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 Ten
Two days of hard riding later found them near to the garrison, but not near enough. Boromir drew up sharply, signaling a halt. "Mauhar, check that out," he said as he soothed his mount. Ohtar danced beneath him, the warhorse clearly sensing something amiss. Beside him, Tanathel whispered to her own mount, patting it gently on the neck and trying to calm him.
Mauhar charged back, his face set in angry lines. "It's Lethwin, my lord. He was riding toward us when he was struck down; I doubt he reached the garrison."
Boromir's gaze was caught by a wisp of low-lying cloud, and his brow furrowed. Then his nose caught up with his eyes and he understood why Ohtar was nervous. Smoke!
Another rider approached, making no effort to conceal his passage. He crested the hill and drew in sharply, giving his horse a much needed respite from the harsh pace. "My lord!" he cried as he reeled in his saddle.
Boromir spurred forward, grasping the man as he began to fall. "Galen! See to him." He dismounted once the man was in the hands of his healer, and remained close. Tanathel went to the top of the rise and schooled her expression quickly, though Boromir had seen the dismay cross her face. "What is it, Lieutenant?" he demanded as he turned back to the wounded man.
Tanathel didn't turn. Her voice was strong, though her news was terrible. "The garrison is burning. There are Haradrim everywhere, and Mumaks crossing the border. They'll overrun this position in a matter of hours."
Boromir didn't hesitate. "Mauhar, you and Galen take this man back to the City. Turn the column when you reach it. We'll leave no supplies for the Haradrim to use. The rest of us will delay them all we can, but the King must be warned. Go."
Mauhar grasped Boromir's forearm and Tanathel swung down from her mount, leading him forward. "Take my horse," she said simply. "Wind Dancer is swift, and he will go until he drops to see you safe. He will carry both of you safely back to Minas Tirith."
Mauhar nodded his head in thanks and mounted, taking the wounded man up before him in the saddle. He and Galen then spurred away, leaving the rest watching.
"Form up!" Boromir shouted even as he remounted. He held a hand down for Tanathel to grasp. "His horse is done in, and Mauhar's is not much better or you wouldn't have sent Dancer," he said grimly. "I need you in this fight."
She took his hand without question, climbing aboard behind him, and Boromir whirled his mount to face his men, his sword drawn. "You are soldiers of Gondor, the finest warriors imaginable! There is no enemy too strong, no challenge too great, no battle too big! You are strong, as strong as the very foundations of Gondor herself! We will fight this enemy, and we will emerge victorious!" He turned Ohtar to face the enemy, moving forward at a trot to the top of the rise, to show the Haradrim they were unafraid. He halted his men and they took in the scene.
Two mighty Mumaks stood to the east of the garrison's wall, determinedly pulling it down, stone by stone. The Haradrim were in ranks, close by the building itself, as though in review. Boromir raised his sword in salute. "Form up the line!" A few moments later, when he knew his men were in line behind him, he raised the blade again. "For Gondor!"
Together, they sprang forward, hooves thundering across the ground, the cries of the soldiers deafening even in the openness of the plains. "Gondor! For Gondor!"
The Haradrim were quick to react, though not as quickly as necessary. Boromir's men were on them before they could arm.
Tanathel launched herself from Ohtar's back with a bloodcurdling scream. She rolled, coming up with both blades in play, dancing, whirling, dealing death in the ways of her father's people. Her blades flashed in the sun and Boromir forced his attention back to the enemy.
The battle was fierce, and many men lay dying as it moved ever closer to the outpost. Boromir took a quick head count as the Mumaks finally came about, ready to trample anyone in their path. The count was not reassuring; more of his men lay upon the field, either dead or badly wounded, than the enemy. And where was Tanathel? He wheeled Ohtar again, rage welling up inside him, and raised his sword once more in defiance. "For Gondor!" He spurred forward, darting under one of the enormous creatures to slash at its legs, hoping to hamstring the beast and bring it down.
The Mumak gave a great trumpet and limped around, intending to stamp out this annoying insect that harried it, but Boromir was faster. He kept himself underneath it, striking at the legs whenever he could. Eventually the monster had to go down. Surely it couldn't take much more!
A spear seemed to sprout from the creature's leg and Boromir whipped around, searching for the source. Tanathel stood upon the wall of the fortress, more spears near her. "Get out of there!" she cried as she hefted another. She drew back as Boromir reined aside, darting out from under the beast and racing for the relative safety of the fortress.
The spear ran home into the Mumak's eye and it gave a roar of pain before crashing to the ground. The other one had been brought down by the remaining cavalry and the Haradrim quickly disarmed or killed. Boromir pulled up next to them, breathing heavily from the exertion. "Take them into the stockade," he ordered. "Mithlan, get some men to work on that wall. I want it shored up before nightfall." He gave a critical glance around to the battlefield, his heart heavy at the toll of the dead. "Nallis, take the rest of the men, get the wounded inside where they can be treated." Finally he allowed himself to relax and the number of small hurts he had taken began to make themselves felt. Nevertheless, he would see his men treated first, as always.
Tanathel greeted him just inside the wall, taking Ohtar's reins and leading the big roan to a waiting trough. "It isn't poisoned," she stated simply. "I checked." She gave him a critical glance as she allowed the stallion to drink his fill. "You need a healer."
"After the men are seen to." Boromir watched as the others began to file in, as the repair work on the wall began. "You're not completely unscathed yourself. You're covered in blood. Is any of it yours?" He had one completely wretched moment at the thought, but pushed it aside quickly. "Or are you going to tell me this is nothing?" He laid one gloved finger against a cut on her cheek.
"It is nothing," she said softly as she moved away, leading Ohtar toward the stable area. "We've few men left, and no horses save yours," she reported bluntly. "If they regroup, we won't hold until the infantry arrives."
"We've supplies enough to sit out a long siege, and you say the water is safe. We should be safe enough here for a couple of days until the infantry arrives. We simply sit tight and use what archers we have on the walls. We also have catapults. I don't understand why it wasn't held in the first place."
"We don't know what happened before we got here," she replied tartly as she dipped a square of cloth in a bucket of clean water. "Now come here so I can wash some of the blood off you and see what's yours."
"Leave off, will you? I can wash myself." There was a petulant note to his voice that he didn't like, so he smiled to take some of the sting from his words. "Use that on your cheek. Yes, much better. Deep, but it will give you a roguish look."
Tanathel snorted at him. "Looks like they've brought in the wounded. They're closing what's left of the gate." She gestured toward the opening. "We need to find something to brace that before nightfall, too, or this will be over before it begins." She straightened up. "I'll look in on the wounded. You get cleaned up a bit or they'll think you're the walking dead."
She clapped him on the shoulder and walked away, and he was left wondering why the feel of her touch lingered… and why he had enjoyed that brief contact so very much.