A/N: Hope you like it. I've been suffering from an extreme case of writer's block, but tonight, I got past it, thanks to my friend Andy's ingenious poem about the sun/moon, which I altered a bit and added a stanza. Thanks for letting me alter it Andy! Also, many thanks to Susan, who with her constructive criticism, help, and encouragement, helped me through the difficult time, and yes, this chapter does bring out both of their darker sides! This chapter is like the climax of the conflict and tension between Faramir and Elentari and brings out sides that most people would never dream of. Thanks reviewers! Keep at it!
Chapter 15: The Mask
After the tournament commenced and everyone, spectators and competitors, cleaned up, freshened up, and refreshed themselves, they donned revelry masks and costumes, and made their ways around the halls, trying to guess who was who. Denethor was easily recognizable with his graying hair, proud stride, and bitter eyes that no one could overlook, no matter what the costume. Boromir came as an urchin, dressed from head to toe in different shades of green, though it was rather unconvincing considering his height and build.
Elentari chose her costume carefully, not wanting to be noticed, as she knew she was the pinnacle of attention. She brought out her hauberk, girdle, sword, and armor. As she dressed, she pinned up her long hair, fitting a helmet over it to conceal it. When she was done, she could pass for any soldier of Gondor and could fight as well, if not better, than any as well. However, her maids insisted that going out dressed as a soldier would make it too obvious. People would either think that person was too lazy to change or would guess it was her. Therefore, they draped a bright orange cloak around her and pulled the flaming hood over her head, so she represented flaming Arien, the Sun-maiden. Elentari was rather pleased at her maid's suggestion, as no one would guess that the Star-maiden was this warrior of the Sun. That is, no one other than her brothers.
She crept down to the hall, not wanting to entice attention and mixed in with the guests. She saw Boromir flaunting to the side and trying, rather pathetically, in her opinion, to scamper like a small, mischievous urchin.
She turned her attention to a smaller figure skipping a few feet away from her. "She is such a bad one for revelry," Elentari thought, as anyone could tell that the playfully energetic creature dressed as, the perfect animal counterpart, a monkey, was Araniel. She had the playful energy; the ability to ceaselessly jump around and chatter without tiring, and, causing Elentari to laugh, the rather lost and confused look that often was aroused. She could just imagine Araniel scratching her head in thought. She was tempted to embrace her friend, or at least talk to her, but did not want to give away her own costume. Rather, she waited to see if Araniel would recognize her. The monkey-girl came close to her, took a look at her, but dismissed her as some Gondorian man, though a rather small one, unworthy of interest, though Elentari was considerably tall.
Walking around, she passed a few people she recognized, such as Imrahil, dressed as a batch of niphredil, provoking many taunts and humor to arise, but he was not easily recognizable. Well, though most people recognized him, they were praying it wasn't him. She passed a group of Rohirrim, most with masks of horses on, which really gave it away, but Theodred was not amongst them.
She congratulated herself silently, as she was able to move through the crowds without being recognized or confronted. However, so far, she had not seen, or at least, not recognized Faramir anywhere, or for that matter, Theodred, which worried her to a point.
She saw Anarahil, dressed as a tree, come by. "These people come up with such uncreative designs. The only good one so far is Imrahil." Anarahil glanced at her, and then stopped, scrutinized her through all his branches and leaves, "Who are you?"
She did not reply, only shook her head. "Well, then what are you supposed to be?" he asked. She shrugged, pointing to him, saying that it was his job to find out.
"I would find you to be either a knight or the sun," he said, thinking carefully who this could be. After failing to figure out who she was, he shrugged and moved on by.
She edged closer to Boromir, who turned and faced her.
"You look oddly familiar," he squeaked. She turned her head sideways to ask why. He cocked his head, scrutinized her, his big blue eyes squinting until they were mere slivers, and then he said, "Ah. I know. You could never hide from me, little one. Interesting costume though, selernya."
She murmured, so that no one would hear her and discover, "I did not wish to attract attention."
"Especially with that fiery cloak," he said sarcastically.
"My maids insisted."
"I would've thought star maiden, not fiery Arien," Boromir said.
"I'm known for it, so it would defeat the purpose of a revelry, would it not?" she shot back.
"I suppose. If you wish not to be recognized, steer out of Father's way. Anyone knowing you well could spot you, no matter the costume."
"Have you seen Faramir?" she asked.
"No. Not since we came back to the City. Father ordered his presence though, I'm sure of that," Boromir replied, looking worried. Elentari sighed and nodded, "I should probably leave you, before someone guesses who I am." She moved away, and mixed herself within the guests.
Denethor rose, causing a halt in the music, and announced, "Now that we are most all in attendance, though I know not all of you through your cunning disguises, I should ask if anyone has spotted or recognized our Lady." Boromir looked around, trying not to seem guilty, as everyone else shook their heads.
"Well then, if she has so cleverly disguised herself, a reward to the first to discover her in her crafty raiment," he announced. A murmur went through the crowd as they began regarding every near them, trying to recognize her.
"My dear friends from Rohan, where be your Lord, Theodred?" Denethor asked the men dressed as horses.
"He is here, somewhere," one replied, "Cleverly disguised, as your lady."
"Ah, two mysteries. Some music, my talented minstrels." The minstrels struck up a tune, as masked people continued to weave in and out. Soon, a figure appeared, dressed in flaming red and gold, and a mask of a fiery- dragon, as it seemed, breathing fire in the midst. No one knew whom this regal figure was, hiding behind his excellent façade.
Elentari was besieged with curiosity, and moved toward this dragon figure, who in return, regarded her. She felt herself squirm under his intense stare. Was this mysterious figure Theodred? It was not Faramir, this she knew, for the eyes she saw under that mask were not the gentle blue of her beloved. She squirmed beneath her armor and helm, feeling the intense gaze of this dragon. Finally, he bowed, and murmured, "My Lady."
She gasped. Who, other than Boromir, who had known her all her life, could tell who she was? She could swear that he could see through her thick helm, piercing the metal, into her very soul. He laughed, as if he could see the astonished and bewildered look upon her face behind the cold steel.
"My Lady, you have not a guess who I am?" he asked, "Is this masquerade that deceiving?"
Should she reply? Replying would be admitting that it indeed was she beneath armor and cloak. But not to answer would be disrespect to this person.
"Theodred," she breathed. Again, he smiled, and said, "Ah, so she can recognize me. Well done, my Lady."
"Has she been found?" Denethor asked the crowd.
"Here she is, my Lord," Theodred called out. Every head turned to look upon her, clad in her fiery mantle and armor.
"Clever," Denethor said looking at her, "Might I guess fiery Lady Arien guiding Anar through the sky? Am I correct?"
"Yes," she breathed softly through the helm.
"And who might this stranger be? Your exploiter," Denethor asked.
"Theodred of Rohan," she announced.
"Ah. Very clever of him. He can spot you in any disguise. Theodred, a dragon, I suppose?"
"Yes, my Lord," he said, removing the mask momentarily. Denethor nodded, a thin smile that never reached his eyes appearing on his face, and let the music begin again. Theodred asked for a dance, which she granted. As they waltzed through, she glanced around for Faramir, knowing how torn he must be, but found him not.
A few dances later, the master bard and the minstrels called for a brief skit. A minstrel began on the flute, joined with the harp, and soon, all the minstrels were playing. Then the bard rose his voice and sang:
The silent moon rises
looking down on earth
lonely has the body been
since its time of birth
The moon, surrounded by the stars
the tiny acquaintances that laugh
and wink secretly
at each other
and longing is the moon
to be with another...
As he sang, he motioned to a lone figure, standing in the corner, dressed from head to toe in shining silver, with a twinkling mask of the nighttime sky. Everyone glanced at this person, guessing who he could be. Elentari took one glance at him, and knew who this was. She could never miss those broad shoulders and even from this far, those piercing blue eyes. Though this time, they were full of rage and fire, not the gentle, loving eyes she had known.
The night sky broadens
the darkness grows
and the clouds come and cover
as the moon grows in woe
and then, the sun
the majestic maid, the fiery hunter
as it drives away
all darkness, all stars, all loneliness
and for that brief moment
as the moon meets the sun
a burst of joy, of happiness
overflows within
The light then shown on Elentari, as she moved through as Arien, and for a moment, Faramir met her eyes, but quickly looked away, pain stabbing through him.
The light is shared between them
as they whisper, so silently
their secrets, their smiles
And how beautiful
is their balance, the searching souls
that come together
and melt into one
At this, Denethor's already troubled face, turned a deep shade of purple. He did not like this display by the talented bard. It also troubled him how though it was unintentional, Elentari dressed as Arien, due to her maid's persistence, and Faramir-Tilion.
Alas, their meeting is but sudden
their reflections growing faint
slowly both must move apart
as nature forces cruel restraints
The moon watches jealously
Incapable
As the sun streaks away
Flaunting, flirting with the wind
once again, in silent blackness
does the moon reside
fill now with only memories
and bursts of lonely cries
The song ended, and Faramir looked away. That insolent bard; he knew what troubled the young lovers' hearts, and yet he sang intentionally, that lay of the sun and moon. Denethor however, smiled, as the song ended tragically, tearing the star-crossed couple apart.
As the night wore on, Elentari pleaded discomfort, and sat beside Denethor, who looked jovial and was conversing with a few lords, at the head of the table. She watched as Boromir flirted with the women, eager to satisfy his every desire. Theodred had accompanied her, but she had practically ordered him to go enjoy himself, and though he obeyed her command, his gaze never strayed far from her. Araniel attracted the attention of a few younger Gondorians, and danced and chattered the night away. Yet where was Faramir? Ever since that song, she had not been able to find him in the midst. Her gaze strayed to the furthest corner of the room. What she saw there struck her like a lightning bolt. Faramir was downing flagon after flagon of ale, and becoming increasingly intoxicated. She shook her head in disgust. Faramir had never been one for ale, but yet here he was, acting like there was nothing wrong with him, drinking flagon after flagon. She felt a knife being stuck into her side when she saw that four very beautiful women, all- striving for his attention, surrounded him, and not only did he not object to their attention, he flaunted and flirted with them, touching them, embracing, and one even found her way to perch on his knee. What was Faramir doing? Usually he would step away coyly from any woman who approached him, and excuse himself, flushing to the very roots of his hair. Now, he welcomed their attention and returned it to them. She was filled with disgust, and a new feeling, one she had never felt before, entered her heart, threatening to tear it down. At that very instant, she hated those women. She wanted to go over and hurt every woman that dared to approach him. "Get away from him. He's not yours," she thought, "Get away from him, you horrible wenches. Do not make him as filthy as you are. You have Boromir, leave him alone!!"
As she gazed on, her gaze full of the destructive fire of jealousy, Faramir briefly caught her gaze, and smiled cruelly. So, she was noticing, and what she saw did not please her. It serves her right. He could play with her heart just as well as she could his.
As watches of night passed, and many were asleep from either intoxication or exhaustion, Elentari was excused, as Denethor himself retired. He was evidently pleased with her behavior, as Elentari and Faramir were not seen with each other the entire night. She however, did not retire. She changed into a simpler attire, throwing on a simple peasant shirt made of coarse material and loose pants. Seeing that Faramir was not in his room, she made her way down to the more repugnant, immoral levels of the City, hoping to find him. She entered a noisy tavern, still full of light and life. Even though she wore plain clothes, eyebrows were still raised at those who noticed her in this crowded area, though no one dared say anything.
She moved through the tavern, breathing in the disgusting fumes of drunken men retching, hearing the groans of immoral men and women giving in to their lust. She felt her stomach turn, and her dinner creep back up on her, making her nauseous, but she pressed on. One raucous man even grabbed her, holding her in an embrace, feeling her slender body. She quickly pushed him back, glaring at him, and moving away quickly. A few other men, recognizing the Lady, held the drunken man back as he rose again to try and seduce the fiery maiden.
She heard wild, raucous laughter echoing from the very back of the tavern. She hid herself just from view and she saw Faramir, surrounded by women, with one most favored wench perched upon his knee, dressed scantily, with her arms wrapped around his neck, and pressing her lips about his neck and body. As she watched, a scorching emotion exploded within her, as she lost all of the control she had gathered throughout the years, and allowed her jealousy to overtake her. She screamed, ran out, and threw the wench off Faramir. "Faramir, son of Denethor, what are you doing here?" she screamed.
"May I ask if it is any of your business? Why are you here? Not indulging in passion with your Rohirric prince?" he asked, icy steel curving his voice.
She ignored the obvious insult, though her blood broiled even further and said, "What would Father and Boromir say if they saw you here?"
"Actually, Boromir would be quite pleased, as he himself habitually frequents this place," Faramir replied, glaring at her, as the woman Elentari had shoved got back up and stood beside Faramir, moving her experience hands through his body, glaring at Elentari with hatred, looking quite disheveled.
"What's wrong with you? You never used to be like this. You hated ale. You hated disrespectable places like these. What has gotten into you? You never frequented with women."
"Oh. So you can dance and flaunt with any man you wish and yet bind me? I have as much as right as any man in all Arda to be here," Faramir said, "Now go back. Your horseman is waiting, his bed grown cold."
"Watch your mouth, Faramir," she barked.
"Who are you to tell me? You have no right in any way. It is by our sympathy and grace that you live every day. You would have died along with that mother of yours if we had not taken you in," Faramir wanted, needed to hurt her. Jealousy pounded in his veins, and he wanted to make her suffer as much as he did. "Now. Leave me alone. Go and be a whore to that—slap! He did not get a chance to finish, as soon as the word "whore" left his mouth, she struck him across the face, leaving a red mark. She gasped, as she had never struck him before, her eyes brimmed with tears. He was stunned, but quickly refastened his façade of haughtiness and aloofness, uncaring about her, though inside, he was teeming.
"How dare you call me a whore when you yourself are amongst these foul creatures? These women would gladly share yours, or any man in this City's bed for a few gold coins. These women sell their bodies for a night or two, satisfying the lust of every and any man, with enough money to pay them, for things to eat, jewels to wear. You call me a whore? You yourself, who has on more than one occasion tried to seduce me, know that I have never given in. Maybe Lord Denethor was right. Maybe you are a curse to this family. A curse to Gondor, a curse to all of Arda beyond the circles of the world. I rue and curse the day when Lady Finduilas brought you into this world," she spat out the words, then turned, and fled out of the tavern.
She was not able to go far however, before Faramir grabbed her roughly from behind and pinned her to the wall. "Let me go," she struggled against him. She remembered the last time he had done this, merely a few weeks ago, but that had been out of play, of love. She had not feared him then, even enjoyed and desired him. A fire had burned in his eyes then, a fire of passion and desire, as a fire burned now. But this fire was of fury, of jealousy, of cruelty, of malice. He wanted to hurt her. He needed to wound her. Every part of his being desperately wanted to avenge the pain she had put him through, though unintentional as it was. As hard as she struggled, he would not relent, his arms shoving her, his grip on her had become painful.
"I had thought I loved you once. How wrong I was then. How wrong I was to ever think you had a heart. You told me you loved me. You didn't. You merely wanted to see how much you could control me. You keep saying that you have to, you have to choose that man. You have to. It's your duty. Well, soon, it's going to be your duty to share his bed, to bear him children. Give his realm an heir. You want to do your duty then? You hold yourself so high. Just because you have Elven blood and you've been raised in the House of the Steward, but you're no better than these women. These women actually earn their living, not leech off the generosity of another house and live off the memory of your mother," he cursed her. She had never seen him like this, no one had. He was cruel, crueler than any Orc blade. He laughed, a maniacal laugh, seeing the pain in her eyes, as tears welled in them. Who was this man? Where had Faramir, sweet Faramir gone?
"You think you are better than me. You think you are better than everyone else. Just because you know a few Elven songs of old and how to fight with a sword doesn't make you any better or higher than any of these people here. Doesn't make you any better than me either," he spat in her face. She could only shake her head, trying not to let his words hit her as she felt herself being plunged into icy water, with a thousand knives stabbing at her. She couldn't think. She could barely breathe. Her arms were numb with the force he exerted on them.
Finally, he released her, taking his arms off, but shoving her to the entrance of the tavern, "Get thee gone from my sight." She ran back. She did not stop running. She did not look back as she moved through the levels of the City until she came to the Citadel. Boromir saw her, tears streaking her face, her hair disheveled, her sobs wracking through her body and echoing in the lonely stone, but she sped past him. She ran into her room, bolted the door shut, and collapsed on her bed, the bed she had shared with Faramir.
Her tears soaked her pillow. Her sobs wracked her body as it shook with sorrow. His words had hit her hard. He was her only reason for living, and now he turned upon her. She cried until there were no more tears left, and then, blood welled from her eyes, until sleep sealed her eyes, but even then, she could not forget his stinging, cruel words.
A/N: I hope you liked it. I named this chapter "The Mask" for several reasons. One, because of the masquerade ball. Two. Their ironic masks. Three. The masks fall from their faces, as their darker sides are revealed. I know. Most people will yell at me for making Faramir seem so cruel, but you have to admit, everyone has a dark side, even gentle Faramir, whom you know I love. It broke my heart to write him as such! Reviews are welcome!