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 Twenty-One
Tanathel was waiting at the makeshift armory when Boromir arrived. "Here, I've found some things for you already," she began simply. She indicated the table where a large selection of weapons stood ready. "Swords, knives⦠there are shields just there, I tried to find the larger ones, since Captain Faramir said you preferred those. And I think these will fit you." She handed him a set of fighting leathers, stouter and thicker than those he wore. They weren't traditional Gondor issue; they were dark, almost black in color, and there was no sign of the White Tree anywhere upon them. "We've no armor to fit, and no time to forge any, either. We'll have to make do."
She had collected new weapons as well. Matched blades hung at her sides, dagger hilts protruded from the top of both boots, her longbow hung at her back with her quiver over-full. And strapped to her wrists she wore two more blades, just barely longer than her fingers.
Boromir raised an eyebrow at the wrist sheaths. "What do you plan to do with those?" he asked quietly as he took one hand to inspect them more closely. "Wicked-looking things."
She took the hand back quickly, taking care not to slice him with the open blade. "They're punching blades," she replied evenly. "My father taught me to use them. If the fighting gets too thick, I can use my fists to cut down the enemy. They're really rather effective, once you get used to them."
Boromir nodded. "You seem to think this is a suicide mission. Do you not trust me?" He chose a long, broad blade, checking it carefully for balance and nodding to himself as he added it to his collection. A heavy, large circular shield was next. "Armor seems to be the only thing missing, and you've provided the best that can be had at the moment." He picked up the leathers and gauged them carefully; the fit would be quite nearly perfect.
"Of course I trust you. His Highness trusts you, and Captain Faramir does as well. That's enough for me. I just believe in being prepared." She shrugged eloquently. "You're welcome to use those until you can replace your armor. Try not to bleed on them?" She stopped at the tent flap and turned back to meet his questioning eyes. "They were my father's." And she was gone outside to wait for him.
Boromir took a perverse pleasure in setting the leathers Saruman had provided into the fire of the forge. Then he stepped out into the bright sunlight.
Several pairs of eyes met his, and he stifled the grin that threatened. Time enough for humor when the job was done. "I suppose you all think you are coming with me?"
Legolas stepped forward, the barest hint of a smile showing. "You have need of us, mellon-nin. We should waste no more time."
"Aye, let's get on with this," Gimli growled. "It's time and past we get Aragorn back where he belongs."
Tanathel merely nodded in agreement with the Dwarf, and Merry and Pippin stepped forward as well. "We're little, so we can sneak about better than you, Big Man," Pippin quipped.
Boromir couldn't hide the smile. "Merry, you have permission from Eomer for this?" He put on his command face quickly. This wasn't a picnic; and he didn't want his little ones in any more danger if he could help it. He waited only for the Hobbit's nod before he turned his attention to Pippin. "I have a special duty for you, Peregrine Took."
He took the Halfling aside. "I need someone to keep an unobtrusive eye on Aragorn," he began softly. "He is lost in his despair, and I fear some evil may try to exploit it. If you notice anything amiss, you are to go immediately to Faramir, do you understand?"
Pippin nodded, clearly dismayed at being left behind, although the satisfaction of being left in such a responsible position clearly warred with the feeling. He left for Aragorn's tent, his step heavy.
Boromir spared no more than a glance for the little soldier and raked his command gaze over his troops once more. "Let's move out. The sooner this is done, the sooner we will see Aragorn back on the White Throne, and Gondor will be restored."
They forced a march across the plain, bearing to the north slightly, as though headed away from the city. They walked until dark began to fall, then doubled back toward the base of Mount Mindolluin. Who knew what spies Saruman had watching them?
"At least this time we're not lugging supplies as well," Merry chuckled as they called a halt, barely able to see each other in the shadow of the mountain. "How much farther, Boromir?"
"We're making for that little cleft in the rock, near the wall of the City, so not far," was the whispered answer. "There were steps there, long ago, leading to the door I found. Now it's little more than a foot path, and a steep one. Once we're through the door, we'll be on the Ramparts of the First Circle. There, we might even find help from the Guards that are loyal to Aragorn, if any remain."
A short trek later, they had reached the cleft. Slowly, slowly they clambered up the rock face, each one sure-footed on the difficult surface. Boromir tried the latch on the door and winced when it gave a high, metallic screech. "No help for it now," he grumbled as he hauled the door wide and stepped into the flowers growing on the other side. "Anyone listening will have heard that. Single file. Legolas, you take point."
The Elf nodded and moved forward silently, confident he could kill any scouts before the alarm could be raised. Tanathel moved immediately behind him, silent as a shadow and appearing just as deadly as the Elf. Gimli, Merry, and Boromir fell in behind, with Boromir in the tail position.
Tanathel touched Legolas and signaled something, then moved next to him. Together they crept forward and each dispatched an Orc, neatly and silently. No alarm had yet been raised.
Boromir began to feel apprehensive. Someone, Orc or Man, should have heard the hinges on that door squealing like a demented sow in heat. Something was very wrong if they hadn't.
Legolas drew his dagger to throw and suddenly Tanathel knocked it aside, moving ahead rapidly and throwing herself at the man in question. His cloak was drawn, and it looked for a moment as if they would collide, when he snapped around and grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her to him.
"You've still got a lot to learn, Tanathel," the Ranger snapped softly. He set her back and turned to the others, giving Boromir a salute and nodding for the others in the party. "I am Norick, my lord. When Faramir didn't come, we devised a different plan," he explained, his voice no more than a whisper of wind in the darkness. "We have taken the Wall, Captain-General, and only awaited morning to raise the King's Banner and open the Gates."
