Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or concepts of Middle Earth, they belong to the estate of JRR Tolkien. Tanathel, however, is my creation and I would like to be asked before she is used in any other fic.
Author's note: This story is set in an Alternate Universe of my own making. It is after the War of the Ring and several years into the Fourth Age. Boromir will feature in this story, and if you wish to learn how he survived, you will have to read. This will be mostly movie-verse, since no one knows what happened to Saruman after the Ents trashed Isengard in PJ's world.
Dedications: To Evendim, who helped me find the courage to seriously write in this fandom, and who has given me great fun with her own AU series. And to my darling AJ, without whom I would never have had the courage to allow my stories to see the light of day. I couldn't have done it without you, ladies, and I love you both for it. Don't ever change.
Author's Note #2: The drinking song in this chapter was taken directly from the ROTK DVD. Proper nods to all involved, writers, creators, and of course the actors who gave it life.
Revolution and Retribution
Chapter Four: Old FriendsAragorn nodded over to the Ranger across from him. "Again," he demanded. "What strength have we, what loyal troops can we count on? Have we any at all?"
"We could not tell before I left Minas Tirith, sire," Tanathel snapped back. "As I've told you a thousand times, now." She threw her hands into the air in the ageless symbolism of 'I give up!' "And don't you dare throw rank at me, you arrogant, overbearing, pigheaded, ridiculous excuse for a Ranger! How you claimed the throne is beyond me. You may be Isildur's Heir, but you have no business being allowed out without a keeper!"
"That will be quite enough!" Aragorn returned forcefully. "I did not want the throne. I never wanted the throne. But by all I hold dear, all I held dear, and all the blood shed to destroy Sauron and bring peace to Gondor, I will reclaim it!" He was on his feet, his breathing steady, but he felt as though he had run a race.
It did not help his confidence any to realize he had fallen neatly into the trap she had closed about him. Tanathel was smiling widely, indicating she had expected as much.
"He was right, it does do to wind you up occasionally," she said with a laugh as she extended her hand in apology. "Captain Faramir mentioned that you might sometimes lose sight of what you were working toward. Not a flaw, mind you, just that you needed reminding."
"Faramir is a shrewd officer, and an even better Steward. I only hope he survives this madness that has taken hold. Your horse is below?" At her nod he grinned. "Think you I came all this way on foot?"
She shook her head. "It would be impossible, even for you. It was unbelievable that you had covered so much ground in only three days, searching for the hobbits. From Amon Hen to Fangorn Forest is a stretch of the imagination, but you proved your mettle there. But from Minas Tirith to Amon Sul in seven days? Absolutely impossible on foot."
He clapped her on the shoulder. "You've intelligence to spare, Tanathel. Come. I'll introduce you to Brego, and we will ride tonight for Bree. It is not far. And the only thing you need fear in Bree is a forgetful Innkeeper who will keep his silence for the protection I have given him in the past. From there, we can summon some friends who will help us unobtrusively." Unobtrusive wasn't exactly the word he would use for Peregrine Took, but he knew the Hobbit was loyal to him, he and Merry as well. Merry could head for Rohan with no one the wiser why he went, as he was still regarded as a Rohirrim. Holdwine of the Mark could visit his friends in the Riddermark without being questioned about his motives. And Pippin, bless him, was still sworn to service in the Citadel. He'd be recalled as soon as things were sorted out in the White City, and Aragorn would have someone on the inside. Pippin could dissemble with the best of them. And of course, Sam's help would be considerable as well.
"Bree? Quaint name," Tanathel replied quietly. "The names here in the North are all strange to me, but… Bree? It doesn't sound likely to give us much aid."
"Not in Bree, no, unless you count being hidden well as aid. No, our aid will come from the Shire."
"Shire? Another strange name, though one I have heard before. You intend to recall those left of the Fellowship then?"
"Aye, and they will rally to my side." Aragorn waited for her to retrieve her mount, then whistled for Brego, who came running up and slid to a stop, as though expecting more action and disappointed to find only Aragorn and Tanathel waiting.
"Hannon lle, mellon-nin," Aragorn spoke to the steed. No one in Rohan could tame him, yet the Ranger from the North had done so. He swung himself astride with neither bridle nor saddle and Tanathel marveled at how well the horse responded to him. She had heard tales of the beast, most everyone had. How he tolerated Aragorn and no other to ride him, and how he shunned the security of the stables in favor of running free over the Pelennor.
"Do you always ride without harness?" she asked him, real concern in her voice.
"Only with Brego," he replied evenly. "Now, we must make for Bree." Unbidden, his mind took him back to his Ranger days. Those first days with the Hobbits, he had wondered if he would go mad from the sheer joyfulness of them. Then he had come to look forward to their antics as a way of holding to hope, when all hope seemed gone. He needed that now, more than ever he had needed it on the Quest. He needed to know that life would go on, that he could still help his people.
Bree was much the same as it had ever been, to his relief. The Prancing Pony seemed to be doing a flourishing trade, and he called a halt before the stableyard. Only then did Tanathel realize that her King had discarded his finery in favor of his leathers, and had begun to take on a rather unkempt look. It would be a good disguise, she knew, but the change startled her. It was as if she were watching him turn into another person entirely, though he still had an air of command about him.
Strider, he was now, and he kept it firmly in mind as he arranged stabling for the horses and gestured for Tanathel to accompany him inside. A calm word to Brego ensured his behavior, and they were able to step into the taproom with little or no fuss.
The Innkeeper bustled up to them, his smile broad. "Well, now, sir and lady, if you're looking for accommodations, I've a few rooms yet available. Nice and airy, they are, with windows open on the West."
Strider lowered his hood, facing the Innkeeper squarely, and was pleased to find his face at least remembered. "Well, that won't do for Strider, surely!" he exclaimed. "I've your old room ready, if that's more to your liking, and can find one for the lady as well, nearby if you like, and no questions asked."
"That would be best, sir," Strider answered calmly as he scanned the room. "Next door, if you can arrange that for the lady, and food for two. We've been on the road for days." An exaggeration, but it would establish that Strider and the King were not the same man. "Whatever is in the pot, Butterbur, you know I am not too particular."
As the man scurried to do his bidding, Tanathel rounded on Strider. "I should be in the same room!" she hissed angrily. "How am I to protect you from a different room?"
"There will be no trouble here, Tanathel, trust me on this. Come, we will see our rooms and then take a place on the edges of this company, to see what news there is of Gondor." He shouldered past her and headed up the stairway. She followed, still stinging from what she saw as his rejection of her protection.
He closed the door firmly behind her as she entered and rounded on her. "Have you no thought for your reputation, woman?" he began as he unfastened his gauntlets. "That you and I are together here as Rangers does not automatically make you my shieldmate. Would you prefer to be thought of that way?"
Hot blood flooded her face and she stammered something too garbled to understand, and he nodded. "As I thought. Food will be here shortly, if I know Butterbur at all, and then you will go to your own rooms to sleep when we come back up from the common room. And that is not a request."
She nodded crisply, used to following orders. They ate quietly when the food was brought, though Tanathel thought to praise the ale, which was beyond anything she had tasted before, but one look from Strider not only quelled her enthusiasm for the drink, but her desire for more. So she remained silent, wondering what plans he was making in that devious mind of his.
He donned his cloak once more, and she followed suit, and they headed for the back stair to the common room. All at once, Strider stiffened and stopped dead in his tracks, listening.
Tanathel heard nothing save voices raised in a drinking song she had not heard before.
Oh you can search far and wideYou can drink the whole town dry
But you'll never find a beer so brown
As the one we drink in our hometown
You can drink your fancy ales
You can drink 'em by the flagon
But the only brew for the brave and true
Comes from the Green Dragon!
Strider stood still, barely controlling his mirth. The sheer audacity of those two, praising another Inn while inside the Pony, it could only be Merry and Pippin and from the sounds of things, they were well into their cups already. He needed to find a way to bring them out of the room unobtrusively.
Tanathel slipped away unnoticed by Strider and made for the other side of the common room, finding a table and settling herself at it, her hood drawn low so not to be noticed. It didn't matter if someone saw the Ranger garb, they had seen it before and she had purposely removed any indication of what land she called home. Who knew how far this plot reached?
She had been quite willing to distrust his friends, as well, but from what she was seeing from the two Little Folk, it would take years and years of training in subterfuge and deception to keep them from spilling everything they had been told over a flagon of ale. They had an air of… not quite innocence, exactly, but rather, loyalty. Trustworthiness, for lack of a better word.
Strider settled in beside her, pipe in use and she wished for some pipeweed of her own, as well as her pipe, far away in Ithilien. "They must have known we were coming," he said softly. "That is the same song they sang at Edoras, when we returned from the battle at Helm's Deep. It is a way of showing their support, only quite subtle. They've been learning." He couldn't quite stifle the grin the thought gave him. Subtlety was never one of the duo's strong points. They must have been coached on this.
Merry staggered slightly, feigning much more drunkenness than he actually felt, and managed to bump Pippin, who had practically a full pint which spilled down his front. "Steady on, Merry! Seems I'm destined to forever lose half my beer when I come to the Pony!"
Merry got just a bit closer, as though he needed help standing. "In the corner, Pippin, you twit!" he hissed. "If that's not him, I'm an Ent." A little louder, he announced, "You'll have to help me to our rooms, Peregrin-me-lad, and ye can change yer shirt whilst we're up there. Come on, then, let's have a bit o' support, here!"
The duo went up the stairs, leaning on each other crazily, and Strider moved to follow. Tanathel didn't quite scurry after him, but she was hard pressed to keep up, though her legs were almost as long as his. They closed the door to Strider's room with a little more force than was necessary and waited.
They waited for nothing. Tanathel whirled, blade in hand, when a voice from behind them piped up, in typical Hobbit fashion. "Well, now, it took ye long enough. What's to be done, then, Strider? Or should I say, King Elessar?"
