A/N: One again, my grateful thanks to everyone who takes the time to send me lovely reviews. You guys are truly wonderful, and the encouragement is much appreciated.

Chapter 27 – The two kings

There were eyes and ears everywhere. Right now that suited Faramir. Let them look at him. Let them sneer. What did he care? He curled his fingers around the neck of his brandy bottle, took a long swallow and then staggered further along the hallway.

"By the gods, she will see me now!" he hollered, bumping into a tall nobleman as he headed towards the Queen's bedchamber. He peered up at the man, and saw him wince as the full force of his alcohol-laden breath hit him in the face. "We were betrothed," he said, poking the man hard in the chest. "And not just betrothed, but in love."

"My Lord Faramir," the man said, frowning as brandy slopped down his brocade tunic. "Do you not think you have had enough to drink?" He reached for the bottle, only for Faramir to snatch it away.

"Enough?" Faramir belched loudly. "I have not even begun to have enough." He rolled away from the man, and found his passage blocked by two of Ceorl's personal guards. "Kindly let me pass, gentlemen. I have an appointment with the Queen."

The two men exchanged amused looks. "No, Lord Faramir. You do not."

He peered up at them, all humour wiped from his face. "Get out of my way. I will speak with her now."

"We cannot let you do that. Her Majesty is… indisposed."

"Indisposed?" Faramir spluttered. "Does she take me for a fool? I will see her." He glanced round and noted with satisfaction that his behaviour was drawing a great deal of attention. It was not yet enough, though. Focusing back on the guards, he suddenly lurched forward, aiming for the gap between them. A gap that suddenly wasn't there. The air was knocked from his lungs as he collided with a wall of solid flesh. "How dare you? Do you not know who I am?"

Strong hands wrapped around his biceps, pulling him close. The guard that held him leaned his face alongside Faramir's, hissing into his ear. "Desist from this foolishness now. You disgrace the queen and you embarrass yourself and Ithilien."

He glanced over his shoulder. That was better. All eyes were now turned to him, including those of the guards at the far end of the hallway. Had they been distracted for long enough? His gaze swept swiftly across the door to Aragorn's quarters, and then towards the stairs. A hooded figure stood in the shadow. Their eyes met for the briefest of moments and then the man was gone.

Faramir allowed himself a moment of quite triumph. His plan had hardly been original, but it had served its purpose. Aragorn was skilled at moving through a crowd unobserved, but even he could not exit through a watched doorway. Now, though, the king would be able to slip away from Edoras without anyone noticing, while all he had to do was extricate himself from the situation without giving his entirely sober state away. He pulled away from the guard, deliberately stumbling as he did so. Hands reached for him, and as he twisted away he quite unintentionally lost his balance. He sat down hard on his backside. The bottle jerked from his hands, rolled across the floor and came to rest at the hem of a dress that was suddenly, terrifyingly, familiar.

"Eowyn?" He jerked his head up and found himself looking at pained blue eyes in a face that was far too pale. His heart leapt at the sight of her, even as he felt a rush of dismay at how drawn she looked. She was standing in the doorway of her chamber, but she gave no sign that she was pleased to see him. Hardly surprising since he was sitting on the floor, reeking of drink and apparently in less than perfect control of both his body and his mouth. The shock of her sudden appearance began to wear off. Damnation. Why now? It was the one thing he had hoped wouldn't happen. The one thing he had believed would not happen because of the way every attempt he had made to see her had been blocked.

Beside her was Ceorl, his hand protectively resting on her arm. He gazed down at Faramir with contempt, and then leaned towards Eowyn, whispering loud enough for all to hear. "So, this is what you were to marry?" Faramir scrambled to his feet, but before he could respond to the insult Ceorl stooped and picked up the brandy bottle. "I believe this is yours, Lord Faramir." He held it out, the neck of the bottle between his thumb and forefinger as though he was holding something distasteful and did not wish to soil himself more than necessary.

Faramir met Ceorl's disdainful gaze, and knew that he had gambled and lost. Of course, Eowyn would appear now. Ceorl must've heard the commotion and had seen it as an opportunity to humiliate him. He had fallen into a trap of his own making. The role of a drunk was not one he could discard now. Aragorn would still be within the walls of Edoras, and while none would prevent the King of Gondor from leaving, it would raise far too many questions were he to wish to do so alone. No, Aragorn had to depart the city unobserved and incognito, and in order to do that, he had to ensure that Ceorl did not become suspicious and close the gates before Aragorn was through them. He owed that much to the young woman who had risked herself to deliver the message from Eothain.

Eowyn was looking at him now. For a moment his emotions warred with his duty, and he did not know how to respond. Then slowly he reached out and took the bottle from Ceorl, allowing a bitter laugh to escape as he did so. He held her gaze, his eyes begging for her forgiveness as he spoke the words his role forced upon him. "Recent events have left me no choice but to take comfort where I can find it."

She flinched. Was it at the bitterness of his words or at the pressure of Ceorl's fingers on her arm? Her chin tilted. Oh Eowyn. Beautiful, beautiful Eowyn. Even now she stole his breath away. "Lord Faramir…" she began.

Ceorl interrupted. "Do not waste your time on this drunken fool, your Majesty." His hand moved from her arm to her shoulder, a gesture far too intimate for Faramir's liking.

"Perhaps the Queen can decide for herself whether or not to waste time… on a fool." He pinned her with his gaze, the pain of her apparent betrayal of him, of his love, winning its battle to be voiced.

"Of course," Ceorl said. "Your Majesty, do you have anything to say before I ask these gentlemen to escort the prince back to his rooms. For his own safety, of course."

Faramir frowned. Was that a glimmer of fear in Eowyn's eyes. Surely not. This was the Shield Maiden of Rohan who had stood up to the Witch King. What could possibly cause such a reaction, however, swiftly hidden?

Eowyn was looking at him now, all emotion once again wiped from her face. "You would have no need to seek comfort in a bottle, Lord Faramir, had you but heeded the words I wrote to you."

It was his turn to flinch. He inclined his head in mock respect. "Had I truly believed that I was not welcome here…"

"You are not," Ceorl snapped. "Your presence is tolerated because it is not in our interest to challenge the King of Gondor on his choice of companion."

Faramir turned his attention back to Eowyn. "You wish me to leave?"

She stared at him for a long moment. "With all my heart, yes."

It was like a dagger in his soul. He could not bring himself to speak another word. Clutching the bottle to his chest, it was not difficult to pretend to stagger away. His knees seemed genuinely close to trembling. How could she dismiss him so cruelly? So publicly? He pushed past the gathered crowd, sensing the mix of pity and contempt. The attention he'd eagerly sought a few moments earlier clung to him like a millstone, making every step seem like a mile. The play acting was over. Now he truly wished to be alone with the brandy.

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It was almost dark when Aragorn reached Eothain's encampment. The eored was busy with the evening meal. Small groups of men were gathered around separate fires, talking quietly as they dined on wild rabbit and the hard, biscuit-like bread that they carried with them. He made no attempt to hide his face, and several men greeted him politely as he passed through their midst. Drawing close to the centre of the camp, he came upon a group of prisoners sitting with hands bound, their ankles tethered to a large wooden stake. They stared up at him, and he heard one murmur his name. Eager to reach Eothain, he decided not to waste time enquiring about their presence now. No doubt he would discover who they were soon enough.

When finally he stepped into the dimly lit interior of Eothain's tent, he was surprised to find it crowded. There were at least ten riders crammed into the small space, and he could barely move more than a couple of steps from the doorway.

"Your Majesty, welcome," Eothain said, pushing past several men to reach him. "We were beginning to fear you had not received the message."

"Leaving Edoras unobserved was not easy," Aragorn replied. "Pray tell me what has happened that you felt the need to summon me."

"The girl did not tell you?" Eothain asked.

Someone spoke from the far corner of the tent before he could respond. "I am the reason you were summoned, Aragorn." He peered into the shadows, a shiver of disbelief dancing down his spine. That voice was so familiar, and yet it could not be. And then the crowd parted before him as a tall figure pushed towards the front. No. Surely his eyes were deceiving him. He took in the blonde hair. The hazel eyes. The slightly embarrassed smile. "Eomer?"

"Aye, it is me."

For a moment, he was transfixed by shock. No. It could not be. Eomer was dead. Tomorrow was his funeral and yet it looked liked Eomer. Sounded like Eomer. By the gods, it was Eomer. Suddenly he was moving. The need to touch, to drive away all doubt overwhelming. He pulled the younger man into a tight bear hug. "You're alive. Truly alive?" The feel of solid muscle and warm flesh told him it was so, and yet still he couldn't really believe it. A ripple of amusement rolled through the man he was holding.

"Aye, Aragorn, although I may not be for much longer if you do not allow me to breathe."

With a laugh, Aragorn relinquished the tight grasp he'd had, but not the physical contact. He reached up, cupped Eomer's face in his hands, and drew the young man's head down so their foreheads were touching. "It is good to see you, brother."

"And to see you," Eomer said, placing his hands against Aragorn's cheeks in the intimate, if somewhat ancient, style of greeting.

When they finally broke away from one another, Aragorn was not at all surprised to find the other occupants of the tent grinning at them. He smiled, not caring that he had made his feelings for their king quite plain. Eomer had become one of his dearest friends. His return was a most precious gift. Indeed, he knew that he too was grinning. Now, however, his gaze caught sight of a young woman whom he had not noticed before. Her face seemed familiar, but he could not name her. He bowed his head in acknowledgement, and was amused to see the open affection that stole onto Eomer's face as he too looked at her. "Do we know one another my lady?"

"This is Lothiriel, Princess of Dol Amroth," Eomer said, before she had chance to introduce herself. He took her hand, drawing her forward. "Both my freedom and my life would no doubt have been taken from me had she not come to my aid with Elfhelm."

"Now I know why I recognise your face," Aragorn said to Lothiriel. "Although when last we met you were little more than sixteen summers old." He smiled as he noticed that Eomer still had hold of her hand. So, the princess had not only helped to save his life, but had captured his heart. The notion pleased him. It was high time that Eomer found himself a queen, and he could do far worse than to strengthen the ties between Dol Amroth and Rohan by wedding Imrahil's daughter.

She curtseyed. "It is an honour to meet you again, King Elessar."

Elfhelm stepped forward now, worry deepening the lines on his face. "Excuse me, your Majesty, but the young woman who bought the message to you - do you know what became of her?"

"He speaks of Erika," Eomer said by way of explanation. "The other person to whom I am deeply indebted."

Aragorn frowned, remembering the brief interaction he'd had with her. "I'm afraid not, but I fear things may not have gone well with her. No sooner had she told me of Eothain's summons then Ceorl arrived and she was dragged from my presence."

"Ceorl." Elfhelm said the name as though it was the foulest of curses. "If he has her…"

Eomer reached out and gripped his arm. "If that is so, we will get her back. You have my word on it."

Elfhelm's eyes blazed as he responded. "I do not doubt your word, Eomer, but know that it is almost more than I can bear to think of her in his clutches. If he harms a single hair on her head I will exact revenge upon him such as no man has ever borne witness too."

Aragorn laid his hand over Eomer's, which was still resting on Elfhelm's arm. "You have my pledge too that all will be done to ensure your lady's safety," he said. "I am only sorry that I could not aid her at the time." Elfhelm nodded brusquely, and then pulled away. Aragorn returned his attention to Eomer. "It would appear there is much to discuss."

"To discuss and to plan," Eomer said, his face grim now.

"Indeed," Aragorn replied. "And though I am anxious to hear of all that has befallen you, I am sure that you are all the more anxious to hear news of Edoras and your sister." He glanced over his shoulder, sliding easily into the role of commander. "Eothain, have one of your men bring food and ale. It is going to be a long night."

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Ceorl paced fretfully before the fire. The green flames hissed and spat, matching his mood. He paused before the hearth, snarling at the shimmering image of his mother. "She becomes ever more difficult. If it were not for that drunken idiot of a prince I doubt I could control her."

"Then you must see to it that you have another means of controlling her when he leaves," Galwyn said.

He clenched his fists, wishing for an outlet for his irritation. How could she remain so calm? Did she not understand what was happening? He glared into the flames. "Would you have me use another one of your potions?"

Her tone was as patient as ever, making him feel that he was once again a child at her knee. "No, my love, nothing so crude as that."

"What then?"

"Wed her as soon as this sham of a funeral is over. Then get her with child before the moon wanes."

"How will that give me control over her? Will she not hate me even more?"

"She may hate you, Ceorl, but the child will be her blood kin, and there is nought as strong as the maternal instinct. Of that I can assure you."

He froze as he grasped the twisted nature of her proposal. "Are you suggesting that I threaten harm to the child? My child?"

"Do not be so emotional, my love. The child will not be yours until it is birthed and the mother buried beside the rest of her ignoble family. Until then, think of it merely as a pawn that you can use to secure the throne of Rohan and revenge our family against the House of Eorl."

He paced some more. Shocked by the notion, and yet seeing the sick logic behind it. There was one flaw though. "She will never wed me willingly. Her obedience is given grudgingly to me now only because that cur of a prince is here and she knows I have the power to end his pitiful life with either potion or arrow."

"Then she must continue to think you have such power until you have ensnared her further with the child."

"Let her believe I have sent an assassin to Ithilien?" He liked that idea. Wished that he could make it a reality.

"It does not have to be make believe, my love. I will go to Ithilien. Your pretty little queen will not be so headstrong when the flames show her beloved prince drinking from a cup taken from my hand."

First Eomer. Now Faramir. Would it work? He doubted it. Eowyn was a shield maiden of Rohan. Sooner or later she would put her country before her desire to protect those she loved. It was only the hope that her brother would escape that had kept her obedient so far. Galwyn was wrong to think that they could use the same weapon twice. However, the thought of Eomer bought a more pressing concern to mind. His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword, his fingers rubbing over the jewelled metal as he spoke. "There is something else, you should know. I sent men along the north road. They have not returned."

"Calm yourself. You see shadows at every turn."

"With reason!" His agitation grew. "You still cannot see what approaches Edoras, yet you insist it is nought. How can it be, though? If Eomer is dead, would not word have reached us? Selred would have crowed such news from the heights. My own men would have returned to claim their reward. Instead all that comes is silence, missing men and a bright light that you say is hope reborn. Do not speak to me of shadows, woman!"

The flames hissed and spat. Sparks showered across the flagstones of the hearth. "Would you lose your nerve now? After all we've achieved? The throne is within your grasp, Ceorl. Do not let a ghost steal it from you."

"It was no ghost in the king's chamber earlier."

Galwyn's face warped as she grimaced. "What do you mean?"

"There was a young woman in Elessar's chamber. She claims to be a widow seeking service in his household."

"You do not believe her?"

"There is something… familiar about her."

'Then question her, and if you still suspect she is not who she claims to be, get rid of her. Rohan has widows enough. It will not miss this one. Now, enough of this foolish fear! Tomorrow all will believe Eomund's son has been buried with his forefathers. Then you can bed his sister and mingle our bloodline with hers just as Grima desired. Everything we've worked for will be ours. Everything, Ceorl."

"Everything," he repeated softly, his mind turning to the pleasurable thought of claiming his conjugal rights. "Yes. All will be mine."

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"I must return to Edoras," Aragorn said, noting how low the candles were burning now. He reached out and grasped Eomer's arm. "All will be prepared. On that you can rely, my friend."

Eomer nodded, his face grim and weary. "There is one more thing I would ask of you before you leave."

"Yes?"

"I would have you speak to some men who were taken prisoner earlier today."

"Ah yes, I had meant to ask about them, but the shock - and the pleasure - of seeing you alive drove it from my mind."

Eomer smiled, but there was regret in his eyes. No doubt for the pain inflicted on those who believed him dead. "It wasn't your fault," Aragorn added.

Eomer nodded slightly, and continued on. "They were sent from Edoras to ensure that I did not reach the city. Fortunately Master Eothain's men reached me first."

"They would've attacked and killed you?" Aragorn's stomach twisted at the thought of such treason.

"Come with me," Eomer said, rising to his feet. "And you will see why."

Together they stepped into the cold night air. Eomer led the way to the huddled group of prisoners. Immediately they turned to look at him, their eyes narrowed with contempt.

"'Tis the imposter," one said. He spat at Eomer, the glob of spittle falling at the king's feet.

Eomer frowned, and when he looked at Aragorn there was distress in his eyes. "Ceorl has filled their heads with lies. They believe me an imposter, and no matter what I say…"

Aragorn raised his hand, silencing Eomer. "I sense that more than words have been used here. They are tainted with dark magic." He saw the alarm in Eomer's eyes. "Do not worry, it is nothing more than a small charm designed to make them more perceptible to lies and half truths."

"Can it be undone?"

"Let us find out," he replied. He turned to the prisoners. "Men of Rohan, do you know who I am?" All eyes turned to him, but no one spoke. "Come, I know that at least one amongst you does for I heard you speak my name when I passed earlier."

The men exchanged looks, then one of them spoke. "You are Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, now known as Elessar, King of Gondor."

"And if you know my name, you know that I am not a man who lies. Is that not so?" A disgruntled murmur rippled through the group. "Is that not so?" Aragorn said with more force.

"Aye," murmured the man that had identified him.

"Is he alone in this sentiment?" Aragorn let the awkward silence serve as an encouragement for the other men to give their consent. Once they had done so, he gestured to Eomer. "This man that stands before you is no imposter. You have been lied to. Your minds have been confused by clever words and dark forces. Look upon him and see clearly now. This is your king. Eomer, Son of Eomund. Once Third Marshall of the Mark, now King of Rohan. Open your eyes, I say, and see the truth." The leader of the group looked up at Eomer, his expression surly. His voice barely audible, Aragorn breathed soft elvish words into the air, and then smiled as he saw the man's features change from ill-tempered to confused.

"Can it truly be the king?" the man said. He turned puzzled eyes to his companions. "Can it be that we were deceived? That this is no imposter…"

"If the King of Gondor says it is so," another said, fear in his voice. "Who are we to doubt it?"

"Elessar would not lie to us," a third added. "He knows Eomer better than many Rohirrim."

The first man whirled back to face Eomer. Moments later he was on his knees. "Your Majesty. Forgive me."

Eomer looked stunned as the others followed suit. Aragorn brushed a hand lightly against his back, leaning close as he spoke. "It was but a crude charm that blinded them to the truth. Now, though, you must decide what to do with them."

Eomer nodded. His face stern he looked down at the prostrate prisoners, quivering before him. "Men of Rohan," he said. "To whom do you pledge your allegiance? To your king? Or to the pretender, Ceorl?"

"To you, sire," came back the reply, fervent and in unison.

"And will you obey the orders of Master Eothain if I place you under his command?"

"We will not fail you, sire. Please, we beg of you, forgive us. Let us prove our worth."

"Very well." Eomer beckoned to the guard that was standing by, watching all that had taken place with a keen interest. "Release these men."

"Sire?" His eyes widened in surprise. "They are oath breakers."

Eomer half turned. "No, you cannot break an oath to a dead man. I will not hold them accountable for not discerning that I lived when all evidence suggested otherwise. Release them. I will tell Eothain he has some new recruits."

"Yes, Sire."

Aragorn stepped forward again. "Until tomorrow, brother." He clasped Eomer's forearm in farewell.

"Thank you," Eomer said, returning the salute. "For everything."