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 Seven: Deceptions Amon SulBoromir had dismounted and moved up the side of Amon Sul alone, not wishing the Uruks to spoil any traces that might have been left for him to read. Again he cursed the fact that Faramir was not with him. His 'Puss' could read a trail left by an ant, whereas Boromir was not very adept at tracking. His skill lay with his blade and shield.
These signs were so open they could have been read by a blind man however. What had Aragorn been thinking? He would no more have left such an obvious campsite to be found than he would have taken the Ring from Frodo.
Boromir knelt by the remains of the camp, his mind whirling with possibilities. He, like his brother, had been able to read men's hearts quite well. It was a necessary skill in the military. It let you know just whom you could trust.
Aragorn had sworn that he'd let Frodo go. If he had, if he had spoken the truth to Boromir, then the Ring had not gone to Gondor. A few other hints and slips he'd heard among the Uruks had confirmed his guess, as well. Aragorn had not lied to him. The Ring had been destroyed, as it was meant to be.
Which left him in a rather awkward predicament. How could he help his King while the wizard controlled him? He had tried once to break Saruman's hold on him, and the result was agonizingly clear.
A sound nearby drew his attention and he stood quickly, keeping silent and searching the darkness for signs. Hoofbeats; one rider, and the sound was muffled, making the direction hard to discern.
Aragorn had not been alone at this site. The signs were plentiful, and the discarded remnants of his Kingly garb had not been hidden well enough to avoid discovery.
It still puzzled him, though. The man he knew, the one he had journeyed with from Rivendell, would never have been so careless. Unless…
Boromir went back to join his company and remounted, preferring not to answer the Uruks' demands for information. Silently, he signaled them to move out, and indicated the direction. He would pursue this mysterious rider, who traveled with muffled hooves. At the very least, the quarry would have an interesting tale to tell, for the need of stealth was not so great as it had been before the Ring War. If it was Aragorn, so much the better.
South of BreeTanathel reined in and halted, uncertain. The hairs on the back of her neck were prickling, and she had soldiered for too long to ignore such a clear warning from her senses. Someone was following her.
A hoarse cry on her right startled her, and she wheeled the stallion about, searching for the cause. He pranced restlessly under her, and she managed one moment to pat his neck reassuringly. "Easy, Dancer," she murmured as her eyes swept the trees. "There will be time enough for speed soon. Very soon."
She saw nothing in the trees, but the feeling of being watched would not leave her. She forced herself to appear calm, though her heart was hammering in her chest. Slowly, she turned her mount again toward the faraway city of Minas Tirith. Her fingers shook, and she fought to still them.
With an explosion of sound, Uruks poured from the trees and she gathered herself, bringing her blade into play almost without thought. Hacking and slicing she had almost won through when another rider appeared on the road before her. More Uruks followed him and surrounded her, dragging her from her horse and pummeling her with their heavy fists.
Why weren't they using their weapons? She couldn't spare a moment's thought for the question. She lost her sword in the melee and pulled her dagger, bloodying the next few Uruks who came near, giving them pause. She was still surrounded, but they were keeping their distance now.
The rider closed with them and the Uruks reluctantly gave way to allow him into the circle. Tanathel was bruised and blood ran down her forearm from where one of the foul creatures had raked her with its nails, but her grip on the dagger was firm and she glared at the newcomer, daring him to move closer.
The man dismounted, the moonlight glinting on the device on his chest, and she drew in a deep breath. The White Hand! So this was the troop that had been following her King! Perhaps there were answers to be found here, though she had little hope of escaping to deliver them. Still, her King was depending on her, and she would not fail him.
Steel clearing leather drew her attention back to the man and she forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths. If he attacked her now, she might be able to land a few strikes, but she was certain she would not be able to beat him. Not with her only using the dagger. His sword gave him more than double the reach of her blade, and she had no illusions. She was good but not that good. Still, she must not be taken easily. She would mark him before the end.
"Drop your weapon and you'll not be harmed," the man ordered her, and she went quite still. She had heard that voice before, oh, yes. Everyone in Gondor knew that voice. Or at least, those born before the Ring War.
The dagger dropped from suddenly trembling fingers and she shivered. How could this be? Boromir was dead, had fallen during the Quest. It had to be a trick! "Who are you?" she demanded. "How dare you attack me? I am on an errand that will brook no delay!"
"Your errand, sad to say, is being delayed. Give me your name, Ranger, and tell me of this errand." Yes, that was indeed the voice of Boromir, Captain-General of Gondor's armies. Her mind began to whirl. It was impossible! But --- if he were here, wearing the livery of Orthanc --- Valar, Saruman was much more powerful than they had realized! The King must be warned!
She stood still, her body stiff, as he approached her. "Why will you not speak?" Boromir asked softly as he neared her, his voice nevertheless carrying across the clearing. "You should. My… company… enjoys the companionship of women."
Tanathel was sure she heard a hint of disgust in his voice. "I am on an errand to Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and Lord Steward of Gondor," she spat. "Delay me no further!" The breeze had freshened and she welcomed it on her damp skin. What was going on?
"Indeed. I think a little detour would be in order." Boromir turned to the Uruks. "Bind her hands and bring her. Perhaps Saruman will be able to loosen her tongue."
Cords were brought and she was swiftly bound, but before she could be brought forward to Boromir, the moonlight glinted off the charm she wore about her neck and she swore inventively as one of the creatures tore it from her.
Boromir took it from the Uruk, his gaze narrowing, then turned his eyes to her again. "Where did you get this?" he demanded. Tanathel remained silent, and Boromir's fist closed on her throat. He lifted her clear of the ground, exerting but a little pressure on her windpipe. "Where? Speak, if you do not wish to die."
"King Elessar entrusted it to me to deliver it to Lord Faramir," she choked out.
Boromir kept her dangling at arm's length, his own mind whirling. Tanathel saw something close to fear pass through his clear green eyes, but it was swiftly hidden. "And where is King Elessar now?" he barked, tightening his grip just a bit further.
Tanathel squirmed, unable to draw a decent breath, nor to get her hands from behind her to stop the deadly pressure. "He's --- dead," she finally managed to croak.
Boromir dropped her as though he had been burned. "Bring her," he ordered as he remounted his horse. Aragorn was dead? How could that be? But the proof was there to be seen. Never would Aragorn have let the Evenstar leave him, unless he were dead. "Lord Saruman will wish to hear the details."
Tanathel fought back a shudder at the mention of the wizard. But the die was cast, and she had no choice. She would see this through to the end.
