Tára sat in Legil-Galad's embrace, soaking in the warmth radiating from his body. It hurt so much for Tára to breath but sitting upright in Legil-Galad's arms eased the pain somewhat. Tára listened to the beating of the elf's heart; the steady rhythm was calming to Tára and distracted her from her pain. A thousand questions floated through Tára's mind but she did not have the strength to voice them. So much had happened since Tára had last seen Legil-Galad and she did not know where to begin. She could tell something had changed in Legil-Galad. She remembered the fury and fervor with which he fought during the battle, and she remembered the curses and oaths that had flowed out of the elf's mouth. Tára remembered some of the oaths and shivered involuntarily. Legil-Galad had condemned all that he cut down to eternal fire and torment and those were just the milder oaths. When Tára had seen Legil-Galad's crazed eyes, she knew, something was not right. The eyes Tára remembered were a cool forest green that radiated strength and serenity. Legil-Galad's eyes now were hard and sharp and they shone with the crazed light of an animal, long-caged.
Legil-Galad shifted and his hand touched the bare skin of Tára's arm. Tára nearly pulled her arm away in shock. Legil-Galad's skin was almost burning hot, faintly reminding Tára of the Necromancer's touch.
"Are you all right?" Legil-Galad asked, having felt Tára stiffen when he moved.
"Your skin is so warm. It just surprised me." Tára said, trying to push the Necromancer's memory away. Tára took as deep a breath as she could manage, trying to hide her panic from Legil-Galad. She could feel the elf taking a breath to speak when there was a quiet knock on the door. Before they could answer, the door swung open and a cloaked figure walked into the room. A healer walked behind the cloaked person and Tára was surprised to see the disapproving glare she gave Legil-Galad. Tára's attention was drawn away from the surly healer when she heard the cloaked figure gasp.
"What have they done to you, Tára?" the cloaked figure walked towards Tára, casting back their hood. Aragorn stood in front of Tára and Legil-Galad. The Ranger's expression was grim and his eyes traveled between Tára and Legil-Galad several times. Tára felt a small twinge of embarrassment that Legil-Galad still held her and started to move off the elf's lap. As Tára moved, she could not help but wince at the pain shooting through her body. Legil-Galad was instantly helping Tára, helping her sit on the cot beside him. Tára took a few short breaths and was about to speak when someone cleared their throat loudly. As Tára looked up, the healer behind Aragorn began to speak.
"She has many broken ribs and her lungs are weak, my lord. Too much talking will tax her overmu…"
"I will let her know her own limits; there are many questions that need answering." Aragorn said, sending the healer a quick look. The woman nodded in silence, leaving quickly out the door. Aragorn returned his gaze to Tára and nodded for her to speak.
"I was not meant to go with you, Aragorn and I endangered the Grey Company. For that, I must first ask your forgiveness." Tára looked down at her hands, eventually clasping her bandaged palms together to cease their shaking.
"You have my pardon, Tára." Aragorn said quietly. Tára nodded, trying to decide where to start.
"I was taken to Minas Morgul." Tára finally said. She felt Legil-Galad stiffen at her side but she continued. "I didn't know how long I was there but now that I'm here, I know it was only a matter of days. I did not eat and they gave me nothing to drink until I was within the Morgul host. When I first woke, Sauron's messenger himself and the captain of the Morgul army were there. They told me that I had been 'gifted' with the Black blood." Tára could feel her heart begin to race at the memories coming back to her and she stopped. The fire in her veins burned as her heart beat faster and she took a shaking breath, trying to calm herself. She knew Aragorn wanted to know everything and that thought alone scared Tára. She did not know what Aragorn would do if he knew Sauron's designs on Tára. Tára looked up at the Ranger and had to look away quickly; Aragorn's expression was too perceptive and Tára felt he could see her thoughts.
"They told me that the Black Blood is the very blood of Sauron." Tára continued a note of hysteria in her voice. "When the pain started, I could not bear it, and blacked out. Then the dreams, nightmares, started. I cannot recall how many there were but Boromir was there." Tára paused for a moment, feeling Legil-Galad stiffen next to her again. She did not look at the elf though and continued to speak, finding suddenly that she could not stop the words coming out of her mouth. "Every single dream was a torment and when one ended, another began. I died in every dream; Boromir killed me. It was terrible. Boromir always started out as he was in Lothlorien. Then he would change and it would all be over. I could not bear it; I could not bear the desecration of Boromir's memory. The man I knew and lov…" Tára stopped, sucking in her breath. She cast a glance at Legil-Galad in panic. The elf only rose from the cot, muttering an oath under his breath. Aragorn sent a stern look at the elf but made no comment otherwise. Tára looked at Legil-Galad again, not missing the fire in his eyes. It was nearly too much for Tára and her heart began to race in panic.
"What happened next, Tára?" Aragorn asked, sensing the shift in Tára's mood.
"After the dreams, I saw him. I saw Sauron." Tára said, feeling her body beginning to shake violently. "He was kind to me; at first I didn't know who he was. He treated me almost as if he cared for me, as if he was trying to help me. Then he… then he…" Tára's words trailed off suddenly. Legil-Galad and Aragorn looked at Tára quickly and Legil-Galad knelt in front of her. Tára's eyes were dilated, looking completely black. For her stillness though, Legil-Galad could see Tára's pulse hammering in her neck.
You will be mine, dear Tára…
For a moment, Aragorn and Legil-Galad disappeared from Tára's vision and in their place, stood the Necromancer. His body shimmered like a mist then disappeared but not before Tára saw the rapacious gleam in his black eyes.
"Tára?" Legil-Galad's voice rang through Tára's thoughts like a bell. Tára shook her head, her eyes coming back into focus.
"Valar help me…" Tára whispered, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. Legil-Galad grasped Tára's arms gently though let go when she jerked away from his touch.
"Tára, what have you told the enemy?" Aragorn asked, authority ringing in his voice. Tára looked up at Aragorn, her tears finally escaping.
"I have told him nothing, I swear it." Tára said vehemently. She wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to squelch the cough beginning to rattle its way up through her body. She heard Aragorn ask another question but she could barely hear him over the dark whispers suddenly swirling in her mind.
The heir of Isildur stands before you; strike him down and you will be free of your torment.
No…no! I will not! Tára thought, her inner voice sounding small compared to the dark whispering. She felt the blood in her veins begin to burn again, feeling like shards of glass ripping through her flesh.
Do it… do it for me. I will make you Queen above all Middle…
"No!" Tára yelled, jumping up from the cot. She reached to her side for her sword, cursing when she realized her weapon was not there. Then, strong hands grasped her arms and Tára remembered where she was. Her knees buckled and whoever held her set her gently back on the cot.
"Tára?" Legil-Galad's familiar face hovered over Tára, and she realized he was the one that held her.
"What did you see?" the face of Aragorn swam into focus next to Tára; the Ranger looked extremely troubled.
"I cannot stop the whispering. He wants me to kill you."
If you but do what I ask, I will give you one more chance. Tára shook her head, clapping her hands over her ears as the Necromancer began to laugh. That sound sent Tára into instant panic; she could feel herself hyperventilating and the familiar dark ring appeared around her vision. Aragorn and Legil-Galad's voices sounded panicked but quickly faded away. Tára did not care; there was pain, so much pain. She welcomed the darkness as it came and retreated into its silent abyss.
"Why do you continue to fight against me?" a now familiar, beguiling voice woke Tára. When Tára opened her eyes, all she saw were shadows and mist. She sat up and tried to stand but her head spun and she sat back down heavily. Panic and dread sunk their claws deep into Tára's chest as the Necromancer walked out of the mist in front of her.
"You might have thwarted my plans at the river, but you know as well as I that this game is yet to be won." The Necromancer stopped just in front of Tára, offering his hand to her. Tára tried to move away but the Necromancer caught Tára's hand and roughly pulled her to her feet. His touch felt as hot as a firebrand and Tára pulled her hand away quickly. The Necromancer merely smiled at Tára, his expression revoltingly self-assured.
"I have already told you, I will not succumb to your will." Tára said, swaying on her feet. She saw the flash of hatred chase across the Necromancer's face but the self-assured smile was instantly back in place before the Necromancer even missed a beat.
"I have to say that of all my mortal subjects to receive my gift, you have withstood acceptance the most." The Necromancer began to pace, his form shimmering and melding in and out of the mist. He continued to pace, circling behind Tára. She could almost feel his steaming breath on her neck as the Necromancer hesitated in his steps. "I know that your body is fighting against my gift; every part of your being revolts against my power. If you resist too long, you may not have a chance to take the choice I offer." A dark chuckle followed the Necromancer's words and he circled back to stand again in front of Tára. She felt her insides roil, as the Necromancer's dark gaze looked her from top to bottom. The Necromancer's possessive stare jolted Tára out of her panic and she felt her anger flare.
"Why would Sauron want me, a mere mortal who serves your enemies in Valinor? You must know that eventually, you will fall." Tára's words were defiant but she could not help but flinch at the deathly glare the Necromancer shot her way.
"You are more foolish than I had once thought; my own servants told you why you remained my captive." the Necromancer looked at Tára expectantly, only to roll his eyes in contempt at her silence. "Power, dear Tára. Power. If I were to corrupt the Valar's servant, that would destroy all hope of the pitiful free peoples. I would be as Morgoth himself in the eyes of all who serve me." The Necromancer eyed Tára again, his expression unsettlingly hungry. "And what better person to be my greatest servant than you. You have knowledge of the coming ages, my dear Tára. With that knowledge, you could further my power greatly." Then, before Tára could react, the Necromancer took hold of Tára's neck in his burning hands. Tára struggled against the strangling hold but the Necromancer gave a short laugh and leaned toward Tára's ear.
"As long as you fight me, I will torment you, body and soul. You will succumb to my will or the grave; the choice is yours, my dear Tára." The Necromancer then let go of Tára's neck, placing a fiery kiss on the corner of Tára's jaw. Tára's body immediately erupted in pain and the fire in her veins renewed. The last thing she heard was the Necromancer's gloating laugh.
Tára jerked awake, her brow covered in sweat and her chest heaving. Her body burned in pain and Tára put a shaking hand to the corner of her jaw, trying to stop the burn that radiated from that point. When her eyes finally focused, she was looking up at a colossal canopy of fabric and four posters of a bed; for a moment, Tára could not remember where she was. Then, the previous battle came flooding back and Tára remembered that she was in Minas Tirith. She groaned but then gasped when she heard someone stir next to her.
"Tára! You're awake!"
Tára forced a weak smile when she saw who sat next to her. Meriadoc, the hobbit, sat on a chair, his short legs dangling. The hobbit jumped from his high seat, climbing onto the corner of the bed next to Tára's head. In the back of Tára's mind, she thought for a moment that Merry looked taller and a little broader than when she last saw the hobbit but she kept her observations to herself.
"You've been asleep for a long time." Merry looked at Tára gravely, his eyes continually coming back to the scars on her face. "They told me you were hurt by orcs when you went to Mirkwood; that you nearly died." The hobbit's face, though more mature than Tára remembered it, still looked at her in innocent concern.
"These no longer hurt." Tára said, running her fingers along the largest of the three scars. Merry tentatively touched the corner of Tára's jaw, his eyes wide.
"What about that?" the hobbit asked. Tára knew that Merry asked about the spidery, black veins that radiated from the corner of her jaw. Tára sighed, still aware of the burn with every beat of her heart.
"That still hurts." Tára simply said, not wanting to worry the hobbit more. A mocking laugh, like a faraway echo, floated through Tára's mind and she sucked in her breath quickly, gritting her teeth. She looked quickly at the hobbit, relieved that he seemed not to notice her discomfort. Merry was sitting back against the headboard, seemingly deep in thought. After a minute of silence, the hobbit finally spoke.
"I guess then we both have something in common." Merry smiled at Tára but did not elaborate and she did not have the energy to ask what the hobbit meant.
"Well, I'll tell you what, it took nearly the whole army to keep lord Legil-Galad from storming Mordor all by himself." Merry smiled at Tára, his expression slightly excited. "You see, once you blacked out in the houses of healing, lord Legil-Galad went into a rampage, yelling things in elvish and pretty much scaring everyone within earshot. Aragorn was able to take him outside and calm him down but I have never seen someone with such a fire in his eyes. I had just woken up after Aragorn healed me and at first I thought I was staring at an ancient elvish spirit or something." Merry stopped and smiled self-consciously at his metaphor. "Then, when all the lords met to form a plan, lord Legil-Galad was ready to run all the way to the Black Gate by himself. The rumors in the city say that he called an unspeakable curse on the dark lord and that he would not rest until he had been defeated." Merry shivered then looked sheepishly at Tára. "I think he loves you, Miss Tára, even if he is a little off his rocker."
"You think so?" Tára asked benignly, remembering when Legil-Galad had professed his love for her. She remembered the pure depth of his eyes, the sweetness of his kiss. She also remembered the Legil-Galad she had last seen, the battle crazed warrior, consumed by anger and hate. Profound sadness landed on Tára like a stifling blanket. She wished for the old Legil-Galad to return. She wanted to quench the fire in the elf's soul. Tára did not realize she was crying until Merry held a silken handkerchief in front of her face.
"There, there, that's nothing to cry about. I've never told a girl that I loved her but I know it's a happy thing when it happens." Merry seemed undaunted by Tára's tears and placed his hand on her shoulder gently. Tára wiped her eyes, looking away from the hobbit.
"I'm sorry; I am still exhausted and am not myself." Tára said, rubbing the back of her neck distractedly. When she felt the coolness of metal on her un-bandaged fingertips, Tára pulled the silver chain free of the collar of her gown. Boromir's ring still hung about her neck; the silver was splotched with dirt and grime, almost matching the ebony center. She heard Merry's gasp and she looked at the hobbit sadly.
"Boromir's ring." Merry reached out and touched the trinket, his eyes far away and sad. "How did you get his ring?" Merry sat back, looking at Tára again.
"He gave it to me in Lothlorien." Tára said nearly whispering. Instead of happy memories from that time, the images of the Boromir from Tára's nightmares flashed through her mind. She dropped the ring, quickly pushing herself into a sitting position.
"Are you all right?" Merry asked, putting a tentative hand on Tára's shoulder.
"Yes, I'm fine." Tára said tersely, trying to push her sudden panic away. She could feel the dark shadow creeping along the edge of her mind and the room suddenly felt stifling.
"Merry, could you run and ask for something for me to eat. I suddenly realized that I'm starving." Tára lied, feeling her stomach churn at the thought of food. The hobbit's face brightened at the prospect of a meal and he slipped off the edge of the bed quickly.
"I'll make sure they make you a feast worthy of a queen." Merry smiled and gave Tára a reassuring pat on the arm. Tára only nodded, watching the hobbit's brisk walk as he exited the room.
As soon as the door latch clicked shut, Tára swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her head spun when she stood but it was much less severe than what Tára had experienced before. She walked to the chest at the foot of the bed, hoping to find some garment other than the linen gown she wore. She stopped short when she looked at the top of the chest. Her sword sat upon the chest's lid, bright and gleaming as if it had never seen battle. Tára did not remember seeing her sword since she gave it back to Legil-Galad at the river but stranger things had happened. Tára carefully moved the weapon to lie on the foot of her bed. As her fingers brushed the sword's cold steel, she drew them back quickly as a cold ache shot through her hand. This disconcerted Tára to no end and she stared at the sword for a long moment before turning back to the chest.
As Tára opened its heavy lid, she found nothing inside the chest except a few blankets and a light cloak. It was a paltry offering but Tára pulled out the cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. Tára looked at her feet as the cloak puddled on the floor around her. As Tára adjusted the fabric upon her shoulders, she noticed that the edges of the cloak could almost wrap around her twice. It was most definitely a man's cloak she wore but Tára had no other options. Taking up the excess fabric in her hands, Tára walked to the door. She cracked it open carefully, glad when she saw that the hall outside was empty. She was not sure where she was but she heard the sound of running water nearby. She walked as quickly as she could, her bare feet pattering quietly on the stone floor. Twice, Tára ducked into another hallway as someone walked by but she was never noticed. After a few more moments of walking, Tára stepped out into the open air. A cool breeze blew against Tára's face, sending a shiver down her spine. She cast her hood back, letting the breeze ruffle her hair about her face. Her body still ached but the night air was refreshing and pushed Tára's pain to the back of her mind for a moment. She stood in a small courtyard with a running fountain in its center. Tára walked around the fountain to the far side of the courtyard, looking over the wall. From her spot, Tára realized she was no longer in the houses of healing. She knew the only other place adjacent to the healing houses was the palace complex and she wondered why she had been put there.
The breeze gusted again and Tára pulled the cloak closer around her shoulders, holding a handful of the fabric against her face. A familiar, musky scent rose from the fabric but with her muddled mind, Tára could not exactly remember where she had smelled it before. Tára looked up to the sky, seeing the stars for the first time in many days. Tára remained standing, with her head tilted back, looking at the stars for several quiet moments. After a while, when Tára felt herself beginning to sway, she looked back down at the city below. She sighed tiredly, leaning her chin in her hands. Tára's solitude was short-lived though; footsteps sounded behind her and Tára straightened up quickly.
"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you." A strangely familiar voice said behind Tára. She looked behind herself, pulling the large hood of her cloak back on top of her head.
"It is alright. I was just leaving." Tára said quietly. She turned to go when the stranger spoke.
"Please, stay. I was hoping I might speak with you."
Those words stopped Tára and she looked up at the stranger, suddenly recognizing who spoke to her.
"Forgive me, lord Faramir. I did not recognize your voice." Tára wrung the edges of her cloak in her hands, debating what to do next. Faramir saw Tára's discomfort and walked to the edge of the fountain where he gestured for Tára to sit. She followed the man's direction, sitting down and wrapping her cloak snuggly around herself. Faramir sat once he was sure Tára was settled. The man looked calm but a melancholic light was in his eyes.
"I had a chance to speak to the elf-lord, Legil-Galad. He is a fierce some warrior and a mighty ally, to say the least." Faramir looked over at the cloaked woman, seeing the barest trace of a nod. Her profile was nearly hidden by the hood of the oversized cloak she wore. Faramir's heart ached when he looked at the familiar garment; he did not count on his memories becoming so painful when he had been asked where to place the young woman named Tára. The healers had wanted her close to the houses of healing but had been adamant that they would not allow a woman in the common chambers with the recovering men. The lady Éowyn had been given the private chambers of the healing houses to recover, pushing Tára out of the Houses of healing altogether. The only open room in the palace complex close enough had been one of Boromir's former chambers. The internal battle for Faramir was short when he decided to place Tára in his brother's former quarters. Without a doubt, Faramir knew that Boromir would have wanted that to be done. So it was a surprise to Faramir when he felt the pain welling in his heart at the sight of Tára, wrapped in his brother's old cloak. The garment dwarfed the young woman and for a moment, a vision of Tára wrapped in Boromir's arms floated through Faramir's mind. The painful knot tightened in Faramir's chest and he looked away from studying Tára. After a moment though, Faramir felt the knot loosen some and he looked back at the young woman. She had her face turned completely away now. Faramir had heard that the young woman's visage was terribly scarred; a small part of Faramir wanted to see if the rumors were true.
"Might I ask you to lower your hood?" Faramir watched the young woman stiffen for a moment but surprisingly, she did as he asked.
Tára tucked her hands back into the cloak after she lowered her hood, finally turning to look the man full in the face. He did not look very much like Boromir but there was a familiarity in the gleam of his grey eyes and in the lines around his mouth when he spoke. She could tell that her appearance startled the man and she looked away. She could still feel Faramir's gaze on her and she sighed, coughing a little when her breath caught in her chest. As her cough died down, Tára remained silent, giving Faramir a chance to speak. She suspected that the man was taking a moment to process what he saw and Tára did not rush the man to speak any further. After a few uncomfortable moments of silence, Faramir cleared his throat and began to speak.
"When I talked to lord Legil-Galad, he told me that you had a special place in my brother's heart. Was he speaking the truth?"
A strange pain stabbed through Tára like a knife and she sucked in her breath. She had not expected Faramir to be that specific and wondered how long he and Legil-Galad had spoken with each other. Talking about Boromir was the last thing Tára wanted to do and she immediately became defensive. She had not even told Legil-Galad the whole truth about her past feelings for Boromir and now the man's brother wanted to know about the relationship. Tára balled her hands into fists in the fabric of her cloak, fighting against the sharp words that suddenly sprang to her lips. Faramir shifted next to Tára and she looked over at the man; Faramir's gaze was pleading and Tára's defensiveness evaporated like a mist. She realized the man was seeking closure to lay his brother's memory to rest. Tára knew that she would ask the same of any other if they had been the last person closest to one of her kin. Tára took as deep a breath as she could manage and then sighed.
"By your brother's own words, he loved me. I was… afraid, to return his feelings, and never told him how I truly felt. I realized too late that I did care for him." Tára's words became stuck in her throat and she swallowed hard. "Maybe not with the same fervor and zeal, as your brother for me, but I did care for him." Tára looked at Faramir and saw the hint of a sad smile on his face.
"It was Boromir's wish to take me to Gondor to wait out this storm but the Valar had other plans. Before I left Lorien, Boromir gave me his ring as a pledge of his love. I have borne it ever since." Tára lifted the chain from around her neck, holding the ring out to Faramir. "It is rightfully yours, by all accounts." Tára watched as Faramir took the ring, rubbing the grime off the silver in an almost tender fashion. Then, the man sighed and held the ring out to Tára.
"It is yours, my lord." Tára said in surprise, holding out her bandaged hands as if to push the ring away. Faramir smiled sadly and continued to hold the trinket until Tára finally took the ring back.
"Boromir would have my hide if I were ever to take such a thing from the woman he loved." Faramir smiled sadly again. "Even the cloak that you wear I would be loath to take from you. It was one of the few personal items Boromir kept in his chambers and I feel he would want you to have it."
"I am in Boromir's chamber?" Tára asked, already feeling the lump in her throat. Faramir nodded silently and Tára could not stop the tears from running down her face. Tára used the edge of her cloak to wipe her tears and the familiar scent, again, wafted from the fabric. The scent, was Boromir's scent. All at once, the memories came flooding back and Tára could do nothing to stop them. She saw her first meeting with the man and then their days on the practice field, sparring with each other and spending their days with the Fellowship. Tára felt a sob welling when she remembered Boromir's final kiss before she left Lothlorien. She still remembered feeling the man's passion and love through his touch, and the thrill it had given her.
You could have saved him; you knew what was going to happen to the man and yet you let him die. You could have left Mirkwood sooner and saved Boromir but instead you leapt into the arms of another. Legil-Galad… Tára shook her head against the thoughts hammering her. She could hear the Necromancer's dark chuckle creeping along the corners of her mind but it was her own inward voice that tormented her.
You do not deserve such a one as Legil-Galad yet your touch upon the elf's life has already doomed him to madness. You are worthless and broken…
"No! Be quiet!" Tára stood from the edge of the fountain, holding her hands over her ears. Faramir leapt up as he saw the young woman begin to sway but backed away when he saw the strange luminescence shining from her eyes. Tára continued to sob, still holding her hands over her ears and mumbling to herself.
Why not succumb to Sauron? He promised to save Legil-Galad; since you failed to save the first man you loved, you cannot possibly hope to save another. What is the world when you lose the one you love? You know what will happen at the Black Gate; you know lives will be lost before the end.
Legil-Galad was suddenly before Tára's eyes; the elf had his arms wrapped around his midsection and he was doubled over. Sanguine drops fell between the elf's fingers as he tried to stand upright. His green eyes seemed to pierce Tára's soul. The elf reached a bloodstained hand out to Tára in a beseeching gesture then collapsed to the ground.
"No… no!" Tára reached out to the vision as it faded away, the final image of Legil-Galad burned into her mind. Tára heard someone sobbing when she realized it was herself.
You can save him…you have the power to save him. A final, dark whisper floated through Tára's mind. She wrapped her arms around her heaving chest, trying to stem the hysteria that was boiling to the surface.
"Lady Tára?"
Tára turned quickly, having forgotten that Faramir still stood beside her. The man looked shocked and afraid; one of his hands rested on his belt as if to reach for his absent sword.
"Forgive me, my lord. I must go." Tára turned and gathered up the extra fabric of her cloak and ran from the fountained courtyard. She heard Faramir calling after her but she could not understand what he said. She needed to be with Legil-Galad; she needed to be at the Black gate. Tára ran back into Boromir's chambers, nearly bowling over Merry as she burst through the door.
"Miss Tára, where have you been?" The hobbit looked at Tára, taking in her flustered appearance and tear-stained face.
"I am sorry." Tára brushed past the hobbit, ignoring his protests, and looking around the room. "How long has it been since the army left?" Tára asked Merry, only glancing distractedly in the hobbit's direction.
"It has been barely a day since they left." Merry looked at Tára in concern, quickly realizing what she was thinking. "Miss Tára, you cannot chase after…"
"Please, save your words. I will go whether you help me or not."
And you will never make it in time… Tára shook her head as the traitorous thought chipped away at her resolve. Shaking her head once again, Tára walked up to a large wardrobe made of dark wood and opened its doors. The familiar musky scent of Boromir's cloak was also in the wardrobe and for a moment, Tára felt her resolve slip further; the maddening whispers took advantage of Tára's weakness and tried to claw their way to the surface. Tára took a shaky breath and dove into the surprisingly few piles of clothes, trying to block out the whispers. Tára knew all the garments would be extremely oversized on her but she had no other choice. She continued to dig through the piles of clothing, not really seeing what she laid her hands on. Through all this, Tára did not notice that Merry had disappeared from her side until she heard the hobbit's footsteps at the door. In his arms, he held a bundle of fabric and a pair of boots. He held the bundle out to Tára and sighed.
"Here, one of my tunics will fit you better; I hope it serves you well. The armor that King Théoden gave me came with these," Merry then held the boots out to Tára. "They look like they should fit." The hobbit then looked away, his expression downcast.
Tára took the boots from Merry and walked quickly behind a dressing screen in the far corner of the room. Merry's tunic did fit her relatively well; Tára barely noticed that the hobbit had also gotten her a belt, a pair of leggings, and thick woolen socks. All the garments were a mish-mash of colors and textures but Tára did not care. The whispers were growing louder and Tára felt as if she would shatter at any moment. That, coupled with the constant presence of pain, caused Tára to grind her teeth until her jaw ached.
Tára walked out from behind the screen, pulling on the second boot. The boots had been made for a teenaged lad and would have been loose on Tára's feet if it were not for the thickness of the wool socks between the leather and her skin. Tára's hands shook as she fastened the clasps at the neck of her tunic. She noticed that the bandages on her hands had begun to soak through from the blisters of her burns. She hesitated for a moment then pushed her concern to the back of her crowded mind.
Tára returned to the wardrobe, finding a long-knife at the bottom of one drawer. Her fingers fumbled as she attached the knife to her belt and Tára muttered dark words under her breath at her clumsiness. When the weapon was finally affixed, Tára reached for her sword. She slid the blade carefully between her belt and tunic, sorely missing the sword's sheath. Tára knew that she would never see the sheath again and she did not want to think of the dungeon it sat in.
Tára finally put on Boromir's cloak, glad that the garment was oversized and hid her almost completely. When Tára looked up from fastening the cloak, she stopped short; Merry stood in front of the door with his arms crossed. The hobbit had certainly gotten taller because he almost looked Tára in the eye.
"I know I can't stop you so be careful. You are not well." Merry fixed Tára in a stern gaze until she looked away.
"Thank you, Merry." Tára said quietly, stepping around the hobbit quickly. Tára heard the hobbit sigh but she kept on walking, leaving Merry staring after her.
The hallways were empty as Tára found her way out of the sixth level. Sweat ran down her back as her body protested at her vigorous walk; every time she took a breath, her ribs pained her and there was the constant burn throughout her whole body. Though for all her bodily discomfort, Tára could not quiet the whispers in her mind. They continued to stab away at Tára's thoughts, making her mind dark and troubled.
Tára was able to find her way to the stables once she exited the palace complex. There were only a few horses that Tára could see, and she had no hopes for a fast steed. She was also sure that she would not to be able to saddle a horse in her current state.
A sound at the opposite end of the stable startled Tára out of her thoughts and she ducked into an empty stall. As she peered around the corner, a single stable hand walked to the remaining horses. The stable hand looked to be in his early teenage years and was still of a slight build. When the lad's back was turned, Tára crept out of her hiding place, drawing the knife at her side. She did not intend to hurt the lad but she did not want him to alert any of her presence. Paranoia had been creeping along Tára's spine since she had left and her hand shook on the hilt of her knife. The horse the stable hand tended snorted and pawed at the ground when it saw Tára. The lad turned to look what drew the horse's attention when he felt cold steel on his neck.
"Saddle a horse for me; tell no one of this and I will not harm you." Tára kept the knife pressed on the lad's throat as he silently nodded. After a moment of hesitation, the stable hand backed away and headed to the saddle-rack. Tára watched in nervous silence as the stable hand completed his task with practiced efficiency. When he was done, he handed the reins to Tára, his stance and hands sure. Tára sheathed her knife and stepped up to the horse. She could not stifle a groan as she tried to raise her foot to the stirrup. She jumped in surprise as the stable hand caught her foot in his hands, giving Tára a step up. It still pained Tára to get into the saddle but she was able to settle in quickly. The stable hand stepped back, watching Tára in silence. The lad's gaze unnerved Tára and she pressed her heels to the horse's flanks, urging the animal out of the stable. Tára did not look back, but she knew the stable hand watched her until she was out of his sight.
A/N: What's my excuse this time for my posting lag, you may ask. The only answer I have for you all is "Life." Its interesting how things can be normal one day and then the next is a whole ton of crazy and you have no idea when the switch was made. I will not bore you all with the intimate details of my life but lets just say I'm praying for a break.
I also had to have a sit-down talk with Legil-Galad and Tára, and ask them both where they were seeing themselves in the future of this tale. I would let you all know what they said but... that would be telling. :)
Thank you all for your reads, reviews, favorites, and follows! They mean so much to me!