The Hunter and the Hare by cuarthol, polutropos

The twins were dressed in matching wolf costumes.  He could have been a wolf.  He would have been fine with a wolf.  Turko was a stag, and while Carnistir did not feel the animal suited his brother’s temperament, the horns certainly did.  Even Makalaurë, outfitted as a most outlandishly bright orange seahorse, seemed perfectly suited to his animalistic disguise.

Moryo stared at his mask.  The floopy ears which seemed to only ever want to fall down across his eyes were not even the worst part of it.  That distinction fell to the fluffy white tail.  He found the only thing he could be grateful for was his father had not made ridiculously oversized matching feet.

‘It is a hare,’ his father had corrected when Moryo lifted it and cried, ‘A bunny?  You made me a bunny?’ while Curufin snickered in the corner.

He had not been mollified by the distinction, no matter how eloquently his father had waxed on about the nature of hares vs. rabbits.  It had certainly been too late to make an alternate, and so he stood before the mirror in what was an objectively well constructed, mottled brown suit of fur which contained subtle gold threads which caught the light and made him sparkle, while simultaneously being forced to don a freak-of-nature looking mask and headdress, set with eyes which had clearly seen the void and ears which refused to stay upright.

Maitimo’s costume was not such an indignity - his own glorious mane of copper hair had been employed in its execution, that of a proud lion, and the effect was one of both intimidating power and radiant beauty.  And Curufin, like their father, had managed to weasel out of almost every last vestige of a costume, wearing an airy burgundy robe which glowed like molten metal and plumed headdress to match Fëanáro’s.  His ‘mask’ was an intricate lace-like pattern painted onto his face, doing nothing to hide his identity.

A weasel would have suited Curufin.

But he was stuck as a rabbit.  

“Moryo, we’re going to be late!” his mother called up the stairs.

He stifled a sob as he pulled the mask on, grateful that at least nobody would know it was him, and trudged down to join the rest of his family, pushing his ears out of his face.

***

It was still early, the hall barely half-filled.  There was music and dancing already, but Moryo made a bee-line for the refreshments, avoiding eye contact and any threat of conversation.  He quickly lost track of most of his siblings, except for Káno who stood out like a beacon, and had already managed to net himself a partner.

Turning back to the table, Moryo piled his plate with a number of delicacies, took two glasses of wine, and found a leafy potted tree next to a pillar to hide behind.  It offered him the perfect vantage to watch the main doors for anyone he wished to particularly avoid.

So it was that he also had the perfect view of two newly-arrived revelers.  The first was dressed as a hawk, with a feathered shawl like wings down his back.  The other, however, seemed indeed dressed to reveal.  While the costume could not be said to lack coverage, said coverage looked far more theoretical than actual.

He - presumably a he - glimmered golden-red with a pale underbelly and a sheer, tiger-striped robe which hid nothing beneath.  The splendid tiger moved with ease and grace through the crowd, quickly proving an acquaintance of Turko’s.

Of course.  A pang of jealousy curled in his stomach and he set his still half-full plate aside.  He must be from the hunts and would therefore not be the least interested in the awkward middle-son of Fëanáro.  Except perhaps to hunt him for sport.

The idea sparked a strange tingling sensation in his gut.

***

After a while the music ended and Finwë took the stage, giving what was undoubtedly a very proper sort of speech, filled with the usual platitudes and welcomes, nothing that Carnistir felt deserved particular attention.

Then the lights dimmed except for those illuminating the performance of Indis.  She dressed in a deep blue-black gown set with no less than a thousand precious jewels, shining like stars in the spotlight.  A delicate wire and glass cage was set on her head, an ode to the lamps from before the Quendi had awoken, and about which she sang.

It was an old song, considered out of fashion in Tirion, though it seemed the Vanyar had not tired of it.  But hers was not an unpleasant voice, he grudgingly conceded, though would never admit it aloud.  What left him sputtering on his wine, however, was the sudden and unexpected appearance of Ingoldo.

He sparkled gold from head to toe, garlands of fruits and leaves wound about the branches of his crest and trailing down his back.  Moryo snorted.  Laurelin himself; of course he was.  He threw back the rest of his wine and eased himself out onto the garden balcony.

Under normal circumstances this would have been an ideal escape, except for the tiger, who was currently in a rather scandalous embrace with a bear, and his stomach twisted again.  This was quickly proving to be the kind of party he could not endure.

This part of the balcony had no steps down to the garden, but the drop was not so very great.  He slipped over the railing unnoticed and landed in the soft grass below.  Pondering whether remaining in the gardens counted as still being at the party or not, he made his way to the hedge maze and pulled out the book he had smuggled along for just such emergencies.

He was three chapters in - just getting to the steamy part - before his solitude was so rudely shattered by the wanton cries of a lady in a most unladylike fashion.  Was there truly no peace to be found in the whole of Aman, or was he simply fated to be denied it?

Thankfully, the maze had several avenues of escape, and he slunk out the far side of it, only to stumble upon the tiger and bear in a similarly compromising position.  Though they, at least, were managing to keep from alerting all and sundry to their enjoyments.

There truly was no safe place left to hide, and even his means of escaping back to the hall had been cut off by his father and that damned Ingoldo, deep in conversation.  Whatever could they possibly be talking about?  He scoffed.

Well, there was nothing else for it but to go the last way open to him, soon finding himself in the bushes beneath the Arafinwëan wing of the palace.  Here, surely, he would be safe.  Here, surely, he could have five minutes of peace without being subjected to the unseemly passions of everyone else.

“Why, hello there, little hare.”

Moryo cursed under his breath, but then he looked up to see the tiger standing over him, and lost his breath entirely, unable to even conjure up a reply.

“Are you lost?” he continued.

“No,” Moryo croaked, then cleared his throat and more firmly said, “No.  I am not lost, thank you.  Now if you’ll excuse me.”

The tiger cocked his head slightly.  “Moryo?”

Oh, damn it all to Utumno’s pits!  “No,” he tried, but the tiger did not accept his denial.

“Well, I certainly did not expect to stumble upon you here, of all places.”

“It’s not what it looks like!” he cried, still not certain to whom he spoke but fearing the assumption that he had deliberately sought out Arafinwë’s house.  He had, of course, but not for the reasons one might assume.

“Well, if it isn’t what it looks like,” the tiger said, “I will be off.”

“Wait-!”

He paused, expectation hanging thick in the air.

Angaráto strutted into the room, sleek and exquisite as the animal he had chosen to embody.  His suit was well-fitted, one might even say skin tight, and it showed off his well muscled form.  He lacked only an appreciative audience.

“For Eru’s sake, Ango,” Ingoldo gasped as he saw him.  “Put something on over that, you look… indecent!”

“Don’t you like it?” he asked, striking a pose.

“You could have saved the trouble of having a costume made and just painted the suit on,” Ingo said in that disproving tone he had long mastered.  Angaráto felt there was more than a hint of envy there as well.

“That’s not a bad idea,” he mused, looking down at his body.  “I’ll try that next time.”

Ingo grumbled.  “You’re impossible.  Anyway, I’m going; I have to be there early to warm up.”

“Oh, is that what you call it these days?”

He smirked as his elder brother pulled back to throw the coin-purse he held, only to apparently think better of it and tuck it away into his robes.

“Grandmother will be disappointed if you are late,” Ango cautioned in a sing-song voice.

Unable to provide a suitable retort, Ingo turned and left in a huff.  Ango preened a little before donning the otherwise sheer robe which provided the stripes for his costume.  It served more to highlight rather than conceal his figure, but at least Ingo could not complain that he had not put something more on.

At last he tied on the mask, leaving only those who were intimately familiar with him a chance to guess who he was. It fitted his face so as to align over his eyes, rather than the overly-tall headdress of his sister, which was certain to get banged against every low-linteled door in the palace and crushed before night’s end.

***

The first thing he noticed when they entered the hall was Nerdanel.  She had painted herself and her robes like marble, exaggerating the shadows in the folds.  She was carrying a pitcher, and if she stood still for a moment she would easily be confused for one of her own statues.  He was impressed.

When his gaze landed on Turko he wound his way across the floor, interrupting his dance.  They exchanged pleasantries, and both Turko and Írissë complimented him on his attire.  But they were clearly not looking for a third to join them that evening, and Turko seemed impatient.

“Do you know where your brother has gotten to?” Ango asked.

“Which one?” Írissë laughed.

“Oh, any will do!”  Ango grinned.  “Though Findekáno, if you can be that specific.”

Írissë glanced around, then shrugged.  “Don’t let on I told you, but he’s dressed as a bear.  Good luck!”

Turko spun her off before either could say more, and Ango was left to hunt his cousin down on his own.  He wandered out onto the balcony, delighted to see that his search was over mere moments after it had begun.  The partygoer, dressed in a somewhat ill-fitting bear suit, was leaning against the rail, gazing out over the garden.

Ango grabbed him around the waist.  “There you are!”

But the shriek that answered him, followed by a well-placed elbow to his gut, left him gasping for breath and entirely befuddled.  The bear pushed the headdress back to reveal not Findekáno but a stranger, though certainly a beautiful one.

“A thousand apologies, my lady,” Ango croaked.  “A case of mistaken identity.”

She had cocked her arm back, ready to throw a punch should it prove necessary.  But seeing as he made no move to grab her again, and after letting her eyes wander a bit lower down, she dropped her fist and smirked.

“I should think so,” she said.  “Else Tirion is a far less civilized city than I had been led to believe, where young maids are wantonly assaulted in broad treelight.”

Ango managed to straighten himself up and offered a proper bow.  “I pray you might allow me to make amends for my boorish behavior.”

“Amends?” She tapped a finger to her mouth in contemplation.  “I might first inquire who it was you thought you were grabbing, for you may have picked the wrong target but your actions were not very gentlemanly.”

“I would not dare make excuses for my actions had I taken such liberties with merely anyone,” he said, taking the hand she graciously offered.  “But I thought you my cousin, and surely a lapse in propriety among family is not indicative of how one would treat a stranger.”

“And how would you treat a stranger, then?”

“Well, I might be so bold as to introduce myself, and then ask you to dance, for the music is lively and the company, enchanting.”  He gave his best charming smile before remembering that it was hidden behind a mask and the effort wasted.

She seemed swayed by him, nonetheless, and gave as much of a curtsy as she could manage in her bear suit.  “Very well, my lord.  You may introduce yourself, and then, perhaps, I might be persuaded to dance.”

With an excessively grand flourish, he said, “My lady, may I present myself, Angaráto, son of Arafinwë.”

Her brow rose, clearly having not expected to be first assaulted by and then made the acquaintance of any of the princes.

“I am called Eldalótë,” she said, though did not attempt to curtsy again.  He did not grudge her the lapse of manners given the circumstances.  “My uncle is Aldalëo, a lord of the court.”

“Aye, I know him,” Ango said.  “And now I feel it my duty to ensure you are well looked after.”

“To shield me against further assault?”  She laughed.  “I will be sure to tell my uncle how gracious you are, highness.”

He tutted slightly.  “No need for titles,” he said.  “This is meant to be a masked ball, after all, and only my honour required me to reveal myself.”

“Hm, yes, about that,” she said.  “You have seen my face, but I’ve yet to see yours.”

“Well, I suppose fair is fair,” he conceded and lifted his tiger mask for her to take a good look.  “Now, my lady, if you are satisfied and I have sufficiently atoned for my indiscretion, may I have this dance?”

She gave him a good humored though somewhat perplexed look.  “Well, I might be persuaded, were there music playing.”

“Ah.”  Yes, it had stopped, had it not.  “Yes.  I see.  This is less than ideal.  But come, let us make our own music, if there is none else to be had.”

He was rewarded with a bright laugh.  Taking her in his arms, he spun her around and decided he was quite pleased for the mistake which had brought him to this moment.

***

Eldalótë had proven a delightful companion after his initial mishap.  Truly, any lady willing to throw punches for her honour was the kind of lady he wanted to know better.  Alas, it had not been long before her uncle had found them, overjoyed that they had made one another’s acquaintance but quite interrupting any designs Ango might have imagined.

With one of his grandfather’s lords hanging over his shoulder he gave up any chance of slipping her away.  Instead he made every polite gesture and asked if he might come by her uncle’s manor in the next day or so to call on her, and was gladly welcomed.

Then he excused himself, for he saw the bear he had been after earlier by the refreshments, mask up as he enjoyed a piece of cake.

“Dearest cousin,” Ango said, putting his arm around Findekáno’s shoulder and pulling him close.  “I have the utmost need to speak with you, now that I’ve found you at last.”

Finno glanced down and back up and grinned.  “Írissë was not exaggerating, I see!”

Ango let out a laugh.  “Glad to know she can appreciate the finer things, also.”

They escaped into the garden, and Finno was a most attentive listener as Ango recounted the earlier events, parting his suit to show off the bruise which had blossomed over his side and ribs.

“Oh, she’s a fighter,” Finno said admiringly.  “Quite the conquest!  Well done!”

“We shall see.  I am welcomed to his estate in the next few days, but I confess I am left somewhat… wanting at present.”

Finno smirked.  “I was hoping I had not lost you already.”

***

Angaráto was feeling entirely content.  He had met an intriguing lady, enjoyed a tumble with his favorite cousin, and was just thinking he might head back to his room and enjoy a long bath.  His retreat, however, was interrupted by a rather sorry looking creature who was slumped against the low wall beside the house, ears flopped in his face.

“Why, hello there, little hare.”

The figure cursed under his breath.

“Are you lost?” he asked.

“No.  No,  I am not lost, thank you,” the hare said curtly.  “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

Now that was a voice he was familiar with but certainly not one he had expected to find here, of all places.  “Moryo?”

“No,” the hare insisted, but Ango was only more convinced now.

“Well, I certainly did not expect to stumble upon you here, of all places.”

“It’s not what it looks like!” Moryo cried.

That was a pity, because it looked as if Moryo had been waiting for someone to stumble along.  And while this was most unusual, he could not say it was unwelcome.  “Well, if it isn’t what it looks like, I will be off.”

“Wait-!”

Ango paused, waiting, but when nothing more was forthcoming he came closer, with all the power and grace of - well, of a tiger stalking a hare.  He reached out and slid Moryo’s mask up.  He couldn’t deny there was an adorableness to the costume that he found rather alluring.

“I am waiting,” he said, and though tinged with humor, his voice deepened into lust.

“Who are you?” Moryo asked.

“Ah well, I suppose it is only fair,” he said for the second time now, slipping his mask off.

Moryo’s eyes nearly fell out of his head.  “Y-you?”

“You would prefer someone else, no doubt,” Ango said.

“I- well- no, I suppose not.”

“Well I’m flattered,” Ango said flatly.

“No- it’s just- I didn’t know who you were, but I saw you and…” Moryo bit his lip and stared down at his book.

Oh.  Oh!  “You liked the tiger!”  Well, this was an interesting turn of events.  

Moryo's face turned red as his name.

***

To say that Angaráto was surprised when a naked Makalaurë took a swan-dive out of his elder brother’s window, landing in the bushes just in front of him, would have been an understatement verging on perjury.  He put a hand on Moryo’s back and pushed him down as he pulled his suit closed quickly.

Stumbling across Fëanorians in the middle of the garden was one thing, but having them fall out of the sky and land at his feet was quite another.  Not that he minded either way, but one at a time, please!

The enticing offer of another tryst was broken by his brother and sister hollering out of the window.  Ah.  At least he knew they couldn’t say anything to him, now, since they had quite vocally admitted both their own philanderings, as evidenced by the aforementioned naked cousin who had flown from Ingoldo’s window.

But he was saved having to make any excuses at all for Makalaurë and Carnistir had taken the opportunity to slink away quite unseen.

Instead Ango climbed the ivy up to Ingoldo’s window and let himself in.

“The amount of blackmail material I have on you two is pure gold,” he laughed.  “But I am feeling quite generous, and so will settle for hearing all the gossip instead.”