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-Eight
Boromir was snapping orders on the fly. "Daethlin, call out the Guard! I want every exit from this city covered. No one leaves until I give the order. Mauhar, destroy this evil and gather your troop. Do a house to house search if you must, but Gríma must be found. And you must take him alive at all costs." The Worm couldn't have slithered back into the Citadel unseen, could he? When this was over, for good or ill, there must be an inquiry. Someone had helped Wormtongue; but that was for later.
He threw himself down the stairway, headed for the Tower. Would he be in time? He must be!
Aragorn stood upon the sill, looking down from the Tower of Ecthelion and though he appeared motionless and composed, his mind was furiously struggling against this evil, this darkness that would make an end of him. Arwen's voice still spoke to him through the Evenstar and he clung to it, desperately needing the strength she offered him to keep from simply stepping out into the formless night below his feet.
And what of his unseen follower? Did they mean him good or ill? He felt his foot slide forward an inch and he fought to draw it back, winning the battle for the moment though it took every ounce of his will to do so.
"Why do you resist this, Aragorn?" a voice spoke in the darkness of the Tower room. "Why do you seek to delay your return to your beloved? Surely you wish to see her again, to hold her, to be with her in flesh as well as spirit."
A flash of light in his mind helped him to remember the voice, and his foot slid back another inch as Arwen continued to weave her protections about him. Gríma! "Never would Arwen wish such a fate upon me," he snarled in reply. "My life is a gift from her. She fought and died that I might live, that I might walk upon Arda for my intended days. Never would she seek to end it as you have done." Inside, he questioned. How had Gríma become so powerful? Through his association with Saruman? Possible; and he must have had some strong power in the beginning to have so opened Théoden to Saruman's possession before the Ring War.
He felt himself losing his battle for control and still struggled. Abruptly he steadied somewhat; the pull of the abyss beneath his feet lessened and he turned, intending to drop into the room and move away from the window. There were voices below, approaching.
Gríma howled in fury at the interruption and the Black Speech began to pour from his lips, once more controlling Aragorn's movements and one foot slipped over the edge behind, putting the King off balance. "They have found my things, curse them!" Gríma raged as he moved closer. "But they still will not save you, Dunedain!"
A dagger hilt struck Gríma high upon one temple and he fell forward, one arm managing to find enough strength to give the King a final push. Aragorn tumbled backward, his fingers managing to grip the sill of the window and cling there.
Strong, tanned hands grasped his forearms. "I have you!" Tanathel cried, her voice harsh with strain. "Hold on!"
She braced herself against the window ledge, trying to take some of the strain from her arms; Aragorn was not a slight man, and the weight was slowly, inexorably moving them both forward toward certain death. She felt them slipping and pushed harder with her feet, desperate to keep both of them from falling.
Gríma snarled behind her but she spared no attention for his threats. She was weakening; but she would not, could not allow her King to fall! Then there were other voices in the room and strong arms came around her waist, bracing her and drawing them back, over the ledge, into the room, back toward life.
Boromir allowed his arms to drop away as soon as he was certain they were no longer in danger and stepped back. Aragorn lay gasping on the floor, unable to speak for the lingering weakness in his body and Tanathel held him close for a moment. She felt his breathing ease somewhat; Gríma's spells were fading, allowing him to find rest and perhaps a measure of peace. The Evenstar held its light steady, and Tanathel took comfort from it as well. If her King were still in any danger, she had no doubt the jewel would be attempting to draw attention to itself.
She rose unsteadily, stepping back from Aragorn to allow Boromir closer, knowing the Captain-General would wish to reassure himself as well. She let her gaze flit about the room until it landed upon Gríma. He was restrained by two strapping members of the Tower Guard, though their names escaped her at the moment. A fold of his own ragged cloak had been used as a makeshift gag, and the sight reassured her somewhat. Then her eyes found Boromir's where he knelt holding the now senseless King, and she stiffened her resolve.
"You must see to the King," she said simply. "He is weakened from his struggle and near starvation, from his account. I must be out of the City before dawn, as I was ordered. You can find me in Northern Ithilien near Hellengate."
Boromir nodded crisply, though he did not agree. However, it was not his decision to make or unmake; Aragorn had passed sentence and he was bound by duty to enforce it. "I will send word when I may," he said softly, his gaze intense. "Go, now, and quickly."
Tanathel nodded and hurried away, moving quickly down through the City and out the postern gate before the sun could truly rise. Boromir watched her out of sight while his men rigged a litter to carry Aragorn, and then he rose and turned to them, his heart troubled. "We'll get him back to his Apartments. Find Calas and bring him as well. And take that---" he gestured to Grima "---to the dungeons. He is to have no contact with anyone, nor is that gag to be removed or his hands unbound. He is to be under guard constantly. Never let him out of sight or hearing." He ground to a stop, his fury nearly boundless. "We will hold him until the King can pass judgment upon him."
TBC