Disclaimer: Well-you know. *points to the first chapter* same thing. But my teddy bear lost its right eye. *Awww...*

Author's Note[s]: -To Jebb, Patty, Jo, white phoenix erialis, Webster, Mai, and Viresse430! Thanks for reviewing! You guys really made my day!

- I have NO idea how Gondorian traditional clothes look like. All I could find was a screenshot of RoTK where Denethor comes out of his hall to see a whole bunch of guards carrying an unconscious Faramir. And behind Denethor, you could see an official of some kind in weird clothes. So that's where I based the traditional clothes on. - I'm sorry if this chapter isn't very good [believe me, I think this is my worst yet]. But if you read, you can see that Faramir interacts with a, um, a *someone*, and. I'm. Just. Not. Good. At. Writing. That. Kind. Of. Stuff. I freeze up and everything _. - The Atalantea is my idea. I used a Quenyan translator, and it's supposed to mean "Fallen."

Chapter 2 - The First Night of Celebration

The evening banquet was the beginning of seventy five days' worth of celebrations and parties in Gondor. On the last night of celebration, the gatherers were to journey to the Atalantea- a giant obsidian rock that stood in the middle of the Pelennor Fields. It was at this location where the Unveiling was supposed to occur- a rare instant in time when the delicate threads separating all the worlds, realities, and dimensions were at the thinnest- especially at the location where the Atalantea stood. And at this time, those who stood near the rock were able to see a glimpse of the future. The prophecies were different for each individual present, and the moment they closed their eyes, they would be brought into what may be to come. Many flocked to Gondor to witness the spectacular occasion. This event happened only once every thousand years- and even then, the appearance was not guaranteed to occur. However, all the astronomers agreed that the Thousand Year Unveiling will definitely take place in two months, due to all the stars and planets coming to align in their right houses on that day.

The sun flamed into a ball of dark orange and red as it began to descend slowly from the sky, and the white moon and stars began to crawl up to illuminate the now dark night. Faramir laughed nervously at his reflection as he stood in front of a full-length mirror in his chamber, arms and legs outstretched, balanced on top of a wooden stool. An old servant was adjusting Faramir's Gondorian formal clothes- a long navy blue gown that reached up his neck and down to his ankles, the long and baggy sleeves made out of a light blue silk. A plain front lace doublet covered his chest, and a black vest that was as long as the gown went over all the other layers. "Alimena, the banquet hasn't even started and my heart is pounding madly." He spoke, confessing his true feelings.

"My lord, this is your first formal dinner- your anxiety is accountable for. But what can go wrong tonight?" Alimena the servant answered kindly. She loved him as a mother loved her son, for Faramir had always treated her with the utmost respect, despite her low social status. She was kneeling on the floor, adjusting Faramir's outer suit to fit him properly with a pair of small silver scissors and a needle of black thread. Alimena paused, giving the young lord one last look- over before putting her tools in a little woven basket before standing up. "There, Master. I have done all that I can do."

Faramir winced at his mirror image. 'I look like a complete fool,' he thought, but he knew that wasn't the slave's fault. Rather, it was the tasteless Gondorian kings of old with their love for manly gowns. He said, "Thank you Alimena. My clothes look and feel wonderful."

Alimena beamed at his words of approval, and handed him a silver medallion stringed on a very thin chain of mithril, which proclaimed him to be the Steward's son. "Anything to serve my lord."

A loud rap on the door made both servant and master look up. Faramir hopped off the stool and moved toward the doors, pushing them open it without hesitation. Boromir appeared on the other side, already fitted into his traditional clothes, and looking quite disgruntled.

"Brother, at least we have to face the same demise," Boromir muttered as he crossed into Faramir's room. Alimena bowed deeply toward the elder son of the Steward, who acknowledged her with a nod before turning to his kin again.

"You speak so dramatically," Faramir grinned, adjusting the medallion around his neck. "All the others will be wearing the same clothes as we. The people will see no difference."

"Put a sword in my hand and I will gladly fight for Gondor. But dance for Gondor? Nay, that is too much," Boromir sighed. He eyed his brother critically. "At least the colors fit you."

Faramir laughed. "I do not trust your judgment. But come, we mustn't be late," He opened the door again, gesturing his brother to go before him.

"No!" Boromir quickly pushed Faramir. "You walk first."

"You are the oldest. It is your place, brother-dear," Faramir smoothly pulled Boromir to the front of him.

Boromir sighed once more, but shuffled down the stone hallway anyway to the main chamber with Faramir by his side, where those invited were to feast, drink, and make merry.

The young men were greeted with the loud rumble of dialogue that bespoke of a large gathering of mortals, and the distinct sound of many feet that pattered on the carefully waxed floor.

"I've never seen the castle so packed," Faramir whispered hoarsely with amazement in Boromir's ear, voicing his older brother's thoughts as they entered the huge chamber. Faramir quickly scanned the crowds of Men that were slowly being seated at the hundreds of tables that were set inside.

"On the last day- when the Unveiling is supposed to happen- the Elves and the Men of Rohan are also invited," Boromir whispered back. "We shall see the true meaning of 'a packed house' then, eh?"

"And they are all wearing the same things we are. Doesn't that relieve you?" Faramir smirked.

"It does," Boromir answered dryly.

"Boromir and Faramir, the Sons of the Steward!" A crier that stood near the front of the room nearly shrieked to make himself heard over the level of noise, making both brothers jump up. As the crier gestured toward Boromir and Faramir, many looked up to see them, and clapped. Faramir greeted them with a faint smile. He followed Boromir's lead, who bowed respectfully.

"Ah! Here are my sons!" Denethor's audible voice made them both look up. He beckoned them over to the high table, where the Steward's family and the noblemen of Gondor were to sit. "Come! Sit!"

Obediently, the young men sat on either side of their father in their designated places. Faramir tensed up as he tried to inch his chair away from Denethor, feeling awkward in being in such close proximity by the one whose affections he so desperately sought since early childhood. But fortunately, Denethor was too involved with his food to notice. A harpist and a female singer started to strike up a slow, yet beautiful song Elvish tongue in a high balcony that overlooked the room.

"Imrahil, prince of Dol Amroth!" The crier's voice struck up again. Faramir looked up from his silver goblet of wine to see his wise uncle make his way through the crowd to the head table.

"Ah! Brother!" Imrahil exclaimed in his usual sunny voice. "I am glad to see you in good health."

"Likewise," Denethor mumbled as he chewed away on an ear of corn.

"And Boromir, and Faramir as well- both of you turned out to be fine young men," Imrahil continued, undaunted by his brother-in-law's apathetic attitude, as he plopped down in the chair next to Faramir. Though he was older than Denethor, he looked as if he were about thirty, due to the fact that he had elvish blood in him.

"'Turned out to be?' We were fine young men to begin with, unless your memory escapes you," Faramir smiled, unable to escape the cheerful aura that surrounded the prince.

"It seems like just yesterday when I had the toddlers of the Steward on my lap, reading to them the adventures of Isildur King," He sighed, his eyes twinkling.

"You embarrass us in front of our father," Boromir overheard the conversation from the other side of the table and wistfully smiled at Imrahil's reminiscence.

However, Denethor was deep in conversation about Minas Tirith's new library with one of the high-ranking officials of the land.

"Speaking of your father," Imrahil spoke in an undertone to Faramir, who leaned closer to him, "Have you decided what to get him? You will be turning eighteen soon?"

Faramir's face suddenly paled as he bit his lip. "Yes. I had been so caught up in my new duties as a ranger that it slipped my mind."

It was tradition in Gondor for a young man to give his father a gift on his eighteenth birthday- the age where a boy was supposed to have become a man. The gift marked his entrance into adulthood, and his gratitude toward his parents for raising him.

Imrahil shook his head. "Ai. What did Boromir give the Steward on his adulthood ceremony?"

"He regained some of the territory Gondor lost to Mordor," Faramir answered, "Something that I do not believe I can redo."

"Ah, I remember now. Denethor was estatic."

Faramir nodded. "What can I do to equal that?" He asked desperately.

He shrugged. "It is a mystery that you will have to solve- though I don't think that there is any object in Gondor that can top *that*. But for now... let us feast!" Imrahil clapped his favorite nephew on the shoulder. Faramir laughed at his words, trying to set aside his worries before returning to his plate.

Not too long later, the singers and musicians overhead struck up a fast pace song.

"Come, brother, our duties await!" Boromir slapped his sibling on the back and pointed to the crowd that was starting to mill over the floor. The tables were starting to be drawn back to the walls, allowing more space.

"Dancing?" Faramir nearly squeaked, losing the rest of what little appetite he had. "I think I'll sit out this event for fear of breaking a poor maiden's toes."

"Don't think I'll let you off that easily- besides, as the son of the Steward, 'it is your place, brother-dear,'" Boromir threw back Faramir's earlier words at him. With a laugh, he started to drag Faramir backwards, who was hanging on to his chair for dear life.

"There is no escape from Boromir's will- you might as well accept the inevitable!" cried out Imrahil as he and Denethor watched the two brothers' struggle. They laughed gleefully together at the sight.

In the end, Boromir prevailed, as was predicted; as it always did. Faramir found himself bowing courteously to the young maidens of Gondor who fancied a round with him.

"I'm a horrible dancer-" he also found himself warning his soon-to-be victims. They laughed and shook it off, calling him as modest and humble. And surprisingly, Faramir found that he did not break any of the maidens' wee toes, and discovered that he wasn't as bad of a dancer as he thought.

"Looks like you're enjoying yourself!" Boromir grinned widely at his brother's flushed face, who had just thrown up his partner in the air and caught her with strong arms in a rather invigorating dance.

"It looks like I am," Faramir turned back to the Lady Yalewen. She looked at him with bright, adoring eyes. "I apologize if I frightened you," he said kindly as lifted her gloved hand and kissed it respectfully.

"N-not at all," The lady stammered, blushing as she caught her breath. "I rather thought it to be exciting." She curtsied sloppily and excused herself, breaking into a fit of giggles as she ran off.

"Not to mention you've become quite a hit with the ladies," Boromir snickered at his young brother's show.

"Now you're just jesting," Faramir smiled, embarrassed. "But I need to cool off as well, before I overdo it and start waving around my sword."

"That would be a funny sight indeed," Boromir laughed before someone hounded him for his attention. Faramir headed off to one of the many terraces that overlooked the lower levels of Minas Tirith. Just for the occasion, the entrances to the balconies were draped with a translucent cloth that served as a somewhat weak door. It also added to the decorations.

Faramir's fast-paced breaths began to return to normal, but his cheeks were still rosy with youthful radiance. He looked up at the clear night sky with bright eyes. The cold and fresh air pierced his lungs, snapping him out of the dream-like state he was in before. He felt more alert and alive than ever. With a content sigh, he perched over the edge of the porch, his elbows leaning on the smooth granite, looking out into the dark distance that was illuminated by the heavenly bodies.

"It's beautiful," He murmured, eyes fixed on a bright star that seemed to pulsate before his very eyes. He flinched, having not known how dry his throat was until now because of all the excitement. He made a mental note to ask the astronomers what was the name of that star.

A soft rustle from behind made him turn his head. A lovely lady had just entered the balcony where he was, holding two goblets of wine in her white hands.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" She treated him with an smile and handed him one of the goblets. "You must be parched."

"Lady Lianna," He answered in greeting, taking the cup, though he wondered how she knew how thirsty he was. Was she watching him? "Thank you," He gently kissed the back of her outstretched hand, as was expected of a gentleman. He had heard of her- and seen her around the castle, of course, but never personally talked to her. She was his father's favorite mistress- a courtesan of the highest order. She was beautiful, complete with porcelain skin, a mane of golden hair and a curvaceous body. The dress that she wore was low-cut, flaunting her cleavage. It discomforted him and made him look away, for fear of staring.

She walked over to the edge of the balcony, where Faramir stood just a moment ago. "It is a wonderful night, isn't it?"

"It is," he agreed before taking a thankful gulp of his drink.

The Lady Lianna glanced at Faramir again. Instantly, an electrical spark coursed its way down his spine. He instinctively felt that there was something dark and malevolent hidden behind her bright cerulean eyes as she observed him. "Drink," she said.

He forced himself to smile, the strange feeling not leaving him. Instead, it made him suspicious of her. "How did you know I was thirsty?" He made his tone light and jesting.

She laughed- a soft tinkle that echoed through the air. "After the way you have been galloping around the chamber, how could you not be?"

"You have been watching me," he voiced his thoughts. He took another sip of the wine to try to quench his thirst, despite his distrustful words.

"Perhaps. Or maybe you just entered my line of sight," she stepped closer. "The common people of Gondor praise you," she changed the subject, searching his face.

"Do they?" Faramir suddenly wished that she would leave. Strangely, it was beginning to be hard for him to think, nevertheless talk. He felt light- headed and drowsy.

"They say... you are kind. And gentle. Lovable. Humble. Intelligent," A smirk graced her full lips. "And handsome."

"They say the same about my brother," Faramir answered. He leaned against the edge of the terrace again, his knees terribly weak for some reason.

"Boromir is a valiant man, but he and you are very much different."

"Oh..." In reality, he had not listened to a word she had said- his mind was wandering far away. He felt strange- as if he did not have complete reign over his mind and body. He bowed slightly - the motion sending his head spinning, and began to try to walk away. "If you will excuse me, my lady- I must get back-"

"No." she cut him off.

He blinked, confused. "...No?"

"Stay," She put on that charming smile again, "You look pale. The night air will do you some good." She pulled him by the crook of his arm away from the entrance and next to her. Faramir put his hands again on the stone, steadying himself.

"Faramir- tell me I am not beautiful," Lianna moved closer to him, her overpowering perfume filling his senses.

'Oh, by Valor...' he moaned in his mind, for he hated perfume, but found that he could not get away because his legs would not respond to him. And for some reason, it was becoming unbearably hot... "You are," he said heavily, avoiding her eyes. He tried to loosen his suddenly tight vest.

"Then... you wouldn't mind..."

"Mind what?"

She laughed. "Oh, sweet innocent Faramir- never has been corrupted by the cruel world, solitary in his world of chivalry and morality!"

"You act like that is a bad thing," he mused, his words beginning to slur together. Everything felt so peaceful- except for that blasted heat. Did someone blow up the furnace? He took another sip of his wine.

"Oh, no. It makes it all more fun," she leaned over and unexpectedly kissed him full in the mouth, clinging onto the front of his tunic, capturing him, imprisoning him-

She let go after what seemed to be an eternity. Faramir stared at her with wide eyes; breathless and confused. A new, strange desire swept over him- something he hadn't felt before- it was wonderful but controlling, light but dark; and he wasn't sure if he liked it. His cheeks were beginning to burn.

"Come with me," she whispered.

"Where?" She made him feel uncomfortable and exposed under her unblinking gaze.

"One night with me, and I will make you fly." she lightly traced the folds of his sleeves with her forefinger.

"Fly?" Flying sounded interesting. She was going to take him flying? On what? 'Nazgul?' the unexpected thought invaded his mind and made him suppress a shudder.

"Yes, fly. Fly to the very stars," She moved to him again, backing him against the edge of the balcony.

"I- I don't know," Faramir stammered, trying to get the wheels in his head to start turning again. He finally got one fact down. "You are Denethor's mistress, are you not? Not... not mine..." he trailed off, turning red at speaking so bluntly.

"Does that matter when you're in love?" She smiled mockingly, as if she was revealing that she meant the opposite of what she said.

'In love?' he thought. But he could not make sense of her words. He could only see Lianna and that hungry look in her eyes- and for some reason, she was becoming blurry-looking...

"No?" he half asked, hoping that was the right answer. He pulled up his sleeves to let his arms breathe. /Unbearably hot.../

"Exactly. Come, follow me-" her voice closed to a whisper near his ears, "I will show you what love is."

That sounded nice- flying and loving...

"I think..." he began. Her hands found way to him, and wherever they touched his flesh, it tingled. He was so confused- and for some reason, his mind has shut down on him-

"Faramir!" A commanding shout boomed throughout the night.

Faramir winced as the cry rang through his ears, recognizing the newcomer's voice. "You speak so loudly, brother..." his words slurred again.

Boromir's eyes narrowed at his brother's pale face and he sprinted over the short distance and roughly pulled Lianna away from Faramir. "What have you done to him?!"

"My Lord," she looked up at his stormy countenance, feigning a wide-eyed virgin's hurt. "Why do you accuse me?"

"You witch!" he glared at her, his nostrils positively flaring. "I know that- you dare to act as if- you little whore- you-" he spluttered in rage.

Lianna gently tapped the tip of Boromir's nose, throwing off her act of a blameless angel and smirking. "Now, now. Aren't you taking your big-brother role too seriously? He *is* coming of age soon."

Faramir looked from the seductress to his best friend. "You do realize you're talking about me in front of me, eh?" his words came out garbled. He mentally slapped himself. /Why couldn't I talk properly?!/

Boromir's eyes narrowed coldly, pushing her hand away. "If you were not a woman, I would have you sent to the dogs, and laugh with pleasure as they rip your insides out. Then I would burn the remains." He said, ignoring Faramir's words.

She laughed. "Oh, my. My lord, you know how much you enjoyed your time with me."

"You tricked me!" He hissed, glancing over at his young brother. "As you tricked him."

"But you came to my bed over and over again-" her pretty grin stretched wider when she saw how Boromir winced at the memories. She continued, "The Lord Faramir... he will be an interesting experience. As for you... I did no tricking. It was you who came to me like a dog hounds his master."

"If you come near him again, I swear- by Valor, I will have your head," his eyes glinted dangerously, his body rigid with fury.

Lianna backed away, knowing that this was no idle threat. He was angry enough to actually go through with it. "Boromir, calm down. Attend to your brother; without treatment, he will have a blasting headache tomorrow morning."

The words further infuriated him, rather than calm him down. "'A blasting headache!?' What have you done to Faramir?!"

"Nothing! I swear on my honor."

"You *have* no honor. But tell me, my *lady*," he emphasized on the word, "why have you chosen him as your prey? Why not some other man who will be more easily swayed by your flirting and flaunting?"

She batted her eyelashes, unmoved by his words, and entreated him with her smile. "Because I am the hunter, and he is the type of man I want. Besides, the hunt will be... a challenge."

"A challenge. Not the fact that he is part of the ruling family?" He spat out. "I've had enough of you. I will have you banished from Gondor."

"I have too much influence over your father for that to happen. You know that."

"Though you may be beautiful, you are corrupt as decaying flesh. Good evening, Lady Lianna. Come, Faramir." He drew his heated eyes to his brother, who looked frightened from the fiery gaze. Faramir tried to obey the command, but stumbled as he took a step forward. He lost his grip on the goblet, and it fell on the floor with an echoing clank.

"You drugged him," Boromir spoke tightly to Lianna.

"Not really..." she answered, "Just a bit of flavoring..."

"Borry... a duck pooed on your head." Faramir swooned as his eyes focused on the air somewhere above Boromir.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he took his brother in his arms, and thrust his nearly limp body over one of his broad shoulders.

Lianna looked at the drugged Faramir. Maybe she shouldn't have added too much of the Jasulas herb to his drink, but she knew he would resist if he was in control of himself. But she was successful- she planted the first seeds of doubt and desire in his mind. If only the Lord Boromir had not barged in... Lianna smiled. Nevertheless, the young son of the Steward *will* come back to her. All of the other men did, and the Lord Faramir was probably no different underneath that innocent exterior. And she needed him to want her- it was imperative that he becomes a slave to his lusts and desires... it was all part of the grandeur plan.

- - - - -

A/N: Don't worry! More action and less talk soon! But deal with me for another chapter or so. I've never been drunk or drugged, so I really don't have any personal experiences. But I asked a few friends of mine who had been lucky enough to- to, you know, and those are the effects that they mentioned. *points up toward the story* Sorry if it's incorrect! And I also made up the Jasulas Herb. And I'm. Not. Good. At. That. Kind. Of. Stuff. You know what I'm talking about! *flails arms frantically* Please bear with me. But it's not going to happen again. I swear.

Important A/N: If you know how to make italics appear on a fanfic, please tell me. And- I'm sorry for asking so much of you all- but I think I need a beta reader. Anybody? Please? *puppy eyes*

Wow, I make a lot of A/Ns.