Lying on her bed, Eowyn willed recalcitrant sleep to come. She forced her body to relax and tried to clear her mind. Unbidden, a memory from long ago came to her, as clear as if it had occurred that very day.
It was the afternoon of her seventeenth birthday. She sat at her favored position next to the king, smiling proudly as he toasted her. One by one she graciously accepted the gifts bestowed on her. Theodred presented her with an ornate golden comb covered in elaborate floral designs. She smiled politely but wondered at how little her cousin knew her. Most of the warriors' gifts to her were in a similar vein, jewelry, mirrors, perfumes, poems written to her beauty. Eomer's gift was slightly more to her tastes, a book filled with legends from the early days of their people. After the gift giving was over, Eowyn opened her mouth to give her thanks when a cold hand on her shoulder stilled the words in her throat.
"A moment, my lady. You have one final gift." Grima said, a faint trace of amusement in his dark eyes as he surveyed the unsuitable presents clustered around her. He reached behind his back and placed a long object, covered in coarse brown wool, in front of her.
She blinked at the gift, uncertain of how to respond. Grima always discomposed her for reasons she could never seem to clearly define. All at once, her eyes opened wide in wonderment as she recognized the shape before her. Her long fingers eagerly tore off the covering to reveal a magnificent sword. The light glittered off of its smooth, expertly wrought silver surface and danced across Eowyn's delighted face. She turned to Grima, a brilliant smile illuminating her usually coolly patrician features.
"I do not know how to thank you!" She exclaimed excitedly, her delicate fingers curving eagerly over its golden handle. "It is so beautiful... I...." She searched about for the right words.
"I am pleased you like it, my lady. An elven princess once owned it, and, legend has, used it well in the defense of her people." He paused for a moment, watching the graceful way she handled the sword. "It suits you." With that he bowed quickly, and left the circle of friends surrounding her.
A faint uneasiness slowly stole over Eowyn as she considered his gift. Long after the others left her, she still sat, gazing down at the sword in her hand. It was at the moment when she first understood her fear of Grima. It was not his ugliness that disturbed her; she cared little for physical beauty. Nor was it his strange manners. It was, she knew now with absolutely certainty, because he knew her, understood her better even than her beloved brother. She let the sword fall from her grasp, flinching at the loud thud as it hit the stone ground. Without another glance she hurriedly left the room.
Eowyn stirred uneasily as the memory faded once more. Little had changed in the proceeding years; Grima's watchful eyes still haunted her every step. She could not decide which frightened her more, the desire she saw in their shadowy depths or the quiet understanding.
It was the afternoon of her seventeenth birthday. She sat at her favored position next to the king, smiling proudly as he toasted her. One by one she graciously accepted the gifts bestowed on her. Theodred presented her with an ornate golden comb covered in elaborate floral designs. She smiled politely but wondered at how little her cousin knew her. Most of the warriors' gifts to her were in a similar vein, jewelry, mirrors, perfumes, poems written to her beauty. Eomer's gift was slightly more to her tastes, a book filled with legends from the early days of their people. After the gift giving was over, Eowyn opened her mouth to give her thanks when a cold hand on her shoulder stilled the words in her throat.
"A moment, my lady. You have one final gift." Grima said, a faint trace of amusement in his dark eyes as he surveyed the unsuitable presents clustered around her. He reached behind his back and placed a long object, covered in coarse brown wool, in front of her.
She blinked at the gift, uncertain of how to respond. Grima always discomposed her for reasons she could never seem to clearly define. All at once, her eyes opened wide in wonderment as she recognized the shape before her. Her long fingers eagerly tore off the covering to reveal a magnificent sword. The light glittered off of its smooth, expertly wrought silver surface and danced across Eowyn's delighted face. She turned to Grima, a brilliant smile illuminating her usually coolly patrician features.
"I do not know how to thank you!" She exclaimed excitedly, her delicate fingers curving eagerly over its golden handle. "It is so beautiful... I...." She searched about for the right words.
"I am pleased you like it, my lady. An elven princess once owned it, and, legend has, used it well in the defense of her people." He paused for a moment, watching the graceful way she handled the sword. "It suits you." With that he bowed quickly, and left the circle of friends surrounding her.
A faint uneasiness slowly stole over Eowyn as she considered his gift. Long after the others left her, she still sat, gazing down at the sword in her hand. It was at the moment when she first understood her fear of Grima. It was not his ugliness that disturbed her; she cared little for physical beauty. Nor was it his strange manners. It was, she knew now with absolutely certainty, because he knew her, understood her better even than her beloved brother. She let the sword fall from her grasp, flinching at the loud thud as it hit the stone ground. Without another glance she hurriedly left the room.
Eowyn stirred uneasily as the memory faded once more. Little had changed in the proceeding years; Grima's watchful eyes still haunted her every step. She could not decide which frightened her more, the desire she saw in their shadowy depths or the quiet understanding.
