Masks

Sorry...been naughty. New chapter! PS - Frosty's been a bit under the weather lately. Worry not, however...I'm sure as soon as she feels better she'll come post more of Spirits. *drools at thought of Elrond*

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They came from their sleep to a rude awakening. By the time Alura opened her eyes Boromir was already on his feet, holding his blade before him. She peered through the sickly orange light that blended with the blue of the marsh gas and saw the dark form of her nightmares standing, his head cocked to one side and those terrible teeth bared in a vicious grin. “What manner of devil are you?” Boromir growled, looking from it to beyond where his brother and a few guards stood. Alura was on her feet in a flash, though she had no weapons for fighting.

The creature curled its hands before itself and turned towards her briefly before addressing Boromir. “I am the Mouth of Sauron and I would have words with thee, Boromir of Gondor.”

Alura gasped at the revelation of just who it was before them. She knew this was some black being of Mordor, but to be a being of such high position. This was Sauron’s trusted, most trusted. Her perception of the hold over Gondor and possibly Rohan as well seemed to tighten at the name. Boromir did not react so visibly. His sword moved as he wavered momentarily, but other than that he gave no indication of doubt. “What words could you have for me that you think I would hear, demon?”

“So assuming art thou, son of Denethor. Would you not even hear me without cursing my words?” His lips curled back in a terrible sneer.

Impatiently Faramir chimed in. “Come, Boromir, it is over. There is no way you could hope to escape now. What would you do? Run on foot with us on your heels? You will not make it out of this alive if you do not listen to reason.”

For a terribly long time he was silent and each second that passed Alura felt more and more of herself give way to despair. She entertained many thoughts, wondering if she could save him, save Éowyn, herself by any number of deeds, none of which she could bring to voice. Finally, when Boromir lowered his sword, she looked at the floor in anticipation of the pain that was going to be visited upon her for her failure to heed their warnings. A part of her wondered if she threw herself at Faramir now would it to any good? Yet her pride chastised her for considering it, even if it did mean avoiding the torment she would suffer.

“You obviously want me alive for some inane reason,” he said in a level tone. “Otherwise you would have merely run me through by now. Whatever it is you want of me I will give it without reserve if you will grant me a boon.”

The Mouth of Sauron drew in a deep-throated breath and rasped in an inhuman voice, “Go on.”

Alura closed her eyes when Boromir said, “Set her free.”

“No,” Faramir said without waiting for the black creature to respond. “I will not let that happen.”

The creature raised a hand in demand for silence, stepping closer to Boromir. “The girl is a danger. She cannot be freed.”

Boromir shrugged his shoulders. “Very well.” He lifted his sword back up. “You can kill me now, but I plan to go out fighting.”

“Damn it, Boromir, must you be so selfish?” Faramir hissed angrily, raising his own sword. “You would base the safety of our kingdom on a mere girl?”

The elder brother nodded with a grin. “Frustrating, is it not? I will win one battle or the other. The girl will go free or I will die defending her.”

“One hour. That is the extent of your boon,” the Mouth of Sauron said before Faramir could respond.

Alura felt a thrill of unease pass through her as she wondered what he meant. Boromir did not seem to know either, but Faramir had apparently guessed, for his eyes were wide with anger. “What do you mean?” Boromir asked, still holding his sword defensively.

The creature curled its upper lip up. “I will give her one hour to run on foot wherever she will.”

“And then?”

“And then fate will happen as it will. I do not command the armies of Denethor, but I command enough of his ear to win that for your cooperation.” It tilted its head, those unseen eyes seeming to penetrate her from behind the cloth as it turned towards her. “I suggest you run, female. The horse is dead.”

She didn’t move right away, confused, afraid and doubtful. Alura moved to Boromir’s side and peered into his face for some wisdom, but she could see he was just as afraid as she was. Yet she could see another of his thoughts reflected back in those sea-colored eyes. “This might be your only chance. Go,” he said, his voice obviously strained by uncertainty and concern.

“But…”

“Don’t worry about me. Find someplace safe.” He pointed at his brother momentarily. “Give her a torch to light the way out of here at least. As soon as you’re out of the caves get rid of it. Now go.”

She could see no better alternative. Slowly at first her feet carried her towards the guards that stood seeming ready to block her way. She did not want to leave Boromir or Éowyn to the fates that seemed ready to swallow them, but she knew however slim, this might be her only chance to find help somewhere. The Mouth of Sauron did not touch her as she passed, but turned as if to watch. When she got to Faramir his hands darted for her, jerking her into him. His eyes were full of rage as he growled, “When they find you, they will torment you, Alura. They will do things to you that will make you crave death and when they are done…they will bring you to me. I swear it.”

“Shut up, Faramir,” his brother hissed as guards surrounded him, taking his sword.

Alura groaned as she was shoved away from the younger. A torch was thrust into her hand and the guards parted to let her go. She gave Boromir a final look, feeling as though she were walking the path of a nightmare about to unravel. His expression was not filled with the bold certainty she would have liked, but instead firm that she should go on despite the doubt both of them felt. Turning away from him, steeling herself, she hurried away, not wanting them to see her falter.

And for a long time she didn’t falter, too afraid to halt even for a moment to let out her anguish and fear. She found the opening of the cave and welcomed the open air, but despaired at having to rid herself of the torch. But they would see her from a mile away if she carried it, so once outside she hurled it over the side and bolted down the spiraling path towards the bottom. She wondered if she would even reach it before they chased her. One thing was certain. She would not escape by running alone. This was going to require strategy and that was the one thing she did not believe she had.

Some way down she began to feel a burning in her lungs for rest, but she did not dare pause even for a second. Time was sorely against her, getting shorter every second. Along the way she hit a misplaced rock and tripped, falling to her knees, feeling her flesh burn as her knees and palms scraped along the rough ground. Alura groaned and pushed herself up despite the pain, trying to ignore it and the pounding of her own heart. Each moment became a battle to convince herself not to give up, for in truth the longer she remained on the mountain the more she perceived the hopelessness of her situation. They were going to find her. She wished she had hidden in the caves instead of running, but it was too late for that.

She considered stopping several times and begging for her life, but pride overcame each temptation. She would not beg, no matter what they did to her. And that kept her running until at last she reached the bottom. In the dark she had no real idea which direction she was facing, but the cool wind off the river nearby and the sound of stirred waters gave her an idea. Growing up at Edoras she was no great swimmer, but it seemed her best shot. Instead of heading towards Osgiliath she bolted towards the soft glow of a moonlight reflection.

The water was cold when she rushed into it, very cold and she gasped at the sudden sensation, but did not dare run out of it. She prayed her footprints would not be found until she had found a better hiding place. Wading out into the surf until half of her lower leg was submerged, Alura lifted her skirt and began to run through the water, wincing at each splash, hoping the winds did not carry it to the ears of her foes. She threw glances over her shoulder constantly, ever aware that vigilance might save her life. If she saw them begin towards her direction she would try to swim if she could, no matter how hopeless. Or bury herself in the waters to prevent her capture, even if it meant her death. That thought became a strange sort of comfort to her as she fought the pull of the waters.

By the time she saw the lights of torches rushing from the distance she was exhausted. The speed suggested they were on horses and the spread of them that they did not know exactly where she was. It gave her little comfort, but she kept striving. Her legs were sore from the constant fight against the heavy river that tried so hard to hold her back and drag her towards the depths. She began to hear the hoof beats of the horses and knew sooner or later she would have to hide. They were going to hear her splashing through the river sooner or later.

Alura stopped there in the water, turning towards them so she could watch. Her bottom lip trembled and she felt so cold that the idea of starting again seemed impossible as she panted for air. They were getting closer now. Dangerously close. The moon was dropping out of the sky and within a few hours morning’s light would betray her if nothing else. Tired, afraid and uncertain, she surveyed the area around her and saw no hope of hiding for any useful amount of time. When there was no time left she ducked into the waters and swam out from shore, startled by how strong the current was as the wind whipped through the air.

Time passed and the riders swept by her several times,, coming so very close with their horses passing into the edge of the water, never knowing, unable to penetrate the dark waters with their eyes and torches whenever she concealed herself within. It seemed like an eternity passed her by while they searched seemingly tirelessly for her. She was freezing cold, but thankful that she did not have to move very often. Each time one of the horses entered the water she knew then she was caught, but never did they see her. And when day finally broke they gave up the search—for now. As the sun peeked over the horizon Alura found the fields before her bare. Her eyes caught sight of the beginnings of the forest not far. It was her chance. Her last chance.

When she stepped into the shallow end, over the rocks that clawed mercilessly at her now bare feet, she almost fell over from exhaustion. But she fixed her eyes on the forest and began towards it, keeping her ears focused behind her. Nothing but the call of the gulls met her ears and before she knew it the trees were mere feet away. And it was then she heard the horses. Alura swallowed and turned, seeing them in the distance, heading towards her quickly. But she was too tired to panic. She sprinted unsteadily into the woods, knowing it was almost over now.

She wanted it to be over, partly, but she kept on, determined to fight until the last. It was not too long before she knew she could run no more and when it came to that, she walked, her eyes on the dirt at her feet. At least, she knew, she would be well too tired to register most of what they did to her. Tears pooled in her eyes as she worried over and yet welcomed the end of this hopeless chase. When a horse whinnied nearby she did not run or cower, but merely stopped and leaned against a tree. She would fight them, the hands, the pain, but she would not scream or beg.

A masculine voice filled the air, but she found herself without the energy to look. It didn’t matter. They were all going to be lusty-eyed Men of Gondor, taken by the shadow and ready to commit their acts of evil. She held up her shaking hands, ready to fend for herself. “What do we have here? Brother, come see this.”

The voice that replied seemed to match the speaker. “This is who we’ve been waiting for. Look up, girl.”

Alura tried to comply for her own curiosity, but found herself unable. Her weariness carried her away from the tree and into the arms of one of them as she stumbled forward, still very cold and very ready for the sweet bliss of unconsciousness. The last thing she registered as she gave in to the darkness was being pulled up into strong arms. She hoped beyond hope he would never wake up.