Disclaimer: I own neither Grima, Eowyn, or Rohan. For entertainment only, no profit is being made.
Warnings: My first fanfic of any sort AND I'm new to Middle Earth, so please feel free to correct me!!
The final notes of her song hung in the air, the brief silence giving way to sounds of approval. Eowyn looked out across the hall, smiling softly as she stepped aside for the next singer to take her place. Songs held the lineage of her family and their horses, past glories and honorable defeats made real again for new ears. She felt pride that she had touched her listeners so--even now some discreetly wiped away tears. It was not swordplay, no, but a warrior unable to recall victory to others in song knew only a passing triumph. Only through words and music could a fallen foe or beautiful love continue to hold power over all hearers.
As those gathered at the tables bent together to discuss her singing or raised their hands to call for more bread a dark motion caught the corner of Eowyn's eye. She turned to watch the swiftly retreating form. The King's High Councilor rushed from the room with a blindness uncharacteristic of his usual grace, colliding with a servant who stilled his curses at the spilled wine. She frowned, wondering what could have driven him from the feast in such a state.
Unthinking, she followed him down the corridor, stilling her footsteps so she was no more than a bright shadow, watching him disappear into his suite of rooms.
Eowyn paused outside the door and reconsidered her foolishness. There was no reason for her to be stalking the halls like a thief, and certainly no reason for her to be standing outside this particular door. She spun on her heel in annoyance and headed back toward the feast, back toward the flickering torches and fine songs.
The sound of shattering glass stopped her in her tracks. She hurried back to the door and called, "Councilor, are you hurt?" When there was no answer she tried the knob and it opened easily to her touch.
Eowyn gasped at the figure that turned to her entry. It was not his bloodied hands that started her, but the expression of--it could only be termed starvation, which covered his face. Grima stared at her momentarily as though trying to decide if she were real or merely a phantom thrown up by his imagination. Then, suddenly, his pale face folded itself back into its usual expression of cunning deference.
"You are hurt," she said automatically.
He glanced at the blood streaming down his tapering fingers with an almost academic curiosity. "There is no need for my lady to trouble herself. I... mistook the mirror in the darkness." Even on his accomplished lips the lie rang hollow. Eowyn wondered what madness could have driven him to smash the glass with his bare hands.
"You will allow me to call a physician?"
Grima dropped his head in acknowledgement of her words. "My lady will do as she pleases, but I beg you to let them be." His face hinted at an ironic smile. "I fear such noble men would sooner poison me than heal me."
Eowyn knew that his appraisal might well be correct; he had made few friends of late - certainly few friends in Rohan. Still, as he trembled before her she knew she could hardly leave him to bleed to death on the fine carpet. Eowyn crossed the room and took his hands in her own, observing the glass that still glittered in the cool skin. At her touch he wavered like a flame, uncertain as to whether he should move closer or step back, but unable to endure the current distance between them. The blood still flowed, not badly enough to be dangerous, but the wounds would still have to be cleaned. "Wait here for me," she said in an imperial tone.
She rushed down the stone hall, at first determined to find a servant to clear the glass from the floor and the Councilor's hands. On reflection, she realized all the servants would still be at the feast. And would wonder what had brought her alone to the advisor's rooms. Sighing, she continued in the direction of her own chambers.
When she returned carrying a basin of water and some handkerchiefs she found the Councilor standing obediently where she had left him. Motioning him to the table she took his hands again and began cleaning the angry cuts that covered his palms and forearms. She held his fingers gingerly; they seemed impossibly long and fragile in her grasp. He stared as though hypnotized at the sight of her work, their pale hands entwining, darkened by the blood that finally began to slow. The only sound was the chiming of the glass as she dropped another shard into the china bowl. She pursed her lips in the attempt to capture and especially reluctant piece of mirror with her tweezers. The silence, the heat of his gaze was intolerable. She must think of something to say. Her mind cast about wildly until she remembered her original purpose for coming to these rooms.
"My singing displeased you, my lord," she said forcing a lightness she did not feel into her tone.
"My lady must value my opinion highly to leave the bright feast and seek it in this darkness." He paused with a ghostly smile. "You sang as you should, a lovely natural voice unhindered by affectation."
"My song then," she continued with a frown. Her song had been tragic--the tale of a young maid dying of love for another man after being forced into an arranged marriage had brought several to tears. But only the Councilor raced from the hall. "Most enjoy it, many wonder what would have become of the lovers if only they had been allowed to wed."
His expression hollowed. "It is typical for the young to pity the young."
She sat mulling his words for a few moments, sitting back as though slapped when her mind unraveled his meaning. The other guests wept for the death of the young lovers, feeling their pain and loss in the song as though experiencing it themselves. He envisioned himself as the new husband whose wife would sooner face death than his touch, his despair almost a physical presence in the room. She could imagine it in the way he must have broken the glass for showing a reflection reviled by so many of the Court. She could still see it in the tension binding his shoulders, in the way he hunched down inside himself to draw attention away from his atypical form. Glancing up she saw he now refused to meet her gaze as though he hoped she could not see him if only he hid his eyes. Briefly, she considered whether he had cast her in the role of reluctant bride. Her mind shied away from such wanderings like a horse frightened of a snake.
Taking the handkerchiefs she bound his wounds delicately. "You can find more appropriate bandages tomorrow. I fear lace and fine trimmings were ill- designed for such a practical purpose." She stood to leave and he somewhat shakily followed her example.
Grima bowed properly as he opened the door for her. "Truly the kingdom is blessed that you have not dedicated yourself to the healers. Our armies would break themselves on the swords of their enemies for the hope of the touch of your hands." They were the flattering words of a courtier, but as Eowyn hurried away from the shadowy room, she feared he only spoke the truth he believed.