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.

Revolution and Retribution

Chapter Twenty-two

Aragorn sat in the dim light of the Pavilion, considering Boromir's words. How had he fallen so far from what he was? Had he truly considered such a selfish act as suicide?

Boromir was right, Arwen would be appalled. Elves could fade from grief, it was true, but he was no Elf. Raised by them, it was true, and as such he was well-versed in the codes of honor and conduct they believed.

Honor demanded he see this through. He had a responsibility to his people, to rule them well, to protect them. He could not shirk that, no matter how his heart bled with the need to be with her. He would not dishonor her memory, nor himself. He could not. It was not in him to betray a trust.

His people trusted him. He would not betray that trust. Not ever. Faramir would remain his Heir, for there would be no other woman in his Arwen's place. But he must live out his life as intended, for her sake. She had not forsaken the immortality of the Elves for him to be a selfish prat.

The decision was made. He straightened and took in first one deep breath, then another. His mind felt clearer than it had in days, and he welcomed it as a sign that he had made the right choice. He called firmly for Pippin.

"Yes, Aragorn?" The cheeky little Hobbit came to stand just behind his chair and he allowed a tiny smile.

"I have no need of a guard, Peregrine Took, no matter how well-intentioned it was meant," he said simply as he drew the little one forward to meet his gaze. "Put aside your fears, you need not harbor them any longer. I will not embrace death until it is my time to do so."

Pippin's eyes filled up and he threw his arms around the startled King, holding him tightly. "I didn't like spying on you, Strider, but we were that worried! You just weren't yourself! And Faramir might make a mighty king, a grand king, but he isn't you!"

Aragorn was drawing breath to make a reply when the canvas rustled again. "Enter," he called as he set the Hobbit down again. "Yes, Faramir, what is it?"

"It is time, sire," Faramir said simply. "The sun will rise soon. We wait only upon you."

Aragorn nodded and rose, leaving the tent with a firm stride and went straight to Brego, mounting in one fluid motion and drawing Pippin up behind him. The predawn light lent an eerie quality to the air, and he felt a moment's apprehension. If Boromir and his company had failed…

Sound split the air, and a great cry went up from the assembled. Trumpets, trumpets were sounding in the ever lightening morning, and a great relief swelled inside Aragorn's breast at the sound. In his mind, he heard words from long ago, spoken in the still of the night, but no less powerful for their simplicity.

"Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver. Its banners caught high in the Morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?

"One day, our paths will lead us there. And the Tower Guards shall take up the call: The Lords of Gondor have returned."

Boromir's words seemed prophetic, when taken against this dawn. For the Lords of Gondor had indeed returned; and they would take back what was theirs.

"Riders up!" Aragorn thundered, and they began the march to the wide open Gates of Minas Tirith.