Don't own LotR. Lines in italics aren't mine. Get it? Got it? Good. (This was written while watching LotR:TTT:EE, if anyone was interested )

.x. Like A Morning Of Pale Spring .x.

He gives me chills whenever he is in the room with me. The way the temperature drops and conversations become more guarded—I will never understand why my uncle allows the vile monster in his court. It is only he who dares to touch his clammy hand upon my cheek, looking at me like I am some piece of property. It is only he who dares to question what I think when I am alone, and it is only he who can decipher my most guarded thoughts.

"Oh, but you are alone. Who knows what you have spoken to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all your life seems to shrink, the walls of your bower closing in around you, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in? So fair, yet so cold, like a morning of pale Spring still clinging to Winter's chill…"

I speak volumes to the darkness. I tell it of your absence, wounds, and now death. I tell it of Grima's sickening persistence. I tell it of my uncle's deterioration into nothing, unaware even that his son has drawn his last breath. I tell it of my desperation now that Eomer, Rohan's final stronghold, has departed. I tell it of my fears, the fears that Wormtongue instills in me.

"…the walls of your bower closing in around you, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in…"

It is because of Grima I fear cages. Confinements. Limitations. I will not grow old with bars obstructing my vision. I will age free, or I know that I shall die. But I shall also die if I must further endure Wormtongue's attempts at wooing me. If I must continue to watch my uncle waste away. If I must grieve for my your death and my brother's banishment all at once with no absolution or relief. If it ends up that this newcomer cannot give me the hope I so desperately need.

"You have some skill with a blade."

"The women of this country learned long ago, those without swords can still die upon them. I fear neither death nor pain."

"What do you fear, my lady?"

"A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them and all chance of valor is gone beyond recall or desire."

"You are a daughter of kings, a shield maiden of Rohan. I do not think that will be your fate."

Theodred…give me some hope. Some spirit. Something to believe in. Please, Theodred. I fear that I shall break soon—that my soul shall burst into shards and my broken spirit will cut deeply into everyone in Rohan who need me to be strong.

Please, Theodred. Please….