Disclaimer: Most of the characters within do not belong to me. Some of them do, but not all:)

Author's Notes: Sorry it's taken awhile to get this out, and I hope if you're still reading, you'll enjoy it. Take care!

The Power of Two

by Kristen Elizabeth

"Will you ride out with us, my friends?" Aragorn looked around the table at his fellow warriors. They were all a bit older, even the Prince of Mirkwood, although he may not have looked it, but he could see the same determination in their eyes that had once been sufficient to change the course of history. "Your help is ever needed and wanted."

Faramir was the first to answer. "My wife is of Edoras, and my children share blood with her kin. I would ride to the aid of Rohan even if you did not ask, my lord."

"You're always gettin' me into scrapes, laddie," Gimli told the King. "Because you know I cannot pass up a battle."

Legolas simply replied, "Shadows lie in the north which must come into the light."

Éomer frowned. "Is that a 'yay,' Master Elf?"

"I have offered my bow before, and I shall again," he clarified for Rohan's king.

The Hobbits were the last to speak. "We are not great warriors," Sam said plainly.

"Speak for yourself!" Merry added, indignantly.

"But we would like to help where we can," he finished up, shooting his friend a look.

Aragorn nodded. "It would ease our minds greatly if we knew that there were friends left behind to watch over our loved ones." He cleared his throat. "We leave by dawn's light, but I know not when we shall return. Therefore tonight, we shall feast."

The King kept true to his word, and the feast that night was grand…but somber. With the departure of their men looming in the distant future, the women especially were quiet as they ate and drank.

Elioclya couldn't shake the feeling that someone was staring at her. She lifted her eyes from her plate and glanced down the length of the table. Seated amongst the honored company was a man she'd never seen before. He was very handsome; he had shoulder-length hair that reminded her of Elboron's, a clean-shaven face, and he wore the symbol of Rohan on his breastplate. A disturbingly intimate grin spread on his lips as he watched her. Elioclya frowned and looked in the other direction just in time to hear her mother's question.

"Where is your sister, Clya? She has never been late to a meal since she first learned to walk," Éowyn said with forced merriment.

"I know not, Mother. Last I saw of her she was dressing for dinner and promised to follow me here when she was ready."

Faramir nearly choked on a bite of roasted fowl. "Our Awen stayed behind from dinner to preen her feathers?" he asked. "It is a miracle." When his other daughter failed to even smile, he swallowed, frowning. "What distresses my Clya?"

"Distresses me, Father? I am not…"

He cut her off gently. "You are like your mother; you try to hide it." He caught Éowyn's eye. "But I can tell. Our departure worries you, too."

She let out a pent-up breath. "Of course. Of course it does, Father." She dropped her forehead to his shoulder as Faramir put his arm around her. "I worry for you and Elboron and my uncle and…all the other men."

Down at the other end of the table, Aethor's thoughts were nothing but a mangled web of confusion. The young woman sitting only a few places down from the King and now leaning into the Prince of Ithilien…he had instantly recognized her upon sitting down at the table as the vixen he'd encountered earlier. But she was not as she had been in her chamber. Here she was calm, polite, composed, still beautiful, but lacking the passion that had instantly intrigued him…and had caused him to sink into a cold bath, rather than a warmed one.

But Aethor was convinced that her demure manners and sweet smiles were just an act put on for the court. They had to be. He wondered if anyone else at the table had ever seen her true side, the spit-fire who stood half-naked in her chamber, singing out of tune? Some small part of him fervently hoped that he was the only one.

He looked to his right; the graceful figure sitting next to him was not a man, but an Elf. It was his first encounter with one of the legendary people, beside whom he felt like a bungling beast. But he was not prone to nervousness, and plunged on with his question as though he were addressing one of his own. "My lord, I know no one at this table, save for those who reside in Edoras. Might you tell me who is the young lady seated there?" He pointed discreetly.

Legolas did not have to look up to know to whom the boy was referring. The eyes of the young Rohirric captain had not left the lady since they were seated. "The pride and joy of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, and Lady Éowyn of the Mark," Legolas replied, plucking a single grape from a dewy bunch with elegant movements. "The sister-daughter of your own king."

"I am new to Éomer-king's court and know little about his sister or her family. What is her name?"

With cool consideration, Legolas regarded him. He seemed to be only a year or two older than Aragorn's son, and the only title he carried was that of Captain in Rohan's army, but there was strength of character surrounding him that he saw in few Men.

"The lady was born Elioclya," he finally answered. Mentioning the fact that she was one of a pair did not occur to Legolas at the moment, something he would regret later. Making mistakes or overlooking details was not usual for one of his race.

"Elioclya," Aethor mused. "It suits the woman I see." But not the wench who yelled at me in naught but her underthings.

The lady in question looked back at him with the same bothered expression. Reaching for his goblet, Aethor lifted it, toasting her with a private smirk.

The moment went unnoticed by the rest of the table, save for one man. Between his oldest sister and Elboron, jealously flared to life at the very center of Eldarion's chest. He turned a dark glower onto the newcomer to his father's table. They might be on the same side of the battle that was to come, but it was unlikely they would ever be true allies.

With a slight slur present in his words that was testimony to how much wine he'd consumed, Elboron slung an arm around his friend's shoulders. "It has come to my brotherly attention, that the rider of Rohan casts an interested eye on my youngest sister."

Eldarion grimaced. "Perhaps you should turn your brotherly attention into brotherly protection and put stop to it."

"I have little right to rule over my sister's life when she kindly holds her tongue regarding mine." Despite the fog of drink that hung over his head, he could still very clearly recall Eliocyla's face the time she caught him and a serving girl in the stables, and he would be ever grateful for her discretion and lack of judgment. "Besides, he seems an upstanding sort. Perhaps not as titled as some who might court her, but…"

Eldarion interrupted with a thunder that was completely out of character. "She is innocent and unlearned, like a budding rose. Would you stand by and allow a lout to pluck her?!"

It was only when he felt his mother's cool hand touching his that he realized just how loud he had been. Arwen leaned closer to her oldest child and in the language she had used to speak to him when he was still sheltered in her womb asked, "My son, what is the matter?"

He blew out a short breath and replied in perfect Elvish, "Nothing, Mother. Nothing worth mentioning."

"I do not believe you."

"Neither do I," Aragorn added, jumping into their conversation. "But let us not speak like this in front of our guests for much longer."

Arwen nodded at her husband and waited for him to turn away. "Your eyes tell me what your lips will not, child. And I say, if Faramir's daughter's heart be unclaimed, what stops you from claiming it?"

How could he find the words in either the tongues of Man or Elf to adequately explain what he was feeling? "Nothing but my own cowardice," Eldarion answered.

"Overcome it," his mother told him succinctly. She glanced down the table with a knowing look. "Before Rohan's guard claims what you want." Switching from Elvish to Sindarian without pause, Arwen returned her attention to the general conversation.

Elboron frowned. "Are you angered?" he asked the Prince.

"Not at you, my friend." He cleared his throat. "I pray that if you disagree with what I am about to ask, you will drink the question out of your mind before morning, but I must try." After a pause, Eldarion continued. "Do I have your permission as a brother to speak to your sister?"

Faramir and Éowyn's eldest child broke into a wide smile that was all the answer the Prince needed. "Nothing would make me happier than to call you 'brother'." He raised his silver goblet. "Here's to you and…" He trailed off. "Which one do you want?"

"Elioclya," Eldarion replied in a voice so low that even he barely heard it.

"Of course, of course!" Elboron rose out of his seat, wobbling just a bit. "Here's to you and my sister, Edoawen!"

Catching the tail end of his son's declaration, Faramir cut the Prince off before he could correct his friend. "What is this we are toasting, Elboron, and what does it have to do with your sister?"

Elboron, still jumbled by the alcohol he had consumed, answered his father, "Eldarion wishes to speak to our Awen."

"There has been a…" Eldarion tried to clear up the matter, but he was again interrupted.

Arwen gave her son a puzzled look. "Did I mistake the true object of your affections?" she asked him in Elvish.

Eldarion's head ached. Questions and congratulations were being tossed at him from everyone at the table it seemed, as well as many comments about his supposed intended's noticeable absence. He put a hand across his face, hoping it might block some of the attention. When he glanced up again, the noise still continued, but there were two less faces gathered around the table.

Elioclya had silently slipped away while he wasn't looking.

And it seemed likely that Aethor of Rohan had followed her.

With great empathy, Legolas watched his friend's son's shoulders slump as he was pulled into a sticky situation that was going from bad to worse without stop. He too had noted the quick departure of Elioclya and Aethor, and for the first time in many years, he felt a twinge of regret for not telling the Rohirrim that the woman he had inquired after had an identical twin.

Aethor caught up with the blond beauty halfway down the wide stone hallway that led to the guest's chambers. She had stopped short and leaned against a pillar, as though she could no longer stand on her own. As he approached, he saw the shudder in her slender, almost gaunt frame, but more importantly, heard the soft sound of her sobs.

"I ask myself," he began, his booming voice shattering the hall's silence. Elicoclya turned her head, putting a surprised hand to her throat. "What has happened to turn the vixen at the window into the waif by the pillar?"

Wiping at her tears, Elioclya shook her head. "I know not of what you speak. Have we been introduced?"

"Not officially." He took a step closer, slightly annoyed when she shrunk back as though afraid of him. "And you have no cause to keep up your theatrics with me; I have seen the woman behind the mask."

"My lord?"

Aethor took another step, but this time reached out and grabbed her before she could step back. "You have called me a 'ruffian,' and a 'creature,' and accused me of sleeping with pigs. Formalities need no longer be used between us, agreed?"

Elioclya looked down at her wrist, which he held in a firm, but painless grip. "I do not understand you, sir. Please, leave me be." She tried to twist out of his hold, but he merely reached for her other wrist.

"I have thought of nothing else but you since our first brief, but colorful, meeting, Elioclya," Aethor whispered. "This game of innocence you insist upon playing only ensures that I will carry thoughts of you back to Rohan."

She stared at him for a long moment before it all began to make sense. "Oh…no…you do not understand. You see, I have a…"

Just then, with her usual spotty sense of timing still intact, Edoawen stepped out of their bedchamber and into the hallway. "Clya?" Her sight settled on the man holding onto her twin. Instantly, her eyes narrowed into dangerously thin slits. "Remove your hands from my sister, or I swear I shall strike you down where you stand."

Aethor looked at the new arrival, then at the woman in front of him, and then back again for a minute that stretched on. On his final glance at Elioclya, she gave him a weak smile and finished her previous thought. "…an identical sister."

Edoawen stormed over to them and pulled her twin away. "Are you all right?"

"I am unhurt," Elioclya assured her.

"This is either a work of witchcraft," Aethor mused out loud, "Or the answer to some unspoken prayer. I cannot decide."

Edoawen tossed her perfectly combed hair over her shoulder. "Only a depraved heathen would make such prayers," she snapped.

"Ah, now there is the tart I recall." Chuckling, the man crossed his arms over his broad chest. "And your name is…?"

She hesitated before answering, "Edoawen, daughter of the Prince of Ithilien."

A shadow crossed Aethor's face. "So…the vixen by the window has already been claimed. And by one much higher born than myself." He shook off his momentary melancholy and bowed at Elioclya. "My lady, forgive me my ignorance and callous treatment. My name is Aethor, son of Gwomyr, a Captain in the Guard of your mother's brother, Éomer-king, if you wish to report my offense."

"I have no wish to do so," Elioclya told him quietly. "You are not the first to be so confused, and you will likely not be the last."

He bowed again before turning his focus to Edoawen. "My best wishes to you on your upcoming betrothal. It is a brave man who would take you on as a wife."

Indignation marched across her face accompanied by deep confusion. She had no chance to vocalize either; Aethor turned and walked away.

"What meant that horrible man, Clya?

She met her twin's puzzled look with one of her own, but free of expression or emotion. "Prince Eldarion plans to ask for your hand…in marriage."

Stunned out of words for the first time in her life, Edoawen stumbled back a few steps. "Surely not…"

"Would you not accept him as a suitor?" Elioclya asked. The twinge of hopefulness in the question was lost on her sister.

"I would never refuse him! He is the only man in the world!!" Edoawen snapped out of her stupor and cried out loud enough to make her twin wince. "I am to be Eldarion's wife?! He chose…he chose me!"

"He did." The younger twin brought her hand up to her mouth. "Excuse me, sister. Dinner does not sit well with me."

Edoawen's euphoria was so overwhelming that she did not notice Eliocyla running away as fast as she could.

"Eldarion," she said out loud. "I must speak to Eldarion." A wide smile lit up her entire face. "My betrothed."

"However am I to correct this situation without causing the lady humiliation?" Eldarion asked the long row of statues that lined his father's hall. His ancestors offered nothing but stony silence, but he continued, "I shall never again speak to Elboron of anything of importance when he is full of drink."

With a sigh that echoed all the way down the empty hall, Eldarion sat on the first step that led up to the King's throne. With angry jerks, he pulled at the ties of his formal cloak and threw off the heavy garment. He dropped his forehead into his hands and stared at the marble floor.

If he were to admit the truth and announce that he wished to marry Elioclya, not her sister, it would be not only an embarrassment to his family, but to the House of Ithilien as well. It would put twin against twin and perhaps even cause strife between him and Elboron. No one would emerge unscathed.

But if he said nothing, he would only cause more pain in the long term when Edoawen realized that he could never feel for her beyond what he felt for his own sisters. And Elioclya…she would be promised to another man, perhaps the stallion of Rohan who had stared at her throughout the banquet. Eldarion's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched at the thought. He could not let that happen.

The sound of delicate footsteps approaching the doors into the hall caught the attention of his super-sensitive hearing, a gift from his mother's lineage that he never took for granted. "Who approaches?" he asked as the door opened.

A delicate face peeked through the doors, followed by a messy mane of blond hair. His stomach twisted in an entirely unpleasant manner. It was Edoawen. Surely she had heard of their supposed betrothal by now. He closed his eyes briefly. Valar…what was he to do?

"My lord," she began. "Do I bother you?"

Eldarion opened his eyes. "Not at all. Enter, lady. Please."

She stepped fully into the room, but instead of approaching him, hesitated at the door. "Now that I am here, I know not what to say."

"In truth, I am rather at a loss for words myself," he admitted.

The young woman licked her lips, moistening them to a flush rose that would have stirred his blood, if not for the weight of guilt on his shoulders. "One of us should find something to say. Else this shall be a silent…marriage."

"Lady Edoawen…" Eldarion stood up.

She held up one slender hand and took a few steps forward before he could continue. "Please, my lord. Allow me to speak my mind first."

He blew out a short breath. "By all means."

"This news of your intentions comes as quite a surprise, you should know." As she spoke, she walked ever closer, until she was only a foot or two away from the base of the throne. "There has been…evidence of your affections for…my sister." She looked up at him with a cool, curious stare. "Was there no meaning in those indications?"

Eldarion could not bring himself to think of answer for a long moment. Her eyes…something about them tugged at him. He knew this composed gaze. He'd dreamt of it during many a long, lonely night.

"I would lie if I said there was not," he finally replied. Liquid joy brimmed over in those beautiful eyes, revealing her true self to him as surely as if she'd announced herself. "If your sister knew this, would it make her heart happy?"

"Yes," she whispered. "I feel…I know that it would."

Without stopping to think, Eldarion reached out, taking her slender waist in his hand and pulling her body up against his. She fit perfectly. His mouth sought out hers, tender, but passionate. She molded against him, lost in the tremendous sensation of a first kiss.

He broke away only to whisper her name against her soft cheek. "Clya. My Clya…why the deception?"

"I had to know, my lord," she replied, blinking back tears. "Before you could speak to my sister. I know you to be a man of impeccable honor. I feared it would compel you to…" Eliocyla stopped when she felt his lips brush over her ear. "Forgive me."

"There is nothing to be forgiven, save my own actions," he assured her. "I should have ended the misunderstanding before it spread." Eldarion cupped her face, brushing away her tears with his thumbs. "Your sister is like a sister to me. And though she be every bit as beautiful as you, I only desire your heart…for you have long had mine, lady."

He kissed her smile, tasting her happy tears. The feeling of her arms wrapping around his neck was unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Eldarion clutched her as their mouths melded, unwilling to ever let go again.

But he was forced to when a strangled gasp of shock echoed down the length of the hall. They broke their kiss to seek out the source of the sound. Upon seeing Edoawen standing in the open doorway, Elioclya pulled away from him abruptly.

"Awen!" she called out even as she pressed her fingers against her swollen lips.

Her twin's body was taught with anger, but heavier with anguish. "Do not speak to me!" she spat out.

"Awen, please!" Eliocyla started towards her sister.

"Mean you to make me more of a fool with your half-hearted explanations?" Edoawen shook her head, her long hair whipping back and forth. "I will not hear you, sister. Not now. Not ever." Without even addressing Eldarion, she spun on her heel and was gone.

All he could do was hold the woman he loved as she began to cry.

To Be Continued