Tara glanced around at the caravan holding her hostage. While her mind's eye kept consistent guard of the Leader and Faramir, she took an account of how this psychotic, medieval regime worked. There seemed to be soldiers, one cherubic-looking healer, two soldiers who did most of the cooking. Two men rode horses, while everyone else walked.
"They are injured."
"What?"
Faramir nodded in the direction she was staring.
"They are injured. That is why they ride and we walk. I apologize. We do not have another steed for you. The rest were lost during battle."
"I'm surprised that I'm not being dragged by my feet by a horse, with Captain English over there." She muttered. She glanced down at her wrists. They were beginning to become itchy and inflamed. Faramir noticed and made a mental note to reaffix her bindings.
For the first time, she took in the clothing of the men in detail. There was a lot of blood spatter.
A chill ran up her spine. Was that real blood?
Her mind took her to dark places as she replayed a horrendous scene of a film she once watched. It was post-apocalyptic. The scene showed no gore, but the sound of a woman screaming as, inside a large mansion, she was being hacked apart for food by her prisoners; regular people. The sound of the thud of axe against wood, followed by her chilling screams always haunted Tara.
Faramir noted her faraway glance and the look of ice in her gaze. He wondered what she could possibly be thinking.
"Tara. You are in the hands of the Soldiers of Gondor. You are as safe as can be. Have I not assured you of this?"
She blinked out of her horrific reverie and subtly glanced down at his uniform. Blood stained his clothing, too. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself, feigning a dislike of the cold and dewy morning. In truth, her mind was reaffirming her goal: ESCAPE.
~Never let them reach Point B.~ This was a motto she learned from a TV show called Oprah. Tara was not an avid watcher of Oprah, but had happened to watch an episode that warned of kidnapping and how to survive it. A guest on the show recounted her story of being wrestled into the trunk of a stranger's car. She knew she had to escape before the car reached it's destination, or else she would die. She escaped, of course.
~Never let them reach Point B.~ She reaffirmed in her mind. She glanced around again at the numbers she was up against. Scenario's flashed across her mind's eye.
Tara's shoe snagged under a wayward tree root and she stumbled. With a huff of exhaustion, both of her mind and body, she glanced a desperate look around for anything she could use to her advantage.
Her eyes met with Boromir's. They stared coldly at each other. In an instant, Tara had her strategy in mind.
Tara planned to escape... this night.
_
Faramir concentrated on the sights and sounds around him. He was on patrol for the night, as requested by Boromir. The elder brother wanted to give Faramir a night of relief from the witch; her lucid nature was putting Faramir under a spell. He could tell. A fearsome warrior, but a young man with a soft heart... That's what Boromir thought of his little brother.
It pained him to put Faramir on watch when he had already been so exhausted from extensive perimeter set-ups, but he had no choice. The black-haired girl was treacherous.
Boromir looked through the opening of his Command tent and watched Faramir from afar. His thoughts wavered back to the witch, to her face. Boromir was not made of stone. He was a red-blooded man, after all. He had captured her scent by happenstance during their trek earlier this day. He was caught unawares and for a moment and allowed his thoughts to feast on her mirage.
He closed his eyes and recaptured the feeling of heat she provoked in him. He allowed himself a moment to quietly revel in her lucid spells.
Her thin coverings betrayed the illicit curves of her body. Her hips swayed gently as she walked and her streaming jet tresses billowed behind her, beckoning him to take her. Her legs were bare and he couldn't help but stroke her thigh in his mind, feeling the softness of her skin, imagining her legs wrapped around his waist as he took her. The movement of her breasts as she walked betrayed the witch. Boromir sighed, frustrated.
"Faramir." Her uncertain voice was small.
"Yes, milady?" The hunter replied without looking at her. "Have you grown weary of your fell tree?"
"What?"
Faramir turned towards her with a small smile.
"You've been hiding behind that fallen tree since dusk. A feat for the ordinary maiden you present yourself as." With a grimace, Tara pictured a ditzy airhead, with no ambition and no aptitude for anything except keeping a mental note of the remaining balance on her credit cards.
"I'm no ordinary maiden." Tara declared, defiant to his judgment.
Faramir's eyes locked onto hers.
"No. No you are not."
Motionless, the two stood there until Faramir returned his focus onto his perimeter watch.
Tara shook her head, asking herself why it mattered what he thought of her.
~Stupid. Focus.~
The moonlight reflected off of his auburn hair. The slight wisp of a breeze animated his inanimate self. His gaze was focused on the clearing before him and his hands were clasped behind his back. Tara took in his aura. It was... regal, almost. It almost made this renaissance fair/international kidnapping incident feel legitimate.
Faramir was tall. He was handsome. His shoulders were broad and his frame slim, but firmly built. His scent was of rich leather and his voice was deep and masculine. No terrifyingly so, as his brother's, but in a thoughtful, brooding fashion. Absurdly, she had the desire to feel his hands. To feel the roughness or softness, any calluses or scars.
Hands were always telling of a man's character, she thought. A firm handshake was telling of a man's inward confidence, even if he was outwardly humble. Tara sensed this from the man before her.
In a flash, she pulled the handsome kidnappers hand into hers. Faramir's eyes riveted to her, considering the impropriety. He cast a quick glance around. The mysterious girl clasped his hand gently but firmly with one of her own, while the other ran fingers lazily over the grooves etched in his palm. She smiled to herself.
"You'll have a long and happy marriage." She murmured without lifting her gaze. Faramir listened intently. Was she performing her craft? Was Boromir right all along? "You'll have 3 kids," she paused, "and only one significant illness in your life." She ran her fingers over his palm some more, but now, only to feel the masculinity of his large hands.
A quick gust of wind lifted her tresses wildly and blew a curtain of darkness around them both. Tara closed her eyes, revelling in the feeling. Being in this hostage situation had heightened her senses immensely. She suddenly found acute pleasure in the kiss of wind against her cheek, or the rustling of the trees above her as they sang to her. She sighed and opened her eyes to meet Faramir's. His focus was zeroed-in on her. He was at war with himself.
Boromir warned Faramir of her spells, her enchantment, earlier this day. Though Faramir could not tell if his utter fascination with her was because of her beauty, her spells, or the air of mystery that surrounded her.
Perhaps they were all forms of her enchantment, working in sync to possess his mind and his will. Or, perhaps, she was a woman. With a family and a husband, and a home that missed her presence. It would have been right for him to hope for the latter; that she was an ordinary maiden whom would be cleared of all suspicion soon enough, and would be sent home. But, he did not hope for this. Instead, Faramir found himself hoping that she was the creature of mystery and darkness that she presented herself as. He hoped that she had not been claimed and that she would let him take her. His goodness and her evil would clash, creating a formidable storm of passion and greedy lust, which were lurid feelings he had surprised from the moment he laid eyes on Tara.
"Anything else?" His voice was husky; his eyes intent on hers. Tara gulped, licking her suddenly dry lips. She lifted his hand to her neck, letting him relish the feeling of soft, female flesh. He continued to watch her as she forced his ministrations on herself, understanding that he was being seduced.
Suddenly, Tara's lips were on Faramir's. Her arms locked around his neck, pulling him down to her as she conveyed her lust for his body. Instinctively, Faramir wrapped himself around her waist, pulling her flush against his form. She inhaled the scent of luxurious leather and the musk of masculinity and felt her head swim. Breaking the kiss, she gasped for air and rested her head against his chest, steadying herself. Faramir sunk himself into her tresses, inhaling the perfume of most fragrant bouquets and sweetest fruits.
"Tara, you are my prisoner."
"Then do with me as you wish." She ran her hands up his sturdy chest and over his proud shoulders. She kissed him again, slowly this time, conveying her wanton lust for him. Faramir controlled his fervour. It was unbecoming for a high-rank soldier as himself to bed a prisoner. There would be consequ-
"FARAMIR." Bellowed a great voice.
The kiss was broken and Tara released her grip of the archer. Boromir grabbed her arm firmly and dragged her towards the camp.
"STOP! Let GO of me!" She squirmed and twisted her arm raw to escape his death clasp. "Faramir!"
The archer looked on, helpless, knowing he erred. Boromir was only doing what Faramir should have done. Faramir flinched as she cried for his aid. Despair filled his heart, but he turned back to the plains, continuing his watch.
Boromir dragged her roughly towards his tent. He fastened the fabric clasp of the entrance and threw her onto the rug before him. Tara scrambled to her feet and braced herself for his wrath.
She waited... stood frozen in fear, anticipating vitriol to be spewed at her, maybe even a hand.
But instead she caught his gaze. His eyes were glossy with lust or rage, she couldn't interpret. He let his eyes fall to her chest, then down her body, then back up to her pink face. Her hair was cloud of black; a mess, and her hands were shaking. She was livid and frightened at the same time, but the burn from her embrace with Faramir still raged in her belly. A quick glance up and down Boromir's form reignited her want. Her cheeks flamed. Like his brother, his shoulders were proud and high. He was thicker than Faramir and his aura was darker. Absurdly, in half-a-second, she noted that his hair was darker, and finer than his brothers, although his scent was the same. Deep, luxurious, rich leather.
"Do you think you can escape your fate with sex?" His question wasn't meant to be answered. He drew closer and Tara cautiously backed away. This enraged him. "Why do you fear my advance but seek Faramir's." He questioned. "He is not the one who can grant you freedom."
"I'm not waiting a week for you take me to that Riven-place." She uttered defiantly.
"I do not speak of Rivendell, enchantress." He stepped closer, breathing in her perfume. His hands snaked to her waist and he leaned into her ear. "I speak of me." She shuddered at his hot breath in her sensitive ear. Boromir felt the betrayal of her body and his grip on her waist automatically tightened. His need for her was growing quickly. If he wasn't a man of sheer will and unsurpassed discipline, he would already have taken her.
All he needed was her permission.
"Do you want to be free, beautiful demon?"
Tara held her breath, steadying herself. She counted in her head, 1... 2... 3
Tara slid the knife out of her makeshift sheath; the waistline of her shorts and held the blade gently but firmly to Boromir's neck. Boromir went rigid.
"I'll free myself."
Fury broiling inside of him, his handsome face glared menacingly at her and she almost wanted to laugh aloud at her victory. She planted a quick kiss on his lips and considered, absurdly, how much she wanted to fuck him. Along with her senses being heightened, for some reason, her body begged for sex.
"I'm sure you would have been fantastic to fuck." She sneered, salting the wound of his ego.
