Masks

Sandra - Thanks for being kind. :) I fear my PMS reply and general suckiness might have done more damage than it was worth, but nevertheless I shall keep posting..at least until this story is complete. ;) Hope you continue to enjoy!

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Night had fallen. Éowyn was nowhere to be seen, probably being fitted and dressed properly for the big celebration. Alura stood alone in her quarters, turning circles before the mirror, looking for any reason to procrastinate. But as the moments slid by she knew she could not avoid the night for much longer. Éowyn would be hurt if she was not there. Smoothing her skirts one last time, Alura checked her mask was straight and then headed out the door. Her stomach felt twisted in knots as she thought on Boromir’s letter. After a nice lunch with Faramir, a quiet time that she had used to pretend her life was not any more difficult than it had been before coming here, Alura had left for a few hours and returned to find her letter where she had left it. That alone had been a weight off her shoulders, but it could not assuage the anxiety she felt concerning tonight.

Her footsteps seemed much too audible, echoing along the halls as she walked alone. “Good evening, cousin,” a voice called as she rounded a corner. The mask was golden with the form of a running horse chiseled into the top. The hair and dark eyes were unmistakably Éomer’s. He smiled and held out his arm. “You look fair.”

“You look pleasing as well,” she responded listlessly, still a bit miffed at him. “Why are you late?”

He laughed at her ire. “I was pursing a young Gondorian maiden.”

Alura narrowed her eyes at him. “Men make me ill.”

“Is that so?” he asked her mockingly astonished. “Well, there will be plenty of men tonight that have the potential of making you ill. Shall you choose from among them?”

“Perhaps.”

He smiled at her dry response, stopping as they came to the grand entrance to the Hall of Kings. Music poured from the threshold and masked dancers twirled not far from them. “Be well, Alura,” he said seriously, then kissed her hand. He entered into the mix very quickly and she sighed, watching several ladies motion towards him. Rubbing her hands together, she entered the room and walked along the wall, gazing at the occupants of the room. It seemed the number of Gondor’s finest had increased from the usual fanfare she saw during dinner. Dresses sparkled and masks obscured the identities of the lords and ladies present. But one thing she noticed most of the people here display without hiding. Their hair. Chestnut and golden colors pooled around masks of silver, emerald and ebony. Alura sought familiar forms and saw the steely eyes of Denethor. They were upon her, but quickly left as if she were no more than a mere afterthought. She was well pleased with that and moved to avoid him looking back at her.

Nearby the throne stood what she had been seeking. His clothes were black and white and the mask on his face covered not only his eyes, but his nose and cheeks as well, leaving only his mouth and chin exposed. The dark feathers of an eagle obscured his hair for the most part, making it hard to judge the shape. In truth she did not know whether it was Boromir or Faramir. She glanced towards the rear of the room at an obscure door in a dark, abandoned portion of the room. There was no one there. Twisting her skirt in her hand, she looked for Éowyn’s sapphire dress and pale hair, but there were too many people. If Éowyn was here she was well hidden among the dancing guests.

Alura shook her head and moved on towards a table where food was laid out. Retrieving a goblet, she moved towards a servant holding a bottle and held it out, accepting as she poured her some wine. She glanced a the throne again and said, “Who is that? Is that Lord Boromir or Lord Faramir?”

The young maiden shook her head, her eyes upon the form beside the Steward. “Couldn’t tell you, milady. They came garbed in the same uniform of their ranks.”

She sipped her wine and glanced around the room. “What of Lady Éowyn?”

“She was here earlier, milady, but left with one of the brothers. Perhaps Lord Denethor would know where they went.” The young girl pointed towards the dark form of the Steward.

“My thanks,” Alura breathed, having no intention of seeking out the attention of Denethor. She would rather her curiosity eat at her indefinitely before going to him for knowledge. Wandering to a bench, Alura sank down and drank her wine, watching the door for her cousin’s entry. If Boromir had indeed arranged for Faramir to take her away to give way for their tryst then it would be ruined if Éowyn returned too quickly. She wished for that even though part of her waited for him to make his move towards the door. Alura bit her lip. She could not give herself over to this insanity.

Éomer approached the throne and bowed to Denethor. She watched him smile and motion towards the crowd, probably speaking of the great fun he was having. How he had become such a friend to Denethor was beyond her. She wished her uncle had come. Somehow perhaps all this madness might have been averted with his wisdom. If he had any left that had not been poisoned by Wormtongue. Alura set her empty goblet aside and wrapped her arms together, feeling sorrow wash over her. When had life become so complicated? It seemed like yesterday she and Éowyn had been running away from Éomer and Théodred as they bore frogs to put in their hair.

She sighed and looked back at Éomer, then noticed something. The form of Boromir was gone from his father’s side. Alura slowly turned her attention towards the exit in the back and saw him shrouded in darkness. He raised his hand and beckoned her forth. Her pulse steadily quickened as she looked again to Denethor and her cousin, fearing their eyes would be upon her. They were caught up in conversation, oblivious to all else. Alura swallowed and debated heavily within herself. Should she approach him? If only to tell him she would have no part of his games? She looked again and saw him watching her intensely. She shook her head at him, but he merely beckoned her again, his eyes glittering in the wan candlelight that reached into his shadowy location.

A laughing man wearing a scarlet mask and carrying a tankard of ale came to her side, pointing. “Is that Lord Faramir asking for you?” he breathed with a wicked smile.

He had been right. It was very easy for Boromir to pass for his brother. She had to go now, else risk appearing suspicious for denying him. Rising to her feet, she headed towards the back of the room, her eyes on her cousin and the Steward. They took no notice of her passing at all. When she neared she opened her mouth to refuse his invitation, but before she could speak he took her by the hand and led her firmly from the room. Alura found herself hard pressed to keep up with his demanding pace. She fell partly behind despite his tight grasp on her hand. Her eyes beheld the mesh of feathers streaming down over his hair, leaving only a few bare glimpses of the fiery mane beneath. It was a kingly mask. She shivered, wishing he would never take it off.

They made a quick passage through the halls and she found her will to refuse him melting. She did not want to hurt Éowyn, but her desire for Boromir was strong. But her cousin, she alone kept Alura from throwing herself into this without care. As soon as he stopped she would talk some sense into him. The halls lead them to the royal apartments, she noticed anxiously.

When they came to he produced a key and opened it swiftly, without words despite her calling his name. He ushered her into the bedroom before she could get her distress across, shutting the door and locking it. “Boromir,” she breathed, then gasped as he took her arms and pushed her against the door. He held her wrists back as he pressed his mouth into hers eagerly. He plunged his tongue against hers and she whimpered as her resolve failed her. His eyes closed as he darted a seeking kiss within the warmth of her mouth.

Soon he stopped and pressed his mouth against her jaw, trailing down to her throat. “Boromir, we can’t do this,” she breathed, tightening her hands into fists.

“Shhh,” he soothed, letting her wrists go. His hands cupped her cheeks as he went for her mouth again, whether to pleasure her or silence her she did not know. His hands smoothed back into her hair, holding her in place as he assaulted her mouth fervently. Alura whimpered into his mouth at the way he seemed to devour her without care to her protests. Not that she felt she would be able to withstand in the end. She could feel her defenses crumbling beneath the white-hot desire coursing through her. Her eyes fluttered shut.

His lips left hers slowly, but remained near. He lapped at her swollen lips lightly, then pressed his mouth against her cheek, running his tongue along her skin. Laying kisses he made a trail to her ear and hovered there as his hands gathered hers. She found her fingertips at her breasts and then he spoke, whispering lightly, “Bare yourself for me.”

“We can’t do this,” she tried one final time. His hands directed hers to the ribbons at her corset.

“Bare yourself.” He gazed down, waiting for her to obey him, his arms on either side of her serving as a cage.

For a long moment she hovered between the two choices warring with her. He did not move, gave no indication that he would change his mind. His expectation smothered her in want. With shaking fingers she began to undo the ties of her dress. She could not fight him any longer, could not fight what she wanted. Opening the front of her dress, Alura bit her bottom lip and looked into his face as he watched her actions. With his lashes down his eyes were obscured, but she knew there would be lust there.

The dress moved smoothly down her body, pooling at her feet on the floor, leaving her nude before him save her stockings. Her arms crossed before her unconsciously. He noticed her hesitation to give him permission to view her body and went for her wrists, slamming them back to the wall. She jumped at the swift motion, trying to see into his eyes, to catch his gaze, but he was enthralled by her body. Boromir bent down to her chest and drew the tip of one into his mouth. Alura inhaled deeply as his tongue molded to her nipple as he sucked.

He let go of her wrists and moved his hand over her other breast, brushing his thumb against her, pinching her roughly to elicit her moans. Her breathing deepened as desire swam through her belly. Boromir sensed her want and straightened, pressing his mouth to her ear again. “Tell me you want me,” he whispered, stroking her hip softly.

“I want you,” she admitted, clutching her fists together.

He laughed lightly, then pointed towards the bed. “I want you on your back.” He cupped her chin and smoothed his thumb along her jaw.

His demeanor sent chills through her, but she wanted him. She could not deny that he made her desire him. Alura moved to the bed and sat at the end, watching as he put out one of the torches on the wall. He stopped when he noticed she wasn’t laying back. His gaze intensified as he pointed, motioning her back. Putting her hands back on the mattress, she scooted and lay back, feeling herself tremble in anticipation. The room began to dim slowly as one by one each torch and candle was put out, until they were left bathed in the glow coming from the hearth.

Boromir came to the bed then and looked down on her, eyes raking over her form. He was silhouetted against the glow, his face and body a mere shadow, but she knew when she was being hunted. He sat down on the bed, giving the light free passage to illuminate her form. He put his hands to her shoulders and urged her up so that she was sitting against him, her back against his chest, leaving her bottom and legs on the mattress. Her eyelids fluttered shut as he tucked his arms beneath hers and rubbed her belly gently. Tucking her hair behind her shoulder, he kissed her cheek, then tasted her throat as he massaged her breasts. Alura arched into his touch, taking in the quiet of the moment.

Then he stopped kissing her throat to command her again. Alura gazed at the orange light dancing along the walls and listened to his husky breath as he said softly, “Spread your legs.”

Biting her lip, she did as he asked and shivered as she opened her thighs. His hand trailed to her pelvis, rubbing rhythmically. She moaned softly, feeling herself ache for his touch.

That was not what he had in mind, however. His mouth along her ear, he continued to whisper his desires to her and a thrill passed through her when he said, “Prepare yourself for my pleasure.” He trailed his hand to hers and smoothed her palm down her pelvis. Alura closed her eyes, feeling both anxious by his request and pleasured. Shakily she smoothed her fingers down into her curls and noticed his sharp breath. “Yes, my love, that’s it. Touch yourself.”

Feeling the heat of the room steal over her body, she squirmed in his hold, but did as he bid of her. She was already well prepared, but knew he would not want her to stop yet. She smoothed her fingers into her hot flesh, rubbing along the center of her pleasure softly. Unconsciously Alura squeezed her thighs together at the intense feelings that passed through her. He laughed lightly at her taking enjoyment of herself and smoothed her hair back, laying a kiss at her brow. She rubbed herself a little faster and was surprised by his displeasure. “Slowly, lover.” She whimpered out at that, but knew he would not allow her to gain bliss without his permission.

His hand curled along her wrist to prevent it, so she gave in and drew her fingers out slowly before plunging back in. It was torturous. Alura shifted several times in his grasp, wanting desperately to feel him inside her. His hands caressed her shoulders and back softly, but she knew he was watching everything she did. She could tell by his heavy breathing and his hard swallows. “I want you,” she protested, stopping what she was doing below.

He laughed again and nudged her hand that was still lingering over her flesh. Alura groaned as her fingers pressed down inside of her again. He took her by the wrists and held them bound against her abdomen. “Whisper the name of the one you love,” he told her in a contrite, breathy tone that trailed into a whisper. “Then I shall let you pleasure yourself again.”

Holding her with one hand, he used the other to spread her thighs again, rubbing the inside of each as she squirmed in his hold. “I want you inside me,” she hissed, laying her head against his chest. She tried to free her arms to no avail.

“Say the name,” he commanded softly, cupping her womanhood, but not penetrating her with his fingers. Alura tightened her thighs against his hand, trying to feel his touch inside of her, but he would not allow it.

After a few more moments of fighting his iron hold, Alura groaned and gave up, lying back against him. Sweat moistened her body, increased by the heavy clothing he wore. She groaned in frustration, wanting him naked and inside her, anger with his little game. It drove her wild with desire and she was sure it did him as well, but she could tell he was going to have his way and nothing else would do. He lifted the hand she had used to touch herself, drawing her fingers into his hot mouth, surrounding one with his tongue and sucking as he waited. Her lashes fluttered and she knew she was going to lose this contest. Shaking in his grasp, she pleaded, “Boromir,” and closed her eyes, waiting for him to give her what she wanted.

He pulled her fingers from his mouth and sat her up. She listened as he removed his clothing, feeling flushed, hungry and anxious for more. She swallowed heavy as he tossed his clothing to the floor. Her eyes moved to the small pile as his mask fell down. She closed her eyes as he lifted hers from her face and tossed it down with his. The bed shifted as he got up and she moved to look at him, but his arm captured her waste, drawing her off with him, keeping her back to his chest. He faced her towards the bed and held her in his embrace as he kissed along her throat, marking her. She could feel his hardness pressing against her, straining to be inside her and she was filled with pleasure at the thought of sating him.

Again his mouth came to her ear and she relaxed against him, hoping this command would be that she accept his length inside her. He laughed lightly and this time when he spoke it was not a whisper. “Eager you are, but Boromir is otherwise detained.” Her eyes widened and she fought to move away, but his arms were strong. Faramir shoved her forward onto the bed forcing her to her belly as he climbed over her body. Her legs dangled uncomfortably off the edge of the bed, flailing as she fought to gain some sort of stronghold to escape. He pressed his hand to the bottom of her neck, keeping her pinned down to the mattress as he smoothed his hand down her bottom. “I am free to entertain the Lady of Rohan, however.”

Her eyes filled with tears at his harsh, bitter tone. “Faramir, stop this,” she pleaded, pressing her hands to the bed, trying desperately to lift herself up.

“Quiet,” he said low, settling beside her hip. “Spread your thighs for me.”

“No!” she hissed, holding her legs together, fearing by his hard tone what he would do to her.

Faramir laughed darkly and leaned down to her ear, speaking in hard tones, “Think before you refuse. I can have my pleasure without entering into you the traditional way.” He squeezed her behind hard, causing her to whimper. His painful squeeze became a soft caress. “But I know you’re all wet inside and waiting to be fucked, so I will offer you the chance one more time. Open your legs or be prepared for a very painful encounter.”

“Why?” she asked him in a soft voice, finding herself lost in this side of him she had not even conceived could exist.

He traced her skin invasively. “Because I like raping pretty girls. Speak again and you will have lost your chance to make this easy.”

Shaking terribly, Alura gave in, fearing the possibility of being raped in the way he suggested. She spread her legs and closed her eyes, drawing her hands to her face. Faramir shoved her legs so that her knees here bent and spread, then positioned himself behind her. His penis pressed in between her thighs and she whimpered as the tip brushed along her wetness. With a great shove he entered her roughly and she gasped at the swift expansion of her walls. Faramir did not care or ask if she were hurt. He gripped her hips roughly, holding her into position as he rolled forward hard, then drew back and forced himself forward again.

The room felt unbearably hot and unbearably quiet as he assaulted her. She held her arms around herself firmly, trying to stay her tears as he used her without care, but the shock of what was being done would not be held back. She cried as he took without giving, wondering how such a kind seeming person could bring himself to such violence. Her body felt strained against his sharp thrusts. She wanted to lie down, but his arm curled around her waist kept her up. Her legs felt weakened each moment that passed, but she held herself up for fear of what he would do to her if she failed him.

Faramir groaned hard, taking obvious pleasure in this and moved faster, shoving her against the mattress with each thrust. She began to loose track of how long this was taking, how fast he was going and how hard his rolls were. It became a terrible blur that left her feeling sick inside when he finally spilled inside of her with a groan. Faramir fell into her, shoving her down to the bed. He remained over top of her for a long time, not saying anything, not moving. Alura merely lay there, frightened and hurt, drenched in her sweat. Tears moistened the sheets below her.

Soon after he got up and dressed himself. She did not move, could not move yet. Not until he picked up her gown and tossed it over her. “Get up and get dressed. Éowyn was ill, but that does not mean Boromir will hover over her like a nurse all night.” He watched her, then hissed, “Move!” when she failed to comply fast enough.

Shaking still, Alura pulled her dress over herself and gathered her mask from the floor, then scouted around for her shoes. He tossed them to the floor before her and watched as she put them on. When she was clothed, he ushered her out with a hand on her back, but remained in the threshold of his brother’s door. “Go to bed and sleep. Do not underestimate what I can do to you if you speak out. We will talk more of this later.”

Without waiting for her to respond, Faramir shut the door, disappearing back inside, probably to clean up. She couldn’t think of anything beyond curling up in her bed right now. Wrapping her arms around herself, she walked on shaky legs back towards the guest wing.

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