Disclaimer: Most of the characters, and you know who they are, do not belong to me, but to Tolkien.
Author's Notes: Thanks everyone for the interest in the story...hehe...I love hearing what you think about the "couples," even if you don't agree with what it seems like I'm doing;) Enjoy the chapter!!
****
The Power of Two
by Kristen Elizabeth
****
The next morning, while the King and his guests broke their fast, some still shaking off the effects of the previous night's revelry, a lone rider approached the gates of Minas Tirith, requesting entrance into the City. His appeal was sent directly to the Citadel.
"My lord, forgive the intrusion," the guard entrusted with the message said upon entering the dining hall. All eyes turned to him, and conversations came to a gradual stop. The guard bowed. "But there is a rider at the gate who wears the symbol of the Court of Rohan. He asks to speak to you, your majesty, as well as to his own king."
Rohan's king stood, forgetting formalities for a moment. "Who is this man?" he asked.
"He did not say, my lord. He only said that it was of the utmost importance and urgency."
"A man of my court would give his name," Éomer informed them.
After a moment's contemplation, Aragorn set aside his napkin and pushed away from the table. "Send word that he is to be let into the City, but detained at the gate. We shall go to him."
The tension around the table was thick all of a sudden. It was as if the message, even though it was vague, had cast a cold shadow over all present. Husbands reached for their wives hands, the younger children looked to their parents, but the Crown Prince simply stood up. "I ask to accompany you, Father."
Aragorn shook his head. "Stay and see to the guests of our Throne." He lowered his voice. "If there is trouble, you shall likely know of it all too soon, my son." He glanced around the table, catching the eye of Legolas first, then Gimli, and finally Faramir. Then, he and Éomer departed, leaving everyone to their unease.
Éowyn threaded her fingers through Faramir's. "My skin is all gooseflesh. Something is wrong."
"Shh, my love," her husband murmured. "There is no cause for worry."
"Yet." Next to his mother, Théodan dragged a spoon through his boiled oats, although he had not taken a bite since the meal began. "But there will be."
And at hearing this from his youngest son who had a frightening way of being right about things, Faramir felt his own flesh crawl.
****
Hours after the morning meal had been abandoned, Edoawen found Eldarion pacing back and forth in front of his father's throne, his hands clutched behind his back and an unusually heavy look weighing down his beautiful face. She took a deep breath and tried to smooth down the fly-away strands of her long, loose hair.
"My lord?" she addressed him. Her voice echoed several times down the length of the Great Hall.
He stopped and glanced at her. "Lady Edoawen."
It pleased her for a moment that he could tell the difference between her and her sister, until she realized that it might just be the slightly wrinkled state of her dress. The gown's condition wasn't entirely her fault, she reasoned. The maids obviously had not packed it properly for the journey to Minas Tirith.
"What troubles you, my lord?"
"Nothing that I would burden you with," he replied gently.
Her heart leaped. A man swept up in affections for a woman would always shield his lady from worry, would he not? Perhaps despite all of her shortcomings as such, she might just be the lady in his heart.
"I do not mind," Edoawen continued, moving closer. "My father claims that his burdens are easier borne when he shares them with my mother."
Eldarion gave her a slight smile. "I would not argue with the wisdom of Ithilien's ruler. In truth, my lady, I worry what news this strange rider brings that is of such secrecy and importance." Before she could say anything in return, he unclasped his hands and reached out to touch her shoulder.
If she had not been so infatuated, she might have interpreted the contact as it was meant, a gesture of an old friend, or perhaps even an older brother. But to Edoawen, Eldarion's touch merely cemented her feelings for him, and gave her renewed hope in his for her.
Unaware, the Prince continued, "All shall be revealed in its own time, I suppose. But I do owe you my gratitude."
"For what, my lord?" she whispered. "I have said nothing of importance."
"You have reminded me that I am not alone in my worries." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you, my lady."
She watched him walk away through eyes rosy with the haze of young love. Everything about him made her entire body sing. The shine in the dark curls at the nape of his neck, the scent of leather from his breastplate, his voice that resonated with the agelessness of his Elven ancestors. If this was true love, she finally understood what made her parents so blissfully happy.
Edoawen practically floated back the bed chamber she was sharing with her twin. For the first time in her life, she felt as graceful as her sister, and as beautiful as her mother. Elioclya sat in the stone seat created by the window's wide lip; she had a pile of sewing in her lap, but she was looking out over the City. She turned her head when Edoawen entered the room.
"Where have you been?" she asked mildly.
"Paradise," Edoawen answered, dropping down onto her bed with exaggerated drama. A Cheshire grin spread across her face.
She couldn't help but mimic the expression. "And where is Paradise, exactly?"
"Wherever Prince Eldarion happens to be."
Eliocyla's smile faded away, like a flower wilting in an overly heated room. "You…spoke to the Prince?"
"'Spoke' is such a formal word, sister." Edoawen sat up and crossed her legs like a boy might, mindless of her skirts. "I happened upon him in the Great Hall, and he was most troubled."
"Was he?" Her throat was tight, resistant to the question, but somehow she forced it out.
"I offered to share his burdens with him…and he accepted!" Her sister sighed. "Just like Mother and Father."
"Mother and Father…" Elioclya echoed.
Edoawen crawled off the bed and approached her twin. Sitting across from her on the windowsill, she spoke in a confiding tone. "And then something wonderful happened." Taking her sister's silence as a cue to go on, she loudly whispered, "He kissed me!"
The room was suddenly ice-cold, although a cheerful fire crackled in the hearth. Eliocyla was having trouble breathing, as though in addition to the drop in temperature, all of the air had been sucked away. Lowered slightly, her eyes darted back and forth as she fought back on onslaught of tears.
**How foolish you are,** she chided herself. **The meaning behind the Prince's words, spoken under the stars was your imagination, nothing more. Let this be a lesson to you. Keep your affections to yourself until they are confirmed, lest you make a spectacle…or cause yourself heartache.**
She looked up, hoping desperately that her eyes were not as wet as they seemed. Edoawen was waiting for her reply; the face that so perfectly matched hers was lit up like she had not ever seen it before. How could she be so selfish as to think of herself when her twin was so obviously besotted with something other than riding her horse or sparring with their brothers?
"I am truly happy for you." Eliocyla reached for her sister, embracing her tightly.
Edoawen was caught off guard, but only for a moment. She returned the hug, just as whole-heartedly. "You are? I had worried that you…" Her thought trailed off.
"Worry not," Elioclya said, pulling back. "We are sisters, Awen. Your happiness…is my happiness."
With a delighted cry, Edoawen embraced her sister again and did not let go as she talked on about her encounter with Eldarion. She did not even feel her twin's tears falling against her tangled curls.
****
"And this has been confirmed?"
The rider nodded at the King. "It has, my lord. We received word at the Mark only two days after your departure," he said, turning his attention to Rohan's ruler. "I was sent to bring you word, but I make apologies for the mystery of my arrival. I have pushed my horse for three straight days without stop."
Éomer shook his head. "No apologies are necessary." He looked to Aragorn. "My people need my presence, your majesty. And, if I might be so bold, the aid of Gondor, as well. The wildmen of the north have long pressed the boundaries of our lands, even in the wake of the defeat of their allies. We have tolerated it too long. This direct attack…it should have been avoided." His large hands balled up into tight fists. "I shall carry the weight of the guilt, but I cannot let these barbarians roam freely any longer."
"Think you that this was not a random incident?" Aragorn asked the rider.
"It was not, my lord," the young man replied. "It was a challenge to our country that claimed several lives that we know of." He glanced down at his hands, dirty with the grime of his long journey. "I come from that village. I know not if my family…" He looked back up, anger glinting in his dark eyes. "What say you, my lord?"
The King pressed the tips of his fingers together. "I thought to see no more battles in my lifetime, but some battles need to be seen. Gondor will ride to the aid of Rohan, as Rohan has ridden to our aid. We shall leave by dawn's light." He stood up from the conference table. "Aethor, son of Gwomyr," he addressed Éomer's young Captain of the Guard, who rose as well, out of respect. "Rest until then. Whatever you need shall be provided."
"If I might see to my horse, your majesty?" Aethor requested.
"He is cared for in the stables by now, but if you so wish." Aragorn looked to Rohan's king. "First, we must break this news to our friends and allies. Doubtless they will also ride with us."
Aethor bowed. "If you will excuse me, my lords."
Éomer clapped a hand on the young man's broad, strong shoulder. "You have served your country well."
"Indeed," the King echoed. "Dine with my court tonight in preparation for the long road ahead."
"But your majesty…"
"I insist," Aragorn cut him off. "Be assured, Aethor…the company at my table is far fairer than you will find in any tavern."
The captain of Rohan bowed again before turning and leaving.
Crossing his arms, Éomer cursed under his breath. "I have long thought to strengthen the borders of my lands, but I did not expect so sudden and brutal an attack."
"I would not have either," the King confessed. "It is a problem that shall be addressed, Éomer, so think on it not until tomorrow." His serious expression softened. "Your young captain…be he married or bethrothed?"
Rohan's king frowned. "I do not believe so, although I rarely meddle in the personal affairs of my court, your majesty. Why do you ask?"
"For no particular reason. He simply reminds me of a lady…of whom we are both fatherly fond." He smiled. "Perhaps, ere we depart, there is time for me to meddle in the affairs of my own court…"
****
Aethor, son of Gwomyr who rode for Gondor with Theoden-king, but had not returned to his pregnant wife, had never been outside the comfortable borders of his beloved Rohan. His mother had brought him up with stories of his father's bravery and sacrifice, and although he had been born months after the man's death, he had always felt the same strong pull of nationalism and service to the king.
All of his devotion and hard work had paid off, and though he might have been infantile in the eyes of the older Rohirric soldiers, Éomer-king had recently rewarded him with a high position as a Captain of the Guard. It was a responsibility he'd taken with honor and seriousness, even if it had saddened him to leave his family behind in the care of his mother's second husband, especially his young half-sister, Adrema, who was just approaching her thirteenth birthday.
It was thoughts of what might have happened to them in the reported attacks that had driven him non-stop to Minas Tirith. But now that he had arrived, his message had been delivered, and a decision made by the kings of the land to ride to the rescue, Aethor found that he could not so easily clear his own mind of its worries.
He had thought a trip to the stables to check on his stallion, Gadeon, might soothe him. A man of Rohan through and through, Aethor had a bond of mutual respect and friendship with the magnificent creature he'd seen raised from a gangly foal.
But even after checking to make sure the stable hands of the City had provided Gadeon with adequate food, watering and shelter, Aethor was still as restless as a field of tall grasses in a strong breeze. He looked again at his hands, discovering them to be even dirtier than before. He was not a man given to vanities, but he reasoned that if he were to be dining at the King's table within a matter of hours, he likely had need to wash up before then.
Even after residing in Meduseld for nearly a year, he was not yet accustomed to being waited upon by servants. He had much rather wait on himself than rely on someone else; it was just the way he had brought up. This self-reliance was what led him on a half-hour search through Elessar-king's palace for anything resembling a working well.
And it was on one of his fruitless forays up and down the halls that he passed by a heavy wooden door, which was slightly ajar, casting a sliver of light across the darkened floor. It was not the light, but the sound of a woman humming that caught his attention, however.
Aethor had no talent for music, but he did have an ear for it as his mother carried a pretty tune. This woman's singing, however, left much to be desired. Slightly off-key and unbalanced in pitch and tone, he figured it had to be some adolescent servant girl, and if so, there was no harm in informing the child that her singing could be heard in the hall. It might even save her some embarrassment.
Without knocking, Aethor pushed the door open and stuck his head inside. Where he had expected a girl on her knees, scraping ashes from the hearth, what he got was a slender young woman with blond hair that cascaded in waves all the way down to the small of her back, clothed in nothing but a white shift, standing at her window. The mid-afternoon light filtered through the flimsy material, silhouetting her perfectly curved body in a way that made his mouth go dry.
"Excuse me, my lady," he said, breaking through her awkward song.
The vision at the window turned her head and instantly screamed. Aethor's first reaction was to apologize and bolt, but something about the woman made him shut the door behind him and put a finger to his lips. "Shhh! Do you want to bring the entire guard?"
"To start with!" she replied, hotly, as she reached for a robe. Donning it, she quickly covered up everything he would have liked to see in greater detail. "How dare you enter my chamber without announcing yourself?"
"In all fairness, it was you who left your door nearly open," Aethor reminded her. "If that was not an invitation to enter, then I know not what would be."
Her eyes, a mysterious blue-grey hue that reminded him of an oncoming storm, flashed like lightning. "There was no invitation that any well-bred man would recognize, at least," she shot back. "But from your appearance, I take it you are no such man, so I suppose I should forgive you and send you on your way with an understanding that you are never to cross my path again."
Aethor's eyebrow arched. "Well…we are generous with our insults, are we not? Who are you to judge my position so harshly, when you stand like a wanton woman at your window, enticing all who might pass with a song…hummed out of tune, I might add."
Her rage, if possible, grew even more. "A lady does not need to give her name to a ruffian!"
"I may not know many ladies," he countered, "But I do not believe for a moment that you are one."
She drew herself up to her full height; her chin lifted into the air as though she were the Queen herself. "If it were in my power, I would have you banished from this court. How you are even here in the first place probably owes more to you finding yourself lost on the way to your home in the pigs pen than by any royal invitation."
He chuckled, even though her words stung just a bit. "A clever insult. But are we to trade them all day? I have made a long journey, and I have been promised much more pleasant company than this by the King himself."
"The King knows not what sort of creature he has invited into his palace."
"I could say the same of you." Aethor bowed with great mocking. "I leave you to your window and your song." Before he left, he turned back around for one last look at the beautiful, but thoroughly haughty woman. "I would advise you to make sure this door is properly bolted, and spare some other wandering 'creature' the misfortune of stumbling across you."
She reached for the first thing she could lay her hands on, a pile of sewing on the windowsill, but he had already gone by the time it hit the door.
Edoawen's hands clenched up as she reigned in a scream of frustration. Stamping her foot, she threw off her robe and flung it across her bed with the same force she had used to hurtle her sister's sewing at the stranger. Elioclya would probably be upset that the work she'd abandoned in order to take a bath before supper now lay in a pile on the floor, but she really couldn't bring herself to care right then.
"Thank the graces for men like Eldarion," she announced out loud. Stalking back to the door, she flung it open and yelled down the hall, "He more than makes up for the likes of you!!"
Aethor barely heard what she said. He was too busy laughing.
****
To Be Continued
Author's Notes: Thanks everyone for the interest in the story...hehe...I love hearing what you think about the "couples," even if you don't agree with what it seems like I'm doing;) Enjoy the chapter!!
****
The Power of Two
by Kristen Elizabeth
****
The next morning, while the King and his guests broke their fast, some still shaking off the effects of the previous night's revelry, a lone rider approached the gates of Minas Tirith, requesting entrance into the City. His appeal was sent directly to the Citadel.
"My lord, forgive the intrusion," the guard entrusted with the message said upon entering the dining hall. All eyes turned to him, and conversations came to a gradual stop. The guard bowed. "But there is a rider at the gate who wears the symbol of the Court of Rohan. He asks to speak to you, your majesty, as well as to his own king."
Rohan's king stood, forgetting formalities for a moment. "Who is this man?" he asked.
"He did not say, my lord. He only said that it was of the utmost importance and urgency."
"A man of my court would give his name," Éomer informed them.
After a moment's contemplation, Aragorn set aside his napkin and pushed away from the table. "Send word that he is to be let into the City, but detained at the gate. We shall go to him."
The tension around the table was thick all of a sudden. It was as if the message, even though it was vague, had cast a cold shadow over all present. Husbands reached for their wives hands, the younger children looked to their parents, but the Crown Prince simply stood up. "I ask to accompany you, Father."
Aragorn shook his head. "Stay and see to the guests of our Throne." He lowered his voice. "If there is trouble, you shall likely know of it all too soon, my son." He glanced around the table, catching the eye of Legolas first, then Gimli, and finally Faramir. Then, he and Éomer departed, leaving everyone to their unease.
Éowyn threaded her fingers through Faramir's. "My skin is all gooseflesh. Something is wrong."
"Shh, my love," her husband murmured. "There is no cause for worry."
"Yet." Next to his mother, Théodan dragged a spoon through his boiled oats, although he had not taken a bite since the meal began. "But there will be."
And at hearing this from his youngest son who had a frightening way of being right about things, Faramir felt his own flesh crawl.
****
Hours after the morning meal had been abandoned, Edoawen found Eldarion pacing back and forth in front of his father's throne, his hands clutched behind his back and an unusually heavy look weighing down his beautiful face. She took a deep breath and tried to smooth down the fly-away strands of her long, loose hair.
"My lord?" she addressed him. Her voice echoed several times down the length of the Great Hall.
He stopped and glanced at her. "Lady Edoawen."
It pleased her for a moment that he could tell the difference between her and her sister, until she realized that it might just be the slightly wrinkled state of her dress. The gown's condition wasn't entirely her fault, she reasoned. The maids obviously had not packed it properly for the journey to Minas Tirith.
"What troubles you, my lord?"
"Nothing that I would burden you with," he replied gently.
Her heart leaped. A man swept up in affections for a woman would always shield his lady from worry, would he not? Perhaps despite all of her shortcomings as such, she might just be the lady in his heart.
"I do not mind," Edoawen continued, moving closer. "My father claims that his burdens are easier borne when he shares them with my mother."
Eldarion gave her a slight smile. "I would not argue with the wisdom of Ithilien's ruler. In truth, my lady, I worry what news this strange rider brings that is of such secrecy and importance." Before she could say anything in return, he unclasped his hands and reached out to touch her shoulder.
If she had not been so infatuated, she might have interpreted the contact as it was meant, a gesture of an old friend, or perhaps even an older brother. But to Edoawen, Eldarion's touch merely cemented her feelings for him, and gave her renewed hope in his for her.
Unaware, the Prince continued, "All shall be revealed in its own time, I suppose. But I do owe you my gratitude."
"For what, my lord?" she whispered. "I have said nothing of importance."
"You have reminded me that I am not alone in my worries." He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you, my lady."
She watched him walk away through eyes rosy with the haze of young love. Everything about him made her entire body sing. The shine in the dark curls at the nape of his neck, the scent of leather from his breastplate, his voice that resonated with the agelessness of his Elven ancestors. If this was true love, she finally understood what made her parents so blissfully happy.
Edoawen practically floated back the bed chamber she was sharing with her twin. For the first time in her life, she felt as graceful as her sister, and as beautiful as her mother. Elioclya sat in the stone seat created by the window's wide lip; she had a pile of sewing in her lap, but she was looking out over the City. She turned her head when Edoawen entered the room.
"Where have you been?" she asked mildly.
"Paradise," Edoawen answered, dropping down onto her bed with exaggerated drama. A Cheshire grin spread across her face.
She couldn't help but mimic the expression. "And where is Paradise, exactly?"
"Wherever Prince Eldarion happens to be."
Eliocyla's smile faded away, like a flower wilting in an overly heated room. "You…spoke to the Prince?"
"'Spoke' is such a formal word, sister." Edoawen sat up and crossed her legs like a boy might, mindless of her skirts. "I happened upon him in the Great Hall, and he was most troubled."
"Was he?" Her throat was tight, resistant to the question, but somehow she forced it out.
"I offered to share his burdens with him…and he accepted!" Her sister sighed. "Just like Mother and Father."
"Mother and Father…" Elioclya echoed.
Edoawen crawled off the bed and approached her twin. Sitting across from her on the windowsill, she spoke in a confiding tone. "And then something wonderful happened." Taking her sister's silence as a cue to go on, she loudly whispered, "He kissed me!"
The room was suddenly ice-cold, although a cheerful fire crackled in the hearth. Eliocyla was having trouble breathing, as though in addition to the drop in temperature, all of the air had been sucked away. Lowered slightly, her eyes darted back and forth as she fought back on onslaught of tears.
**How foolish you are,** she chided herself. **The meaning behind the Prince's words, spoken under the stars was your imagination, nothing more. Let this be a lesson to you. Keep your affections to yourself until they are confirmed, lest you make a spectacle…or cause yourself heartache.**
She looked up, hoping desperately that her eyes were not as wet as they seemed. Edoawen was waiting for her reply; the face that so perfectly matched hers was lit up like she had not ever seen it before. How could she be so selfish as to think of herself when her twin was so obviously besotted with something other than riding her horse or sparring with their brothers?
"I am truly happy for you." Eliocyla reached for her sister, embracing her tightly.
Edoawen was caught off guard, but only for a moment. She returned the hug, just as whole-heartedly. "You are? I had worried that you…" Her thought trailed off.
"Worry not," Elioclya said, pulling back. "We are sisters, Awen. Your happiness…is my happiness."
With a delighted cry, Edoawen embraced her sister again and did not let go as she talked on about her encounter with Eldarion. She did not even feel her twin's tears falling against her tangled curls.
****
"And this has been confirmed?"
The rider nodded at the King. "It has, my lord. We received word at the Mark only two days after your departure," he said, turning his attention to Rohan's ruler. "I was sent to bring you word, but I make apologies for the mystery of my arrival. I have pushed my horse for three straight days without stop."
Éomer shook his head. "No apologies are necessary." He looked to Aragorn. "My people need my presence, your majesty. And, if I might be so bold, the aid of Gondor, as well. The wildmen of the north have long pressed the boundaries of our lands, even in the wake of the defeat of their allies. We have tolerated it too long. This direct attack…it should have been avoided." His large hands balled up into tight fists. "I shall carry the weight of the guilt, but I cannot let these barbarians roam freely any longer."
"Think you that this was not a random incident?" Aragorn asked the rider.
"It was not, my lord," the young man replied. "It was a challenge to our country that claimed several lives that we know of." He glanced down at his hands, dirty with the grime of his long journey. "I come from that village. I know not if my family…" He looked back up, anger glinting in his dark eyes. "What say you, my lord?"
The King pressed the tips of his fingers together. "I thought to see no more battles in my lifetime, but some battles need to be seen. Gondor will ride to the aid of Rohan, as Rohan has ridden to our aid. We shall leave by dawn's light." He stood up from the conference table. "Aethor, son of Gwomyr," he addressed Éomer's young Captain of the Guard, who rose as well, out of respect. "Rest until then. Whatever you need shall be provided."
"If I might see to my horse, your majesty?" Aethor requested.
"He is cared for in the stables by now, but if you so wish." Aragorn looked to Rohan's king. "First, we must break this news to our friends and allies. Doubtless they will also ride with us."
Aethor bowed. "If you will excuse me, my lords."
Éomer clapped a hand on the young man's broad, strong shoulder. "You have served your country well."
"Indeed," the King echoed. "Dine with my court tonight in preparation for the long road ahead."
"But your majesty…"
"I insist," Aragorn cut him off. "Be assured, Aethor…the company at my table is far fairer than you will find in any tavern."
The captain of Rohan bowed again before turning and leaving.
Crossing his arms, Éomer cursed under his breath. "I have long thought to strengthen the borders of my lands, but I did not expect so sudden and brutal an attack."
"I would not have either," the King confessed. "It is a problem that shall be addressed, Éomer, so think on it not until tomorrow." His serious expression softened. "Your young captain…be he married or bethrothed?"
Rohan's king frowned. "I do not believe so, although I rarely meddle in the personal affairs of my court, your majesty. Why do you ask?"
"For no particular reason. He simply reminds me of a lady…of whom we are both fatherly fond." He smiled. "Perhaps, ere we depart, there is time for me to meddle in the affairs of my own court…"
****
Aethor, son of Gwomyr who rode for Gondor with Theoden-king, but had not returned to his pregnant wife, had never been outside the comfortable borders of his beloved Rohan. His mother had brought him up with stories of his father's bravery and sacrifice, and although he had been born months after the man's death, he had always felt the same strong pull of nationalism and service to the king.
All of his devotion and hard work had paid off, and though he might have been infantile in the eyes of the older Rohirric soldiers, Éomer-king had recently rewarded him with a high position as a Captain of the Guard. It was a responsibility he'd taken with honor and seriousness, even if it had saddened him to leave his family behind in the care of his mother's second husband, especially his young half-sister, Adrema, who was just approaching her thirteenth birthday.
It was thoughts of what might have happened to them in the reported attacks that had driven him non-stop to Minas Tirith. But now that he had arrived, his message had been delivered, and a decision made by the kings of the land to ride to the rescue, Aethor found that he could not so easily clear his own mind of its worries.
He had thought a trip to the stables to check on his stallion, Gadeon, might soothe him. A man of Rohan through and through, Aethor had a bond of mutual respect and friendship with the magnificent creature he'd seen raised from a gangly foal.
But even after checking to make sure the stable hands of the City had provided Gadeon with adequate food, watering and shelter, Aethor was still as restless as a field of tall grasses in a strong breeze. He looked again at his hands, discovering them to be even dirtier than before. He was not a man given to vanities, but he reasoned that if he were to be dining at the King's table within a matter of hours, he likely had need to wash up before then.
Even after residing in Meduseld for nearly a year, he was not yet accustomed to being waited upon by servants. He had much rather wait on himself than rely on someone else; it was just the way he had brought up. This self-reliance was what led him on a half-hour search through Elessar-king's palace for anything resembling a working well.
And it was on one of his fruitless forays up and down the halls that he passed by a heavy wooden door, which was slightly ajar, casting a sliver of light across the darkened floor. It was not the light, but the sound of a woman humming that caught his attention, however.
Aethor had no talent for music, but he did have an ear for it as his mother carried a pretty tune. This woman's singing, however, left much to be desired. Slightly off-key and unbalanced in pitch and tone, he figured it had to be some adolescent servant girl, and if so, there was no harm in informing the child that her singing could be heard in the hall. It might even save her some embarrassment.
Without knocking, Aethor pushed the door open and stuck his head inside. Where he had expected a girl on her knees, scraping ashes from the hearth, what he got was a slender young woman with blond hair that cascaded in waves all the way down to the small of her back, clothed in nothing but a white shift, standing at her window. The mid-afternoon light filtered through the flimsy material, silhouetting her perfectly curved body in a way that made his mouth go dry.
"Excuse me, my lady," he said, breaking through her awkward song.
The vision at the window turned her head and instantly screamed. Aethor's first reaction was to apologize and bolt, but something about the woman made him shut the door behind him and put a finger to his lips. "Shhh! Do you want to bring the entire guard?"
"To start with!" she replied, hotly, as she reached for a robe. Donning it, she quickly covered up everything he would have liked to see in greater detail. "How dare you enter my chamber without announcing yourself?"
"In all fairness, it was you who left your door nearly open," Aethor reminded her. "If that was not an invitation to enter, then I know not what would be."
Her eyes, a mysterious blue-grey hue that reminded him of an oncoming storm, flashed like lightning. "There was no invitation that any well-bred man would recognize, at least," she shot back. "But from your appearance, I take it you are no such man, so I suppose I should forgive you and send you on your way with an understanding that you are never to cross my path again."
Aethor's eyebrow arched. "Well…we are generous with our insults, are we not? Who are you to judge my position so harshly, when you stand like a wanton woman at your window, enticing all who might pass with a song…hummed out of tune, I might add."
Her rage, if possible, grew even more. "A lady does not need to give her name to a ruffian!"
"I may not know many ladies," he countered, "But I do not believe for a moment that you are one."
She drew herself up to her full height; her chin lifted into the air as though she were the Queen herself. "If it were in my power, I would have you banished from this court. How you are even here in the first place probably owes more to you finding yourself lost on the way to your home in the pigs pen than by any royal invitation."
He chuckled, even though her words stung just a bit. "A clever insult. But are we to trade them all day? I have made a long journey, and I have been promised much more pleasant company than this by the King himself."
"The King knows not what sort of creature he has invited into his palace."
"I could say the same of you." Aethor bowed with great mocking. "I leave you to your window and your song." Before he left, he turned back around for one last look at the beautiful, but thoroughly haughty woman. "I would advise you to make sure this door is properly bolted, and spare some other wandering 'creature' the misfortune of stumbling across you."
She reached for the first thing she could lay her hands on, a pile of sewing on the windowsill, but he had already gone by the time it hit the door.
Edoawen's hands clenched up as she reigned in a scream of frustration. Stamping her foot, she threw off her robe and flung it across her bed with the same force she had used to hurtle her sister's sewing at the stranger. Elioclya would probably be upset that the work she'd abandoned in order to take a bath before supper now lay in a pile on the floor, but she really couldn't bring herself to care right then.
"Thank the graces for men like Eldarion," she announced out loud. Stalking back to the door, she flung it open and yelled down the hall, "He more than makes up for the likes of you!!"
Aethor barely heard what she said. He was too busy laughing.
****
To Be Continued