Just added a bit more to chapter four. Sorry if anything doesn't make sense, I'm going on 4 hours of sleep!
Rose Cotton - Thanks for your suggestions. I have to fight against my playwright tendancies that just want to cut to the chase and get to the dialogue! But I'll try to add more mood and length with the next chapters. I can't believe I made a mistake with elven after having just finished re-reading the trilogy. Gah! I'm sure JRR wouldn't approve. Thanks for pointing it out.
Veerena - I'm blushing! And wow, that picture is so cool!! I love it! I am completely technology-impaired, how did you do it?? If only it really were in the movie!
Anarya - It's more complicated than that, she's repulsed by him but also understands that he knows her better than anyone.
And thanks Vema, care bear the cheerleader (interesting name!), Ty, and as always Sythrona for your feedback.
* * * * *
Éowyn successfully defended herself from her brother's blow, laughing delightedly as she did so.
Éomer shook his head, a wry grin on his fair face. "You certainly have the makings of a shieldmaiden, little sister."
She smiled fondly at him and his compliment, before fiercely thrusting her wood sword at his shoulder. He parried her shot, but just barely.
They continued their mock battle in the garden, enjoying the warm sunshine and each other's company. Laughter and the sounds of their swords knocking together filled the air.
Éowyn, her face flushed and eyes bright from the exercise, bore little resemblance to the haunted girl of weeks earlier. Like mist fading in the hot light of day, the nightmare and the strange encounter with Gríma had disappeared completely in her joy at her brother and cousin's return.
The siblings' battle continued on until Éomer called her off with a shout of laugh. "Enough! You are too much for me. What are orcs compared to this hellion sister of mine?" Good humor filled his face and eyes as he beamed down at her.
"You shower me with compliments, my lord." She smiled, still breathing deeply. With a laugh, his sister bid him farewell and ran to the doors.
Éowyn burst into the hallway leading to her chamber like a ray of fresh sunshine, lighting the dim passage. She didn't notice the dark shape in front of her until she collided with it. Nearly tripping from the impact, she was saved from falling by a pale hand that darted out from the darkness and caught her arm.
When she had regained her balance, Éowyn looked up and saw the watchful eyes of Gríma on her. For once, it was not distaste or discomfort that filled her but surprise. She realized suddenly she hadn't seen him since the night of her nightmare, weeks ago. His absence had gone unnoticed; her brother and cousin's arrival had blotted out any memory of him or their last encounter.
"Where could he have been?" Éowyn wondered silently before abruptly becoming aware that he was still gripping her forearm. She looked at the offending hand pointedly and watched, mesmerized, as the long, delicate fingers slowly retracted and disappeared gracefully into the shadows of his cloak.
They regarded each other silently for a long moment. Éowyn starred back, determined to appear calm and unruffled. She was all too aware of her appearance. Her face flushed with exercise, her sleeves rolled up, and her long skirts partially raised and tied to her belt in order to free her legs.
"Why must I always meet him at such moments?" She thought angrily, wishing she were dressed more appropriately. Éowyn was suddenly conscious of a bead of sweat at her temple and brushed it away impatiently, shifting her eyes from his intent gaze as she did so. Forcing herself to look back again, she noticed his eyes were now fixed on that spot on her brow.
She arched an eyebrow, rolling down her sleeves to an acceptable length and releasing the folds at her waist so they fell heavily down to the floor. As she studied Gríma in the weak light of the hallway she realized he looked different somehow, as if, she mused, he was newly freed from some important matter that had long weighed on him. He held his head higher and had an air of authority about him not unlike her uncle, Éowyn decided, still surveying him silently. She chided herself for the thought, surely Gríma bore no resemblence to the commanding Théoden.
Realizing she was not going to speak, Gríma took a small step backwards and offered her a surprisingly courtly bow. "My lady, I have come here to find you. The king has been asking for you."
She frowned at this, a small line of consternation appearing on her brow. "But why? It is not his usual custom for my uncle to summon me thus."
Gríma watched her wordlessly for a moment and she fancied she saw something slightly ominous steal across his usually mask-like face. "Your uncle is very ill, my lady." He said in a surprisingly gentle voice.
"Ill?" She breathed, the word tasting bitter in her mouth. "What do you mean? He is perfectly fine, I would have noticed if my uncle wa-"
"Would you have?" Gríma cut her off sharply, taking her aback with the angry edge in his voice. "Truly? You have been most preoccupied of late." He added with a meaningful glance at the small casement that looked out onto the gardens where Éomer and she had been fighting moments ago.
"But… I…" She trailed off uneasily, her heart heavy with worry and guilt at her neglect. Éowyn gave up stumbling about for the words and looked at Gríma searchingly.
He seemed to understand the expression. "I shall take you to him." Gríma said soothingly, pulling her arm gently through his. She didn't notice the faintly proprietorial gesture or the way his dull eyes seemed to suddenly have a new light shining out of their shadowy depths. He led her to the king's chambers, frowning as she broke away from him with a cry and ran to kneel by her uncle who lay prostrate on his bed.
Taking Théoden's coarse, weathered hand in her own smooth one, Éowyn pressed it to her cheek, her eyes large and filled with concern. Théoden turned his head slowly from his pillow and looked down at his young niece, kneeling distraught before him. A long moment passed before he seemed to recognize her.
"Éowyn." He whispered softly in a faltering voice, placing his other hand on her shoulder. "Do not worry, sister-daughter, I am well. I shall be my old self presently."
She nodded fiercely, "I know you will be, my lord." Éowyn responded, forcing a confidence into her voice that she did not feel. "I am sure of it."
The king smiled down at her gently, and seemed about to speak when his eyes suddenly grew heavy. A moment later, he was fast asleep. Éowyn continued to kneel at his side, willing the tears away. His labored breathing was the only sound in the still room. Finally, she pressed a gentle kiss on his rough hand and rose slowly to her feet.
Gríma still stood in the shadows of the doorway, watching the scene with a strangely detached air. He noticed the unshed tears shining in her eyes, softening their usual gray steeliness. He understood the will that kept them from running down her pale face. Opening his mouth slowly, Gríma took a step closer to the grieving woman, ready to offer comfort and consolation.
"I must find my brother, he will want to be the one to tell Théodred." She murmured more to herself than Gríma and hurriedly brushed past him into the hallway. Éowyn paused for a moment, and turned quickly. "Thank you for telling me of my uncle's condition." Without giving him a chance to respond, she swiftly departed.
Gríma watched her depart, her long cream-colored skirts disappearing into the darkness. Then, turning to the ailing king, he began to plan, his eyes growing as dark as the thoughts that flittered through his mind.
Rose Cotton - Thanks for your suggestions. I have to fight against my playwright tendancies that just want to cut to the chase and get to the dialogue! But I'll try to add more mood and length with the next chapters. I can't believe I made a mistake with elven after having just finished re-reading the trilogy. Gah! I'm sure JRR wouldn't approve. Thanks for pointing it out.
Veerena - I'm blushing! And wow, that picture is so cool!! I love it! I am completely technology-impaired, how did you do it?? If only it really were in the movie!
Anarya - It's more complicated than that, she's repulsed by him but also understands that he knows her better than anyone.
And thanks Vema, care bear the cheerleader (interesting name!), Ty, and as always Sythrona for your feedback.
* * * * *
Éowyn successfully defended herself from her brother's blow, laughing delightedly as she did so.
Éomer shook his head, a wry grin on his fair face. "You certainly have the makings of a shieldmaiden, little sister."
She smiled fondly at him and his compliment, before fiercely thrusting her wood sword at his shoulder. He parried her shot, but just barely.
They continued their mock battle in the garden, enjoying the warm sunshine and each other's company. Laughter and the sounds of their swords knocking together filled the air.
Éowyn, her face flushed and eyes bright from the exercise, bore little resemblance to the haunted girl of weeks earlier. Like mist fading in the hot light of day, the nightmare and the strange encounter with Gríma had disappeared completely in her joy at her brother and cousin's return.
The siblings' battle continued on until Éomer called her off with a shout of laugh. "Enough! You are too much for me. What are orcs compared to this hellion sister of mine?" Good humor filled his face and eyes as he beamed down at her.
"You shower me with compliments, my lord." She smiled, still breathing deeply. With a laugh, his sister bid him farewell and ran to the doors.
Éowyn burst into the hallway leading to her chamber like a ray of fresh sunshine, lighting the dim passage. She didn't notice the dark shape in front of her until she collided with it. Nearly tripping from the impact, she was saved from falling by a pale hand that darted out from the darkness and caught her arm.
When she had regained her balance, Éowyn looked up and saw the watchful eyes of Gríma on her. For once, it was not distaste or discomfort that filled her but surprise. She realized suddenly she hadn't seen him since the night of her nightmare, weeks ago. His absence had gone unnoticed; her brother and cousin's arrival had blotted out any memory of him or their last encounter.
"Where could he have been?" Éowyn wondered silently before abruptly becoming aware that he was still gripping her forearm. She looked at the offending hand pointedly and watched, mesmerized, as the long, delicate fingers slowly retracted and disappeared gracefully into the shadows of his cloak.
They regarded each other silently for a long moment. Éowyn starred back, determined to appear calm and unruffled. She was all too aware of her appearance. Her face flushed with exercise, her sleeves rolled up, and her long skirts partially raised and tied to her belt in order to free her legs.
"Why must I always meet him at such moments?" She thought angrily, wishing she were dressed more appropriately. Éowyn was suddenly conscious of a bead of sweat at her temple and brushed it away impatiently, shifting her eyes from his intent gaze as she did so. Forcing herself to look back again, she noticed his eyes were now fixed on that spot on her brow.
She arched an eyebrow, rolling down her sleeves to an acceptable length and releasing the folds at her waist so they fell heavily down to the floor. As she studied Gríma in the weak light of the hallway she realized he looked different somehow, as if, she mused, he was newly freed from some important matter that had long weighed on him. He held his head higher and had an air of authority about him not unlike her uncle, Éowyn decided, still surveying him silently. She chided herself for the thought, surely Gríma bore no resemblence to the commanding Théoden.
Realizing she was not going to speak, Gríma took a small step backwards and offered her a surprisingly courtly bow. "My lady, I have come here to find you. The king has been asking for you."
She frowned at this, a small line of consternation appearing on her brow. "But why? It is not his usual custom for my uncle to summon me thus."
Gríma watched her wordlessly for a moment and she fancied she saw something slightly ominous steal across his usually mask-like face. "Your uncle is very ill, my lady." He said in a surprisingly gentle voice.
"Ill?" She breathed, the word tasting bitter in her mouth. "What do you mean? He is perfectly fine, I would have noticed if my uncle wa-"
"Would you have?" Gríma cut her off sharply, taking her aback with the angry edge in his voice. "Truly? You have been most preoccupied of late." He added with a meaningful glance at the small casement that looked out onto the gardens where Éomer and she had been fighting moments ago.
"But… I…" She trailed off uneasily, her heart heavy with worry and guilt at her neglect. Éowyn gave up stumbling about for the words and looked at Gríma searchingly.
He seemed to understand the expression. "I shall take you to him." Gríma said soothingly, pulling her arm gently through his. She didn't notice the faintly proprietorial gesture or the way his dull eyes seemed to suddenly have a new light shining out of their shadowy depths. He led her to the king's chambers, frowning as she broke away from him with a cry and ran to kneel by her uncle who lay prostrate on his bed.
Taking Théoden's coarse, weathered hand in her own smooth one, Éowyn pressed it to her cheek, her eyes large and filled with concern. Théoden turned his head slowly from his pillow and looked down at his young niece, kneeling distraught before him. A long moment passed before he seemed to recognize her.
"Éowyn." He whispered softly in a faltering voice, placing his other hand on her shoulder. "Do not worry, sister-daughter, I am well. I shall be my old self presently."
She nodded fiercely, "I know you will be, my lord." Éowyn responded, forcing a confidence into her voice that she did not feel. "I am sure of it."
The king smiled down at her gently, and seemed about to speak when his eyes suddenly grew heavy. A moment later, he was fast asleep. Éowyn continued to kneel at his side, willing the tears away. His labored breathing was the only sound in the still room. Finally, she pressed a gentle kiss on his rough hand and rose slowly to her feet.
Gríma still stood in the shadows of the doorway, watching the scene with a strangely detached air. He noticed the unshed tears shining in her eyes, softening their usual gray steeliness. He understood the will that kept them from running down her pale face. Opening his mouth slowly, Gríma took a step closer to the grieving woman, ready to offer comfort and consolation.
"I must find my brother, he will want to be the one to tell Théodred." She murmured more to herself than Gríma and hurriedly brushed past him into the hallway. Éowyn paused for a moment, and turned quickly. "Thank you for telling me of my uncle's condition." Without giving him a chance to respond, she swiftly departed.
Gríma watched her depart, her long cream-colored skirts disappearing into the darkness. Then, turning to the ailing king, he began to plan, his eyes growing as dark as the thoughts that flittered through his mind.
