losses this night.

Duurben watched the door splintering under the hammers and felt relief rise with dread. He wasn't sure what they would find on the other side of the door, and he was in mortal terror of the answer.

"One more time!" Torin called as the hammers were heaved back and slammed into the door, shattering a wide hole in its frame.

Bartho let out a gasp as the blade was wrenched from his shoulder. Vardnauth would try to hit him fatally this time and Bartho knew it. Making a quick decision, Bartho dropped and rolled towards the wall. Knocking into Vardnauth's feet and forcing the elf to move back he stretched out his fingers and felt his sword hilt. Drawing the weapon with his good arm he swung a cut upwards towards the elf.

Vardnauth met the blow and punched his fist into Bartho's face at the same moment. Bartho felt his head crack back against the floor and for a moment his focus blurred.

He heard Arien moving back towards the queen and had a feeling where Vardnauth was going.

The Dúnadan tried to rise as quickly as he could without the benefit of complete focus. He stumbled in the direction of Arien and the room began to still. Running towards the Queen's bed he made a wild swing at the elf who stepped in his path. The sharp clash of metal that followed jolted Bartho fully back to his senses. He could see Vardnauth through the darkness, his eyes fiery and dangerous.

Then they heard it: the sounds of voices, shouts, orders. Duurben was inside.

"Find the Lady Eowyn, see to the queen!"

Bartho's eyes flicked to Vardnauth's face. The ranger read something there, something almost like annoyance and disgust. And bitter loathing. Making up his mind suddenly, the elf shoved Bartho backwards, but instead of pushing any kind of advantage he raced for the open window.

Bartho gave chase without any real hope of catching the elf. When he saw Vardnauth hit the ground running far below, he knew he couldn't follow.

Instead the drained warrior turned in time to see Duurben burst into the room with several others carrying torches and swords.

Duurben took in the scene before him and signaled the men to lower their weapons. "Bartho, what happened?"

The captain stepped forward in time to grab the ranger's elbow and guide him to a chair.

"An elf was here," Bartho explained, suddenly breathless. "He was after the queen, he was trying to kill Arien when I arrived. We fought… when he heard you coming he left through the window."

Duurben nodded at the words before rising. "Thenin, take two others and check the palace to be sure the elf is gone, then search the surrounding area. He will be difficult to track, but we must try our utmost. I want him caught; if that is too dangerous, shoot him on sight. I will not let this happen again."

The guardsman addressed nodded quickly and ran to obey the order.

"Are you alright, Bartho?" Duurben questioned with concern.

"I'm fine." Bartho nodded heavily, glancing over at Arien, who was letting someone see to the wounds in her hands. "But I cannot speak for the rest of the house."

"We will soon know," Duurben nodded, heading towards the door. "We were met at the door by Pippin and Gilraen, but I do not know how the others fair."

"Sir," Anárion entered with a salute. "We went to check the man Master Took captured."

"And?"

"He was already dead, Captain. His bonds were cut and he was stabbed through the heart. It seems he killed himself."

Duurben let out a breath. "What of Lady Eowyn and the two children?"

"They are fine as far as we can tell." Anárion dropped his head. "Eldarion was badly bruised and the Lady Eowyn took a blow to the head, but she will recover well."

Bartho glanced up at Duurben. "I suppose I should be careful what I reveal to Lord Faramir when I join him two days from now."

"Two days?" Duurben turned to the man in surprised. "Bartho please, you must go to the Houses of Healing to reco—"

"Duurben," Bartho's tone was heavy with warning and forestalled further argument. "You will not make me return to that place. I am traveling even tonight to tell Lord Faramir of the attack and join in the fight. I will not be held back an hour longer."

Duurben went through the motions of protest before he finally sighed and raised his hands in defeat. "If it be your wish, Bartho, you seem to know I cannot stop you. So I will bless you on your way and hope fair weather follows your path."

"I wouldn't depend on it," Bartho replied, moving to the window. "There was an ill wind rising in the evening and I know it follows the path I will take."

Duurben smiled. "Even so, the Valar's blessing be on you."

Bartho nodded and started to climb out the window, already mapping the quickest route to the stables when a voice stopped him.

"My lord!" Bartho looked up to see Arien running towards him pulling, her thin shawl from her shoulders. "If you do intend to leave without seeing the Houses of Healing, you must at least accept something for the wound in your shoulder."

Duurben grimaced in memory; he had almost forgotten the need in his haste. He nodded his thanks as he took the cloth from her hands before dropping from the window.

Arien watched him go until the clouds cast the moon into shadow. Even then she squinted into the dark, fancying she could still see him running towards the stables, but when the moon was allowed to shed its light again, he was gone from view as though he had never been there.

TBC…