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.

Revolution and Retribution

Chapter Six: Tangled Webs

The Northern Wilds

Boromir signaled his troop to a stop and reined in his mount, eyes searching. Surely Aragorn would have gone to ground somewhere near here. Rivendell had been his home for a time, as had the Wilds of the North. Somewhere between, the man would have sought shelter.

Boromir thought back upon what Saruman had seen fit to tell him about his quarry. Wounded, desperate, Aragorn had taken a headlong flight North. His trail had gone cold, however, and nothing had been seen or heard of him. It was as if he had vanished into the mists.

Not for the first time did Boromir wish he could speak with his brother. Faramir was the better tracker of the two, of course, but that was not the only reason. Why, why had Aragorn run roughshod over the very people he had sworn to protect? It made no sense to Boromir, and he cared little for nonsense.

He kept his mind on the scene Saruman had shown him in the water. He did not think the wizard had intended for him to see Faramir imprisoned, for the focus had shifted quickly away. And everything the wizard had shown him, had said to him, smacked of falsehood. Everything in him, in his very being, was crying out against what he had been told.

Boromir had been a soldier long enough to trust his gut. And his gut instinct was telling him he was being used, and badly. The fact that he was leading a company of Uruk-hai alone would attest to that fact.

"Why have we stopped?" one of the Uruks demanded. Boromir glared down at him from the saddle.

"Because I wish to stop for a moment. I am trying to think like our quarry." He gazed across the field for a moment and his gaze stopped at a distant hill. "Amon Sul," he breathed.

He wheeled his horse to face his 'men' and glared at them. "This is not a killing mission," he said slowly, his voice hard. "We are to take him alive and unharmed at all costs. Those are our orders from Saruman. Alive and unharmed." He turned again, his eyes on the distant ruins of the watchtower, his mind whirling with possibilities. "Move out!"

Outside The Prancing Pony, Bree

Tanathel slipped into the stableyard, her heart pounding, though her passage made no sound whatsoever. Soft and silent as a shadow she was, blending in with the nightly noises and darkness.

Her horse she harnessed quickly and furtively, and she led the stallion into the darkness behind the stable, stopping for a bare moment to wrap some purloined fabric around his hooves, to muffle the sound of her departure. She must not be missed until it was too late.

Once astride, she urged the bay stallion into an easy lope, not pushing him yet, waiting for the moment when speed would be all that stood between her and certain death. Then, when she had put enough distance between herself and the sleeping people of Bree, she reined to a stop and looked down into her hand.

In her open palm lay a charm, the glisten of metal utterly spent, tarnished and lifeless.

The Evenstar.

Inside the Prancing Pony, Bree

"Has she gone?"

Aragorn nodded, his face grim. "Aye, she's clear." He turned to his companions, his heart heavy. "Let us hope she succeeds. I have no wish to have sent her to death."

Pippin had brought his gear from his room, as had Merry, and both were finishing their travel outfits. Pippin had once more donned the Black and Silver of the Tower Guard of Gondor, and Merry arrayed in the armor gifted him by Eomer-King of Rohan, after the Ring War. Both could have looked utterly ridiculous, being Hobbits, but instead they looked rather dangerous, and perfectly capable of protecting themselves.

Pippin turned to Aragorn, his own expression hard. "She knew the risks, and she accepted them. You didn't order her to go. She went of her own will. You didn't send her anywhere."

Merry stepped up as well. "Quit being such a ninny! You're the King, Aragorn. It's time you stopped hiding in the shadows and started acting like it! It isn't like you to be so bloody indecisive. What's happened to you?"

"What's happened to me?" Aragorn almost couldn't believe the question. "I have had everything that gave my life meaning stolen from me!" he hissed, fury in every syllable. "My wife, the one woman I fought for, waited for, almost died for, is dead, murdered for a parcel of land! My children, my innocent children, were slaughtered in their beds for the sole reason that they were mine. Tell me, Master Brandybuck, how would that affect you? Would you be the same man, had that happened to you? Would you be willing to send those you are responsible for to torture and death without a qualm? If you say yes, you are a liar. But until you can answer yes and mean it, keep silent about the change in me!"

Merry was suitably abashed, but Aragorn took pity on his friend and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Forgive me, my friend, that was unforgivably cruel. I would wish this on no other. But I give you my oath, Merry, that those responsible for this will be found and brought to justice."

Pippin shrugged his travel cloak on and grinned to Aragorn, though sorrow still showed in his eyes. "We'll start on that now, Strider," he said quietly as he grasped the door fastener. "I'm off, and Merry will follow in about an hour. We've both orders to go, so no one will remark on it. But I'd suggest you and Legolas be gone as soon as possible."

He was gone before Aragorn could form an answer, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Legolas stepped forward to stand behind Aragorn, one hand on his friend's shoulder in reassurance.

Merry clicked his tongue. "Nothing to forgive, Strider," he remarked softly, but couldn't meet the King's eyes. "And Pip's right. Who knows who might be watching? Elves aren't exactly common sights any more. If anyone saw his Majesty here, you could be in a world of hurt. You can't trust anyone."

"Even you?" Aragorn replied, a twinkle in his eye as he tipped Merry's face up. "Your point is taken, my friend, and we will take care. As soon as you are safely off toward Edoras we will disappear."

Merry stopped just short of stamping his foot, but then grinned. "You'd better. That's all I'll say."

Minas Tirith

Faramir hung motionless from his chains, the occasional soft moan the only indication that he yet lived. Blood dripped in slow rivulets from the lashes on his bare back.

"He has told us nothing, my lord," the inquisitor said with a bow.

Saruman strode forward and grasped Faramir by the hair, dragging his face upward. "Where has he gone, Steward?" he demanded, his voice strong yet a subtle note of reassurance could be heard. "All you must do is give me Elessar's hiding place, and I will have the Healers tend your wounds. Come now, Faramir, you know I regret bringing you harm. Tell me what I wish and you will be set free and healed."

Faramir managed to open one eye and glared at the wizard. "I will tell you nothing," he ground out between clenched teeth. "Especially as I have no knowledge of his position now. Nor do I know if he yet lives."

"Oh, Faramir, Faramir," Saruman cajoled. "Surely you can do better than that. Come now, tell us where he is and you can go free." His voice turned deadly. "Or, we could see how your loving wife fares under Grima's care."

Faramir strained at his manacles, almost managing to move forward an inch or so, striving to get his hands on the wizard, and Saruman allowed the tiniest of smiles to cross his lips. "It touches a nerve, does it not? The idea that another man might have your wife. That another man could possibly take her from you? Well, we shall see." He signaled Grima forward.

"Saruman! By all I hold dear, you shall pay for this!" Faramir raged as Grima unlocked the door to Eowyn's cell and dragged her forward. She was bruised and battered, but remained unbowed, her chin held up defiantly.

"Do not waste your fury on him, my lord," Eowyn snapped, and Grima backhanded her, sending her to the floor. She lay still and silent and Grima gathered her up and departed with her.

Faramir cursed them, struggling futilely with his chains, and continued long after the door to the room had been closed and barred, leaving him alone.

TBC…