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.
A/N #2: Thank you so much to everyone who has kept up with this story. I am gratified that y'all enjoy it so much! And many thanks for those who wrote asking me to continue. Sorry it took so long to update! More chapters should be coming soon, now. Enjoy!
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 Thirteen
(Helm's Deep)
Eomer paced the Hall, his mind in turmoil. Surely he had cause enough to aid Aragorn. If nothing else, there was the Oath of Eorl to be upheld, but was it enough any longer? He would be committing his people to death, in a battle that could not be won. Saruman had shown himself, and the wizard was no weak foe.
Eowyn had arrived with the dawn, two days ago. The Rohirrim had been mustered, anyone who could wield a sword, man or woman, had been pressed into service. Healers stood by to assist. But would any of this be enough to topple the wizard?
Aragorn had yet to arrive, which was another concern. If he had set out from Mirkwood, he should have been to the Deep two days past.
He couldn't send a search party. It would raise too much suspicion, if the wrong person were watching. Saruman had many ways of keeping track of his enemies.
Eowyn's tale was no cause for celebration, either. Boromir back from the dead, Faramir weakened by torture, yet free to coordinate a resistance effort from inside. Pippin, there to help him, such as the Hobbit could.
He shook his head at that. Those Halflings had proven themselves many times over. Their reach might be less but their hearts were as large or larger. Neither of them lacked courage.
Thinking of the Halflings seemed to make them appear, and he turned just as Merry made his way toward the throne. "My lord, there are riders approaching," he remarked quickly. "They bear no banner that I can see, much less that of the Greenwood. Your orders?"
Eomer bit down on the grin that threatened. The little Hobbit acted so much the soldier, it was hard to remember he was not one of the Rohirrim. "My orders, Master Holdwine, are for you to attend Gamling and see to the provisioning of the men. Freothain, take your eored and investigate these riders. They may only be crossing our lands, but we'll take no chances. And find out how they crossed our borders unchallenged."
Merry bowed his acknowledgement and departed, and Eowyn stepped closer to lay a hand on Eomer's shoulder. "Be at ease, brother. Aragorn will come. And Faramir even now is rallying the people of Minas Tirith."
Eomer turned and touched Eowyn lightly on the cheek, his eyes holding the only sign that he was not completely in control of his feelings. "I truly hope you are right, Eowyn, but I must think of my people. How can I commit them to a battle that cannot be won? I will be sending them to their deaths."
"Theoden faltered as well, but he did the right thing when duty called. You will as well." Eowyn hugged him tightly and then stepped away to gaze into his face. "The Oath of Eorl demands it, as does your loyalty and friendship with Aragorn. And do not so quickly count all as lost." She gave his arm a squeeze. "There is still time."
"Eomer-King!" Merry stumbled back into the hall, half-running. "There's a rider in from the Southern border, and he's got some bad news."
Gamling strode into the Hall, his grip tight on the arm of a young man. He hastened the lad to his King, dropping to one knee. "My lord, you should hear what this lad has to say."
Eomer raised the youth to his feet, favoring him with a kind expression. "What is your name, boy?" he asked quietly, his voice firm.
"I am called Marthelin, sir, and I come from Gondor." That in itself made Eomer sit up and take notice. "I bring a message from Peregrin Took, to be given to your ears only." Uneasily, the boy took in the crowd in the room, but then he straightened and assumed the most intimidating expression he could.
"Marthelin, you may speak freely. These are my most trusted people, I have no secrets from them." Eomer's tone brooked no argument. "What is this message?"
The boy glanced around once more, then began to speak as though in a trance. "From Peregrine Took, Guard of the Citadel of Gondor, servant of the True King, greetings. Eomer, blast it, there's no more time!"
Marthelin's voice had quite the fair approximation of Pippin's, indeed, Eomer fought the urge to check if the cheeky Halfing was hidden somewhere nearby. The lad continued, unconscious of the disquiet he was inflicting on the others. "The Uruks are marching on Edoras. Boromir's alive, and we'll explain that when you get here. I've sent Marthelin to you because he's the only one I can trust not to alter my message. Faramir suggested him. But you need to gather your forces and head for Minas Tirith by the quickest road. Faramir, Tanathel and I can't hold them off forever, and there aren't many people left willing to revolt. The wizard has been most efficient in quelling their spirits. I'm not sure anything but the reappearance of the True King would stir them.
"Send Marthelin back to me with your answer. He'll deliver it quickly, and accurately. We need the help now, Eomer, we can't wait any longer."
Marthelin started to sag as his eyes resumed their normal focus. "Did I do it right?" he whispered as he landed on the bench Merry hastily slid into place.
Eowyn pressed a goblet into the boy's hand, urging him to drink. "Twill settle your stomach, lad, and then we will talk more."
"You did exactly right, Marthelin of Gondor," Eomer said slowly. "Take this message to Master Took: The King of Rohan acknowledges your message, and will provide aid as requested. Look to our coming in six days ---"
"And do not despair, for you are no longer alone. The Elves of Eryn Lasgalen and the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain also come to your aid." Aragorn's voice cut through the Hall like a knife through butter and Eomer spun to face his friend, the High King of Gondor.
Aragorn clasped his forearm in greeting, his face full of sorrow. "Tis not the meeting of friends I had envisioned," he said quietly. "There is no time for feasting and celebrating. The situation has grown grim indeed, if Pippin is calling for aid."
"He'd not likely think he could take on the wizard himself, now, would he?" Merry piped up from behind them. "Nor Faramir either. They've both got more sense than that. In Pip's case, not much, but he's not foolish enough to take on Saruman unaided."
"I knew of Boromir's return," Eomer said slowly. "Eowyn carried word to me on her escape from Minas Tirith. I could scarcely credit it."
"Be that as it may, Eomer, we must not delay further. We ride for Minas Tirith with the dawn."
(Minas Tirith)
"Pippin, for the hundredth time, will you be careful?" Tanathel chided the Hobbit as he crept ahead of her in the tunnels. "If anyone sees the torchlight---"
"They'll not give it a thought, trust me!" Pip fired back smoothly. Quickly he smothered the torch and turned to face her, his face a pale blur in the darkness. "Better? We've no time! Faramir wants the beacons lit, and he wants it done yesterday. He's hoping it might spark some hope in these people. They've lost all will to live, it seems."
"Probably from Saruman's spells," the Ranger growled as she again misstepped in the shadows. She put out a hand to steady herself, only to pull it back quickly when she touched something other than the smooth stone of the tunnel.
She drew breath to warn the Halfling, but a strong hand clamped over her mouth and a dagger's point made itself felt at her throat. "Not a sound, Tanathel, if you'd like to see the dawn," Boromir's voice whispered in her ear. "Tell the hobbit to go ahead. Let him light the beacons. You and I have business elsewhere."
She did as he bade her, knowing that even Pippin's keen eyes would not perceive the Man at her back. He had dressed for the occasion, solid black, and lampblack on his face. His cloak covered his golden hair. It was as if a great shadow had taken physical form and held her in its grasp.
Pippin gave her a piercing look, but scurried ahead to carry out his orders. Tanathel waited only until she was certain he was out of earshot and stamped down hard on the foot behind her, then followed it up with an elbow to his ribs. She dropped when his hold loosened and rolled away, coming up with blade in hand and fire in her eye.
"Traitor!" she spat. "You swore yourself to King Elessar before your death, and yet now, you serve Saruman? It would seem your oath means nothing to you." Slowly she circled, testing his sight in the dark, searching for the opening that would mean the difference between victory and death. "By the Valar, Boromir, why?"
"Because the wizard holds my very life," he answered, slowly lowering his own weapon. "I cannot work directly against him. It causes such agonies as you have only dreamed of. But I wish to help Aragorn. I know he is not dead."
"He is dead, Boromir. You saw the Evenstar, you know he would not allow it to leave him while he yet lived." Tanathel was stalling for time. Faramir would be looking for them soon, and he must not meet his brother at sword's point. "Of all people, you should realize that. I buried him myself, in the cairn on Amon Sul."
"Yes, the cairn. Clever child. Did you think that would convince me?" Boromir's voice changed, suddenly, and his weapon flicked out, biting deeply into her forearm. "Of course it would, were I the Boromir you remember." His words took on a snarling note as his blade continued to harass her. She was hard pressed to keep him from skewering her outright, and was bleeding from several deep cuts before he backed off again. "You little fool, I searched your cairn. There was nothing inside. He lives. Tell me where."
Tanathel kept her back to the wall in order to keep him in her sight and have at least one direction she could not be attacked from. "I cannot tell you what I do not know," she replied as she blocked yet another strike. She could see the sweat beading his skin. What was happening? Boromir was a consummate swordsman, he should have had her disarmed in the first minute of their duel. Why hadn't he? Was he toying with her, or was it something else?
Her left arm hung uselessly at her side, blood dripping to the flagstones under her feet, when she saw what might be the first chink in his attack. It was as though he were not himself. She almost cried out at the sudden clarity.
He was not himself! His words, his stance, they were his, yet not his. The sweat beaded on his brow spoke of some internal struggle. She watched as his blade rose for the final strike, watched as he waged war with himself, watched as the blade came whistling down at her ---
--- only to lodge itself in the stone beside her. "Go," he urged, his voice, his words conveying urgency. "Run. I cannot fight him for long." His face reflected sheer agony, and instinctively, she started forward. He shoved her back with one hand and glared at her through his pain. "Go!"
Tanathel ran.
