Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or settings used in this fic; they belong to JRR Tolkien and New Line Cinema, and we should all praise them with great praise for creating a wonderful world for us to play in.

Dedications: To Ithil-valon, for tireless beta-reading and endless brainstorming. You are wonderful, mellon-nin, and never forget it. I owe you a LOT. Also for Evendim, who first gave me hope that my writing in this fandom wasn't totally horrible, and gave me enormous delight with her own AU series. Thank you, and thank you for gracious permission to play in your playground. And last, but not least, to my darling AJ, without whom my writing would never have seen the light of day. You give me courage, hon, and I love you for it.

Author's Notes: THIS STORY IS SET IN AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. That means that some facts, features, and faces will differ slightly from canon. This story is the second in hopefully a long series, beginning with "Revolution and Retribution." You don't necessarily need to read that one to understand this, but it will help enormously.

To All My Dedicated Reviewers: Thank you so much for making "Revolution and Retribution" so much fun to write! I hope you will all enjoy this tale as well.

Chapter Three

Corvin stepped into the Council Chamber silently and kept to the rear wall, watching as everyone took their seats. He remained in the shadows until the roll was being called and stepped forward purposefully. "The Captain-General's apologies, but he will not be attending Council today. What message shall I take in return, my lords?"

Aragorn gave the boy a curious glance. "And do you know what ails the Captain-General?" he asked quietly. It must be something serious, for Boromir would never lightly disregard his king's commands. "Is he ill?"

"No, your Highness," Corvin answered politely. "But he has taken Lieutenant Tanathel to the Infirmary, and I believe he wishes to wait until she has been tended."

"Give my regards to Boromir and ask that he attend me at his earliest convenience," Aragorn replied. He waited only until the boy had departed to turn his attention back to his assembled Council. Many seats were vacant, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Those would need to be filled, but it remained to be seen how many of Gondor's loyal nobles remained. The toll the fighting had taken on his City was still being tallied; but at least the dead had been laid to rest. The final list of the dead was still being written. "Now, gentlemen, what business is there that must be handled today?"

Daerlin stood and spoke briskly. "I believe our first consideration should be this lieutenant of whom you speak so highly, Sire." His words conveyed both courtesy and a measure of hostility. "I am uncertain of the wisdom of encouraging this woman."

"And do you refer to the fact that she is female, Daerlin, or that she is Haradrim?" Aragorn kept the tone light, but he was going to find out what was going on here. "If you question her loyalty, I would lay that question to rest. She had every opportunity while we were in the wild to do away with me, and none the wiser. Her loyalty to me is unquestionable."

"Actually, my lord, I do not question her loyalty. The fact that she is Haradrim does disturb me, but that is because we have fought them for so long. It is of no matter." He cast his gaze at the table, as though gathering strength, and then gave his king a direct gaze. "But to encourage her as a warrior is folly. She should be honored, yes, but perhaps a ceremonial position would suit her more clearly."

"Folly, you say?" Aragorn rose, carefully keeping his face blank. "Was it folly that my Steward saw her worth and sent her to protect me in the wild? Was it folly that she allowed Saruman to torture her, in an attempt to conceal my return to Gondor? Was it folly that she fought her way, inch by inch, into the very Hall of Kings to help me regain my throne?" He allowed the barest hint of his fury to show. "Would you say also that it is folly to allow Boromir to return to his post as Captain-General? Nay, I see in your eyes that you do not. And have you decided that I have taken leave of my senses? Again, I see not. Then allow me my whims, Daerlin. I have awarded her commission, I have placed her as I see fit. Next order of business, please."

Another man stood then, Cirin. "The next order of business, Your Highness, should perhaps be discussion of your Heir. It is acceptable for Lord Faramir to stand as Heir, temporarily. But when might we expect to see a true heir?"

Aragorn rocked back on his heels, stunned by the question. How dare they question his decision? He wished Faramir were present, but he'd detailed his Steward to investigate some rumors that had the sound of truth, rumors that did not sit well with Aragorn, rumblings of war to the South. He tried to rein in his anger, but it flared white-hot in his chest, resisting all attempts to bring it under control. One thought kept beating at him: How dare he?

His hands went flat against the table with a solid thunk. His face was stark in his fury; his features appeared etched from some ancient stone. "How dare you?" he stormed, his words clipped and precise even in his rage. "My decision is final. There will be no other in Arwen's place! Faramir will stand as my Heir, now, and at the hour of my death. It is not open to negotiation or even discussion. I will never put another in Arwen's place."

He strode angrily from the chamber, hardly caring where his steps took him in his wrath.

(The Academy Infirmary)

Tanathel heard nothing of the discussions taking place over her bed; she wandered in the past, thinking of her father.

"You must not grip the blade so tightly, child. It should be an extension of your hand. You have practiced the killing move, now use the katana as a part of you."

"But Papa, it doesn't work!" the child she had been complained. "The blade is too heavy!"

"It will get lighter, Tanathel, I promise you. Now, do it again. And again. Keep practicing until you get it right. You must know these things, child, to defend your mother if I am called away."

Fragments of memory danced in her fever-trapped mind and she moaned, unable to escape.

"Focus, girl!" Her father's voice rang with authority. "You will never learn if you do not focus! All Haradrim learn to fight, Tanathel. Would you disgrace me by not learning? Focus!"

"Get up. Your whole body is a weapon, Tanathel. You must learn how to use it as one."

"Good, good! You have an excellent eye. Archery will be your best skill, other than the quiet killing. With that, you have made me proud. Keep practicing the sword, girl, and I will be most proud."

She moaned again, a hopeless, lost sound, and the watchers glanced at each other worriedly. "The wound festers, my lord, regardless of the treatments I try," Calas said softly. "I have even tried the athelas leaves, but I fear I have not the knack with them."

"Athelas," Boromir murmured as he gently stroked the hair back from Tanathel's brow. "What then remains to be done?"

"Nothing, my lord. I am afraid it will have to come off. The infection is too far spread." Calas turned sad eyes to his friend. "Understand that I would not lightly undertake such a mutilation, Boromir. But I feel it is the only way to keep her alive."

"Leave us, Calas," Boromir replied with some asperity. "I will make the decision. Go, and eat something. You've labored here without rest or food, so go and refresh yourself. If I allow you to undertake this, you will need your strength." He watched the man leave, his own heart heavy in his chest. If this wound could fester so, how much more the raw flesh of a stump? No, there had to be another way!

"Tanathel, wake up," he urged as his hand rested on her hair. "You must wake up!" But she gave him no hint that she had heard him, locked in her memories.

A thought occurred to him and he went to the door, calling for a page. "Corvin, good. What was the king's response?"

"That you were to attend him at your earliest convenience, but I don't know if you can, sir. He stormed out of the Council Chamber shortly after, headed who knows where." Corvin looked a little disturbed; he'd always known the king as an even-tempered man. To see him storm off in a fury was highly unusual.

"Corvin, listen very carefully. You have to find him, and when you do, bring him here." He had helped Eowyn, brought her back from the very brink of death. Perhaps he could do the same for Tanathel; it was the last viable option Boromir could see. "Tell him the healers want to remove Tanathel's leg. I won't let that happen."

Corvin took in the message, his eyes wide. This was a very important duty! "Of course, sir. Don't you let them hurt her like that, sir, please! She promised to teach me archery when I was older, whether I made the Academy or not." He scurried away, determined not to fail.