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.
Additional Author's Note: Abject apologies for taking so long to update! RL has been, in a word, hell. But I'm back now, and I hope you enjoy this addition to my tale! Also, please remember that this is set in an Alternate Universe. Things that happened in the movie/book didn't necessarily happen here, or the events were slightly altered.
Revolution and Retribution
Chapter 15
(Minas Tirith)
Boromir drew a shaking hand across his brow and frowned. The wizard was doing his utmost to slow him down, and for the moment, it was working. But he had a plan.
He could not seek out Faramir, that much had become painfully clear. Faramir would be working to free the City from the clutches of Saruman, and if Boromir was involved, the wizard could see the plan and thwart them. So, best if he stayed clear.
How could he best serve his King? He had to find a way to help the rebels without being directly involved with them.
His guest had been markedly quiet for some time, and Boromir risked a moment of lowering his defenses. He remained ready to fight back, however, should Saruman again try to control him.
"And what do you seek, Boromir" the wizard's voice purred in his mind. "An end to my intrusion? A way to be finally free of my control? There is none. I gave you life from death. No other could have accomplished such a feat. You are bound to me, Boromir of Gondor. You are bound to me for all eternity. You cannot escape."
Boromir's reply was a wordless snarl. There had to be a way, and he would find it. But, stars above, he was so tired…
He shook his head again, clinging to wakefulness. Slowly, he made his way along the winding streets toward the Citadel. There were many ways in and out of the fortress, and he knew them all. He would find a way to get inside and see who was pulling Saruman's strings. For Saruman, he knew, was merely a puppet of a more powerful being. The wizard would not have forsaken his own body to attempt to possess Boromir for anything less.
If he could destroy the body, would the will be far behind? Perhaps… perhaps that was the answer. He made his way back into the Citadel, his steps heavy from weariness. He must do something, and quickly. If he fell asleep, the wizard would control him completely and Boromir doubted his ability to fight back to control once it slipped. He had to find the wizard's resting place, and find it soon.
(Minas Tirith)
Faramir held up a hand to halt his men. They were near the entrance of the tunnel, looking down on the Pelennor.
Not a thing stirred on the wide plain, and Faramir's brow furrowed in concern. He motioned Tanathel forward. "Behind that ridge is where the Rohirrim will arrive," he said softly. "Go there and wait for them, out of sight of the City, but not out of our sight. There will be a sentry here, watching for you. Once you have sighted them, give the signal and we will implement our plan." He grasped her forearm lightly and turned to take his leave.
"I'll stay here, Faramir," Pippin spoke up quickly. "That frees up someone who could do a bit more good in a fight. And I'm quick enough to reach you once the signal is given."
Tanathel merely nodded. "He makes sense, sir, as uncommon as that is." She had become fond of the Hobbit during their brief association. "And as he says, he would be safe here if the worst befell me. Hopefully it will be the Rohirrim who come up that road first."
"Have faith," Faramir replied sternly. "Our King is a resourceful man; if anyone can find a way, he can. They will come." He turned away once more, his heart heavy. If the worst happened, they were all doomed. Tanathel and Pippin would merely be the first to fall. But he could not show his concern before his men; they counted on him to keep their faith and their hope. If he let them see his own uncertainty, then they would lose heart, and the wizard would be victorious, and Faramir would be damned if he would allow that to happen!
Tanathel nodded again and started out of the tunnel, but Pippin called her back as the others crept back toward the City. "I brought this for you," he said in a rush as he handed her the pouch. "I pilfered it from his private stash, so enjoy it."
She nodded her thanks and started across the Plain, keeping her head low under her hood and cloak to make anyone watching doubt her existence. She was well used to moving unseen, and made it across the ridge before dawn had begun to brighten the sky.
Only then did she check the pouch the Halfling had gifted her with. Laughter bubbled up inside her and she tamped it down with difficulty. She had thought he was providing her supplies; instead, the thoughtful creature had gifted her with the finest pipeweed in all Arda, and a pipe in which to smoke it!
She made a rough camp, far enough off the road not to be discovered by accident, yet close enough to keep a steady eye on the approach. Then, with a silent nod of thanks toward her diminutive friend, she proceeded to enjoy her first pipe since the revolution had begun.
(Rohan)
Eomer guided his mount to one side, allowing the horse to slow as he considered the column. Many more than just the Rohirrim had flocked to his banner, and it was a sizable force. But would it be enough?
Merry spoke at his back. "It'll be enough," he reassured Eomer, almost as though he had read his friend's thoughts. "We'll win this, as we should. You'll see. Aragorn won't allow anything else."
Aragorn drew up next to them. "It is a sizable force, my friend," he remarked idly. "And with the Elves from Eryn Lasgalen joining us at the Crossroads, we will be even more formidable."
A shout went up from one of the outriders and Eomer spun his mount to meet the Rider. "An armed column approaches, my lord, and they are not Elves."
Eomer flashed into action, ordering maneuvers, readying his spear. Aragorn also was ready, and they rode ahead of the main force, moving to meet the intruders and discover their intentions. Legolas joined them swiftly, Gimli as usual mounted behind him.
The Elf gave a cry and raised his bow in welcome as Gimli roared in greeting. They moved forward with haste, quickly outdistancing their companions. Gimli threw himself from the horse and rolled, coming up with a fierce grin and his axe in hand.
"It's about time!" the Dwarf growled, his face fierce. "Aragorn! Come here, lad! Did ye think we Dwarves wouldn't render aid? Five thousand strong, sent from Dain in Erebor. And we are ever at your service."
Aragorn dismounted quickly and came forward, wonder creasing features that had too long been etched in sorrow. "Thank you, my friend," he said softly as he clasped the Dwarf's shoulder in gratitude. "Always my friends have supplied my needs. Your loyalty shall not go unrewarded." He turned to the leader of the Dwarven contingent. "Your name, Captain?"
"I am Falin, son of Farin, Lord Aragorn, at your service. My lord Dain has placed us under your command for the duration. Where might we Dwarves best serve?" He gave a cursory glance over his troops.
"Have your troops close rank with us. We have need of haste, Falin, yet you and your Dwarves must reach Minas Tirith with the strength to fight. Are you rested?" Aragorn gave them more than a cursory glance, trying to judge their fitness for battle.
Falin gave a curt nod. "Fall in! We march for Minas Tirith! Keep in close with the column at regular spacing. Keep your eyes open, there may be Orcs about. We are far too close to discount the possibility." He gave a small bow to Aragorn and took his place with his troops, moving to place himself at the head of the line near the first rank of Rohirrim.
Aragorn allowed himself to begin to hope that things would soon be set to rights. Nothing, nothing would ever ease the losses he had suffered, but life would go on. And he would rebuild what the wizard had destroyed before he sought to join his love.
Pain stabbed at his heart again, no less sharp for its familiarity. Arwen was gone, but there was much to do before he could begin to think of joining her. The White City must be retaken, Saruman brought to justice for his treachery. Then his people might be able to pick up the pieces of their lives and begin anew.
For him, there would be no new beginning. Faramir would be his heir, he would see to that. The Steward had ever been loyal to him, and knew the official duties as well as Aragorn himself. If he survived the coming carnage, he would be the logical choice to rule Gondor.
When he had decided to join Arwen, he didn't know, but the decision had been made nonetheless. He would see his kingdom restored, but then he would leave this life, for life without Arwen wasn't to be borne.
He turned to see Merry watching him closely and gave a small smile. He would have to be careful; the Hobbit was too observant to fool for very long, and he wanted no hint of his plans to be known until it was time.
He gave the cheeky Hobbit another smile, a bigger one, then turned and gave his attention to the road before them.
