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.

Author's note #2: In this chapter I make mention of Ancir, and I bless Evendim for allowing me to borrow him, if only briefly. Also, the chapter begins just a short time before Chapter 13 ends, so the timing is tricky. You'll be okay though. J

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 Fourteen

(Minas Tirith)

"You are a fool, Saruman." The words rang in the wizard's head and Saruman cursed long and violently, if silently. "You should have killed them all. They could not have stood against you. You nearly destroyed the woman whilst she was still in your grasp. To have allowed her to escape is contemptible."

"Ah, but it is part of my plan, Master," he tried to explain. "If the woman is free, she will lead us directly to the rebels, and to the Dunedain. I allowed her to believe she had swayed me with her tale, but I am aware that he yet lives. And he is allied with the Elves, and the Horsemen in Rohan. The Dwarves, too, flock to his banner. He must be crushed, and by allowing her to believe she is free, she will lead us to them."

"You are a fool." The voice added depth and rage to the words this time, causing the wizard to squint slightly. "You have sent the Orcs to Edoras, when the quarry lies within Helm's Deep. And your revival of Boromir--- that is beyond comprehension."

"Ah, but with him under my control, the rebellion shall fail. He is Gondor, as he always was. He will rule these people under my power with an iron fist, and none shall escape his notice. He will be the downfall of that wretched Dunedain."

The voice spoke again, its very volume and fury gaining with each word. "Then, since you believe it will be so, so let it be!" it cried, and Saruman felt a wrenching pain within himself, then a sense of falling, as though he were no longer on the ground. Then, with a bump, he felt himself settle back into solid reality. He opened his eyes…

… and took control of the situation. He baited the woman, using Boromir's innate skill with a blade to whittle away her defenses, leaving her vulnerable to his blade, and brought the sword down in a sweeping arc.

"NO!" he heard Boromir's voice, and the stroke, which should have killed her, went crooked. While he fought to regain the blade from the stone, he heard the Man order her to run, and growled unintelligibly, moving the muscles of which he had control even more frantically. But it was too late, she had taken her Captain-General's advice, and she was sprinting out of the tunnels, leaving him far behind.

"You will pay for that, cretin," he heard himself snarl with Boromir's voice. "I own you, Boromir, and you would do well to remember it."

"You own no part of me, you misbegotten spawn of a Balrog, and I will fight you every step of the way." Boromir was no less determined than the wizard, and it showed. "My father oft accused me of being mulish, and it was well earned. You shall learn that, if you've not done so already." Boromir was keeping a tight rein over his unwanted 'guest's' presence now, and began to stride out of the tunnels himself. "You see? You cannot win. To borrow a phrase from your favorite old friend, 'hope is kindled.'"

Boromir turned his eyes toward the sky, where the beacon of Amon Din burned brightly against the lightening dawn. "The Halfling has done as he was bidden by the Lord Steward of Gondor. The beacons will bring aid, aye, all who see them will see there is hope left in the world of Men. And Aragorn will return to the throne you have so callously booted him off of."

"How so, when he is dead? You saw the Evenstar, Boromir. He would not allow it to leave him, save at his death."

"I also saw knowledge in that Ranger's eyes, lord bastard, knowledge that hope lives. If it does, then so does Aragorn. That's a given. And even were he dead and buried, his people are loyal to HIM, not some slack-jawed vainglorious dandy whose best part dribbled down his mother's thigh at his conception."

Saruman saw fit not to answer him, and Boromir counted it a minor victory. Not that the Istari was even human, but somehow it helped to counter his cultured arguments with crudity. But barracks behavior wasn't going to get him out of this, nor was it going to help Aragorn.

He turned on his heel and headed back into the tunnels. Faramir would have advice, if he could only hold the wizard down long enough to find his brother…

(Minas Tirith, the stables)

"Tanathel should be here right quick, she stayed in the tunnels, I think she saw something," Pippin blurted as he entered the smallest tack room, only to go rigid at the sight before him.

Faramir was there, just as they had arranged, but he was not alone. Several other men rose at his entrance, all of them glowering until they recognized the small figure. "Cor, you almost got spitted, young master Perian," the first one growled as he reseated himself.

"Easy, Ancir. If I'd been one of the enemy, you'd be dead. I'm just a Hobbit with a report of a mission completed." Pippin bowed low to Faramir and gave him a cheeky grin. "The beacons are lit, which should bring Eomer at the gallop."

"We can only hope," Faramir agreed, his mind obviously somewhere else, and it wasn't hard for the Hobbit to guess where.

"Eowyn is safe, Faramir," he reassured the Steward with a pat on the shoulder. "If she wasn't, you'd know by now. Things are moving quickly, too quickly now for Saruman to stop this. Everything will be to rights soon."

"If that bastard Saruman doesn't anticipate us and kill us all," one of the other men muttered. Faramir rounded on him, his eyes flashing.

"We will not die like the vermin he thinks us!" he stormed, though his voice was low, it was evident he was controlling his fury by sheer will. "We will be ready, though there are few of us. We will be ready when Eomer-King appears on the Pelennor. We only wait for Tanathel to depart for Henneth Annun. He will not find us there."

"He will, since he has taken Boromir." Tanathel's voice from the doorway was faint, but not weak. Her left arm hung limply at her side, and there was a rill of blood dripping from her fingers to the floor. "Saruman controls him, though not completely. I would be dead if he had full control. Boromir fights him."

"Sit down before you fall down, you bloody great idjit!" Pippin grumbled as he rummaged through the tack boxes in search of bandages. "You can tell us all about it, but you need that tended first before you bleed to death. Then you can talk as much as ye like."

Faramir knelt beside her and took the bandages Pippin handed him without a word, working on the wound with quiet thoughtfulness. "I have not the skill with healing that our King has, though I will try. Athelas would be best, but I have none. So---" he reached for a small bundle of herbs that had been left to dry "---I will use what I have. Willow bark and Thyme, those should do."

Tanathel obediently gave him her arm, flinching slightly at his touch on the tender flesh. "A deep cut, but clean, and not enough to need stitching," Faramir mused, without looking up at her as he washed the wound gently with water from the tank nearby. "A little thyme added to the water, to cleanse any infection." He'd found his people seemed to do best when they knew what he was doing to them, and so kept a running monologue for them. He took a small cup and set it nearby after dropping a touch of powder into it. "And after we've bound this up, you're to drink that, every drop." He put a final wrap to the bandages on her arm, and pointed to the cup. "Every drop," he repeated sternly.

Tanathel grimaced at the bitter taste, but did as ordered, draining the cup completely and handing it back without a word of complaint. She nodded her readiness to him.

"If Boromir has been taken completely, we've no choice but to put things into action now," Faramir declared, his face once more set and determined. "We cannot flee to Henneth Annun, Boromir knows the ways into the fortress. We must bide here, and cause what trouble we can for Saruman and the Worm."

There was a hint of dark humor in the Steward's eyes that Tanathel didn't much care for. Her normally gentle, kind Captain was turning into a stranger before her, hardened and bitter, and the change distressed her. She reminded herself forcefully that he was not called the Tiger for nothing. This cat had claws, and fangs, and knew how to use them to best effect. The thought steadied her.

"Come, now, into the tunnels, everyone," Faramir ordered as he glanced out of the door. "While it is still clear. Then we'll put our plans in motion."

(Rohan)

The sentry raised the cry, and the Rohirrim took it up as one. "The Beacons, the beacons are lit!"

The Kings, who had been hunched over the map table planning the best angle of attack, emerged from the darkness as one, followed quickly by Merry and the Marshals of the Mark. They stood as one, seeing the bright flames, feeling hope reborn within them, as it was within all the Rohirrim.

"Faramir yet lives," Aragorn breathed softly, feeling the tightness of his chest begin to loosen. "It is the only way the beacons could have been fired. He found a way. And my faith in him is justified, if he can manage such a feat under the very nose of the Istari."

"Riders of Rohan!" Eomer cried loudly. "We ride with the dawn! We shall sweep down upon our foe as the very breath of death! We ride with the dawn!"

The Rohirrim took up the cry, matching their King's vehemence with their own, swelling the mountains with the sound of their fury. Aragorn found his hopes rising with the tide of the sound. They could do this, they had defeated Sauron, surely they could topple Saruman and his puppets. He found his own voice rising in confirmation of the oath, for surely it was an oath they swore together, to see the balance restored and vengeance done!

Merry moved forward, deftly wending his way between the so much larger bodies of the Riders and going to one knee before Eomer. "My King, I beg you not to discount my usefulness, as has been done before," he said quickly. "It is a three day ride to the Pelennor, of that I am aware, and my pony would not stand the pace. I beg instead that you allow one of the lighter riders to carry me as well, that I might be of some use in the coming battle."

Eomer raised him up, catching his eye, his face stern and forbidding. "We can ill afford the extra weight, Squire, yet it shall be done. You shall ride pillion with me until we reach the Fields. I have no doubt there will be plenty of use for all of us, once the battle is joined." He again raised his voice to carry over the crowd. ""If there be any who wish to join the fight, then they shall!" he thundered. "Take what weapons you will, and follow! Horses you have, though they be not warhorses. Still they will carry you into battle! We ride with the dawn!"

Merry clasped Eomer's hand in friendship and thanks and drew back, allowing the others to close in about him once more. Then, with a last glance toward the Beacons, they withdrew inside to complete their plans and ready themselves to ride to war.

TBC