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 Eleven

(Minas Tirith Dungeons)

Pippin glanced around the corner to make certain no one was about and then stepped out into the corridor. 

The torches had burned low, and that meant no one would be around unless they were the guards on duty.  It was close to dawn.

He crept nearer to the cell door and peered inside.  "Faramir," he whispered.  "Faramir, can you hear me?" 

The Steward raised his eyes and Pippin winced at the bruising around his friend's face.  No indignity had been spared, it seemed, in Saruman's quest for the location of the King. 

Faramir's eyes widened and he shook his head, giving a meaningful glance into the corner.  Pippin followed his gaze, to find a trio of Orcs at a table nearby.  They were arguing over the cooking pot in the center of the table, and Pippin swallowed hard.  He did not want to know what was in it.

Slowly, carefully, he released the lock on the cell.  He eased the door open slightly and slipped inside, as quietly as only a Hobbit could move, and crept closer to the Steward.  "I've come to help you," he murmured.  "If I get you free, can you walk?  We have to get you out of here."

Faramir nodded, his eyes still on the Orcs.  They had fallen to their meal with gusto, and even now were starting to feel the effects of the wine that had been so thoughtfully provided to them.  One by one, their heads went to the table, and shortly the only indication of their presence was the loud snoring from their direction. 

Pippin made short work of the locks on Faramir's manacles, and slipped himself next to the Steward for support as the Man sagged.  "Easy, now, it's only a few steps to the door," he encouraged.  "After that, a few more short steps to the outside, if I remember the tunnels right."

"You do, Pippin, and many thanks.  But first, we must find Eowyn."  Faramir straightened, holding in a hiss of pain as the welts on his back tightened agonizingly.  "I will not leave without her."

"And I wouldn't ask you to.  Ready?  A few steps, then."  Pippin led him into the corridor and down a flight of steps, where he had cached Faramir's fighting leathers.  He waited only until the Man had finished dressing before taking him by the arm.  "Come on, I know where the Worm sleeps.  He'll have taken her there."

(Eryn Lasgalen)

The horses were ready.  Aragorn mounted Brego, his thoughts on what he might find when he arrived at Edoras. 

Legolas stepped near and laid his hand on Aragorn's leg.  "The scouts have returned.  Eomer has moved his people to Helm's Deep, in preparation for war.  Merry has made it there safely and even now has laid out our plan for Eomer.  If we make for the Gap of Rohan, and travel only in darkness, we should come safely to our friend and ally."

"Then let us go!  I grow tired of skulking in the shadows, when my rightful place is with my people!"  To say that Aragorn was frustrated would be an understatement.  He burned with the knowledge that his people suffered, and his heart was sore not just with the loss of his family, but the inescapable fact that Faramir would have been taken or killed quickly.  Saruman would leave no stone unturned to root out any pockets of possible rebellion. 

He was haunted by his decisions.  Tanathel had accepted her mission without hesitation, but he still felt strongly about what he had asked of the brash young Ranger from Ithilien.  She had taken the Evenstar, allowing herself to be captured by the forces hunting him, in order to persuade Saruman that Aragorn was indeed dead.  She had arranged their shared campsite on Amon Sul to give evidence of their brief tenancy, and had constructed a cairn close by to reinforce the idea that the king had fallen. 

"My people will follow, a few at a time," Legolas was saying, and Aragorn turned his attention back to the Elven King.  "Most of the Elves have left Middle Earth, it is true.  I would have our true numbers hidden, in order to deceive Saruman.  We are still far more than anyone realizes."  Legolas mounted quickly and drew Gimli up to ride behind him.  The two had been inseparable since the Ring War, drawn closer together and beyond all the tests of friendship, they were closer than most brothers.  For Legolas to leave Gimli behind for any reason was unthinkable.

Aragorn nodded, his mind still on events in Minas Tirith.  Tanathel was most likely already dead, but he would see she lived on in the hearts of Men, for she was valiant and honorable.  And if by some miracle she survived these evil times, she would be given high honors, the highest she would accept. 

Pippin haunted him as well.  The Hobbit had emerged unscathed from worse scrapes than this, he knew, but he had never had to outsmart a wizard on his own.  Aragorn feared that he also had fallen.

Enough recriminations, he told himself firmly as he followed Legolas' lead.  Time enough for guilt later.  Now, he had his people to save.

(Helm's Deep)

Eomer checked over the defensive line once more.  The walls were manned, and the spacing was perfect.  Each Archer held his position as though rooted to the spot, and each Pikeman filled in the gaps accordingly.

There was nothing more to be done now.  He returned to the Hall, to seek out Merry, and found him before the fire.  He made to rise and Eomer gestured him to remain as he was.  "It is a foul day out there.  You might as well stay warm while you can."  A small smile gave lie to the stern tone.  "In truth, were I not King, I would be by your side and let someone else order the defenses."

"Ah, but you are king, and you wear it well, my lord."  Merry let just a bit of his natural good humor escape.  "Especially for one so reluctant to bear the mantle of royalty."

"I thank whatever gods might listen that I am not the High King," came Eomer's reply.  He seemed utterly unconcerned with the familiarity the hobbit had shown him, indeed, he welcomed it.  "Torn from my home at the point of a sword, losing my family in such circumstances, hunted like a beast… it staggers the mind how Aragorn could remain sane under such conditions."

Merry drew himself forward and peered into the fire, his thoughts on his friends who still journeyed far from home.  "He is sane, though far from whole in spirit," he answered finally.  "How could he be?  Arwen was his one love, the one who meant the world to him.  He bore such heavy burdens, and still thought himself unworthy of her.  He worshipped her, and she has fallen.  It is a hard blow to him."  He shook off the melancholy that threatened.  "Now, with the defenses ordered, my lord," and he threw a cheeky grin at his liege lord, "and wonderfully ordered they are, we wait.  Aragorn is coming.  And he won't be alone."

(Minas Tirith, the Hall of Kings)

Saruman glowered at his Captain.  "How could you allow this to happen?" he asked softly, his voice soothing and melodic.  Boromir fought its pull with all his will.  "She must be re-taken.  Spare no effort in finding her, and when you do, kill her.  She cannot be allowed to use herself as a rallying point for rebellion."  The wizard took a delicate sip from the wineglass he held.

"Of course, my lord," Boromir answered, tight-lipped with fury.  How dare the Istari take him to task?  He was not a servant, nor a mercenary captain.  He served for no other reason than he had no choice.  The spells used to return him from death had bound him tightly to the wizard, so tightly there seemed no escape.  "But what point is there in rebellion?  Aragorn is dead, the King has fallen.  There are none who could oppose you."

Saruman raised an eyebrow.  "You think not?  There is still that upstart horseman in Rohan, and the Elves who remain upon Arda.  They will not countenance my taking lordship here, and must be taught manners.  I intend to humble them all.  And with the High King in his tomb, it shall be an easy task."

Boromir nodded curtly and did not wait to be dismissed.  He strode from the chamber, his boots all but flashing sparks from the flagstones from his anger.  Faramir.  He must find Faramir, and he would start in the obvious place.  The dungeons.

He clenched his teeth over a spate of vile barracks curses when he found the Orcs sleeping off the wine.  His Faramir had been here, all right.  The signs were there, plain to be seen.  Much more telling of the escape, however, were the keys left in the locks and the bare footprints in the dust upon the stone floor.  Hobbit footprints.

Boromir felt his heart lighten.  It could as easily be Frodo or Sam, or even Merry, but something in his spirit insisted they belonged to Pippin. 

If that irrepressible mischief-maker was here, then all was not lost.  But how to help them?  It must be done cautiously, for if the wizard sensed betrayal, it would cost him what passed for his life.  And he had no intention of embracing the darkness once more.

(Just outside the White City)

Tanathel shivered on the Pelennor, her cloak no match for the chill of the night.  She lurked about the trees, waiting for a sign that the Halfling Pippin had been able to free Faramir. 

There were few trees to shelter behind, and the wind was bitter cold.  Autumn, it seemed, had been left far behind, and winter was closing her fist about the land.  She took a deep breath and cursed softly, ever wary of being discovered.  There was snow on that wind, and that would make the whole plan difficult to carry out.

Faramir would incite those still loyal to Aragorn to rally round, and she was to assist all she could.  She held herself ready, near the exit to the tunnels, to join the Halfling and the Steward when they emerged.  She had liberated sword and bow from the Armory, and though her fingers keenly felt the chill, she would be able to defend them should the need arise.

It could take hours, she reminded herself.  She needed to be under cover before the sun rose, and so she found a patch of scrubby brush to conceal herself in, and waited.