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 special thank you is in order, to Ithil-valon, for tireless beta-reading and endless encouragement. Thanks so much for being a sounding board, hon, I really appreciate it!

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.

Chapter Twenty

A Council of War

(The King's Pavilion)

Aragorn gazed around the table at the assembled leaders and nodded. "Before we begin, there is a matter I wish clarified," he said firmly. "It is my wish that my Steward, Faramir of the House of Hurin, shall stand as my Heir. Should the unthinkable happen, and we should both fall, then choose who you will to replace us. These are my wishes, and they will be carried out." His gaze swept the table, searching for resistance to his words, and found none. He nodded. "Boromir has suggested a plan to open the City to us. Boromir?"

Boromir spread the map his brother had provided on the table, weighting it down along the edges and quickly indicating the entrance he spoke of. "There is an old access near the base of Mindolluin, near the Second Circle of the City. It is a small door, easily overlooked, and quite overgrown by small trees and flowers on the inside." He looked around the table. "It will require some climbing to reach. The steps that were originally carved for it have long since worn away. But it will open easily, and it leads to the surround on the wall. With the right… encouragement… the men on the wall could be swayed to our position. And once we control the First Circle, it will be far easier to advance into the City."

"And what do you propose we do while you are reaching this entrance?" Eomer demanded. "Sit here idly and do nothing? Merely keep up the blockade? We could accomplish that with less than half the force that even now guards the City."

"Indeed you could." Boromir faced Eomer squarely. "The blockade must stand. But the rest of our force will be needed to enter the City. Have no doubts, the fighting will be fierce. But unless we can open the Gates, this whole action is lost. We must get Aragorn back into the City where his people can see that he lives!"

Eomer subsided thoughtfully. He had known Boromir for many years, longer than most others present, except his brother. He knew the man to be an excellent tactician. It was just that all this waiting was beginning to wear upon his nerves. He nodded his acquiescence.

"Are we all in agreement then? Boromir shall choose his company, and this will be put into action. Boromir, how long before you believe the Gates will be opened? We do not want to misjudge the timing and end up as archery practice." Aragorn was speaking in a humorous vein, but Boromir could still see the overwhelming sorrow in his grey/blue gaze. And the underlying note was one of steel to counter the foolish words.

"We shall spare you the role of target, my lord," Boromir quipped back. "We shall raise your standard upon the Wall when the Gates are secured. But a small force cannot hold for long; you must be ready when the standard flies."

"We are agreed, gentlemen?" Aragorn didn't wait for any dissent. "Boromir, choose your people and make ready. Come to me before you depart. The rest of us will make ready to enter the City." He gestured to the exit and watched everyone leave. Tanathel gave him a sharp glance, but then followed the others from the pavilion. Boromir, on the other hand, remained behind.

"A moment, my liege, if you would," he began simply.

"Boromir, you should see the armorer. Those leathers will not suit for very long against Orcs and Uruk-hai." Aragorn had intended to dismiss the man, but Boromir was having none of it.

"Aragorn, you have named Faramir your Heir. You speak as one who knows he has not long left in this world. What madness is this? You are whole, healthy, and hearty to my eyes. Have you no faith in your people? Have you no faith in me?"

Aragorn merely lifted an eyebrow. "And what do you basis this supposition on, my friend? I named Faramir as Heir because there are none of my children left alive. I have no heir of my body to leave my kingdom to, Boromir. And I supposed, if you were the same man I knew on the Quest, that you would want none of it. I believe you told me once that Faramir would make an excellent Steward, and you would not. You preferred soldiering. Has this changed?"

"It has not." Boromir held Aragorn's eyes with his own. "And this is not about me. It is about you, and this damnable horror that has happened to you. I see it in your eyes. You soldier on, hoping that your pain will ease. And when it does not, you find other ways to risk yourself. Other ways to perhaps bring about that which you wish most, an end to your torment. A reunion with your beloved. And I say to that, you are a fool."

Aragorn's gaze became positively glacial, but Boromir would not stop. "What of your duty to your people, Aragorn? Would you so simply push that aside to rejoin your lady? Would she condone that? I think not. I think she would be appalled, dismayed, horrified by your lack of judgment. I think she would much rather you go on living to remember her, to remember her love for you, than to throw away that love with your untimely death."

"That is enough, Boromir," Aragorn spat furiously. "You know not of what you speak. Go, see the armorer. Outfit yourself properly. Then get your people and get moving. We have much to do."

"Aye, we have a lot to accomplish, and a short time to do so. Very well, I will go. But I leave you with this, my King: What would you have done, had your lady indeed sailed to the Undying lands and forsaken you here? Would you have put an end to yourself then?" Boromir went to kneel before Aragorn, his head lowered respectfully. "I speak this way only out of my love for my king, sire," he said softly, with a firm tone. "I would follow you into the very fires of Mordor, did you ask it of me. I say again what I pledged at Amon Hen: That I will follow you, my brother, my Captain. My King." And so saying, he stood and departed.

Aragorn was left in silence, to ponder what his friend had said…