Rewrote it, so its not as horribly short. Didn't think I could finish it, but I like the way it came out. I've got a little Gríma/Éowyn obsession, and I realized there's not enough fanfics for them. Thus, my sad attempt at one. So far this is only a oneshot and I do not plan to write anymore on it, but I might add another chapter later. It won't really be a continuation of this one, just a little short story like this one. 12/31/07 - Didn't realize all the mistakes I'd left in here, but I've (hopefully) gotten them all corrected, and thanks to WendWriter for pointing it out. Also fixed up the second chapter.

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He hated dreams, illusions of the mind that brought false hope during sleep, tricking one into considering life was more than it seemed. Hated the clearness and peace with which they came, as detailed as reality but blissfully more so. Hated the way they deceived with images of what you wished had been that only made the torture of waking up more real. What were dreams, if not pure deception and corruption of the mind with intangible thoughts and desires? A trap in which you were subjected to whatever your mind chose to occupy this new world with.

But he loved his dreams.

His dreams, he imagined, were not so deceitful. His dreams of golden hair and blue eyes were different simply because they were his. They did not abandon him when he woke, but seemed to cling to his mind, a comfort almost through the horrors of the day that enabled him to continue until night when the dreams would come again. Every detail stayed with him always, so that he could remember the softness of skin he had never felt, the color of eyes shining with an emotion he had never seen in them, the sound of her voice whispering something he had never really heard.

Her eyes were not so clouded in his dreams, were not cold with hate and detachment, had not cried tears of grief. Instead they shined, the pale hue of an early winter morning as the frost receded from the light, never tinged with the unhappiness that had become all to familiar in them. The slanted frown that had so often graced her features forgotten, her face was illuminated by her smile, a real smile. Many times he had seen the remote one she would use for the benefit of others, her brother most often, the cold mask she retained otherwise, and the burning looks she saved especially for him. For a while he had been content to live in a world pierced by her harsh glares, but the smile he imagined in his dreams held a different kind of heat, a warmth akin to the sun's, but more intense, and radiant as fiery starlight..

He knew if ever she were to honor one with a smile like this, it would not be him. But in dreams, reality is nonexistent, and only comforting thoughts and images come with them, and her hate of him did not factor into this. And though he strove ever for her attention, whether it be a glance or a whisper, he hesitated to use the word 'love' unless in his dreams, were he could truly love her.

A shout nearly broke him from sleep, his thoughts hurrying to grasp onto the dream before it slipped away, uncaring and unaware of the cause of the disruption. He loathed the moment when he would be pulled from dreams, frequently against his will. His mind slipped casually back to it's previous distraction with ease, reality once again barred out, as for nothing less than the subject of his dreams would he wake now; his fantasy now built stronger than reality.

Her golden waves shone with sunlight, cascading across her skin, white as Simbelmyne. Her eyes, wells of the bluest water, were not narrowed in dislike, but half-lidded with a calm, warm emotion he had seen often in his mind, gazing at him in revere and intensity. Although her frame appeared slender, almost fragile, the sureness of her movements, the confidence that emanated from her said differently. Her eyes wavered, trembled, with warmth, glowing like a glimpse of heaven. But more angelic than an angel she seemed to him as her pale fingers slid like spiders over him, and he abandoned himself to this dream, accepting the smallest comfort allowed.

He knew it wasn't real, but couldn't help clinging to the hope that maybe when he woke up, he wouldn't be alone.