Disclaimer: Characters, at least most of them, don't belong to me. And the rest wouldn't have been created if not for the inspiration of the others, so basically nothing truly belongs to me.
Author's Notes: To everyone still reading along, enjoy!! And thanks for the kind reviews thus far:)
The Power of Two
by Kristen Elizabeth
Aethor gently rubbed Gadeon's muzzle, the only soft spot on the tremendous animal. It was one of Gadeon's favorite things. He lifted his head into Aethor's hand, urging him on.
"Easy," Aethor laughed. "I fear you grow spoiled." His horse whinnied and shook his black mane. "I see you agree not." From the pouch tied around his hips, he extracted a carrot that he'd secreted from the palace kitchens. "Here then."
As Gadeon gobbled down the treat from his rider's large palm, Aethor looked around the stables. The horses of Gondor were certainly different that those of Rohan. Gadeon stood at least a head higher than the tallest of the King's beasts, and his breadth dwarfed the lot. In fact, the only horse of compare belonged to Éomer-king, at the far end of the long row of stalls. Perhaps there could be some breeding between Rohan's stallions and Gondor's mares in the future, he mused to himself.
He wasn't particularly given to impure thoughts, at least no more than any other healthy man, but as soon as he had the thought, an image of Princess Edoawen assaulted him. That was one mare of Gondor who thoroughly needed to be bedded. And as much as he might enjoy being the stallion to accomplish the matter, it simply wasn't meant to be. She'd been spoken for, by the King's son, no less. It was pointless to even dwell on her anymore. Of course, there was always her sister, her exact copy to be more specific.
But somehow, that didn't appeal to him. Both girls were beautiful, but there was something about Edoawen that had sparked his interest and kept it burning. She was fire, that one, but from the short conversation he'd had with her sister, he could tell that she was ice.
Finished with his carrot, Gadeon nudged Aethor back to attention. He patted the horse's strong neck. "We both must rest," he told him. "It shall be a long journey tomorrow, and battle beyond that."
He was just about leave when he heard the stable doors open. Ever on guard, even within the walls of Minas Tirith, Aethor focused on the dark end of the stalls, his hand going to the sword that hung at his side. Gadeon's ears flattened along his head.
"Who goes there?" Aethor called out. With his free hand, he reached for the torch on the wall and held it out. "Come into the light."
A moment later, the slender figure of a woman materialized from the shadows. Their eyes met, and instantly her expression went from distraught to disgusted. "It would be you, wouldn't it?"
Aethor relaxed. The woman in front of him was no threat. Except perhaps to his sanity. "Princess Edoawen, I presume. Unless there is a third sister I have yet to meet."
"Why are you here?" she asked, more to Valar than to him.
He set the torch back into its stand. "You were wrong when you assumed that I slept with pigs; I much prefer the company of the horses."
"If I were you, I would not admit to that." Edoawen's voice almost came to life with the insult, but it quickly faded away. "I do not have the time, nor the desire to converse with you. Go. Leave me."
Aethor's eyebrow lifted and Gadeon snorted. "You give orders quite well, my lady. You shall make the Prince a fine wife."
Had he not known her to be strong willed, he would have sworn her lower lip trembled at this. "I shall be no man's wife," she hissed.
"And why is that? Have you already scared off your betrothed with insults?"
"You know me not!" Edoawen suddenly screamed. Her eyes clouded over with hot grief and even hotter anger. "You like me even less. So why can you not just let me be?"
He took a moment to reply. "Because, Princess, in my land, no nobleman would leave a woman alone with her tears."
"And how would you know this? You are no noble man."
Aethor shook his head. "Tis lucky for you that your face be so fair. For your tongue…lady, it is sharper than glass!" Giving Gadeon a final pat, Aethor took off, fuming. His footsteps pounded against the hard dirt long after he'd disappeared into the darkness.
Edoawen wiped at her cheeks and looked at the horse. He was considering her, too. "Do you belong to him?" she asked. The horse's ears lifted. "He may not be so horrible…if he cares for such a handsome creature as thee."
Gadeon proudly tossed his head and allowed the slender woman to approach his stall. She slowly held out her hand; he lowered his muzzle to it.
"Your master is the least of my troubles." Keeping her other hand steady, Edoawen stroked the animal's mane. It was a stretch to do so, as her head barely cleared his withers. "Oh, how I wish I could just ride away," she confessed in one great breath. "Far away from here to a place where I would never again care about manners or dresses or…" She choked up. "Love."
She leaned against the door of the stall. After a long minute, she stood up straight. "Of course," she whispered. "My mother did it; why couldn't I?" Gadeon snorted again, softer this time, as if to question her. "The men depart for Rohan at dawn," Edoawen explained. "Théodan is likely fast asleep; if I take some of his clothes and find myself some armor…" She pressed a hand to her chest. "I have the riding skills of any man. Better even, than most. Like my mother during the great war, I could go unrecognized!" She stroked the horse's sleek neck one last time before taking the torch from the wall. "Rest well. Tomorrow we ride to battle!"
A smile lit up her face as she ran off to put her plan into action.
"Clya." Eldarion's fingers tangled in the soft blond waves cascading down her back. The woven silks of his mother's gowns could not compare in softness. "Please…cry no more."
They sat at the base of the King's throne, wrapped in each other's arms. Eliocyla was curled against him, her slender body shaking with sobs every now and then. Each one cut him deeply. Was this part of love, sharing pains and sorrows? He would have taken it all onto himself if he could; after all, it was entirely his fault.
"I am sorry, my love," he murmured. "Had I spoken sooner, this could have been avoided."
She lifted her head from his shoulder, but her gaze remained lowered. "Even without this confusion, Awen's heart still would have broke."
Eldarion cupped her delicate face in his hands, forcing her to look up. "Have I somehow led your sister to believe…"
"No. But the heart can lead us to see more than there truly is." Her wet lashes touched her cheeks. "If there is fault, it lies with me."
"How so? Eliocyla…how?"
She opened her eyes, transfixing him with their watery hue. "She and I shared the same womb for nine moons. We were born under the same stars; we've shared everything there is to share. And now…we share something else." Elioclya brushed a dark curl behind his pointed ear. "Love. For you."
He sighed as this sank in. "I have been blind to her feelings."
Fresh tears welled up even as she struggled against them. "But I was not, my lord." A few seconds passed. Finally, Eliocyla fought against his arms until she could stand.
Eldarion followed her lead. "What do you mean?"
She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and turned back around to face him. "How can I let my feelings matter when I have given so little regard to my sister's?"
"Clya?"
Biting the insides of her cheeks until she could taste blood, Elioclya forced out her next words. "There can be nothing between us. Do you understand? We cannot love each other."
When Eldarion replied, his voice was cool. "Is it not a bit late for that?"
"It matters not," she said. "Time and distance will create rancor between us. We will learn to ignore our hearts until they no longer feel this way."
"You could do that?" When she nodded, he folded his arms across his chest. "You would do that?"
Her chin lifted. "For my sister…yes."
"Clya, this is madness!" A frown flitted across his beautiful features. "I love you! I know it. And I know I could never stop, no matter how strong my desire to spare your sister heartache. There is pain and disappointment in this world, but life goes on. She will learn that and perhaps even be stronger for it."
Elioclya stared at him. "Is that your Elven blood speaking so coldly, my lord?"
"If there is coldness here, my lady, you have only to look to yourself to find it."
"See?" she whispered. "Rancor."
The immense hall had shrunk down to just the two of them. They stood completely silent until both were afraid they would simply give in and run to the other. Eldarion shattered the frozen moment.
"I shall carry the memory of your kiss into battle tomorrow," he told her. "If I we meet again, I command, as the heir to the throne, that you give me one more." She started to protest, but he held up his hand. "It is an order, lady, not a request. If after that kiss, you still wish to throw away our love, I shall not object."
"Eldarion." His name felt wonderful on her tongue as she called him by it for the first time. "I could never be happy if my happiness caused my sister pain."
"And I could never be happy without another of your kisses." He backed up towards the door. "Goodnight. Until we meet again."
When he was gone, Elioclya touched her lips. His warmth lingered there. She prayed that it would never leave.
It was close to midday before Éowyn rose from bed, although she had been awake for hours. Her face was pressed into the feather pillow Faramir's head had rested upon before he departed to join the troops marching out of the White City. It still smelled of him, clean and masculine.
The memory of their lovemaking the night before remained with her, and would until he returned to her again. It was always powerful, but never quite so much as the nights before they were to be separated. They both acknowledged, but did not mention that there was always a chance it could be their last time together.
Éowyn sat up, her hair trailing along the sheets. She had learned long ago that it was best to find some chore to keep her hands busy while they were apart, or else she would worry herself to death. In the first few years of their marriage, she might have spent the time being angry at the fact that she couldn't accompany him. But with the children and her growing duties as a noblewoman of Gondor, as well as a lot of time and maturity, she had come to understand why Faramir always gently insisted that she remain behind.
It had nearly broken her heart to watch her firstborn ride away with his father that morning. Every inch of her being had compelled her to keep him in Minas Tirith, where he would be safe from harm. And if she felt this way about Elboron, she could assume Faramir felt the same for her.
Once she had dressed and fixed her hair, Éowyn forced herself to leave the bedchamber. It still smelled too much like her husband, and even the sight of his clothes strewn about was too much to take.
She stopped at the door into Edoawen and Elioclya's room and knocked softly. "Girls? Are you awake?"
Another door down the hall opened; her youngest stepped out into the corridor. "Mother."
"Théodan, know you if your sisters are up?"
"Clya is," he replied neutrally.
Éowyn sighed, halfway to exasperation. "But not Awen. Why does that surprise me not?" She knocked on the door again, louder this time. "Edoawen, daughter of Faramir! Do not make me shake you awake!"
"She's not in there, Mother," her son informed her.
"But…you said she's not yet up." She looked at him; he wasn't blinking. It was the silent stare he would give her as a baby, the one that made her know right away that he was not an average child. Cold fear shot down her spine. "Théodan, where is Awen?"
The boy tilted his head to one side. "She's gone."
To Be Continued
Author's Notes: To everyone still reading along, enjoy!! And thanks for the kind reviews thus far:)
The Power of Two
by Kristen Elizabeth
Aethor gently rubbed Gadeon's muzzle, the only soft spot on the tremendous animal. It was one of Gadeon's favorite things. He lifted his head into Aethor's hand, urging him on.
"Easy," Aethor laughed. "I fear you grow spoiled." His horse whinnied and shook his black mane. "I see you agree not." From the pouch tied around his hips, he extracted a carrot that he'd secreted from the palace kitchens. "Here then."
As Gadeon gobbled down the treat from his rider's large palm, Aethor looked around the stables. The horses of Gondor were certainly different that those of Rohan. Gadeon stood at least a head higher than the tallest of the King's beasts, and his breadth dwarfed the lot. In fact, the only horse of compare belonged to Éomer-king, at the far end of the long row of stalls. Perhaps there could be some breeding between Rohan's stallions and Gondor's mares in the future, he mused to himself.
He wasn't particularly given to impure thoughts, at least no more than any other healthy man, but as soon as he had the thought, an image of Princess Edoawen assaulted him. That was one mare of Gondor who thoroughly needed to be bedded. And as much as he might enjoy being the stallion to accomplish the matter, it simply wasn't meant to be. She'd been spoken for, by the King's son, no less. It was pointless to even dwell on her anymore. Of course, there was always her sister, her exact copy to be more specific.
But somehow, that didn't appeal to him. Both girls were beautiful, but there was something about Edoawen that had sparked his interest and kept it burning. She was fire, that one, but from the short conversation he'd had with her sister, he could tell that she was ice.
Finished with his carrot, Gadeon nudged Aethor back to attention. He patted the horse's strong neck. "We both must rest," he told him. "It shall be a long journey tomorrow, and battle beyond that."
He was just about leave when he heard the stable doors open. Ever on guard, even within the walls of Minas Tirith, Aethor focused on the dark end of the stalls, his hand going to the sword that hung at his side. Gadeon's ears flattened along his head.
"Who goes there?" Aethor called out. With his free hand, he reached for the torch on the wall and held it out. "Come into the light."
A moment later, the slender figure of a woman materialized from the shadows. Their eyes met, and instantly her expression went from distraught to disgusted. "It would be you, wouldn't it?"
Aethor relaxed. The woman in front of him was no threat. Except perhaps to his sanity. "Princess Edoawen, I presume. Unless there is a third sister I have yet to meet."
"Why are you here?" she asked, more to Valar than to him.
He set the torch back into its stand. "You were wrong when you assumed that I slept with pigs; I much prefer the company of the horses."
"If I were you, I would not admit to that." Edoawen's voice almost came to life with the insult, but it quickly faded away. "I do not have the time, nor the desire to converse with you. Go. Leave me."
Aethor's eyebrow lifted and Gadeon snorted. "You give orders quite well, my lady. You shall make the Prince a fine wife."
Had he not known her to be strong willed, he would have sworn her lower lip trembled at this. "I shall be no man's wife," she hissed.
"And why is that? Have you already scared off your betrothed with insults?"
"You know me not!" Edoawen suddenly screamed. Her eyes clouded over with hot grief and even hotter anger. "You like me even less. So why can you not just let me be?"
He took a moment to reply. "Because, Princess, in my land, no nobleman would leave a woman alone with her tears."
"And how would you know this? You are no noble man."
Aethor shook his head. "Tis lucky for you that your face be so fair. For your tongue…lady, it is sharper than glass!" Giving Gadeon a final pat, Aethor took off, fuming. His footsteps pounded against the hard dirt long after he'd disappeared into the darkness.
Edoawen wiped at her cheeks and looked at the horse. He was considering her, too. "Do you belong to him?" she asked. The horse's ears lifted. "He may not be so horrible…if he cares for such a handsome creature as thee."
Gadeon proudly tossed his head and allowed the slender woman to approach his stall. She slowly held out her hand; he lowered his muzzle to it.
"Your master is the least of my troubles." Keeping her other hand steady, Edoawen stroked the animal's mane. It was a stretch to do so, as her head barely cleared his withers. "Oh, how I wish I could just ride away," she confessed in one great breath. "Far away from here to a place where I would never again care about manners or dresses or…" She choked up. "Love."
She leaned against the door of the stall. After a long minute, she stood up straight. "Of course," she whispered. "My mother did it; why couldn't I?" Gadeon snorted again, softer this time, as if to question her. "The men depart for Rohan at dawn," Edoawen explained. "Théodan is likely fast asleep; if I take some of his clothes and find myself some armor…" She pressed a hand to her chest. "I have the riding skills of any man. Better even, than most. Like my mother during the great war, I could go unrecognized!" She stroked the horse's sleek neck one last time before taking the torch from the wall. "Rest well. Tomorrow we ride to battle!"
A smile lit up her face as she ran off to put her plan into action.
"Clya." Eldarion's fingers tangled in the soft blond waves cascading down her back. The woven silks of his mother's gowns could not compare in softness. "Please…cry no more."
They sat at the base of the King's throne, wrapped in each other's arms. Eliocyla was curled against him, her slender body shaking with sobs every now and then. Each one cut him deeply. Was this part of love, sharing pains and sorrows? He would have taken it all onto himself if he could; after all, it was entirely his fault.
"I am sorry, my love," he murmured. "Had I spoken sooner, this could have been avoided."
She lifted her head from his shoulder, but her gaze remained lowered. "Even without this confusion, Awen's heart still would have broke."
Eldarion cupped her delicate face in his hands, forcing her to look up. "Have I somehow led your sister to believe…"
"No. But the heart can lead us to see more than there truly is." Her wet lashes touched her cheeks. "If there is fault, it lies with me."
"How so? Eliocyla…how?"
She opened her eyes, transfixing him with their watery hue. "She and I shared the same womb for nine moons. We were born under the same stars; we've shared everything there is to share. And now…we share something else." Elioclya brushed a dark curl behind his pointed ear. "Love. For you."
He sighed as this sank in. "I have been blind to her feelings."
Fresh tears welled up even as she struggled against them. "But I was not, my lord." A few seconds passed. Finally, Eliocyla fought against his arms until she could stand.
Eldarion followed her lead. "What do you mean?"
She took a deep breath, steeling herself, and turned back around to face him. "How can I let my feelings matter when I have given so little regard to my sister's?"
"Clya?"
Biting the insides of her cheeks until she could taste blood, Elioclya forced out her next words. "There can be nothing between us. Do you understand? We cannot love each other."
When Eldarion replied, his voice was cool. "Is it not a bit late for that?"
"It matters not," she said. "Time and distance will create rancor between us. We will learn to ignore our hearts until they no longer feel this way."
"You could do that?" When she nodded, he folded his arms across his chest. "You would do that?"
Her chin lifted. "For my sister…yes."
"Clya, this is madness!" A frown flitted across his beautiful features. "I love you! I know it. And I know I could never stop, no matter how strong my desire to spare your sister heartache. There is pain and disappointment in this world, but life goes on. She will learn that and perhaps even be stronger for it."
Elioclya stared at him. "Is that your Elven blood speaking so coldly, my lord?"
"If there is coldness here, my lady, you have only to look to yourself to find it."
"See?" she whispered. "Rancor."
The immense hall had shrunk down to just the two of them. They stood completely silent until both were afraid they would simply give in and run to the other. Eldarion shattered the frozen moment.
"I shall carry the memory of your kiss into battle tomorrow," he told her. "If I we meet again, I command, as the heir to the throne, that you give me one more." She started to protest, but he held up his hand. "It is an order, lady, not a request. If after that kiss, you still wish to throw away our love, I shall not object."
"Eldarion." His name felt wonderful on her tongue as she called him by it for the first time. "I could never be happy if my happiness caused my sister pain."
"And I could never be happy without another of your kisses." He backed up towards the door. "Goodnight. Until we meet again."
When he was gone, Elioclya touched her lips. His warmth lingered there. She prayed that it would never leave.
It was close to midday before Éowyn rose from bed, although she had been awake for hours. Her face was pressed into the feather pillow Faramir's head had rested upon before he departed to join the troops marching out of the White City. It still smelled of him, clean and masculine.
The memory of their lovemaking the night before remained with her, and would until he returned to her again. It was always powerful, but never quite so much as the nights before they were to be separated. They both acknowledged, but did not mention that there was always a chance it could be their last time together.
Éowyn sat up, her hair trailing along the sheets. She had learned long ago that it was best to find some chore to keep her hands busy while they were apart, or else she would worry herself to death. In the first few years of their marriage, she might have spent the time being angry at the fact that she couldn't accompany him. But with the children and her growing duties as a noblewoman of Gondor, as well as a lot of time and maturity, she had come to understand why Faramir always gently insisted that she remain behind.
It had nearly broken her heart to watch her firstborn ride away with his father that morning. Every inch of her being had compelled her to keep him in Minas Tirith, where he would be safe from harm. And if she felt this way about Elboron, she could assume Faramir felt the same for her.
Once she had dressed and fixed her hair, Éowyn forced herself to leave the bedchamber. It still smelled too much like her husband, and even the sight of his clothes strewn about was too much to take.
She stopped at the door into Edoawen and Elioclya's room and knocked softly. "Girls? Are you awake?"
Another door down the hall opened; her youngest stepped out into the corridor. "Mother."
"Théodan, know you if your sisters are up?"
"Clya is," he replied neutrally.
Éowyn sighed, halfway to exasperation. "But not Awen. Why does that surprise me not?" She knocked on the door again, louder this time. "Edoawen, daughter of Faramir! Do not make me shake you awake!"
"She's not in there, Mother," her son informed her.
"But…you said she's not yet up." She looked at him; he wasn't blinking. It was the silent stare he would give her as a baby, the one that made her know right away that he was not an average child. Cold fear shot down her spine. "Théodan, where is Awen?"
The boy tilted his head to one side. "She's gone."
To Be Continued