Masks

Hehehe, Freya, yes...never can be enough Boromir. ;D And treachery in Minas Tirith? I never heard of such a thing! ;) Um...yeah. *innocent* Sandra, yes...I'm not quite dead just yet. ;) Thank you both for the compliments and the time you took to review! Nice to hear. :D You two rock! Thanks, Sandra, for the ROTK easter egg tip. I'll look for that tomorrow!

*

Boromir watched his brother as he stared out across the fields from the top level. They had just stepped out from a meeting with their father to get a breath of fresh air. After meetings of that sort Faramir was always tense. “You know how he is,” Boromir said, leaning backwards against the railing. He tilted his head back to look into his little brother’s face. “You know he never changes.”

The younger threw him a sidelong glance filled with irritation. “It does not make him any easier to deal with.”

"Do you hate him?" It was a naked question that had remained silent between the two of them up until now. Boromir wasn't even sure what prompted him to ask, really, but now that it was done he wanted to know the truth.

Faramir gave him a surprised little look, then exhaled softly, turning his eyes to the direction of Osgiliath. "Honestly? I do not know the answer to that question. He angers me. His very existence angers me at times. And yet I still see for his approval."

Despite his brother's somber mood Boromir laughed at that, throwing his head back. When Faramir shot him a dirty look, he stopped, but didn't let his smile go just yet. "My apologies, brother. I laugh only at irony itself."

"And what of you?" Faramir asked coolly. "Do you hate our father?"

The elder shrugged at that and smoothed his fingers along his mustache. "Hate is a strong word."

Faramir grunted and shoved his brother out of his comfortable stance. "You are bound by irony just as I am."

"Bah," he scoffed, waving his arm. "I could murder you and gain his approval. I could probably try to murder him and gain his approval."

"But you want his true approval, do you not?" Faramir asked sagely. "For things you have earned, not for the name you bear as first son?"

Shrugging, Boromir shoved at his brother in return. "I do not give a damn." That was a lie, he knew. If he didn't care then he wouldn't waste any emotions on his father, love or hate.

Faramir made a face, but said nothing, merely pointed out into the distance. "Perhaps you will give a damn about this, then. Our friends from Rohan arrive."

Turning, Boromir gazed at the party that was converging upon the White City. They carried the horse-bedecked banners of their kingdom proudly and sat tall on their fine horses. He grunted sourly and shook his head. "Friends, are they? We shall soon see the answer to that. Since when has King Théoden been on friendly terms with our father?"

"Since when has anyone been on friendly terms with our father?" Faramir retorted with a roll of his eyes. "What are you complaining about, anyway? I thought you were looking forward to a friendly challenge between you and Éomer?"

The elder shrugged. "Did I say it was going to be a friendly challenge? Oh, you're probably right. At least they are not Elves, anyway." He searched the coming company for womenfolk and found a flock of them in the middle of an honor guard of men. He pointed at the single male in the center of the group. "See. I knew Éomer would rather consider himself female."

Faramir laughed, elbowing his brother in the side. "Such maturity from a man of your years. They will surely elevate their opinion of Gondor."

"Yes, I am certain they shall." Boromir sighed and shook his head, then frowned at his little brother. "And what do you mean, a man of my years?"

"Oh, honestly." Faramir began towards the Great Hall. "Come on, Boromir. Father will want you looking your best for our guests."

Boromir pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I am certain he will."

*

There was no cheering fanfare, nor was one expected. Alura scanned the passers, noting their expressions seemed as listless as any of the townspeople in Rohan. Darkness, it seemed, was not a segregated thing. The gleaming streets of the White City were a marvel, but nothing was changed. It was just as gloomy as Edoras. Alura glanced at the overcast sky, thinking perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her.

The higher they went, the more she became restless. It annoyed her, climbing to these heights. The white annoyed her, the people. She sighed softly and realized she was being unfair. This place bothered her because it was taking something away from her.

When finally they came to the highest tier she gave a relieved sigh and dismounted, allowing her horse to be taken so she could climb the final stairway on foot. Éomer grunted sourly and handed off his reigns, looking around. "Pretentious place," he accused, his sky-colored eyes roaming their whereabouts.

"A home fit for a queen," Éowyn countered with a smirk.

"Do you like it here?" her brother asked, a small curious smile across his lips. He would never dream of denying his sister happiness, but Alura knew it was going to be difficult for him to see her married into Gondor.

In her quiet way Éowyn looked around, then shrugged her shoulders. "I'm going to give it a fair chance. I have to give it a fair chance.”

Éomer nodded with a smile, holding out his arm for her. “Indeed. Save the true despair for your wedding night.” He grinned and Éowyn laughed, smacking his arm playfully. She turned and motioned Alura onwards, but she didn’t race to her cousin’s side, instead choosing to lag back a little bit. It wasn’t her place, after all, to be at the head of the company. She crossed her arms and frowned at the white bricks beneath her feet.

They ascended to the top where stood the White Tree of Gondor. Alura’s eyes roamed over it absently but her mind was elsewhere. She pursed her lips and turned her attention on where they were going after Éomer stopped before her and she walked into him. “Careful, Alura, I know you are eager,” he teased.

“Sure I am,” she mocked, giving him a friendly little shove. He smirked, but did not retaliate, for the door to the Hall of Kings was opening.

The entourage from Rohan was invited in and stepping inside, Alura looked around at the large room. It was beautiful, though she didn’t care to admit it. The statues of kings adorned each side leading up to the throne and the architecture was breathtaking. Her eyes followed the line of kings to the head of the room where she spied the Steward sitting upon the throne of Gondor. His expression was not welcoming, nor distasteful, but cold and calculating. She looked into those eyes and knew this was a man she would not like. This was the face of arrogance waiting to welcome her cousin into his family. She unconsciously crossed her arms as if it would serve as a ward against his presence.

At his side stood a man with auburn hair, his expression mixed with that same arrogance and amusement. She followed his gaze to Éomer and realized this must be Boromir. Her cousin and this man had formed a private contest between them two of them that seemed innocent enough, but she worried. He scanned the group without expression, landing on her briefly before turning his attention upon his father. Alura pursed her lips and looked to the form on Boromir’s left. Another stood, his hair the same striking russet, his eyes less arrogant and more serious. This one seemed to accept their coming without preconception or condescension. His eyes moved across Éowyn to her brother, then beyond to rest on Alura. He noticed her stare and nodded cordially, the smallest of smiles gracing his features. Alura returned the gesture uncertainly.

“I welcome you to my courts,” a voice said, dry and cynical, dark in its way. All eyes turned upon Lord Denethor as he stood and bowed his head. The respect of that gesture did not necessarily reach his eyes, she noted. “I had thought King Théoden would be among you. Perhaps this meeting did not merit his attention?” Alura frowned in irritation.

Clearing his throat, Éomer stepped beyond his sister and spoke with undue grace, “My uncle is unwell. I speak for him in this matter.”

Denethor inclined his head a moment as if considering what he could say that would serve both as a polite acknowledgement and a veiled insult. He settled for a simple, “I trust it is nothing serious? I suppose it is well you should learn to don the role for which you will be expected to play since he no longer has an heir. Or is my news incorrect?”

Éomer’s voice hardened a bit. “You are not wrong.”

“Mmm,” Denethor hummed, moving away from his throne. He came to stand before Éowyn with a searching gaze. “You are suitable to continue my line,” he remarked coolly, then turned to Éomer. “You and I have much to discuss. Come, let us retire to my sitting room and allow these others to meet.”

Éomer agreed and the two of them disappeared behind a door at the far end of the throne room. Letting out the breath she had not realized she had been holding, Alura drew Éowyn off and said, “You should fight against this.”

The blond laughed lightly with a shake of her head. “Do not let the words of a jaded old man move you.” She gave a sidelong glance towards the two sons of the Steward that stood off together, having a private talk. “They are handsome, both of them.”

Alura followed her gaze and grunted, but found no argument within her. “Handsome they may be, but what of honor?” Her cousin sighed and she shrugged. “Which do you think is more handsome?”

Laughing at that, Éowyn glanced again at the two of them. “They both have a pleasing look. The younger one seems to have a kinder face.”

“Is that your preference?” Alura asked with a grin, looking Faramir from head to toe. He noticed and gave her an enigmatic little smile, then spoke to his brother, who did not appear amused by their antics. “Do you wish to see what is beneath his clothes?” She knew that little tease would garner an amusing reaction.

Éowyn widened her eyes and blushed, shoving at her cousin’s shoulder. “Such a thing for you to say so soon before my fate is known. I shall not form any opinions on either until I learn who shall be my husband,” she said adamantly.

Alura laughed at that. “If you cannot even picture one of them naked, then what good would marrying either do?”

“You have a dirty mouth,” the blond accused with a long-suffering sigh. “It is a choice I make not to picture them in such a way.”

“Or perhaps you picture both of them?” the dark-headed Rohirrim girl said archly. Her cousin gave her an evil look, then laughed.

“What of you? Do you like what you see?” she asked with a smirk.

“Yes, please, tell us,” interjected another voice. Alura turned to see the two brothers standing together near them. Boromir leered arrogantly at them both while Faramir merely waited with laughter in his eyes. The elder continued, “Do we please your eyes or does one perhaps look more pleasing than the other?”

Alura straightened her stance and replied, “What if neither looks pleasing?”

Faramir laughed at that. “I do not believe our company is welcome, brother. My apologies, fair maidens.”

“Do not let my cousin put you off,” Éowyn said smoothly with a soft smile. “We are pleased to meet both of you. I am Éowyn and she is Alura.”

“Éowyn,” he repeated, then smiled. “Alura. We are honored. I am Faramir and my elder brother is Boromir. He is not as vicious as he seems.”

Boromir rolled his eyes at his brother. “Do not fill their heads with that nonsense. Of course I am. Even more vicious than I seem.” He made a mocking bow, then swept his eyes across the women, resting on Éowyn. “So you are the intended. You are fair.” It seemed to be an offhand remark.

Éowyn nodded once with a smile. “My thanks. I am afraid we are not as informed, however. Which of you is the intended?”

The brothers shared a smile between them. “Perhaps we would rather keep it that way,” Boromir suggested with a grin.

The younger rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Pay no attention to him. He is only afraid to see the disappointment in your eyes should he be the intended.”

“Then it is you, Lord Boromir?” Éowyn asked neutrally. Her pale eyes ran down the length of him before she looked nervously to Alura and back again. Alura wondered if Éowyn did not already harbor a preference for the younger brother.

Boromir shook his head with a grunt. “To tell the truth, we are not privy to that information either. Our father had hoped to speak with King Théoden over the matter, I believe. He would not reveal to us which he wished to marry off.” He gave her an appraising look, then glanced at Alura briefly. He seemed a little uncomfortable with the talk and she wondered why.

“Be that as it may,” Faramir continued beyond the awkward pause, “that should not stop us all from getting to know one another. Would you ladies care to accompany my brother and I for a walk? We could show you around the city.”

Éowyn shared a look with Alura, then nodded politely despite her cousin’s attempt to sway her against it. “A walk before dinner sounds lovely.”

Crossing her arms, Alura sighed in defeat. She had been longing for a bath, but she could not fault her cousin in the need to figure these two out. Though she wasn’t sure how happy Éowyn was going to be with the answers.

*