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 Thirty
Aragorn watched Grima as he was brought in, his expression unreadable, though his eyes reflected his anger to those who knew him well. He saw the guards chain the Worm into a chair in the center of the cleared chamber, and still he remained silent.
Grima faced him squarely, as though unafraid. It gave Aragorn a moment of concern, that haughty, arrogant stare; was the man mad after all? Surely he knew his fate was now firmly in Aragorn's hands, and it was not likely to be a kind fate, at that. Yet still he met the King's eyes unflinchingly, as though perhaps he knew something Aragorn did not.
Aragorn forced himself to betray none of the unease he felt and approached the prisoner, keeping well back from harm nonetheless. "Grima, son of Galmod, have you anything to say in your defense?"
Grima smiled, an eerie, mocking expression on his haggard, pale face. "It is difficult to respond to you properly, my lord, when I am so restrained," he said softly, his voice full of respect. "Perhaps if I were released from my bonds, I could offer you the respect you deserve as well as answering your questions. Can you not see your way to loosening my bonds even slightly?"
Aragorn hesitated a moment, and then raised a restraining hand as Boromir started forward. "It is a reasonable request, Grima, and yet I do not feel it necessary," Aragorn answered smoothly. He stepped back. "I do not trust you. Have you nothing to say in your defense?"
"In truth, there is little I may say, Your Majesty," Grima oozed conversationally. "Your mind is closed, so hopelessly convinced that I acted in hatred and evil. Can you not see there may have been other reasons for what I have done? The Evenstar, your Queen, she has returned to you, has she not? Did you think she would have returned without some deadly peril to threaten you? No, I see that had not occurred to you. I have reunited you with your lost love. Surely I should not be punished for such a thing?"
Aragorn resisted the insidious pull of Grima's voice, though it was difficult. "What you are to be punished for, Wormtongue, is the attempt on my life. There are many witnesses to what occurred in the Tower. How do you answer them?" His anger was swelling again and he forced it back down. Again it felt as if someone else was controlling his movements, his actions, his very mind. He fought it with all his being and the Evenstar brightened perceptibly. Aragorn cocked his head slightly to one side, as though listening.
Grima licked his lips, the first sign he had shown of nervousness. "You see? As you speak to me, she speaks to you. You cannot slay me now, King Elessar. No matter what I have done, you cannot take my life. It would be condemning your love to death a second time... and this time, she would never return to you."
Aragorn hid his initial reaction to Grima's words, responding instead with a knowing smile. The anger drained from him like it had never been, and the Evenstar gleamed brightly against his tunic. "You have just sealed your fate," he said softly. "I may have given in to despair at her loss, but that despair was deepened by your sorcery. If what you say is true, then I will mourn her as is proper and hold her in my heart until the hour of my death. Arwen would never condone it were I to fade from life as you have attempted to have me do."
He motioned to the others in the Council Chamber, those who had been along the walls to watch, to Boromir who had steadfastly remained at his side through the proceedings. "This is my ruling: That Grima, son of Galmod be taken from this place and hanged for his crimes. Sentence to be carried out immediately." He turned to Boromir. "See that this is done, Boromir, and then return to me here. There is still the matter of Tanathel's disobedience to be judged."
Boromir took no joy in witnessing the execution. Grima was still protesting his innocence of any designs on the King's life, that he had only sought to ease Aragorn's pain, when the platform dropped him into space. It was mercifully quick; Boromir had seen a few hangings where the rope did not break the neck as cleanly as it should and one had to watch as the victim slowly strangled. Thankfully this was not one of those times.
He had glimpsed Tanathel entering the Citadel, bound for the Council Chamber, under guard and yet still seeming to project that air of self-assurance he had come to know and respect. She would be able to hold her own until he returned to hear what his King would say to her. He turned his attention back to the hangman and motioned that he should cut the body down. It would be burned; one such as Wormtongue would never rest within Minas Tirith's splendor. Then he made his way back to the Council Chamber to see what would become of Tanathel.
Tanathel held herself ramrod straight before her King, attempting to keep her composure under his close scrutiny. Dimly, she registered Boromir slipping into the chamber, keeping close to the wall so not to distract the proceedings. Her eyes never wavered, though; her King was due her respect and though she had momentarily taken leave of her senses before, she would not again.
She had knelt quite properly before him when brought into his presence, and he had raised her up, though his expression was carefully blank, giving no hint of what he intended to do with her. She was beginning to worry a bit about her future, and whether or not she even had one. A trickle of sweat began to make its way down her spine and she tried to ignore it.
Aragorn nodded to Boromir and gestured him forward. "As Captain-General, you have a duty to be present at a trial of one of your officers. Do you give me your oath to be an impartial judge in this matter?"
Boromir gave Tanathel a sidelong look before answering, and his eyes were filled with concern before he composed himself. Aragorn was certainly cutting up stiff about this; had Grima managed to continue to affect him? It seemed impossible... and yet it was an explanation. Tanathel had been his friend, and now he was ready to court martial her. It defied belief. "My word as your Captain-General... and your friend," he said softly.
Aragorn nodded and turned his attention back to Tanathel. "Tanathel of Ithilien, you have not once, not twice, but repeatedly been insolent, insulting, and disobedient to your King. Do you deny this?"
"No, Sire, I do not." She kept her voice even, though tension was beginning to show slightly in her stance. Why was he drawing it out? She had been removed from duty, exiled from the City; why had he brought her back to go over her poor behavior?
Aragorn paced in a slow circle around her, studying her, silent. She kept her eyes forward, as any good soldier should do for inspection, though she was certain there was no more soldiering in her future. He was obviously still furious with her, and rightly so. She'd had no right to say those things to him.
He came to a stop directly before her and she kept her gaze level, though it was an effort not to make eye contact and allow her fear to show. All she knew was soldiering. If he took that from her, what was left? An existence with a lonely, bitter old woman who had resented her from the day she was born. She wanted to plead for mercy, but her pride wouldn't allow it.
At first, his words didn't penetrate her fear-numbed mind. "For your insolence and insults, Tanathel, you are forgiven. I realize that you were acting in my best interests at the time; no blame lies with you. But for your failure to follow orders, you must leave the Army. There is no place there for those who will not obey their commander. You may, however, remain in the City; your banishment was an error in judgment I would make right, if I may."
Tanathel gave him a curt nod, still maintaining eyes front. She hoped he couldn't see the tears she was trying desperately not to let fall. Her one fear was coming true; she was being denied the chance to serve her King in the only way she knew. She was a trained warrior; how could she now adjust to a simple life? She had no skills other than the ones she had been taught; but use of a sword, bow, even her punching blades was forbidden to her now. Despair threatened to overwhelm her.
Boromir couldn't believe his ears. Aragorn seemed to be himself once more, but his punishment of Tanathel seemed unjustly cruel. He drew in breath to speak, and then curbed the impulse. He had given his word to be impartial, so he would hold his tongue until bidden to speak.
Aragorn finally relented; he could no longer bear the desolation, the despair in those dark eyes that would not meet his. "Tanathel of Ithilien, this then is your sentence. I would have you leave Gondor's Army and take complete command of the King's Guard. You shall hold rank equal to the Captain-General and will be answerable only to me. Choose who you will for your ranks." He took in the relief in her eyes and gave her a slight smile. "Always your actions have been in Gondor's best interest, my friend," he explained softly. "Even when you raged at me, stormed at me, it was in hopes of shocking me back to myself. You have given much in service to Gondor, and much in friendship to me. And even at the height of my despair, you came to my aid, unbidden, unlooked for, and saved me from certain death at the hands of Grima Wormtongue. This is my gift to you; all is forgiven, my friend."
Tanathel kept a professional demeanor, though her eyes spoke of her relief and joy. "And I thank you for that gift, Sire. My service and loyalty have ever been to you, and to no other. And I will assume my new duties with all the dedication that you have come to expect from me." She allowed Aragorn to draw her into a friendly embrace and whispered, "Thank you, my friend."
Aragorn stepped back with a twinkle in his eyes. "Then let us all put these troubled days behind us as much as possible. We will use today to remember fallen friends, and what it has cost to keep Gondor protected; and tomorrow we will begin the process of rebuilding from so much strife. Today, I declare a holiday. Go, and rejoice that we are free; tomorrow is soon enough to worry about our borders."
He knew it wasn't, not really; but these people, all of them, HIS people, deserved one day free from disquiet. The Haradrim would still be there in the morning; and he had scouts out to report on their movements. They would have warning if something untoward occurred. For now, he meant to enjoy the bright sunshine of this beautiful spring morning. And, if his surmise was correct, there were a few others who could do with some time to plan for their futures.
He watched as Boromir and Tanathel strode away, both appearing professional but with an air of suppressed excitement about them he doubted anyone else would notice. Faramir would, perhaps, but only because he was tuned to Boromir in a way only a brother could be. Good. They deserved some privacy; they would certainly have none when word of their courtship leaked out. Many young hopefuls of the court would be devastated; and not a few of the Rangers Tanathel had served with in Ithilien. But he found nothing to complain of in the match. Indeed, he had rather adroitly fostered it himself; he had removed Tanathel from the Chain of Command so there would be no complaint of favoritism once they were wed.
He made his way to the lower circles and whistled. Brego had not been ridden in several days; it was time he showed his horse some attention.
To Be Continued in the Next Story! Sequel Under Construction!