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-One

(South Gondor)

Faramir watched his brother unobtrusively as the day wore on. Oh, Boromir was attending to his duties as Captain-General well enough, as well as he always had; but there was a restlessness about him that spoke volumes to the younger Hurin. It was hard to hide the grin that threatened to break through whenever he thought of what he'd witnessed in the stables. Nothing untoward, of course, or he'd have had to address the issue. No, it had merely been the sound of hearts breaking all through the White City. Boromir had finally met his match.

And from the look of things, it was quite a match. Tanathel certainly had been a more than willing participant in that kiss; the problem now facing Faramir was one he wasn't certain he wanted to face. His brother had a certain… reputation… with the ladies, but it wasn't the ladies of the court and Faramir wasn't quite sure he'd ever given the matter any thought. He would quite probably need some lessons on the finer points of courting.

Then again… Tanathel certainly wasn't shy. If she didn't like something, she let one know in no uncertain terms. And she certainly wasn't very ladylike, either, not when she was in full soldier dress. Resolutely he tabled his temptation to interfere and turned his attention back where it belonged.

The sentries on the wall had all told him the same thing; there was an enormous amount of activity in the Haradrim encampment. Nothing specific had been mentioned, but Faramir was uneasy. It could be nothing. It probably was nothing. But the increased activity wasn't a good sign.

He didn't move when Boromir joined him at the map table. "It isn't looking good, Faramir," he said simply. "Whatever Alajahado's beliefs are, whatever his code of honor, I don't think they will wait much longer to move." He dropped down in the seat opposite his little brother and gazed at him expectantly.

Faramir nodded agreement. "No, I think you're right. It's what their move will be that concerns me." He narrowed his eyes slightly as he regarded the Captain-General. "I've seen that look before. I've forgotten something important, haven't I?" He cast his mind back frantically over the past few hours.

"You never forget anything, Fara-mine," Boromir chided gently. "But the situation has changed. You are not only still in command, you will remain so." He held up a hand to still the impending outburst. "Hear me out! Aragorn named you as his Heir, little brother. Because he has faith in you, in your ability to lead. I have the same faith. But you must command here, and not I. It is not only your right, as Crown Prince, it is your duty." He softened his voice slightly. "All of our lives, you have felt inadequate next to me. Our father encouraged that feeling, for whatever reason. And I say to you now, that Aragorn would never have entrusted the future of Gondor to anyone incapable of defending her in every way. You have showed your steel to these Haradrim; you have showed it to me. Now you must show it to yourself."

Faramir turned his gaze out the window for a moment, needing the time to compose himself. It was true, that he had been in his brother's shadow since almost before he could remember, placed there by their father for whatever mad reason he had held. And after Boromir's untimely death during the Quest, he had found his strength somehow, almost as though his brother still watched over him from beyond the veil. Always he had drawn on Boromir's support to do what needed to be done; and now, as ever, that support was freely given. He turned back, mischief glinting in his blue eyes.

"We'll consider that settled for the moment," he said nonchalantly. "But you are in command of this outpost, Boromir, and I'll hear no argument on that point." How to bring up the subject of Tanathel? He couldn't resist such an excuse to tease his brother, and it appeared nothing was going to occur in the next few minutes anyway. "You've been a bit distracted today." Gently, gently… and then move in for the kill when Boromir took the bait. He sternly redirected the grin that threatened to appear into a thoughtful, concerned expression.

Boromir laughed heartily. "Oh, no, you don't," he shot back smoothly as he waggled a finger at his brother. "I know perfectly well it was you who gave us such a discreet warning." He couldn't help it. He knew he was grinning foolishly, but did nothing to school his expression. "Though I wish you would have waited one moment longer." His face reddened; he was acting the schoolboy again. Eru, what was wrong with him? Never before had he allowed anything to delay a message or mission for Gondor's sake.

Faramir could no longer hold in his laughter. It was so priceless, watching the big dunce so steadfastly refusing to see what Faramir had known for weeks, since the night he had found them in the Silver Trumpet Tavern. He was missing Tanathel, it was obvious. Well, obvious to him, anyway. He folded his arms over his stomach to try and control his mirth, though he feared it was a futile exercise. "Indeed, I imagine you do," he managed to choke out. And yes, he recognized that lost, dazed expression his brother wore all too well; it was the one he'd worn when he first encountered Eowyn. "It's not anything wrong, Boromir," he squeezed out between chortles. "Or rather, it is, and that's why you are so confused." He couldn't keep his face straight, though, and started in again while Boromir gave him a disdainful glare.

"Why don't you enlighten me, little brother," he growled. He was in no mood to be the brunt of Faramir's jest; there was an ache inside him that simply refused to be quieted. He missed Tanathel, missed her with every fiber of his being. He feared for her safety, although he knew her to be a crack shot and an excellent swordswoman. There were beings out there that would laugh at her skills, however, and he fretted.

Faramir sobered himself quickly at the peevish note in Boromir's voice. Time to pay the piper, he supposed. "You miss her." It was a simple statement.

Boromir came to his feet in a rush, all his pent-up frustrations sending him on a circuit of the room, ending him up in front of the window where he could clearly see the northward road beyond the gates. "Yes. I miss her." The admission seemed to take some of the fight out of him; he hitched himself onto the window ledge and looked out. "Eru's Blood, Fara, you sent her alone!"

"Yes." Faramir came to his own feet, crossing to stand near his brother, yet not too near. "And so would you have done, were you thinking as her commander and not as a suitor."

Boromir itched to shove that too-knowing smirk down his brother's throat, but he suppressed the urge. Barely. Fara was right. He needed to clear his mind if they were going into battle; and from the look of things, it could come to that. His worry for Tanathel he tucked down deep inside his heart; the ache he felt at her absence right along with it. Time enough later to deal with all these strange new feelings she had provoked in him. Duty first, as it would ever have to be.

"You never truly get used to it," Faramir said softly. "I died a thousand deaths when Eowyn rode to Rohan, fearful that she would be slain on the way and I would not know. A thousand more when I realized she was with the host before the Gates of the City. But if you truly love her, you won't try to change her into something she isn't. It wasn't any simpering miss of the Court who stole your heart, Boromir. It was a warrior maid, and you would have her no other way."

Boromir had stiffened his posture and now leaned a bit further out. "We'll talk more of this later, Fara," he announced as he headed for the door. "They're moving closer. And I see no white flag."

Tanathel reined in when the darkness made it foolish to try and continue. She wouldn't risk her horse in unknown terrain, not at full speed. She allowed Tesoro to walk forward as he would, while she searched the surrounding foliage for a likely campsite.

Finding one was a relief. She was an able rider, to be sure. But from dawn to full dark in the saddle would make even the most stoic of men wish for a comfortable bed. She sank onto the grass with a grateful sigh after tending Tesoro and making sure he was fed. Paradise, to sit on something not moving!

Unfortunately, stopping for the night also gave her time to think. Boromir had kissed her. Boromir had kissed her. More than once her fingers strayed to her lips, as though she could still feel his breath mingling with hers. Gods above and below, what was wrong with her? She had a duty to do, a message to deliver. She could not allow herself to be distracted like this!

Her sense of urgency doubled, then tripled, making sleep impossible. Something was very wrong. But at the outpost, or in the City? She had to be certain.

She crept cautiously onto the road, soft and silent, and then stood straight and cursed viciously as she bolted back toward Tesoro. The southern sky behind her was alight with flames.

She should go back. One sword might turn the tide; but what of her orders?

Only for one fleeting moment did she truly consider returning to lend her sword. One blade might turn the battle; but it would not win the war. Faramir had ordered her to the City. Boromir had ordered her to protect the King. She could not fail them.

Tesoro seemed to sense her urgency; he danced in place as she readied herself to ride, and launched himself forward with renewed vigor before she was truly seated.

"Amin dele ten' lle." The soft Elvish of the phrase was enough to wake him again, and Aragorn groaned at the darkness that still met his now open eyes. He couldn't have been asleep for very long.

Not long at all, he realized as he rose and again went to the balcony. He settled onto his chaise there and gazed up at the stars, certain he was losing his sanity. To hear Arwen's voice, to feel her so near, it had become a torment to him; and yet he wished always to keep her close to him. Madness.

He drifted, not quite asleep, not quite awake. Memories unfolded, each one less pleasant than the last. Arwen, rousing him from slumber because she had heard something. Arwen, drawing Gwemegil and throwing herself at the men near her children's beds. Arwen, seeing the still and silent way her children lay, allowing her grief to swell into a killing rage and taking many of the intruders into death before Aragorn had also launched himself across the room into the battle. Arwen, taking the vicious strikes without flinching, heedless of the wounds she was receiving, until the final blow cut her throat. Arwen, still and cold, her eyes still wide with shock as he cradled her now lifeless form to him and wept bitter tears.

He jerked himself awake again, driving away the pain in the only way he knew how. He carried himself back inside and into his study, intending to go over some of the petitions he had received.

Pain filled his heart, his mind, his very spirit so completely that he cried out from the force of it. His grief had not lessened; it had merely been biding its time to take him at his weakest. He never made it to his desk; it sent him to his knees, weeping and weakened. His grief was no less for the silence of it; he allowed no sound to pass his lips. His fingers found the Evenstar, still on its chain round his neck, and he wept anew at all that had been taken from him.

A flicker of light caught his eye and he sighed heavily, his interest captured despite the weight that held him on his knees. He turned the charm over in his hands, watching it with silent wonder. The metal had been dull, tarnished, and lifeless, as lifeless as Arwen who now was one with the trees she had so loved; but there seemed to be the barest hint of glimmer to it tonight, when she was near in his heart.

He had heard her say she was worried about him, and passed it off as wishful thinking. Yet the tiniest gleam now lay on the charm, and he heard her speak again. "Le ú-nach erui."

Grief faded to wonder as he turned the words over in his mind, and then crashed back stronger than before. It wasn't possible. He wasn't hearing her. Her voice had been stilled forever. She could not be telling him anything. "You will never be alone." It was a lie. He was alone, alone as he had always been.

But the tiniest glimmer remained in the Evenstar…

TBC