Chapter 4- A Clever Disguise

(a/n: from here on out, the story is told from a 3rd person POV. just to let you know. Enjoy, and as always....review. p.s: sorry for the short chapters. It'll get better, i promise.)

Marina stayed atop her rock for a long while. She loved the quiet stillness of the world from that particular vantage point- it cleared her mind, helped her think. She turned her eyes back at Minas Tirith, and saw movement by the base. She watched as tiny horses emerged, and began to canter across the plain, closer to where she was. She realized that they were headed for Osgiliath, which she could see more clearly defined than the White City itself. She looked to the front of the rider, watched as their leader signaled something to his men. Marina wondered who among the company would live through whatever battle they rode towards. She would have been content to remain there all day, had it not been for Mikita- whose voice she heard, calling her from the bottom of the ridge.

Sighing at a peaceful moment gone, Marina crawled over to the side of her rock and looked down to where her sister stood. She was about to scold the girl for disturbing her, but the look on her sister's face stopped her. Mikita looked distressed.

"What is it?" Marina called down tentatively- though keeping her voice as quiet as possible."

"Its Dymian!" said Mikita. "He's had an accident!"
That was all Marina needed to hear. She scrambled down off the rock and began to run toward the village, her little sister at her heels. As she sprinted toward the family's house, her heart was racing. What had happened? Was Dymian hurt? And how badly? It must have been bad, or Mikita would bot have come running for her.

She flung open the door and rushed into the small room that the boys shared. It was Dymian's room now, since Ereidain had moved out. Her younger brother was lying on his sleeping pallet, pale and bleeding from his leg.

"What happened?" Marina asked, eyes wide.

"He fell," said Ereidain. "We were climbing the mountain gathering firestones. He lost his footing..."

"I think his leg is broken," said Nevania, his mother. "It will take long to mend."

Marina looked down at the bloody mess that was Dymian's leg. Strips of bloody cloth had been wrapped around it, but it was still bleeding freely.

At the sound of his mother's words, Dymian stirred and protested. "No- we have to report to the Black Gate the day after tomorrow. I have to go."
"Nonesense," said Nevania firmly. "If you go, you will kill yourself. Wounds like this become too easily infected."

"We will be killed if he doesn't report," said Ereidain darkly. "You know the law."

Nevania shook her head. "We will discuss this later. Right now, you two must help me tend to your brother..."

Later that day, after Dymian's wounds had been cleaned and dressed, Ereidain stood outside the house, in a state of thought. He heard a movement behind him, and, turning, saw Marina standing there. His sister came over and stood beside him.

"How is he?" Ereidain asked quietly.

"He will be fine," Marina responded passively, as she always did. "But it will be long before he can walk again."

Ereidain let out a long breath, and stared off onto the horizon, down toward the plains of Mordor.

"What are we going to do, Mari?" he asked her softly, looking back at his sister. "Dymian has to be there in two days," he went on. "If he is not- they will come after our family. They will send the Orcs upon us. I don't want that to happen."

"Then is it not obvious what we must do?" said Marina, still speaking with a passive air.

"What are you saying?"

"Let me go in Dymian's stead. We are like enough in appearence- and I fight just as well as a man..."

Ereidain sighed. "Mari," he said, tugging on her braid in a brotherly way. "You and I both know that will never work. They would discover you, sister. And then the consequences would be too great to bear."

"But Ereidain, there is no other way," Mari protested. "Three of our family must be at the black gate in two days. We have no choice."

"Father will not approve."

"He will. If it will save our family, he will approve. He may not like it, but he will allow it. He condemns us to death if he does otherwise."

"But still, Mari..." said Ereidain, searching for the right words. He loved his sister very much. Marina was his closest friend- the one person who he had always confided in, and she had done the same. He didn't want her getting hurt, but it would be even worse if she were to be discovered. "Marina," he continued, a tone of seriousness in his voice. "I know that you think this will help... but the bottom line of this is that... well... you're a...er-a woman."

He eyed her meaningfully. She merely shrugged.

"Marina!" he said, more firmly, more desperately. "Don't you understand? If you're discovered.... there will be thousands of lonely men who will want to..." he couldn't say it. He didn't want to picture it, either.

Marina looked down at the blackened earth. "Let us pray that that does not happen," was all she said.

Ereidain was silent for a few moments. He picked up a small piece of rock and threw it at the horizon in frustration.

"If you truly want to come with us..." he began.

"I do," said Marina, perhaps a little too eagerly.

Reluctantly, her brother nodded. "All right then. But you'll have to cut your hair."

She agreed, and turned to leave. "I'm going to go talk to mother," she said quietly. "And Ereidain," she said quietly, turning back to look at him. "Please don't worry about me."

He nodded, and she went inside. He stared back off onto the orange horizon, not believing what he'd just agreed to let her do.

Marina and Nevania sat on the floor of the girl's room, a short time later. "Are you sure you want to do this, Mari?" asked her mother hesitantly.

Marina nodded. "It will save us. Just do it."

With a heavy heart, Nevania picked up Marina's sword out of its scabbard, and took her daughter's long braid in her hand. With one swift stroke, Marina's long, thick black hair was shanked off, falling to the floor with a defeated sound. When she looked back at her mother, Marina saw tears in her eyes. Feeling her own sense of regret, she slowly ran her hands through her now-short hair. It felt different- lighter and more manageable. She forced a smile onto her face. "There," she said. "It isn't that bad, is it?"

Her mother shook her head, but still looked pained. She held her daughter's braid in her two hands, remembering all the years she had brushed it and braided it for her, and now it was gone.

"Come on, mother," said Marina gently. "We still have work to do." Nevania nodded, and they continued.

After an hour's labor, Marina looked like a strapping young soldier, wearing a snug undershirt underneath her layers of clothing to hide her figure. Her black hair cut off just below her ears, and she had smudged her face to appear less clean-shaven.

"Gods, Mari," said Dymian when he saw his sister. "You really do look like a lad."

Even Ereidain, though he looked concerned, admitted that the disguise was authentic. That evening, when Durmhuil, their father returned from his journey to a nearby village and saw Maurins, he was shocked. He was also not happy.

"You mean to send my daughter to the front lines, in the guise of a man?" he asked, voice louder than usual. He was speaking to his wife. Nevania looked frightened. "N-not if you do not will it, Durmhuil." she responded fragilly.

"I do not will it," he said firmly.

"But father!" said Ereidain suddenly, advancing. Marina did a double take at her brother. He was not a coward, but he had never dared to stand up to their father before. "If you don't let her go, you sentence our family to death. You know the laws of the land. They expect three men from our family at the gate. Marina must go. It is not a question anymore, father."

Durmhil looked menacing. "You dare stand up to me, Ereidain?" he tested his oldest son.

"I stand up for my family, father. I will not do nothing about this. Marina is coming with us."

"And what do you think will happen if she is discovered?" Durmhuil protested. "We will be no better off if that should happen!"

"I understand that," said Marina suddenly from where she stood. "I know the risks, father. I am willing to take them."

Durmhuil stared at his daughter. She looked strong and determined, ready to do what duty demanded of her. He looked at his wife and his youngest daughter. Mikita looked frightened- he knew all this talk of death made her scared. And he looked at his two sons. He was proud of his boys. He wanted both of them to fight by his side, not Marina. He loved her, but there was no place for a woman on the battlefield. But there was no other way.

He sighed, and then locked eyes with Marina. "You are sure about this, daughter?" he asked.

She nodded steadily. "I am ready, father."

"Very well, then. We leave tomorrow morning."

Durmhuil retreated to his room. Ereidain sighed and walked outside, Marina on his heels.

"Why do you follow me?" he asked when they were outside once more.

"I wanted to thank you. For standing up to father."
"I had to," he said simply.

"Father hates me," said Marina. "I see it in his eyes when he speaks to me. He wishes that I were also a son."

"He loves you, Mari," Ereidain said.

Marina shook her head. "He doesn't."

They were silent for a few moments. Ereidain didn't wish to discuss the matter any further. In his heart, he knew that his sister was right. Durmhuil didn't love his daughters as he loved his sons. He barely spoke to them when he was home.

Searching for another topic to talk about, he asked, "So you are going as Dymian, then? Using his name?"

She nodded.

"This really worries me, Mari," he said. "I will worry about you every day."

"It will only be for a year, Ereidain. When we return next time, Dymian will be healed, and he can take my place."

"But its a whole year," her brother pressed on. "What if you're killed? Or captured?"

"I try not to think about it," said Marina. "But if I am meant to die doing this, then I shall meet my end when the time is right."

Her talking frightened him.

Feeling that the conversation had gone as far as it needed to, Marina turned and went back into the house. As she crawled into bed, she remembered that this would be her last night there, in the home she had called her own for eighteen years.

The three of them left the next day, heading for Mordor. It was a two day journey to the Black Gate, and from the very beginning, it was shaping up to be a most unpleasant one. Durmhuil said nothing to his daughter as he strapped his bag to his back. They set out down the steeply sloping mountainside, accompanied by a few other soldiers who were also returning to the Gate. It was during their travel that Marina's disguise was first put to the test. She was introduced as Dymian, and the other men seemed to accept this; when she spoke, she made sure to deepen her voice even more than usual, since her voice was low and husky to begin with. Their company reached the plains of Gorgoth by midday, turning north toward the land of Morannon, the site of the human military camp. At nightfall they rested, speaking little and taking turns keeping watch for any wayward Orcs that may be searching for a meal. Their journey continued through the next two days, until, finally, the soldiers arrived at the Gate at last.

They reported to the commander of the army, who issued Marina her gear, weapons, and sent her to be branded. All soldiers of Mordor had the mark of Sauron imprinted on their forearm, symbolizing that they would be ever faithful to him and to their land. As she waited behind a long line of new recruits, Marina was shaking under her baggy clothes. The man infront of her, who looked to be about her age, muttered "Branding us like bloody animals, they are."

Marina nodded.

"Where do you come from?" he asked her.

"A village in the Shadow Mountains, near Minas Morgul."

He nodded. "My home was in the East- in Ered Lithui. Of course, it isn't likely that I'll see it again," he said.

"You may," said Marina.

He shrugged, then said, "I'm Razkan."

"Dymian," said Marina, without missing a beat.

They talked for a few more moments, until they came to the front of the line.

"Well," said Razkan, grimacing. "Guess I'm up."

He strode over to where two Orcs were waiting to brand him. He sat down on a wooden stool, holding out his arm. One of the Orcs rolled up his sleeve and held his arm still while the other took out a long iron pole from a piping hot fire. Marina looked away as the metal rod was pressed against Razkan's skin. It was over in a moment, and he stood up, rather shakily, and walked slowly away.

Then it was Marina's turn.

She had never been more afraid in her life, walking toward the Orcs trembling in fear. She sat down, and the Orc took her arm in his steely grip, tearing off her sleeve to the elbow. He felt her quivering, and sneered. "Afraid, boy?" he spat maliciously. "Maybe some pain will do you good. Are you going to scream?" he asked, his red eyes looking into Marina's with hatred and spite. She tried to look away, but the Orc grabbed her chin and jerked her head down to look at her arm. The other Orc brought the metal rod closer to her. Unable to look away because of the Orc's iron grip on her, Marina bit her lip until it bled. The brand pressed against her skin, burning the mark into her flesh forever.

It was pain such as Marina had never experienced before. Tears of pain formed at the corners of her eyes- she tasted the blood in her mouth from where she had been biting down; she fought every urge inside of her to scream.

The rod was removed from her skin. When she looked down, she almost vomited. The skin around the burn was red and blistering. The burn itself had turned a sickening brown color. The Orc that had held her down shoved her away- hard. She landed facedown on the black ashen ground. Mind numb with pain, she stood up again and began to walk aimlessly.

"Dymian!" someone called her. To her relief, she saw Ereidain coming toward her. "Come with me," he said.

Obediently, she followed her brother. He lead her to one of the tents. "This is where you sleep. Will you be all right sharing it with," he lowered his voice, "with some of the men?"

She nodded. "Very well," said Ereidain, though he still looked worried for her. Marina stepped inside the tent, and saw that one of the men she would be bunking with was the young man she had been speaking with in the line.

Razkan smiled weakly at her. "How's the arm?" he asked.

"Hurts."

He nodded. "We should get some rest," he said. Night was drawing nearer.

"Sounds like a good idea," said Marina, weary with pain and exhaustion.

Curled up under a thin blanket, she tried to sleep, but found it difficult. Her arm still throbbed with pain- a sharp stabbing pulse that wouldn't die down. Vaguely, she thought that this was the worst idea she had ever had. How would she ever survive this, she thought bleakly.

As time passed, however slowly, Marina became used to life at the Black Gate. Her unit went out on patrol every day, training themselves at combat and tracking. At the end of another training day, Marina and Razkan took off their gear like normal and went to sleep, unaware that the next day would change everything...