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 Four

Aragorn, Boromir, and Tanathel stormed up the steps into the Courtyard of the Fountain, blades flashing in the sun as they brought the fight to the highest level of the City. All sported slashes from the Orc blades, but none were willing to stand down and admit defeat.

They met the oncoming Uruk-hai without hesitation, Steel rang together and the fighting grew, if possible, even more intense. Boromir cried out to Aragorn.

"Go! We will hold them here, go!"

Aragorn took the hint and headed into the Citadel, knowing the two would fight until their last breath to protect his back. He trusted them with his very life. And Saruman remained to be brought down.

He stormed into the Hall, his fury great, his image terrible in his wrath. "Saruman!" he thundered.

The wizard rose from the Throne, his face impassive. "Welcome, Dunedain," he purred. "Come, let us talk. You need have no fear of me, Aragorn, I grow weary of this strife."

Aragorn slowed his advance, his blade still held ready, though he sensed no lie in the words. "What is there to discuss, murderer?" he spat. "How you will die for your crimes? Those are the only words I wish to hear from you."

"Indeed? Please, Aragorn, sit with me. I admit my actions might have been hasty. But can you not see, they were in the greater good. You had grown complacent in your rule, you needed action to remind you of what you are. You needed a goad to bring you from your rut."

The wizard's voice droned on, and Aragorn fought its insidious power. Saruman's main power lay in his voice, and Aragorn had not forgotten that. What he had not counted on was the additional power behind Saruman. His sword lowered and he actually took a step forward before he was able to shake off the spell hidden in the words. "Lies, all of it!" He again raised his blade, keeping it between them, and Saruman's eyes narrowed.

"Do not so quickly dismiss what I have said, Elessar," Saruman demanded, his voice still seductive and sweet. He gestured and Anduril went flying from the King's hand, coming to rest against the wall. "I could end your life with a single thought, but I choose to have speech with you instead. Come, sit with me. Let us talk as friends, and perhaps I might give you what you truly wish."

Aragorn moved forward as one in a dream, fighting the cloud this creature sought to place in his mind. "You can give me nothing, Saruman. Arwen is gone, the children as well. All you could do is hand back my City, and I do not believe that is your intent." As he spoke, his mind became clearer, and once more he was able to throw off the influence of that dangerous voice.

"Ah, but Elessar, did I not restore Boromir to you? I have power you have never dreamed of, Dunedain, and that power could be yours for the asking. All you need do is take my hand, and all shall be as it was." The wizard held out a hand, his expression inviting. With the other, he gestured and a bier was brought forward.

Aragorn felt the breath leave him in a rush and he fell to his knees before it. "Arwen," he whispered. She looked as if she were only sleeping. Gone were the grievous wounds he knew she had suffered, gone were all signs of what she had endured for him. "Arwen…"

"She can be yours again, Elessar," Saruman's voice spoke again, though he heard it not with his ears but in his mind. "I can give you this. Your children as well, if that is your wish. All you need do is take my hand in friendship."

Aragorn stared, first at Saruman, then at Arwen, then back again. His mind reeled with disbelief and doubt. How could this be? It was true, Saruman had resurrected Boromir; could he truly do so with Arwen? Had they been so grievously wrong about the wizard?

He fought to clear his mind. One hand reached out toward the bier and touched the sleeve of Arwen's gown, feeling the silk under his questing fingers. He traced the contours of her face, feeling the flawless skin once more as he had longed to do, though it was cold and stiff in death. Tears ran unashamed down his face as he regarded her, feeling again the ache in his breast at her loss.

His eyes drank in the sight of her, as though committing her to memory, though the memory of her was still clear and strong in his mind. His mind was adrift in a sea of confusion; but one thought beat a steady pulse at him. She could be restored to him. He could have her love again, feel her next to him, hear her voice, her laughter, everything. Then his eye caught on the Evenstar, arranged neatly at her throat.

He turned his eyes away, struggling for control. Gone were the sounds of battle outside; gone were all sounds except that of his beating heart and the wizard's voice. "She could be yours forever, Elessar," it crooned to him reassuringly. "Immortality could be yours, yours and hers together, if you but take my hand."

The words beat at him, striking at his heart, his mind, his very soul. Slowly, slowly he turned to face Saruman, his eyes red-rimmed, his face full of despair. He moved forward, one slow step at a time, until he could raise his eyes and meet the wizard's. He raised one hand as though to take Saruman's…

…and slashed out with his dagger, bloodying the wizard's cheek. "Never would I betray Arwen in the fashion you name!" he snarled. He turned to run and was sent sprawling by a blast from the wizard's fingers. How could that be? His staff had been broken, his magic curtailed by Gandalf. He should not have had the power to restore Boromir, nor to cloud Aragorn's mind as easily as he had. What had happened?

The wizard's voice assailed him again, though it no longer held any attraction for the King of Men. It had deepened, somehow, was rougher. And the language it spoke, Valar, how could they have missed the signs? True evil could not be destroyed, only defeated for a time. Sauron had returned!

The Black Speech of Mordor poured from Saruman's lips and Aragorn felt himself weakening. His dagger slipped from numb fingers and he fought for breath. Was this, then, his end? He was so weak!

A cry from the entranceway drew his attention and he used some of his precious strength to turn his head. Boromir and Tanathel had fought their way into the Hall of Kings, it seemed. And their entrance had not gone unnoticed. Sauron's attention snapped to the two warriors and Aragorn forced himself to move, inch by hard-won inch, toward Anduril.

Sauron was laughing as he held the two in thrall. "Fools, all!" he thundered. "Did you think by destroying my Ring you could unmake me? I cannot be unmade!" He laughed again, a chilling sound, and beckoned to Tanathel. "Come to me, child. You were taught my arts and should prove useful."

"I was taught the killing ways of my father's people, but they are not who I am," she spat back. "I am a Ranger of Ithilien, and a servant of the King. I would sooner bed down with a snake than take up with the likes of you." A spate of vile-sounding Haradrim came from her lips, only to fall suddenly silent as she clutched her throat and fought to breathe.

Boromir had caught the slight movement near the wall and fought to keep Sauron's attention fixed elsewhere. "You're killing her!" he shouted, trying to force his way forward, only to cry out in agony as flames appeared to race over his skin.

Tanathel had fallen to the ground, both hands at her throat. Sauron gestured and she was suddenly able to breathe once more, and looked up at him, her hatred evident. She closed her ears to Boromir's screams; she could do nothing to help him yet. "Release Boromir," she demanded raggedly. "Release him, and I will come to you full willing." Eru, let this work!

Boromir was released from the spell, patently unharmed, though he seemed unconscious. No burns decorated his skin, though the heat had been intense. "Come to me, assassin child," Sauron all but purred. Tanathel moved forward slowly, inching her way toward the dais and the being of Evil who lurked there. Closer, closer; until she was standing within a finger's reach. She stood there, defiant, her dark eyes glaring hatred, and suddenly, her arm moved. The punching blade stopped a hair's breadth from Sauron's face. "Fool!" he snarled. "Die!"

A great roar of rage from behind caught his attention and he turned, only to find Aragorn had recovered Anduril and much of his strength. The King of the West was on the attack and Sauron had to backpedal to avoid the slashing blade. He lifted a hand to stop Aragorn…

…and Tanathel's dagger found his back. He turned to her, and Boromir's blade barred his path. He was assailed on all sides, his attention split between the three and the damage Tanathel had inflicted on Saruman's body. He grasped the Ranger by the throat, lifting her clear of the floor, intending to use her as a shield against the other two. She kicked and flailed, to no avail. Her struggles were growing weaker by the second.

An arrow's shaft seemed to sprout from Saruman's throat and he dropped the near-dead Ranger to bring both hands into play, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Then Anduril cleaved the head from Saruman's body. A great cry went up, sending shivers down their spines, and a wind blew through the Hall, then all was silent.

Aragorn looked up from where he had sprawled to find Faramir standing in the doorway, another arrow nocked and ready. He nodded his heartfelt thanks to his Steward and then rose, making his unsteady way toward Tanathel, to join Boromir at her side.

"She's alive," Boromir reported, relief flooding his words. He, too, was weak from Sauron's torture, and his breath came in ragged gasps. "I don't think she's badly hurt. Not all of this blood appears to be hers."

Aragorn simply nodded once again and forced himself to rise as Faramir came to his aid. "Hannon lle, mellon-nin," he said softly as he leaned on the other man for support. "We must tell our people that it is over."

TBC