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 Twenty

(South Gondor Outpost)

Boromir stepped into the Mess in the small hours of the morning, the chill having finally driven him from the wall. Eru, but this place was cold at night!

"You'll catch your death if you don't get something warm inside you," Faramir said clearly from across the room. "Or at least wear your cloak."

Boromir settled on the bench opposite his brother, mug in hand. "And what are you doing up?" he asked softly as he drained the stew. He made a face. "With all the supplies at hand here, they had to make it taste vile," he grumbled good-naturedly.

"Of course it's vile. It's scout rations. If you want food, you'll have to wait until breakfast." Faramir had to fight the urge for everything to be as it once was with his brother as he grinned across the table. They had not truly had a chance to talk much since Boromir's rather spectacular return from death; and now Faramir was forced to consider that there was more to that than met the eye. The brother he knew would never have risked himself so needlessly. They had to sort this out before it was too late. The questions remained unasked as his smile faded; he could not bring the words to his lips.

Boromir sighed heavily and regarded his mug. He knew what Faramir wanted to discuss, what he needed to discuss. Unfortunately, he had no answers. "I do not know what possessed me to make such a rash, headstrong, stupid move," he said simply. "I only know that at the time, it seemed the right thing to do. I felt it in my heart, I was so certain they would respond to the outstretched hand of friendship… and for a man who has spent most of his adult life fighting them, that is lunacy." He shook his head.

"It would seem so," Faramir murmured. "Did you never wonder why we didn't simply take you back by force?" He kept his voice bland, as though the answer mattered little. In truth, it mattered a great deal to him; it would show him whether his brother could be trusted. He knew it on a deep, almost unconscious level. "We could have destroyed their camp easily with the men I brought."

Boromir controlled a start of surprise and took refuge for a moment in his mug. "Rules of engagement," he replied automatically. "One must always give the enemy a chance to respond, even though the courtesy would not be returned. Just because the enemy is the enemy, it doesn't make them inhuman." He glanced over at Faramir, grinning. "Unless, of course, they're not human."

Faramir sat back a moment, obviously deep in thought. Just like Boromir, he mused, to take a serious question and turn it into a jest. He wondered for a moment whether he should reveal his vision, and then thrust the thought away. It seemed to have no bearing on their discussion, at least for the moment. One more test, one more seemingly unrelated question, and he would either breathe easier or have to face the unthinkable. "I must send a report to the King," he began slowly. "He will be pacing the halls by now, having heard nothing from us, wondering if we've been overrun. I would say nothing of your decision to him, if you wish."

"Are you mad?" Boromir thundered as he rose. "I will not hide from this! What I have done, I have done, and I will not hide it!" He turned away and then faced Faramir once more, his disbelief clear in his green eyes, his shock nearly palpable. "I made a mistake. A costly one. I will not add deceit to the list of crimes that lay even now at my feet! How could you even suggest such a thing?"

Faramir remained seated, his eyes never leaving the table. This, this was the Boromir he knew; be damned that he had reacted like an untried recruit and nearly gotten himself killed. "If I had not asked, I would have forever wondered if you truly were my brother," he whispered. "You would never have stood for concealing the truth, no matter who it harmed."

Finally Boromir understood what it had cost Faramir to keep such a distance between them, to have doubted him so completely. The shock was humbling, to say the least. He sank back down to the bench and reached across the table, tilting his brother's face up to his and seeing those wide blue eyes full of relief. "Ah, Puss," he said softly. "Nay, no longer a kitten. You have grown strong, little brother."

Faramir gave him a wide grin and sat back slightly to stretch his legs out completely under the table. "We respect each other, let's leave it at that," he said simply. "You need rest. You're not quite back on top form yet, though I judge with a little sleep, that will be set to rights. And we'll need clear heads to consider what to do about the bloody Haradrim just across our border. I'm still not convinced they mean to negotiate."

"If Alajahado truly means to negotiate, he will." Boromir's voice was steady. "Honor is the most important thing in their culture, Tanathel says. He gave his word we would be treated well, and we were. He returned us to you at your… request seems such a timid word for it." He was smiling, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He would not speak of his torment to his little brother, not now. Their discussion thus far had been on borrowed time; the Haradrim would call on them to honor the promise of a meeting before too many more hours had passed, he was certain of it.

Men began to trickle into the Mess and the brothers exchanged glances as they noted that time had continued its steady march while they were otherwise engaged. Dawn had come.

Tanathel came up beside them, already in her armor, her helm held carefully under one arm as she nodded acknowledgement to them. "Reporting as ordered, sir," she said firmly.

"Sit down, Lieutenant." Faramir gestured and she sank down next to Boromir. "You're to take a message to His Majesty. Give him a full report on what has happened here, and let him know that we are entering into negotiations with the Haradrim. We will return as soon as those negotiations are completed, or send word if we are unable to do so." He gave her a very pointed glance. "Need I remind you this is for Aragorn's ears only? We cannot discount the presence of spies within the City, not completely, not yet."

Tanathel nodded briskly. "Of course. I'll leave as soon as I can saddle a horse." She rose and would have collided with Nallis had he not side-stepped quickly. "My lords, there is a delegation from the Haradrim at the gate. They bear a white flag, and we could see no weapons; but they ask to speak with the lieutenant and the Captain-General."

Tanathel exchanged glances with Boromir, who only shrugged. His interest was piqued; but he hid it well. Boromir looked to Faramir, one eyebrow raised. "You are still in command, little brother," he said softly.

Faramir grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and rose, leading the way out to the gates. Three Haradrim stood just outside, their hands clutching the halters of three fine golden stallions, making no attempt to enter the compound. They bore no visible arms. Their leader stepped forward, still remaining outside the gates. "I am sent from Alajahado to Faramir, Prince of Gondor." He handed a parchment to Faramir and bowed low. "He says you read not our words, but he not write yours. Phelzhezh, woman warrior, she tell to you his words."

Tanathel took the message and scanned it, her eyes the only indication of her confusion. "He says these horses are a gift, to you, me, and Boromir. They are the finest stallions of his herd, which can trace its ancestry back to the first days of Rohan, while it was still a part of Gondor. They are gifts because his treatment of us was dishonorable and we have shown ourselves to be ghaszh, most highly honored and honorable." She raised her eyes to the others. "He says that this is in no way part of the negotiations between our countries; he does this because he has an obligation to repay our forgiveness and graciousness in allowing him to live, after dishonoring himself in such a fashion."

The messenger stepped forward again and laid the lead rope into Tanathel's fingers. "Mazh nah tomo nala Tesoro. Nazh ahknari ie bahnan." Then he stepped back to allow the others forward. Each man carefully repeated the words after giving the leads to Boromir and Faramir. Then each man in turn touched his forehead, bowed low, and departed.

Tanathel gave her new mount a scratch between his eyes, unable to look directly at the men. "Boromir, your horse is named Doronazh, Golden Wind. Faramir, you have Mizhtahl, Golden Star, and this is Tesoro, Golden Treasure." She gave the horse another rub across his muzzle. "Those were ceremonial words; no answer was needed. 'May this mount match your courage and bring wealth to your home.' This is a very generous gift." She pulled herself back from her thoughts. "I'll get him saddled and ride for Minas Tirith."

"You'll need to ride light," Boromir said as he handed Doronazh over to one of the stable boys. "I'll help you with your armor. You, Ciron, get the horse ready. Tanathel, over here." He motioned her to one of the empty stalls and started to undo the catches on her breastplate without thinking. It bought him a horrific thump on the head as she clouted him with her helm.

"I can do it myself, Boromir, I'm not helpless!" she snapped. However it was the fear in her dark eyes that convinced him he should perhaps not be too close.

He silently cursed the Haradrim again, knowing exactly what had put that terror into her and wishing desperately that he could alleviate it. A strong woman like Tanathel should have no fears, and definitely not of him. It had been quickly hidden, but he had seen it clearly just the same. He backed away, one hand raised in what he hoped was a calming fashion, the other rubbing at the rising knot on the back of his skull. "No, you are most certainly not helpless," he replied ruefully.

She quickly shrugged out of her heavy armor, leaving her leathers in place and turned to regard him, her expression quickly shifting from impatience to exasperation. "Oh, let me see it," she huffed as she drew his hand from his thick skull. "Barely even a bump. But I am sorry I hit you." She turned away to gather the rest of her gear; it was winter, she would need at least a cloak, regardless of how light she needed to be. Blanket and bedroll, a small sack of provisions, and her quiver. Her bow. Her blades. Mentally she checked each item off; she was as ready as she was going to be.

Boromir turned her to face him, giving her the room to evade him if she chose. "Apology accepted. Now never mind my head. I have additional orders for you," he said gruffly. "Stay close to Aragorn. Something in all this isn't right but I can't explain it more clearly."

She nodded in response, making no move to dislodge the hand resting on her forearm. She had felt it herself; the sudden switch in Alajahado's treatment of them, the Haradrim's sudden willingness to negotiate… she had been raised as a Haradrim, she knew the value of honor to them, but it simply didn't feel right. "Understood," she said softly. She caught his clear gaze and was unable to look away.

Boromir slowly raised his fingers from her forearm to lay them against her cheek. "There's barely a scar," he murmured. "Promise me you will be careful." What was it about her? He felt as if he were seeing her clearly for the first time.

She nodded mutely, unable to speak or look away. Desperately she tried to still her trembling knees. This was Boromir! He was her friend, he would do nothing to harm her. And it was quite natural for a friend to worry over a long journey. So why did it feel like something more?

Boromir was undone. He caught her to him, holding her tightly, yet loose enough that she could break free if she wished.

A discreet cough behind them acted as a bucket of ice water and they broke the kiss guiltily, both stunned at the force of their reaction to the other. "I have to go," she murmured as she stepped past him.

He watched as she went to Tesoro, saddled and waiting for her, watched as she took final instruction from Faramir, watched as she began to move away. Quickly he moved to the wall, returning her to his sight as swiftly as he was able. She was almost to the rise that would take her from his view when suddenly she slid Tesoro to a stop and turned toward the outpost once more.

Her blade flashed in the sun as she saluted them with it. Then she was gone, the sound of her passage fading as the day brightened. Boromir gave one last, lingering glance toward the road and then returned to his duties.

TBC