Masks

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Faramir was rushing around the room, she could hear. Alura opened her eyes when he kicked at the mattress and mumbled, “Get up.” Her limbs felt too heavy for her, she noticed, pushing herself into a sitting position. He had tossed her dress onto the bed for her and stood there watching as he did up his belt. “Get up,” he repeated with a little more edge to his tone.

At that moment she could have chosen to argue or say something defiant, but she was too tired to incur his wrath this morning. His urgency tipped her off that he would not be very lenient with her lack of obedience, so she took her dress into her hands and began pulling it over her head, conscious that he was watching her every move. Tying the ties at the front of her bodice, Alura glanced up into his unreadable face and asked, “What’s going on?”

He shook his head and let out an expansive breath. “The city is whispering about the lockdown. I must see my father and you, my dear, are to come with me.” His eyes glittered in mischief.

“Why am I to come with you?” she asked him, already planning on trying to escape. She had no desire to see Denethor of all people.

Faramir sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling the covers down to expose her legs. He pushed them over the side of the bed, then smirked at her glare. “We are going to inform him of our decision to marry.”

Alura’s eyes turned to ice. She got up from the bed and smoothed her skirts, shaking her head firmly. “I’ll never marry you. Never, Faramir.”

“Oh, you imply you have a choice. How sweet, my love.” He stood up as well, following her movements with his eyes. There was a steely confidence written across his expression that made her uneasy. Cornering her against the wall, he smoothed his hand into her hair and held her back as he forced his mouth over hers for a quick, rough kiss. When they parted he caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You’re going to make yourself a slave if you keep this up. Does that sound like a worthy life of you? Your life has changed, Alura. Just as mine has. There is no going back and there are but two routes forward. What will you choose? A life by my side or a life in the dungeon beneath every man that can get his hands on you? Or do you still think there is some way of escape? Is that what you cling to?”

Shoving at his shoulders, trying to keep him at bay, Alura glared into his face without hiding her malice. “I would rather die than give you anything of me.”

“It may come to that,” he said sadly, then shook his head. “But nevertheless we’re going before my father and he will have very little tolerance of your tantrums. Show him respect or I am sure what he does to you will be far worse than what’s already been done.” He let go and stood back, waiting for her to react.

“What if I say I won’t go to him at all?” she asked with a sneer.

Faramir laughed lightly. “You are going. Do not doubt that.” He reached out, clasping his hand around her arm and jerking her to his side. “Smile when we enter into his presence.”

She would do no such thing, of course, and fought him the entire way out of his quarters until he snapped her head back with a hard slap that nearly send her to her knees. Alura hovered back away from him, holding her cheek with one free hand while he locked his fingers around the wrist of her other one. He pulled her onwards after a small span, picking up the pace, and every hurried step sent shivers of pain through her body. She could still very much feel the physical trauma of what had occurred last night between she and Éomer. It made her nauseous to think about.

They came from his room to where the Steward was in his hall, waiting for them. Faramir shot her a glare of warning as they came before the great doors, then ushered her inside. Part of her had hoped perhaps Boromir would be here, unexpectedly, and stop things from going too far. Anxiety spread through her as she realized she would be alone with Denethor, his son and a handful of guards that would probably not give her a second glance. Faramir relaxed his hold on her wrist, transferring his palm to hers as if they were mere lovers holding hands. She wanted to throw his hand away from her, but was afraid to start a scene so quickly.

She did not bow to Denethor as Faramir did. The Steward noticed this with a steely glint, but said nothing of it. “I greet you both and offer you my breakfast table,” he said, motioning towards a table near the throne. There was a bowl of fruit, a pitcher and several goblets.

“Thank you, Father,” Faramir said with a cordial smile. He glanced at Alura before continuing. “Have you eaten?”

“I have,” Denethor replied stiffly, then stood up. He wandered to the table and sat, pouring himself some water. “Sit with me if you will not dine.”

The Captain of Gondor looked to Alura, commanding her with his eyes. She frowned hard at him, then stormed towards the table, selecting a seat and sitting, her arms crossed before her chest. Faramir sat beside her and took an apple from the bowl before him, setting it on a small plate. He took a knife from the table, but did not cut it. “We have come to discuss marriage, Father.”

“Have you?” Denethor said with an upraised brow. He lifted his chin and looked to Alura with steel in his eyes. “I would not oppose it. What do you think of this, Alura of Rohan?”

Biting her bottom lip in thought, she tried to decide how best to answer him, fearing Faramir’s promise of Denethor being less tolerant. “With all due respect, I am not so certain as Faramir that this is what I want.”

The Steward watched her gravely. “And why is that, child? What could be better than marrying into my house? Have you some ragged boy back in Rohan waiting to provide you a meager life in exchange for rights to your bed?”

His words made her blush and filled her with anger enough to bring harsh words to her tongue despite what she feared. “I do not have any in Rohan waiting for me, but nor will I consent to marrying a man that sees fit to force himself upon me.”

Instead of stinging the Steward or insulting him, he merely smiled in amusement at her words, then took a drink of his water. Setting it back down, he shook his head. “A romp in a bed is nothing, be it forced or not. Count yourself blessed that so noble a man has taken an interest in you. Such are the ways between men and women. But what he offers you is a chance for something more. For where will you find a man that will not take rights with you if he sees fit?”

“Not every man must behave darkly with his women,” Alura hissed, balling her skirt into her hands, wanting desperately to be away from him.

“Indeed?” Denethor asked her, still playing amused.

Alura shook her head. “Boromir wouldn’t.”

That drew a laugh from both men and despite herself, she felt herself redden as defeat crept across her. Denethor smiled gently at her. “You do not know Boromir.”

“I don’t think you know Boromir. Not anymore.”

She could see now impatience beginning to cross his expression as he watched her, weighing her. “You had best tame yourself, girl, lest you incur my wrath. I will see you put in your place if you continue.” Alura opened her mouth, but no words came out. He nodded at her silence, then looked to his son. “Your marriage will strengthen the bond between our peoples. A week after Boromir weds Lady Éowyn, I believe would do. I shall have to watch this situation carefully.”

Faramir swallowed a bite of his apple. “Excellent, Father. My dear lady and I have much to discuss.” He smiled at Alura.

“I’ll not marry your son,” she insisted firmly, ignoring Faramir and looking to Denethor. “I refuse.”

“You will not refuse,” he corrected her simply, cocking his head and waiting for her to react. “Say another word that is not gratitude and you will see a display of my anger.”

A war was being battled within her. She would not allow herself to be intimidated. Not if it meant her death, she wouldn’t. She was better than that. “Forgive me, Steward. But my decision stands.”

His eyes were cold, very cold as he looked her over. Faramir sighed and fixed his eyes on the floor. “If you do not know your place then it will be shown to you through shame.” When Denethor looked from her it was to his guards. “Remove the clothes from this animal.”

Alura stood up, her chair falling back against the floor, filling the great hall with a loud crack. The boots of the guards seemed to thunder as they approached her. Her heart pounded as she wondered what would be done to her. There were four of them and little chance of escape, but she tried to run anyway. They caught her, surrounding her with salacious grins as daggers where produced from their belts. One of them grabbed her wrists and jerked them behind her back as the other three sliced at her dress and pulled it from her body. “Bow to the Steward, animal,” she heard one of the jeer as they shoved her to her hands and knees on the cold, hard floor.

She sat up on he knees, covering herself as best she could, aware that a rosy red color had painted her skin. She looked up to see Denethor watching her keenly and Faramir finishing his breakfast without so much as a glance in her direction. The cold made her shiver, but even more did the tone the Steward used as he addressed the guards. “Take her up into my chamber at the top of the tower. If I find she has been raped then all four of you will die, regardless of who takes part. Do you understand me?”

“Father, are you certain?” Faramir asked quietly, looking up at his father’s back.

Denethor did not turn, boring into her with his black expression. “I am certain.”

The guards forced her to her feet and shoved her through the Tower Hall, meeting her struggles with hands on her form. They ushered her into a chamber behind the throne room and towards a non-descript doorway that required a key to open. They had been commanded not to rape her, but it did not stop their hands from wandering her form. Alura struggled against being touched, but the three that waited for the door to open were insistent and cruel to her. “Wonder what he’ll do you up there?” a blue-eyed, blond-headed guard with bright eyes and a trimmed beard said as he forced his hand into the curls between her thighs.

Alura tried to jerk away, but the guard at her back shoved her forward, forcing her to take what was being done. “Don’t get too excited,” he warned with a grin. “Remember what the Steward said.”

The blond made a depreciative face as the door was opened. “If I know Rohan whores, then I’m sure by the end of the week the Steward will throw her out for our use anyway.”

The guards laughed at her expense and forced her up the stairs, on until they reached a bare room. It was here her eyes were covered and at that moment she feared they would disobey their Steward and rape her anyways, but the sound of a door opening ushered in movement. They dragged her through it and dumped her on the floor, then as she opened her eyes, slammed the door. Alura shivered in the shadowy room, feeling chilly. There were not many windows here, but what bare light met her vision was fixed on a point central to the room. Alura stood, wrapping her arms around herself, peering upon a table with something on it. Whatever it was seemed covered with a cloth. She bit her lip and approached curiously, forgetting her rather worrisome circumstances. A voice halted her in her tracks.

“I bid thee greetings, fair child.” It was unlike any voice she had ever heard, sending chills through her. Quickly, Alura darted glances around her, seeking the source of that terrible sound. Laughter like the whispers of darkness echoed the room. “So frightened. What sin brought you here? For I perceive Denethor is not fool enough to send you without purpose and that you would wander here clad thus is laughable.”

She saw it then, moving in the shadows, coming into the light as if reluctant. The figure was very large and dressed darkly. The sunlight at his back obscured his face. “Who are you?” she asked, trying not to sound afraid.

It, for such was his height that she shuddered back from considering him human, came to a stop before her. It towered high and in the pale light she could see pallid skin and sharp teeth. There were no glittery eyes boring into her; they were covered with a black cloth. A hand reached out from beneath a thick black sleeve on his robe and cold fingers smoothed a lock of hair from her face. “I have touched no woman in such a way in three thousand years.”

Alura jerked her face away from his touch. “And what more do you think you will do?”

Again his laughter seared through her like knives scratching together. “Those hungers died in me millennia ago, sweet, warm child, replaced by hungers much worse. When I taste you I will seek for blood.”

Frightened, she backed away, looking for the door she had been thrown through, but in the darkness she could see nothing but the windows and the form of he that dwelled here. “Who are you?” she repeated.

“Does it matter?” he hissed, coming nearer. “What earned your being brought here?”

“I refused to marry Denethor’s son,” she replied, conscious she was running out of escape room.

He seemed to understand that as well. “The door is hidden from plain view. Should I choose to strike you will never be able to escape it. Remain still.”

Alura felt the cold, hard reality of a wall at her back. She stopped and held her breath as his hands sought her arms, jerking her near. “You do not know the powers I command. There are things no man can tame, let alone a naked female. So Denethor gives me nourishment.” Even his robes seemed cold to her skin as he embraced her. Alura squirmed, fearing more than mere sexual abuse. Such appetites would not be sated by something so paltry, she had a feeling. Yet as afraid as she was she felt she could not move as it drew her hair off her naked shoulder and let if fall down her back.

“Don’t do this,” she breathed, though she felt the air had been denied her. He paid her no mind, lowering his mouth to her skin, his arms squeezing her tightly. Teeth sank into her skin and she screamed.

*