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-Seven
Tanathel forced her expression to be composed as she went about saddling Wind Dancer and getting the leading rein on Tesoro. She would not leave the stallion in the City; he was hers by right.
Possible destinations crowded her mind and she forced herself to think clearly through the shock. Her mother... no, that wouldn't do. Her mother would weep, wail, and in general wonder where she had gone wrong with such a wayward, headstrong child. And she couldn't very well go to Boromir, since he must remain in the City and she could not. Where to go? Somewhere she could count on the horses being well-kept and tended.
Not Rohan, though that would be the obvious choice. No, Rohan was too far away for what she was even now planning. She knew she was risking imprisonment at the very least; but if her King could not protect himself, she would be there to do it. She would just have to keep herself very well hidden.
Where to take the horses? The problem was a knotty one, and she was running out of time. Abruptly she spun, hand on her dagger. "Corvin, you shouldn't sneak up on people," she said firmly.
"You can take the horses to my family's home, if you like," he said softly as he began to help her check the packing. "They've always had horses, and would treat them well. They'd even let you stay if you want." The boy was clearly upset, but whether from anger or sorrow she couldn't tell. "Tanathel, what could you have done to make the King so angry? I thought he was your friend."
"He is my friend, Corvin. But he is also my King, and I should not have spoken so to him, no matter the provocation. The fault is mine, not his." And she had every intention of making things right. The pieces of this puzzle were starting to fit together in her mind, and she was quite disturbed at the emerging picture. How had she allowed herself to insult them so? Granted, her temper was hot, but she usually had no difficulty controlling it. It was her lack of control that appalled her now. "Will you take me to your family?"
Corvin shook his head and gave a low whistle. A younger boy came out of the shadows and Corvin nodded to him. "I've the duty tonight, but Declan will. He's my brother." He gave her an impulsive hug and took off, leaving her and Declan alone.
Declan grinned up at her, his missing front teeth giving him an endearing appearance. "Cor says you're good people, miss, so we'll help. Let's get you to the farm so you can get settled." He took Tesoro's lead and began to walk, and Tanathel was astonished at the ease with which the slight boy managed the stallion. Tesoro was no tame mount; yet he followed Declan as meekly as if he'd been a child's pony.
The sight reassured her and stiffened her resolve. "Declan," she said softly as she added Wind Dancer's reins to his hands. "I need to be in the city. I need to find the one who is causing the King all this pain. It will be dangerous for me, and you're to have no part of that danger. If anyone asks, you took my horses home for me and I was to follow later. Can you do that for me? I will not ask you to lie for me; if you are asked outright if I remained in the City, you must tell the truth. Do you understand?"
He nodded agreement. "But you'll need help. You'll have to have food, and water. I can bring it to you if you want. Nobody pays much attention to me, I'm still too little to count."
"You're never too little," she reassured him. "I'll find food and water, never fear. For now, all I need from you is to tend my horses. When this is over, I will give you three gold pieces if their care has been good. Is that fair?"
The boy nodded and she spat on her palm, holding it out to him. He did the same and they sealed the bargain. "Now then, take them home and if anyone asks, tell the truth. I told you I would be there before dawn."
He nodded again and set off down the streets toward the gate, both horses docile and obedient. Tanathel spared a moment more to marvel over the sight and then ducked back into the stable. The entrance to the tunnels was close; if she could just get through it unseen...
She darted through the doorway and pulled it closed behind her, making quick work of lighting the torch that had been left nearby. This was going to be difficult; the tunnels were no longer uninhabited. Many of Gimli's fellows had remained in Minas Tirith; she would have to avoid them as well as everyone else. Her own troops included.
Her troops. No longer were they hers; she had been stripped of rank and privilege and sent into what amounted to exile. It mattered not that she had only been sent from the city and not Gondor herself. She was an exile.
That was all well and good. But her King had need of her; and she was starting to understand just what was happening. The Aragorn she knew so well would never have passed such a sentence upon her for mere words. Something in those words was the key to this. She just had to find it.
Quickly she doused the torch; she had heard the voices coming nearer. She faded backward into a dark niche to listen.
"I don't understand it," Mauhar was saying quietly. "It isn't like the King to exile someone for insulting him. Granted, he did it to Cirin, but there was more to it than just insults. I just don't understand it."
"We're not meant to understand, Mauhar," Daethlin explained patiently. "We just do what we're told. And until I get orders to the contrary, I'm still going to search down here. Something is wrong and we need to find it."
Good. Her men (she could not stop thinking of them as such) were taking their responsibilities to heart. If anyone could find the spot of darkness that dared to invade Minas Tirith, they would. But she would continue to search on her own, as well.
Despair washed over her. Even if she found what they were seeking, she had no way to report. If she was seen, she would be taken into custody immediately and after their shouting match, she doubted Aragorn would wish to listen to anything she had to say.
Her feeling of hopelessness doubled, then doubled again. She almost cried out from the force of it before she was able to control the response. Aragorn, too, had suffered from this despair, this chilling knowledge that all was coming to ruin, that there was no hope left. But what was causing it?
Despair. Eowyn, too, had suffered from despair, until Aragorn had drawn her back from that deadly path. Aragorn's despair threatened to take his life. Her own despair was threatening to take her very sanity.
Threatening? She must have lost her mind to have remained in the City. Aragorn had shown enough goodwill to allow her time to leave; he had not exiled her from Gondor herself; why had she not taken the offered compromise and left?
Her heart offered her the answer that her mind could not. There was a threat to her King, her friend, and she would deal with it accordingly. No matter the consequences to herself. The answer was close, so close... yet she could not see it.
She moved off down the tunnel, taking care not to be seen.
Aragorn struggled once more against the despair that seemed determined to control him. What had possessed him to so punish Tanathel for speaking the truth? The voice that had delivered her sentence had been his own, but the words were not. Yes, he was furious with her for daring to insult Arwen in such a fashion, but not so enraged that he had failed to see the truth in her words.
He had been shocked, yes, but that had certainly been her intent. And the shock had helped him to focus for a moment, until something had overwhelmed him and taken control. Someone. He was no longer in control of himself, of his emotions, of his actions.
He could hear Arwen's gentle tones in the back of his mind, hear her offering encouragement and support, offering strength to fight this evil. It was no longer enough. Despair and grief washed over him once more, tearing at his heart, his mind, his very body. Yet he understood now, understood that this grief was not his own, it was being forced upon him by another. He grieved for Arwen, yes, he missed her with every fiber of his being, and yet he had accepted her loss. She was not truly gone from him. Her spirit lingered to give him strength.
Step by step, he fought this unseen menace, and yet he was unable to keep himself from moving ever forward. Something else touched his senses and he fought all the more; someone was following him. Would they be of assistance or were they part of this dark design? He did not know, and the uncertainty added to his frustration.
And yet, a small spark of hope grew that this unseen follower could be of help to him, even as Arwen's words grew in strength and power; but still his feet moved forward and he could not resist the compulsion. It carried him on, to whatever this dark enemy intended...
Boromir caught himself just before he could slam the door to his apartments. Damn the woman, how could she have gotten into so much trouble in the short amount of time he'd been out of the City? It defied belief.
His anger at the both of them had done a fair job of dispelling the sorrow his journey had caused; but it was certainly not his preferred method of working through it. He had expected to come home to his apartment, change, and find Tanathel to share his grief with; and instead the bloody wench had managed to get herself banished from the City! And what was more, the reasoning behind it was questionable, at least if the accounts he was hearing were correct. Aragorn might fly off in a fury if Arwen were insulted, indeed, he had, but never before had that been a crime punishable by exile.
Enough of this. He would get the story from the horse's mouth, so to speak. A visit to his King was in order, both to report back and to get to the bottom of this mysterious fit of temper.
It took little enough time to make his way to the King's Apartments. He waited only a moment before rapping firmly upon the panel to announce his presence, idly noting that there was not even a page on duty. The thought gave him pause and he waited only a moment before opening the door a crack to listen for sounds of life.
The silence was deafening. He inched his way further in, his unease rapidly escalating toward anxiety. There should be some indication that his King was in residence; it was late. "Aragorn?" he called loudly. Where could the man be?
A swift yet thorough search of the area failed to reveal Aragorn's hiding place and now Boromir was genuinely concerned. How, and more importantly, why had Aragorn chosen to disappear? If he had gone of his own free will.
Quickly he summoned those men he knew he could trust, though few of those were to be found, either. Had the whole Citadel taken leave of their senses? What was happening?
He issued orders for a discreet search in all the usual places, and a few not-so-usual ones. What had happened? Was it connected somehow to Tanathel's banishment?
He would find no answers here. Tanathel had been given a mission prior to her exile. He would start there, with her men. And if he was lucky, he would find her and get the truth of the matter from her directly.
He hadn't far to go before he encountered Mauhar and Daethlin, both hurrying toward him with concern writ large on their faces. "Sir, we were to report to the Captain, but... you need to see this." They led him to a small room nearby, on the same level as the King's apartments, and yet so apparently unused that it had been overlooked.
The doors were ajar, and the room was darkened, yet a single candle burned near the balcony and several more upon the ledge. Black candles they were, and the flames burned low, as though they themselves wished to be unseen. "We saw them from below, sir, that's how we knew what we were looking for was up here. Nobody uses these apartments. And we found these, too." Mauhar led Boromir to a small table near the back wall.
Upon it rested a mirror, and a large, flat bowl of inky liquid. "Captain told us to find signs of spellcraft," Daethlin explained as he gave everything a fearful look. "The candles, the bowl, the mirror... they all speak of dark wizardry to me. And look here." He gestured to a saucer at the very edge of the table, poised as if to fall. Residing within was a link from a fine mithril chain, of the sort that held the Evenstar about the King's neck, and a tiny bit of a familiar fur-lined cloak.
A gasp from the window drew his attention and he went quickly to see what had drawn Mauhar's attention. A cry of mingled rage and horror tore from his throat at the sight; his friend, his brother, his King stood in the highest window of the Tower of Ecthelion, both feet upon the sill.
TBC