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.
Again, I would like to thank my reviewers individually; but has decided in their wisdom that such a thing just isn't done… so please, if you review, leave an address I can get back to you! Or you are more than welcome to email me directly at Thanks a bunch!
Chapter Twenty Six
Tanathel had hand-picked the men she would use in her search. All were more than familiar with the Citadel; all were good men and true. She faced them squarely, giving no sign of her own thoughts. "This must be undertaken with great secrecy," she began firmly. "Tell no one what you are about. If you are questioned, you are merely wandering. No one must know that we have mounted this search. I have no intention of losing our quarry through a careless whisper. You are seeking signs of darkness within the Citadel; it would be foolish to allow it to know it was being hunted. We must not give this darkness, man or otherwise, the chance to conceal itself once more.
"Look for signs of spellcraft, of wizardry. Do nothing when you find it; come to me in the King's apartments and report. Do nothing else. Take no unnecessary risks. This is a mission for stealth." When she was positive they understood, she dismissed them, each to his own area of the Citadel and beneath the city itself. One man lingered, and she arched an eyebrow in his direction. "What is it, Mauhar?" she asked firmly. Was he apprehensive about what she was ordering him to do?
"You will be in the King's apartments, Captain?" His eyes were hooded and she could get no hint of his thoughts from his face.
"Is it my reputation you are concerned with, my friend, or his?" she replied with a smile. Abruptly she sobered. "Oh, bollocks, Mauhar, it is for his safety! Nothing more."
"It isn't your reputation that concerns me." Mauhar kept his voice soft. "If he has been enchanted, how will you tell? How will you help him? And don't glare at me." He faced her squarely, his jaw set, and Tanathel subsided to allow him his say. "I know how well you fight. I've seen you, I helped train you at Henneth Annun. How could you help him?"
She felt her own teeth clench, but could find no fault with his argument. She was no sorceress; and a good captain would listen to her men and if she was able, calm their unease. "I do not know what he expects of me yet," she said honestly, meeting his eyes with her own. "I do know that his despair grows deeper with every moment that he is alone, that it is taking a toll on his health, on his very spirit. He does not sleep, he barely eats; if my presence can forestall another attack, then I am glad to do so."
Mauhar nodded crisply. "Then I will let you get on with it," he replied as he gripped her shoulder for a moment. "I will keep track of the others; if anything is found, you will know immediately. But be on your guard; I would hate to have to inform Lord Boromir that I allowed you to come to harm." He strode away, leaving her red-faced with embarrassment. After a moment, she gathered her wits together and left the guardroom.
Aragorn stood on his balcony, watching the setting sun with something akin to alarm. His grief, always so near, seemed to take on a life of its own when darkness shrouded the world. It tore at him, never waiting until the previous night's wounds had healed to open them anew and add more. His spirit was raw and bleeding, and he feared for his sanity should this continue much longer.
He heard the fanfare that signaled Boromir's return to the City and welcomed it. Then he chided himself for foolishness; there was no threat to his friend between Lossarnach and Minas Tirith. Would he never be able to stop searching the shadows for enemies?
A rap at his chamber door caught his attention and thankfully halted that train of thought. It couldn't be Dalan; he had dismissed the man for the remainder of the evening, and nor could it be Boromir for he had only just ridden through the Gates. Tanathel, then. He called out in welcome.
She stepped in and knelt. "Good evening, Sire," she said pleasantly as he drew her up. "What would my duties be this evening?"
"Perhaps nothing," he responded kindly. "If I have judged these... attacks... correctly, then nothing should occur much before the watch changes. However, that is not guaranteed." He gestured for her to make herself comfortable.
Tanathel settled onto an overstuffed chair with a muted sigh of contentment. It wasn't often she found such comfort; pampering herself was not one of her vices.
She gave her King an appraising look. He appeared worn, haggard; the lines in his face even deeper than when he had come to her in the darkness before dawn. "What are your orders, then, my lord?" she asked cautiously. The full weight of Mauhar's warning settled on her and she rigidly controlled her features. Her King would have no cause to doubt her ability to protect him, though she harbored a few doubts of her own. She would not be much use against wizardry.
Aragorn gave her a small smile, though the grief in his eyes struck a blow to her heart. How could anyone survive such pain? It fairly pulsed at her from where he stood across the room from her, and she again schooled her expression to give nothing away.
"The grief of her death is still fresh, as fresh as though it were mere hours from her death, not these months I have put behind me," he said softly. "I still feel her presence here, almost near enough to touch. I hear her voice; and yet I take comfort from the fact that she speaks to me through the Evenstar. She places no guilt upon me; yet I have placed much upon myself for her death." He took a deep breath, turning away from her to return to his place on the balcony. With a sigh, Tanathel followed him and took up a position to his right, near enough to lend support yet not near enough to crowd him.
Tanathel kept her own voice soft. "Grief is measured differently by everyone, Aragorn," she murmured. She had felt the subtle change in their discussion, from leader to subordinate to a conversation between friends and she welcomed it. "No one knows how long it will last, nor what form it will take. To some, it gives a touch of madness for a time, until they make peace with it; to others, it is merely a sense of loss. Why do you feel this is an attack?"
Aragorn slowly turned his gaze from the city and she recoiled slightly from the intensity of his regard. "Because I am no Elf," he said simply. "I was raised by them, I understand them; and I know how horrified Arwen would be should I actively seek death. Yet still I seem to be fading from the grief; the despair is overwhelming, and more so each day. I do not eat, I barely take enough water to survive. I cannot think, I cannot act; my very will seems separate from my body and yet both yearn to join her. And yet there is a chill about this despair, a feeling of difference that I cannot explain."
"And whose decision is it for you to waste away?" Tanathel snapped, her eyes flashing at him in the darkness. "You have told me that something outward is affecting your guilt, making it stronger, driving you to despair. Will you allow that something, that someone, to take the joy you felt in her presence, in your children's lives, and twist it to nothingness? Would you disgrace their memories in such a way?" She gestured to the Evenstar. "Would you have such a gift as this lose all meaning because you were too weak to fight against this evil that threatens you?" She stopped for breath, horrified at what she was saying to her King, but would not stop. "If you would, then you are a fool."
Aragorn made no sound. She continued grimly, unable to control her wayward tongue, no longer caring that this man was her King and due her respect. "A fool, and worse, a weak fool. If this is all you are, then I will never understand why Arwen gave up the immortality of the Elves to remain with you. She clearly came out the poorer in the bargain. You are nothing but the wretched, ragged Dunedain you have oft been accused of being. Tell me, Sire, all those years of hiding, of lurking in the shadows in the North, of avoiding your destiny, were they truly in hiding from Sauron? Or were you simply hiding from yourself?"
She clamped her mouth shut quickly, but it was far too late. Aragorn's expression was hooded, indecipherable. He took one step toward her in the darkness and she forced herself to remain still as she felt the fury radiating from him in waves. Then Aragorn seemed to come to himself for a moment, but the glare he turned on her was so full of fury that she fought not to recoil from it. "For your insults to me, I could forgive you. But to insult your Queen's honor as you have done is unforgivable. You are to remove yourself from Minas Tirith by dawn," he rasped. "You shall have little to pack. I will allow your horses and those personal belongings which do not relate to your service here. If you are found in the City after tomorrow's dawn, you will be imprisoned. Now get out."
TBC