Disclaimer: Characters within (well, most of them) do not belong to me, but to Tolkien.
Author's Notes: Thanks so much for the kind reviews! I hope you enjoy this next chapter in the ongoing saga;)
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The Power of Two
by Kristen Elizabeth
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"What have I ever done to you, sister, to deserve such torture?"
"Perhaps if you had not challenged the wind itself to a race, your hair would not resemble a bird's nest now." Holding onto Edoawen's head with one hand, Eliocyla attempted to run a comb through her tangled curls, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from her sister. "I have seen you fall off a horse, only to get up, brush yourself off and try again. This cannot be anymore painful."
Edoawen winced. "The ground is forgiving. You are not." Her twin pulled again. "Stop!!" She stood up and backed up halfway across the guest chamber they were sharing. "I had rather go before the King with bad hair than with a bloody scalp!"
"Fine then." She was too tired to argue. Elioclya threw down the wooden comb. "Do what you will. But hurry. There isn't much time."
When it became clear that her sister wasn't going to pick the comb back up and try again, Edoawen reached for it with great reluctance. By that time, Elioclya had already situated herself in front of the looking glass, delicately pinching her cheeks to color them.
"I simply do not see how one's hair is done or undone can be of any importance," Edoawen said out loud. But even as she spoke, she slowly dragged the instrument down the long length of her locks. "Not as much as the way they ride a horse, or their skill with the sword, at least."
Elioclya said nothing.
"Do you think Elboron has a sweetheart?" she tried again, changing the subject completely. "He looked well. Happy." When this failed to get her twin's attention, Edoawen sighed. "I am sorry, sister! I did not mean to hurt your feelings."
Standing, Elioclya smoothed down her silk skirts. The light blue color highlighted her eyes, and was the perfect compliment to her twin's gown of dark blue. Day and night. She fixed a cool look on her sister. "Hold still." She moved around behind Edoawen and after a few minutes, managed to braid the fly-away strands and loop them up, securing them just behind her sister's ears, creating two hoops of flaxen blond that hung past her shoulders. Elioclya stepped back to observe her handiwork; the band of woven gold across her forehead twinkled in the candlelight.
Edoawen touched the identical crown on her own brow. "Sometime, just for a change, I should like it very much if when we quarreled, you would actually fight back."
"What would be the point?" Elioclya asked, starting for the door. "There would be no chance of winning against you."
She would have liked to start a quarrel over that, but they soon found themselves in the wide, stone corridor, being led towards the Great Hall by a servant. He stopped in front of a set of wide, white, carved doors.
"Princesses, the King and his court await you."
Elioclya shot her sister a cold look as if to say 'see what you did, keeping the King waiting.' The guard pushed one door open and bowed as the girls entered the Hall.
Though they had visited the White City many times before, they had never been formally presented in the King's throne room. Edoawen nearly gasped at the sight of such a place. Vast and majestic, it seemed to stretch on forever, ending only at the raised steps that led up to where Elessar-king sat.
**Please don't trip, please don't trip,** Edoawen silently prayed. Beside her, Elioclya floated, her slipper-clad feet making no sound against the marble floor. She set her chin and tried for the same effortless grace, but she was quite sure that as they approached the group of people gathered around the throne, she must have looked like a clomping cow next to a graceful deer.
Lining the path to the head of the Hall were nameless nobles and their ladies, but as they came closer, the faces began to be more familiar. She had to lower her eyes a bit to see a few of them, the Hobbits of the Shire, who had played a role of such importance in the War that their presence was ever welcome in the world of Men. Samwise Gamgee and his brood of children even smaller than he and his wife stood along with the troublemakers she knew only as Pippin and Merry. One of her favorite memories was of the gathering when she realized she had finally passed Merry in height. With their own families in tow, the group of Halflings was considerable, yet missing one very important face.
She had never met the Ringbearer himself. He had sailed for the Undying Lands as an honored guest of the Elves before her birth, but the great respect her parents, as well as everyone else gathered in the Hall, had for Frodo Baggins assured that although he was gone, he would never be forgotten.
Legolas Greenleaf stood on the opposite side next to his friend and traveling companion, the Dwarf Gimli. Where one was tall, sleek and the very definition of handsome, the other was short, gruff and unrefined, which only leant to his charm. She did not know them well, as they were constantly off on another adventure through Middle Earth, but she respected them by way of being great role models. The Elf's eyes bore into her for a moment, but quickly moved to her sister where they stayed, watching her with great interest.
Just beyond them, she saw her mother's brother, Éomer-king. Hand-in-hand with his beautiful wife Lothiriel, and their children, her cousins Elfwine, Glymer, Maren, and Illalian, her uncle stood proud. How different he was from her father, yet so similar, too. The main difference, she thought darkly, was that her uncle allowed her cousins Maren and Illalian to ride freely across the plains of Rohan. She'd long envied them…and they knew it. Even as she passed, Maren smirked at her. It would have been in bad taste, Edoawen decided, if she reached out and pulled the younger girl's dark blond braid.
Her own family stood together to the left of the throne, smiling as their girls approached. Faramir and Elboron both wore the symbol of Gondor, the White Tree, outlined upon their dark breastplates, while Théodan was simply clad in his finest clothes. Éowyn wore a gown of white silk so pure that it challenged the very stars in its brightness.
How was it, Edoawen wondered, that she could have been born of such a woman, yet inherit nothing of her beauty and grace?
The right side of the throne was reserved for the King's own family. Queen Arwen stood closest, regal in her stance, unmatched in her beauty. Edoawen had never felt quite comfortable in the presence of the Queen, although Elioclya revered her. Just behind the Queen were her daughters, Elaviel, Hinia and Cebriviel. She did not know them well at all, as they simply had nothing in common.
But between his sisters and his mother was the only man she'd ever looked at twice. Even now as she spotted him, her heart sped up and she almost put her hand to her throat as if to slow it. Prince Eldarion had long been in her thoughts, longer than she liked to admit. Not that she had admitted it to anyone, not even her twin. It was too great a secret. And Elioclya might smile in the condescending way she had if Edoawen admitted that she found the Crown Prince to be everything a man ought to be…strong, kind, intelligent, just, and quick with a blade. Together with his Elvish qualities that made him both beautiful and serene, he was as close to perfection as anyone could come.
Therefore, he was completely out of her league.
She had no more time to think about Eldarion as they reached the base of the King's throne. They were about to be presented to the court as young noblewomen of a marriageable age always were. Edoawen sighed. It was a pointless, almost humiliating ritual in her mind, but her sister had been looking forward to it for years.
Elessar-king, who both the girls had known all of their lives simply as 'King Aragorn,' rose and addressed everyone gathered. "Today is happy occasion for all of Middle Earth. Not only do we celebrate another gathering of old friends from all corners of our lands, but I have been given permission by their father, Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, and their mother, Lady Éowyn, to formally introduce their daughters to this Hall."
He came down the stairs slowly and stopped just in front of the girls, both of whom bowed deeply before him. "Rise, ladies," Aragorn said softly. "And face my court as the princesses that you are."
Together, the girls stood and turned. The Hall looked even longer from this perspective. Edoawen's skin crawled knowing that every single eye was on them, her in particular, she assumed. If she had stopped to think logically, she might have guessed that the stares and whispers were simply about the amazing resemblance between the twins, but in her mind she just knew that they were comparing her to Eliocyla…and that she was definitely coming up short.
"It is my great honor to introduce the daughters of Ithilien, the Princesses Edoawen…" He placed one hand on her shoulder. "And Elioclya." As he touched her sister's shoulder, she was sure he smiled softly, affectionately. "My best wishes to all the young men out there in telling the two apart."
There was light laughter at this and applause when the King stepped back and the presentation was complete.
Edoawen couldn't help but glance over at Prince Eldarion. He was neither clapping nor smiling. But he was watching them. Or more specifically, he was watching her sister.
Just like everyone always had.
****
"Are you not eating, sister? You cannot have some silly notion in your mind that you need to watch your figure, can you?"
Elioclya looked up from her mostly-full plate and smiled weakly at her older brother. He sat beside her at the long table, feasting happily on the endless platters of roasted meats and fresh breads. "I do not," she assured him. "I simply have no appetite tonight."
"Edoawen does," Elboron pointed out.
On his other side, his other sister stuck out her tongue, not caring who saw. "If you imply that I eat like a horse, brother, perhaps you should mind the manner of your own consumption first!"
He gestured with a chunk of cheese in his hand. "Your manners are impeccable. It is your desire to keep your mouth full of food, rather than engaged in conversation that I noticed. Do you not care to talk to any one of the many men here?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting that I throw myself at the feet at some noble's son and pretend to be fascinated by his…" She paused. "…sword?"
The innuendo did not escape Elboron and he nearly choked. "By all things mighty…is there not one drop of woman's blood in your veins, sister?!"
"Enough." Elioclya spoke softly, but firmly, breaking up the argument as she had done so many times before. "People are staring. And Father will not be pleased if his children make a spectacle of themselves at the King's table."
Even though she sat back and said no more, as Edoawen plopped a fat date into her mouth and chewed, she stared at her sister with silent contempt. Eliocyla ignored her and sipped her wine from a silver goblet. Her sister was always upset about something; if she bothered to find out what every little trouble was, she would spend her entire life worrying about things that did not even matter.
What mattered at the moment was the fact that since they had all sat down to feast, Eldarion's eyes had not left her except when he was spoken to and his attention was required elsewhere. Always though, he would look back at her when the conversation was through; she found herself almost looking forward to it. There was nothing disturbing in the way he looked upon her. Rather it made her feel singled out. Special. She swallowed. Wanted.
For it was a look of desire that he gave her, and she needed none of his Elvish intuition to know it. Not even her lack of experience could keep her ignorant of what lay in the Prince's stare. It did not frighten her, however. Rather, it warmed her at the same time it made her stomach twist and turn. It was for that reason that she could not eat. But she doubted her brother would have cared to hear that. Although he was great friends with the Prince, Elioclya did not think he would like to know just how penetrating Eldarion's stare was.
She was snapped out of her thoughts by the King's voice. Eldarion glanced at his father, too, but quite reluctantly.
"Faramir, friend, you seem distracted," Aragorn said to her father. "What troubles you at my table?"
Before he could reply, Gimli slammed down his mug of mead with a raucous laugh. "Perhaps it is knowing that there's nary a young man's eye here what is not trained upon his daughters."
"What of the King's own daughters?" Legolas, ever on a quest to verbally spar with the shorter warrior, asked him. "Are they not just as fair and likely to catch a suitor's wandering eye?"
"Just as fair, but too young yet for such things," Gimli corrected him.
Merry piped up from his raised seat at the far end of the table. "If I might be so bold as to say, I don' think there's a lady here who's not as fair as anyone has the right to be." A slight hiccup gave away the fact that he was just a bit tipsy.
Éowyn smiled at her one-time battle companion. "Mean you to make us all blush, Master Meriadoc?" But he was the one who ended up blushing.
"I simply meant to give the wee girls a bit of a compliment," Gimli grumbled. "I meant not to offend."
Aragorn settled the matter with smooth words. "Each lady gathered represents beauty in her own fashion. So it cannot be disputed that the daughters of Faramir are fair. I think they may be even more beautiful now than they were the day I helped bring them into the world."
Edoawen's nose wrinkled up. "I should hope so, my lord."
This received much laughter, which seemed to catch Eliocyla's twin off-guard. But she did smile and that was certainly more attractive on her than a scowl.
"Ah, but even on the day of their birth I knew that someday my eyes would not be the only ones to recognize their beauty," Faramir added, almost sadly. He glanced at his sister's brother and then at the King. "So it goes when one becomes a father to a daughter. And doubly so for two."
Éowyn glanced at her daughters before touching her husband's arm. "I do believe we make shy our girls, my lord," she murmured.
Faramir nodded. Clearing his throat, he lifted his goblet. "I raise my cup and ask you to raise yours." When everyone followed his lead, he continued, "To the Great Fellowship…the true reason behind this celebration. As we were in the past, and ever shall be, we are grateful for your courage and deeds."
The toast was echoed. As he sipped his wine, Aragorn looked at the brother of the only fallen Fellowship member. He set his goblet down and leaned over a bit towards him. "There were more people responsible for the outcome of our endeavor than you accredit…yourself and your lady included."
"But I can hardly raise my own cup to myself, can I?"
The King shook his head. "Modesty is not a usual trait amongst the sons of kings or stewards," he said. "But you carry it well, my friend."
The meal passed without further incidents of note, and when the last plates of fruit pies and sugared candies had been whisked away, the King stood up from his chair, a signal that the feast was over. He held his hand out for his Queen's, which she took a light hold on as she rose to her feet. It was an understood matter that after the meal there was to be dancing and merriment, which would most likely include generous quantities of mead, which in turn would undoubtedly lead to Shire songs and dances performed upon the tops of the tables. It was always fun, but on that night, Eliocyla simply did not feel up to it.
Somehow, she managed to slip away when the diners stood up to follow the King and Queen. Quietly, as not to attract any attention to her escape, she made her way out of the hall, out of the elaborate chambers carved into the very mountain itself, and out into the fresh, cold night air.
Eliocyla walked past the White Tree of Gondor, past the meticulously kept greens, and out to the very tip of the Citadel where the wind swept ten times faster. But for once, she did not bother about the state of her hair.
"I am at the very top of the world," she said out loud, looking down upon the back and forth path the main road through Minas Tirith created through the city. Eliocyla hugged her arms around her slender body to ward off the sudden chill that rippled down her spine. "And I am alone."
"No. You are not."
She whipped around so fast to confront whomever spoke from behind her that she almost lost her balance. As she tipped towards the stone ledge, a pair of strong arms caught her up in their safety. Eliocyla looked up into the intense stare that had been focused on her throughout dinner.
"Careful, *wen*," Eldarion said. His voice was low, and throbbed with something that she could not identify. "It is a long fall."
Although her wanton side, which she had not even realized she possessed, might have liked to stay as close as possible to the warmth of the Prince's body, Elioclya quickly pulled away. "You startled me, your majesty."
"Then I offer my apologies."
The corners of her lips lifted. "There is no need." A moment passed by, though it seemed endless. His eyes were twin pools of silvery-blue, clearer than a placid lake on a cold morning. She found herself looking away. "What was it that you called me?" she asked to fill the silence.
"*Wen*? It means 'maiden' in the tongue of the Eldar. It is part of your own sister's name."
Elioclya glanced back at him. "I know nothing of the language, my lord. My father has no books written in Elvish, therefore I have never had the chance to study it."
Eldarion walked to the precipice that she had almost gone over; the tips of his leather boots hung over the edge, as if challenging gravity to a duel. "My Mother and Father have spoken it to us since we were born. My first words were not even in the tongue of Man."
"This upsets you," she softly noted.
"I speak the language of a race no longer known to the lands over which I am to be king. But more than that…" He turned his face up towards the star-studded sky. "When I look at both Elves and Men, I cannot see myself in either."
Eliocyla thought for a moment before replying, "You are unique, my lord."
"Unique. I suppose that is a more pleasant way of describing a half-breed." Eldarion stepped back from the edge, and she breathed a little sigh of relief. "What draws you away from the festivities?"
"I could not say," she replied truthfully. "Often times I can be in the midst of a crowd of friends and loved ones…yet feel utterly alone."
He nodded slowly, his strong chin outlined in the moon's light. "And on those times, it is better to actually be alone?"
Running her tongue over her lower lip, she lowered her head. "Is that beyond the realm of believing my lord?"
"Quite the contrary." Eldarion reached out and guided her chin up until they locked stares once again. "There is nothing that is not possible."
"Clya!"
The all-too familiar voice of her sister yelling for her shattered the moment. Clearing his throat, the Prince backed up several steps. "I would not tarnish your reputation with rumors of midnight rendezvous'. Good evening, Lady Eliocyla." With a slight bow, he turned and took the quickest path back into the castle.
Only a moment after he disappeared into the shadows, Edoawen ran out onto the greens, her skirts lifted well beyond the limit of propriety in order that she might not trip. "Clya!" Once she reached her twin, she let her dress drop back down around her feet. "What in Valar's name are you doing out here by yourself?"
"Taking a much needed breath of fresh air, sister." She put her hands on her hips. "By what right do you follow me?"
"I am under orders from Father to fetch you and return you to the Hall," her sister replied just as haughtily. Her snotty tone dropped a few notches. "I worried for your safety."
Elioclya managed a smile. "Thank you. I suppose it would be rude to the King and Queen if I stayed away altogether."
"Exactly." Edoawen hooked her arm around Elioclya's. "And more than that…" She peered around them in all directions as if to confirm that they were indeed alone. She dropped her voice to a nearly unintelligible mumble. "I require your help, as you know I have no talent at dancing. But…I wish to dance with…with the Prince!"
She blinked several times. "Why, Awen?"
Edoawen's back straightened as she frowned. "Because…he's…well, that is to say he…oh…I know not! All I know is that in the past two years since we were last in the City, I have thought of no man, save him. And I know that in your mind you must be laughing to think of your wild sister caring for any man, but I do, Clya, I do. Do you think…" She unhooked their arms and came around in front of her twin. "Do you think there is a chance in the heavens that he might think of me, too?"
Elioclya tried to swallow, but her mouth was far too dry. Her sister's entire face glowed as she eagerly awaited an answer. Finally, she was able to down the lump in her throat. Choking back curses to the unjust fates that were responsible for placing her in such a situation, Eliocyla could only nod.
"There is nothing," she whispered, "that is not possible."
****
To Be Continued
Author's Notes: Thanks so much for the kind reviews! I hope you enjoy this next chapter in the ongoing saga;)
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The Power of Two
by Kristen Elizabeth
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"What have I ever done to you, sister, to deserve such torture?"
"Perhaps if you had not challenged the wind itself to a race, your hair would not resemble a bird's nest now." Holding onto Edoawen's head with one hand, Eliocyla attempted to run a comb through her tangled curls, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from her sister. "I have seen you fall off a horse, only to get up, brush yourself off and try again. This cannot be anymore painful."
Edoawen winced. "The ground is forgiving. You are not." Her twin pulled again. "Stop!!" She stood up and backed up halfway across the guest chamber they were sharing. "I had rather go before the King with bad hair than with a bloody scalp!"
"Fine then." She was too tired to argue. Elioclya threw down the wooden comb. "Do what you will. But hurry. There isn't much time."
When it became clear that her sister wasn't going to pick the comb back up and try again, Edoawen reached for it with great reluctance. By that time, Elioclya had already situated herself in front of the looking glass, delicately pinching her cheeks to color them.
"I simply do not see how one's hair is done or undone can be of any importance," Edoawen said out loud. But even as she spoke, she slowly dragged the instrument down the long length of her locks. "Not as much as the way they ride a horse, or their skill with the sword, at least."
Elioclya said nothing.
"Do you think Elboron has a sweetheart?" she tried again, changing the subject completely. "He looked well. Happy." When this failed to get her twin's attention, Edoawen sighed. "I am sorry, sister! I did not mean to hurt your feelings."
Standing, Elioclya smoothed down her silk skirts. The light blue color highlighted her eyes, and was the perfect compliment to her twin's gown of dark blue. Day and night. She fixed a cool look on her sister. "Hold still." She moved around behind Edoawen and after a few minutes, managed to braid the fly-away strands and loop them up, securing them just behind her sister's ears, creating two hoops of flaxen blond that hung past her shoulders. Elioclya stepped back to observe her handiwork; the band of woven gold across her forehead twinkled in the candlelight.
Edoawen touched the identical crown on her own brow. "Sometime, just for a change, I should like it very much if when we quarreled, you would actually fight back."
"What would be the point?" Elioclya asked, starting for the door. "There would be no chance of winning against you."
She would have liked to start a quarrel over that, but they soon found themselves in the wide, stone corridor, being led towards the Great Hall by a servant. He stopped in front of a set of wide, white, carved doors.
"Princesses, the King and his court await you."
Elioclya shot her sister a cold look as if to say 'see what you did, keeping the King waiting.' The guard pushed one door open and bowed as the girls entered the Hall.
Though they had visited the White City many times before, they had never been formally presented in the King's throne room. Edoawen nearly gasped at the sight of such a place. Vast and majestic, it seemed to stretch on forever, ending only at the raised steps that led up to where Elessar-king sat.
**Please don't trip, please don't trip,** Edoawen silently prayed. Beside her, Elioclya floated, her slipper-clad feet making no sound against the marble floor. She set her chin and tried for the same effortless grace, but she was quite sure that as they approached the group of people gathered around the throne, she must have looked like a clomping cow next to a graceful deer.
Lining the path to the head of the Hall were nameless nobles and their ladies, but as they came closer, the faces began to be more familiar. She had to lower her eyes a bit to see a few of them, the Hobbits of the Shire, who had played a role of such importance in the War that their presence was ever welcome in the world of Men. Samwise Gamgee and his brood of children even smaller than he and his wife stood along with the troublemakers she knew only as Pippin and Merry. One of her favorite memories was of the gathering when she realized she had finally passed Merry in height. With their own families in tow, the group of Halflings was considerable, yet missing one very important face.
She had never met the Ringbearer himself. He had sailed for the Undying Lands as an honored guest of the Elves before her birth, but the great respect her parents, as well as everyone else gathered in the Hall, had for Frodo Baggins assured that although he was gone, he would never be forgotten.
Legolas Greenleaf stood on the opposite side next to his friend and traveling companion, the Dwarf Gimli. Where one was tall, sleek and the very definition of handsome, the other was short, gruff and unrefined, which only leant to his charm. She did not know them well, as they were constantly off on another adventure through Middle Earth, but she respected them by way of being great role models. The Elf's eyes bore into her for a moment, but quickly moved to her sister where they stayed, watching her with great interest.
Just beyond them, she saw her mother's brother, Éomer-king. Hand-in-hand with his beautiful wife Lothiriel, and their children, her cousins Elfwine, Glymer, Maren, and Illalian, her uncle stood proud. How different he was from her father, yet so similar, too. The main difference, she thought darkly, was that her uncle allowed her cousins Maren and Illalian to ride freely across the plains of Rohan. She'd long envied them…and they knew it. Even as she passed, Maren smirked at her. It would have been in bad taste, Edoawen decided, if she reached out and pulled the younger girl's dark blond braid.
Her own family stood together to the left of the throne, smiling as their girls approached. Faramir and Elboron both wore the symbol of Gondor, the White Tree, outlined upon their dark breastplates, while Théodan was simply clad in his finest clothes. Éowyn wore a gown of white silk so pure that it challenged the very stars in its brightness.
How was it, Edoawen wondered, that she could have been born of such a woman, yet inherit nothing of her beauty and grace?
The right side of the throne was reserved for the King's own family. Queen Arwen stood closest, regal in her stance, unmatched in her beauty. Edoawen had never felt quite comfortable in the presence of the Queen, although Elioclya revered her. Just behind the Queen were her daughters, Elaviel, Hinia and Cebriviel. She did not know them well at all, as they simply had nothing in common.
But between his sisters and his mother was the only man she'd ever looked at twice. Even now as she spotted him, her heart sped up and she almost put her hand to her throat as if to slow it. Prince Eldarion had long been in her thoughts, longer than she liked to admit. Not that she had admitted it to anyone, not even her twin. It was too great a secret. And Elioclya might smile in the condescending way she had if Edoawen admitted that she found the Crown Prince to be everything a man ought to be…strong, kind, intelligent, just, and quick with a blade. Together with his Elvish qualities that made him both beautiful and serene, he was as close to perfection as anyone could come.
Therefore, he was completely out of her league.
She had no more time to think about Eldarion as they reached the base of the King's throne. They were about to be presented to the court as young noblewomen of a marriageable age always were. Edoawen sighed. It was a pointless, almost humiliating ritual in her mind, but her sister had been looking forward to it for years.
Elessar-king, who both the girls had known all of their lives simply as 'King Aragorn,' rose and addressed everyone gathered. "Today is happy occasion for all of Middle Earth. Not only do we celebrate another gathering of old friends from all corners of our lands, but I have been given permission by their father, Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, and their mother, Lady Éowyn, to formally introduce their daughters to this Hall."
He came down the stairs slowly and stopped just in front of the girls, both of whom bowed deeply before him. "Rise, ladies," Aragorn said softly. "And face my court as the princesses that you are."
Together, the girls stood and turned. The Hall looked even longer from this perspective. Edoawen's skin crawled knowing that every single eye was on them, her in particular, she assumed. If she had stopped to think logically, she might have guessed that the stares and whispers were simply about the amazing resemblance between the twins, but in her mind she just knew that they were comparing her to Eliocyla…and that she was definitely coming up short.
"It is my great honor to introduce the daughters of Ithilien, the Princesses Edoawen…" He placed one hand on her shoulder. "And Elioclya." As he touched her sister's shoulder, she was sure he smiled softly, affectionately. "My best wishes to all the young men out there in telling the two apart."
There was light laughter at this and applause when the King stepped back and the presentation was complete.
Edoawen couldn't help but glance over at Prince Eldarion. He was neither clapping nor smiling. But he was watching them. Or more specifically, he was watching her sister.
Just like everyone always had.
****
"Are you not eating, sister? You cannot have some silly notion in your mind that you need to watch your figure, can you?"
Elioclya looked up from her mostly-full plate and smiled weakly at her older brother. He sat beside her at the long table, feasting happily on the endless platters of roasted meats and fresh breads. "I do not," she assured him. "I simply have no appetite tonight."
"Edoawen does," Elboron pointed out.
On his other side, his other sister stuck out her tongue, not caring who saw. "If you imply that I eat like a horse, brother, perhaps you should mind the manner of your own consumption first!"
He gestured with a chunk of cheese in his hand. "Your manners are impeccable. It is your desire to keep your mouth full of food, rather than engaged in conversation that I noticed. Do you not care to talk to any one of the many men here?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Are you suggesting that I throw myself at the feet at some noble's son and pretend to be fascinated by his…" She paused. "…sword?"
The innuendo did not escape Elboron and he nearly choked. "By all things mighty…is there not one drop of woman's blood in your veins, sister?!"
"Enough." Elioclya spoke softly, but firmly, breaking up the argument as she had done so many times before. "People are staring. And Father will not be pleased if his children make a spectacle of themselves at the King's table."
Even though she sat back and said no more, as Edoawen plopped a fat date into her mouth and chewed, she stared at her sister with silent contempt. Eliocyla ignored her and sipped her wine from a silver goblet. Her sister was always upset about something; if she bothered to find out what every little trouble was, she would spend her entire life worrying about things that did not even matter.
What mattered at the moment was the fact that since they had all sat down to feast, Eldarion's eyes had not left her except when he was spoken to and his attention was required elsewhere. Always though, he would look back at her when the conversation was through; she found herself almost looking forward to it. There was nothing disturbing in the way he looked upon her. Rather it made her feel singled out. Special. She swallowed. Wanted.
For it was a look of desire that he gave her, and she needed none of his Elvish intuition to know it. Not even her lack of experience could keep her ignorant of what lay in the Prince's stare. It did not frighten her, however. Rather, it warmed her at the same time it made her stomach twist and turn. It was for that reason that she could not eat. But she doubted her brother would have cared to hear that. Although he was great friends with the Prince, Elioclya did not think he would like to know just how penetrating Eldarion's stare was.
She was snapped out of her thoughts by the King's voice. Eldarion glanced at his father, too, but quite reluctantly.
"Faramir, friend, you seem distracted," Aragorn said to her father. "What troubles you at my table?"
Before he could reply, Gimli slammed down his mug of mead with a raucous laugh. "Perhaps it is knowing that there's nary a young man's eye here what is not trained upon his daughters."
"What of the King's own daughters?" Legolas, ever on a quest to verbally spar with the shorter warrior, asked him. "Are they not just as fair and likely to catch a suitor's wandering eye?"
"Just as fair, but too young yet for such things," Gimli corrected him.
Merry piped up from his raised seat at the far end of the table. "If I might be so bold as to say, I don' think there's a lady here who's not as fair as anyone has the right to be." A slight hiccup gave away the fact that he was just a bit tipsy.
Éowyn smiled at her one-time battle companion. "Mean you to make us all blush, Master Meriadoc?" But he was the one who ended up blushing.
"I simply meant to give the wee girls a bit of a compliment," Gimli grumbled. "I meant not to offend."
Aragorn settled the matter with smooth words. "Each lady gathered represents beauty in her own fashion. So it cannot be disputed that the daughters of Faramir are fair. I think they may be even more beautiful now than they were the day I helped bring them into the world."
Edoawen's nose wrinkled up. "I should hope so, my lord."
This received much laughter, which seemed to catch Eliocyla's twin off-guard. But she did smile and that was certainly more attractive on her than a scowl.
"Ah, but even on the day of their birth I knew that someday my eyes would not be the only ones to recognize their beauty," Faramir added, almost sadly. He glanced at his sister's brother and then at the King. "So it goes when one becomes a father to a daughter. And doubly so for two."
Éowyn glanced at her daughters before touching her husband's arm. "I do believe we make shy our girls, my lord," she murmured.
Faramir nodded. Clearing his throat, he lifted his goblet. "I raise my cup and ask you to raise yours." When everyone followed his lead, he continued, "To the Great Fellowship…the true reason behind this celebration. As we were in the past, and ever shall be, we are grateful for your courage and deeds."
The toast was echoed. As he sipped his wine, Aragorn looked at the brother of the only fallen Fellowship member. He set his goblet down and leaned over a bit towards him. "There were more people responsible for the outcome of our endeavor than you accredit…yourself and your lady included."
"But I can hardly raise my own cup to myself, can I?"
The King shook his head. "Modesty is not a usual trait amongst the sons of kings or stewards," he said. "But you carry it well, my friend."
The meal passed without further incidents of note, and when the last plates of fruit pies and sugared candies had been whisked away, the King stood up from his chair, a signal that the feast was over. He held his hand out for his Queen's, which she took a light hold on as she rose to her feet. It was an understood matter that after the meal there was to be dancing and merriment, which would most likely include generous quantities of mead, which in turn would undoubtedly lead to Shire songs and dances performed upon the tops of the tables. It was always fun, but on that night, Eliocyla simply did not feel up to it.
Somehow, she managed to slip away when the diners stood up to follow the King and Queen. Quietly, as not to attract any attention to her escape, she made her way out of the hall, out of the elaborate chambers carved into the very mountain itself, and out into the fresh, cold night air.
Eliocyla walked past the White Tree of Gondor, past the meticulously kept greens, and out to the very tip of the Citadel where the wind swept ten times faster. But for once, she did not bother about the state of her hair.
"I am at the very top of the world," she said out loud, looking down upon the back and forth path the main road through Minas Tirith created through the city. Eliocyla hugged her arms around her slender body to ward off the sudden chill that rippled down her spine. "And I am alone."
"No. You are not."
She whipped around so fast to confront whomever spoke from behind her that she almost lost her balance. As she tipped towards the stone ledge, a pair of strong arms caught her up in their safety. Eliocyla looked up into the intense stare that had been focused on her throughout dinner.
"Careful, *wen*," Eldarion said. His voice was low, and throbbed with something that she could not identify. "It is a long fall."
Although her wanton side, which she had not even realized she possessed, might have liked to stay as close as possible to the warmth of the Prince's body, Elioclya quickly pulled away. "You startled me, your majesty."
"Then I offer my apologies."
The corners of her lips lifted. "There is no need." A moment passed by, though it seemed endless. His eyes were twin pools of silvery-blue, clearer than a placid lake on a cold morning. She found herself looking away. "What was it that you called me?" she asked to fill the silence.
"*Wen*? It means 'maiden' in the tongue of the Eldar. It is part of your own sister's name."
Elioclya glanced back at him. "I know nothing of the language, my lord. My father has no books written in Elvish, therefore I have never had the chance to study it."
Eldarion walked to the precipice that she had almost gone over; the tips of his leather boots hung over the edge, as if challenging gravity to a duel. "My Mother and Father have spoken it to us since we were born. My first words were not even in the tongue of Man."
"This upsets you," she softly noted.
"I speak the language of a race no longer known to the lands over which I am to be king. But more than that…" He turned his face up towards the star-studded sky. "When I look at both Elves and Men, I cannot see myself in either."
Eliocyla thought for a moment before replying, "You are unique, my lord."
"Unique. I suppose that is a more pleasant way of describing a half-breed." Eldarion stepped back from the edge, and she breathed a little sigh of relief. "What draws you away from the festivities?"
"I could not say," she replied truthfully. "Often times I can be in the midst of a crowd of friends and loved ones…yet feel utterly alone."
He nodded slowly, his strong chin outlined in the moon's light. "And on those times, it is better to actually be alone?"
Running her tongue over her lower lip, she lowered her head. "Is that beyond the realm of believing my lord?"
"Quite the contrary." Eldarion reached out and guided her chin up until they locked stares once again. "There is nothing that is not possible."
"Clya!"
The all-too familiar voice of her sister yelling for her shattered the moment. Clearing his throat, the Prince backed up several steps. "I would not tarnish your reputation with rumors of midnight rendezvous'. Good evening, Lady Eliocyla." With a slight bow, he turned and took the quickest path back into the castle.
Only a moment after he disappeared into the shadows, Edoawen ran out onto the greens, her skirts lifted well beyond the limit of propriety in order that she might not trip. "Clya!" Once she reached her twin, she let her dress drop back down around her feet. "What in Valar's name are you doing out here by yourself?"
"Taking a much needed breath of fresh air, sister." She put her hands on her hips. "By what right do you follow me?"
"I am under orders from Father to fetch you and return you to the Hall," her sister replied just as haughtily. Her snotty tone dropped a few notches. "I worried for your safety."
Elioclya managed a smile. "Thank you. I suppose it would be rude to the King and Queen if I stayed away altogether."
"Exactly." Edoawen hooked her arm around Elioclya's. "And more than that…" She peered around them in all directions as if to confirm that they were indeed alone. She dropped her voice to a nearly unintelligible mumble. "I require your help, as you know I have no talent at dancing. But…I wish to dance with…with the Prince!"
She blinked several times. "Why, Awen?"
Edoawen's back straightened as she frowned. "Because…he's…well, that is to say he…oh…I know not! All I know is that in the past two years since we were last in the City, I have thought of no man, save him. And I know that in your mind you must be laughing to think of your wild sister caring for any man, but I do, Clya, I do. Do you think…" She unhooked their arms and came around in front of her twin. "Do you think there is a chance in the heavens that he might think of me, too?"
Elioclya tried to swallow, but her mouth was far too dry. Her sister's entire face glowed as she eagerly awaited an answer. Finally, she was able to down the lump in her throat. Choking back curses to the unjust fates that were responsible for placing her in such a situation, Eliocyla could only nod.
"There is nothing," she whispered, "that is not possible."
****
To Be Continued