Rohan was caught still in the deep hold of winter, chill winds invading every inch of the land. It crept into the houses, into the shops and the courts, settling into the bones of every Rohirrim citizen. It had made itself a resident of the lands for the past few months, and even deep into February, it showed no sign of ceasing its reign.
The Meduseld was not exempt from the gruesome winter, either; the hall was freezing and oftentimes completely silent. What was once a bright, golden hall full of laughter and merrymaking had now fallen to the chill of winter. But, as Eowyn knew all too well, the mood of the great hall was not dampened only by the harsh weather.
No, there was something far more sinister than a natural chill running through the halls. Every day her uncle and king grew weaker, the once intelligent and lively glow in his eyes reduced to a lifeless, blank stare. He never remembered Eowyn, the one he raised as if his own daughter. She'd learned many things from her uncle, including the beginnings of her training as a swordsman.
But every time she would come to him, holding his hand and lightly speaking to him, he would furrow his brow and stare into the distance. The hopeful, gentle look on her face would dissolve with the clench of her heart. It took a toll on the shieldmaiden, for everyday she visited him, and everyday she would allow a seed of hope to grow in her heart, festering into a fully grown dream. Each day that dream of the past would be broken, shattered again and again, as her uncle muttered incoherent words to no one.
The court of the Meduseld had also dissolved, as less and less guards greeted her. The numbers began to dwindle, and Eowyn wondered if they had been killed in battle, or perhaps murdered by the guidance of the king's counsel. She had not been exposed to outright murder in her capital yet, but she often thought that the day must not be far off.
And it was from such happenings that she found herself wandering the halls alone. In the past, it would've been unheard of for the young, beautiful Lady of Rohan to wander the halls without the watchful eye of a guard somewhat nearby. But in these times, she found that guards she had once known and often called upon were either fighting in her brother's lead or had been mysteriously misplaced once again.
It always happened, when she found herself trusting a member of the king's guard too fondly. She meant no more than friendship, since that was what she desired- a companion in this misery. But she knew that he was there, always watching, and suddenly those few guards she confided in had become much fewer in number.
Eowyn was not being watched by guards any longer, no, but that is not to say that she was not being watched. Because she knew- no, she could feel eyes upon her, the same lustful eyes that traced her every move, studied her every breath.
Grima Wormtongue was a rather pitiful creature, wrought out of overwhelming desire for both lust and power, motivated by cruel intention. Eowyn would sometimes watch the worm himself, in a small, sad bit of rebellion; for once, she was the one doing the studying, the watching. And she would wonder if perhaps he were once handsome. He was all sharp, pale lines clothed in midnight-colored furs, and he had practically translucent eyes that would madly flit about the room. No, Eowyn decided, even if her vicious hatred towards him were gone, he would never attract her.
He seemed to have little interest in attracting her, rather just a need to possess, to own, to control. Eowyn would feel his eyes tracing her and suddenly she was a porcelain doll, the prize of a possessive child. Grima was terribly skinny and weak in person, but he made her feel nonetheless like prey being stalked. It set her insides on fire, struggling with the overwhelming weight of helplessness.
All of the past months had fallen upon her at once today, creating a firm crack in the composure she had built. She had been working, cultivating that sense of security for so long, hoping that it would persevere until the end of these trials. But once again, hope had left her even more damaged and disappointed.
Her dear cousin, Theodred, had passed away from grievous wounds.
Eowyn felt as if a part of her had passed with him, gone from her sometime in the night, and leaving her empty and broken. She had held his hand, caressing the calloused fingers of a warrior, whispering hopeful words to him. He had merely tossed and turned, muttering incoherent words as the poison spread through his body. Theodred would answer to no one, and his touch had began to burn, his body rejecting every source of safety.
Eowyn did not cry once he passed, although her heart was throbbing, so much a pain that it was almost a physical ailment. She did not sob, until she was forced to face the father of Theodred, her own king and uncle.
"My lord," She whispered quietly, barely a noise and yet far too loud for the silence of the Meduseld. She held Theoden's hand like a vise, hoping it would give her strength, though he had none to spare.
"Your son, Theodred-" Eowyn told him, biting her bottom lip with such force that the coppery, familiar taste of blood began to invade her mouth. She was shaking, and Theoden had stopped his mutterings for a moment, completely still and silent.
That awful, deceitful ray of hope had began to bloom in her once again, rising through the dark vines. He was listening, she was sure of it- he had broke his madness.
"He has passed, my lord. We must act, and now." Eowyn told him, her words fast and urgent, her breath short and laboured. "His death- it was by the hand of an orc-kind, and they have crossed into our land. They are pillaging, looting, burning-"
She stopped to breath, getting far ahead of herself. But it was all futile, for Theoden had began his muttering ramblings once again, his glassy eyes staring into the dark corners of the Meduseld.
That was the point in which Eowyn began to sob, her grief for her cousin's murder and the past, present, and future state of her beloved country. She ran back to her cousin's room, tears flooding her vision and harsh sobs escaping her. It must have been an awful, dreadful sight to any who saw- the White Lady of Rohan overcome by her grief, shallow cries coming against her will.
But, of course, only one snake actually saw the sight, and one could not discern if he actually felt any hint of humane emotion in his heart.
Eowyn had fallen to her cousin's bedside, still grasping and squeezing his hand, as if hoping it would bring him back from death. She buried her face in the furs of the bed and sobbed, her chest heaving with the effort.
He had crept up behind her, and though he did not try to touch her, her body still recoiled, flinching away from his mere presence.
"Oh, he must have passed away in the night…." Grima said, his voice seemingly sad and grieving, although Eowyn could clearly hear the tone underneath, the mockery. Her blood boiled as she blinked away her tears, a sour look adorning her face.
He continued to talk, his brow furrowed in some semblance of grief, trying to mirror Eowyn's own emotions. It sickened her- was this all just a game? Just a show of power and example, some nasty exercise of 'because I can'.
"Quiet!" Eowyn hissed, finding her strength in the fire that ran through her veins. Her stomach was twisting, and she threatened to be sick by the overwhelming emotions.
Grima faked a sense of hurt. "My lady, I mourn for the loss of your dear cousin and my prince-"
"You speak nothing but lies, you snake." Eowyn said, her hands shaking. He took a step closer, the same translucent look upon his face still. Eowyn stood her ground, the shieldmaiden in herself rising to the rare occasion. It was a silenced tension between the two, quiet save for the shudder of her breathing.
"I am hurt at your callous words, my lady." Grima said, putting yet another mask over himself, adorning a soft look for the Lady of Rohan. It disgusted her.
"I know you bring nothing but sinister intentions to my lands," Eowyn said, her voice but a harsh, violent whisper between them. His innocent facade crumbled ever so slightly to hear her admit her inner thoughts, but they were quickly rebuilt by another faked emotion. He was a master at the skill, of building and cultivating the appearance of humanity.
"You seek only to destroy it, to see Rohan before your feet." She hissed.
In an instant he had grabbed her wrist, much faster than she had thought possible. And his grip was like that of a snake constricting its next meal, an iron grip around her wrist. It caught her off guard, and she could not hold back the exposed gasp that escaped.
"My lady," Grima spoke to her, but gone was the masterful skill of deceit, and it was rather replaced with the fake imitation. He no longer sought to hide, but rather to mock the fact that it mattered not if he played pretend good with her.
He yanked her closer to himself, to where they were almost touching, just a few mere inches apart. Eowyn was frozen to the spot, horrified at what she had broken in the man.
"I do all for the glory of Rohan, for the renown of the horse lords." He told her, each word a spiteful, hissed emphasis. And with that, he forced himself upon her, smothering her lips with his own.
Eowyn had thought herself untouchable, had lived a life that had never once indicated otherwise; she had assumed that no matter what hardships, she would be watched over.
But, as always, the hope never lasted long.
She is pushing him away in an instant, the taste of coppery blood on her lips- she must've bitten the wound again, or perhaps he had- but it mattered not in that moment.
"You snake!" She screamed, shoving his slender frame away from her own, desperate to put distance between the worm and herself. He had kissed her- no, he had forced her, with her newly passed cousin not a foot away from her side.
She wanted her hands around his throat, her nails embedded in his skin, his blood upon her fingertips. For every sin he had committed on her lands, every sin he had forced upon her.
In the midst of the moment, he was lightly grinning, a sinister, wicked elation that barely touched his face. The look left his appearance once Eowyn connected her fist with the side of his face, sending Grima to the floor.
Cradling her aching fist, Eowyn dropped to her knees, a deadly look in her eyes as she took pleasure in the sight. The counselor of Rohan, brought to the dirty floor by the swing of a shieldmaiden. She longed in that moment to do much worse, and the hatred disturbed her.
Eowyn spat out blood on his cloaks, disgusted and dishonored.
"Do not think," Eowyn said, her voice calm and quiet ,"that I will not kill you."
His face was blank as he watched her calmly leave the room, leaving him alone with the body of prince Theoden, and the taste of copper on his tongue.
Instead of seeking the refuge of her quarters, Eowyn found her feet possessed by action. She was leaving the main quarters of the Meduseld, finding herself leaving the great hall altogether.
The cold, crisp air of winter hit her even harder than it had inside, going straight through the silk of her gown and finding a home in her bones. She grimaced, despite the larger problems plaguing her thoughts.
She found who she was looking for near the poor flag of Rohan that sat atop the terrace of Meduseld. He looked back at Eowyn with the same grim, laboured expression that she wore upon her own features.
"Hama," She breathed, a sigh of relief. She felt little comfort from his presence, but comfort nonetheless.
"My lady?" He asked, bowing slightly to her, though he knew she disliked the gesture. She could not bring herself to care in that moment.
"I ask a favor." Eowyn admitted, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt somewhat like she were indulging a fear that would never happen- but, if her altercation with the snake was any indication, the game had taken a drastic turn.
"I know you have few to spare, but I request a guard outside of my quarters." Eowyn told him, her face flushing with the question. She knew it was so much to ask from the king's guard, due to the thin numbers and the current happenings. Eowyn also knew that she would not sleep until she felt a form of safety.
The head of the king's guard took her request, nodding as his brows furrowed, throwing around the options in his mind. He looked over Edoras while he thought, watching the townspeople walk quietly through the streets, under the same spell that held the Meduseld.
"I would not normally inquire as to why, my lady, but with the guard spread so thin among the land-" Hama began, a conflicted look painted across his features.
"I believe you already know why." Eowyn responded, her voice grave. Hama winced, squeezing his eyes shut in a grimace. Grima's lustful eyes had never shown any semblance of modesty; no, he made it abundantly clear to any soul what he desired, and he dared any to take it from him.
"Has the situation become dire?" Hama asked once again, but not unkindly; his inquiry had stopped, but instead been replaced with concern. Eowyn had known the doorward and head of guard all her life, seeing him as some sort of fatherly figure in the Meduseld. Their relationship went beyond a simple court interaction, and instead had became friendship.
"He-" Eowyn started, but suddenly the words stuck in her throat. The word kiss no longer felt right- she was no hopeless romantic, but a kiss had always been something sweet, something innocent and pure in her mind since childhood. What Grima forced upon her was no kiss, but she knew no other expression to used.
"He kissed me, without my consent." Eowyn muttered out, the words grating at her heart. It felt nasty, unwholesome to admit, and she worried that Hama would think less of her.
Instead, the man had come alight with a fire inside him, some emotion Eowyn had never seen the gentle man express.
"Yes, my lady, I will gather a few of the guards I trust and we will be outside your quarters at all hours." Hama said strongly, his mouth a thin line and his brows furrowed with anger.
"Thank you, bless you Hama." Eowyn said, relief flowing through her words. She thought to even hug the man, though it seemed unfit for the moment.
He had still not put aside the fiery expression on his face, and it worried her for a moment- had she asked too much?
"My lady, when Eomer returns, we will rid Rohan of this snake." Hama snarled quietly, keeping his words quiet but barely contained. He was furious, grieving for his prince and now angered by the news of a predator. Eowyn nodded, her expression just a fierce in the moment. She did, however, swallow down the small bit of hope that threatened to bloom once again in her heart.
Hope was not a thing to entertain in such cold, dreary winters.