Okay, sorry it's been awhile since my last update, I've been mad busy. I'm planning on doing another draft of this chapter but I wanted to update so just went ahead. Don't be shocked it there are grammar/continuity/character flaws! Now that you've been warned…. enjoy! :)

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The next weeks passed achingly slow for Éowyn. Théoden's health improved slightly due to her constant administrations, but in body and in mind he was still a mere shadow of his former self. Messages of ferocious orc attacks on the western boarder soon called Éomer and Théodred away. Determined to at last do her duty to protect Rohan and its king, Éowyn alone tended to her uncle with grim resolve.

The hours passed slowly as she sat wearily beside her uncle's throne, her back aching from the strain. All the activities she had previously enjoyed were subsumed under this new duty; Éowyn barely was left time to dress as her messy hair and only half-tied bodice testified. She spent hours trying to clear the fog that clouded his mind and dulled his formally sparkling blue eyes. Despite her efforts, the king's vigor seemed more and more unlikely to return no matter how many long hours she passed thusly at his side, kneeling by his throne, coaxing him to speak to her and tend to the affairs of state.

As she sat there, for the countless day in a row, Éowyn began to become slowly aware of another, shameful, darker emotion growing alongside her concern for her uncle's health. Slowly but insidiously it grew, feeding off the long, frustrating hours she passed in the dim hall. Éowyn could endure pain, fear, and toil but this new feeling disgraced her-- resentment towards the very people she most loved. Her anger and the shame in feeling it, fought a heated battle in her heart that belied the calm, caring manner with which she served the king. Her days began to have a pattern to them, tending tirelessly to the king by day and sleeping fitfully at night, her dreams filled with terrifying images of suffering.

This day had been excruciating and her silent anger at the king's obtuseness increased as she tried to convince him to send more troops to aid Théodred and Éomer. All the response she received was absent murmurings about minding her own place. Worry for her brother, cousin, and the other riders joined the myriad battling emotions within her.

"Just one moment alone," She thought desperately, looking despairingly at her uncle's slumped form. "That is all I need. One minute with only my own thoughts, not his demands. I must keep this feeling at bay. "

Éowyn retreated to an unused chamber, determined that no one should find her. Stepping into the room, she walked over to the open window and looked out longingly to the mountains. If only she were fighting enemies rather than this shameful feeling that seemed to grow in power hourly.

Then, slowly, she sunk to the floor, her back against the rough stone wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. Éowyn clasped her chilled hands around her legs, resting her head to one side.

The sound of the door creaking open did not come as a surprise at all. She did not have the energy to react, merely looked over to the noise with tired eyes.

Gríma stood in the doorway, considering her for a long moment, without a word of greeting. Then, as if he had reached a decision, he crossed the room quickly and crouched down only a few inches from her.

"It's the same anger, is it not?" He queried abruptly, as she looked back at him mutely. "Only deeper now, yes, much deeper. The lovely songbird has been securely thrusted into her gilded cage once again and expected to sing as prettily as if she were free. You have been left behind again, haven't you? Left behind like a child to slavishly tend to an invalid who barely recognizes you."

Her body stiffened, as her eyes were drawn to his inexorably. She looked at him as if he were a snake, ready to strike out at any moment, and no action of hers could prevent it.

He smiled affectionately and reached over to her blonde head, smoothing the golden strands comfortingly. "They teach you fighting to amuse themselves, not for any other purpose. If they have their wish, your whole life will be lived within these stony confines. Never to venture outside the borders of Rohan. Denied the freedom even a drab wren is afforded." Each word was carefully annunciated; he spoke slowly, weaving a spell of words about her.

Her lids grew heavy suddenly and the tension poured out of her body as she continued to listen to his mesmerizing voice. She could barely summon enough strength to hold up her head.

"Father, mother, uncle, cousin, brother." Gríma murmured softly, almost chanting the terrible list. "They have all abandoned you, each in their turn."

Tears began to stream silently down her impassive face, like rain falling down hard white marble. Their heat warmed her face and tasted salty as they landed on her parted lips. They were tears of grief and shame, and could not be checked despite her noblest efforts.

"But I am here. I have always been here. I care for you more than your relations could begin to encompass. I would see you free, flying proudly above the everyday confines that plague lesser beings. Secure in the knowledge that you would always return to my arm." He watched as her emotionless veneer began to melt away, beneath the onslaught of his carefully crafted words.

"It is such a heavy burden to carry all alone." He whispered into her ear, his eyes boring into hers.

Éowyn began to weep in earnest, great racking sobs that shook her narrow frame. She reached out blindly, like a drowning woman grasping at life, her eyes blurred with tears. His arms fastened securely around her, pulling her into his protective darkness. Gríma stroked her hair as she cried against his chest. These were not the artful, pretty tears of an upset child but the anguished sobbing of a tormented soul. She shook so fiercely within the shielding circle of his arms that he looked down at her in mild surprise.

Her loosely tied bodice had slipped slightly, exposing one flawless shoulder. He slowly allowed his fingers to skim along the cool flesh and caress the strong column of her long neck. So cold, so smooth, so flawless, as if she really were carved of marble. But this was no icy, untouchable statue he held. A tiny smile curved his lips as he continued to lightly caress her neck, imaging the future ahead for the two of them. Gríma gazed down at her, euphoric at the thousand happy images that crowded his mind.

A trumpet blast in the distance broke the spell. Éowyn's head shot up and she brusquely wrenched herself out of his arms and run over to the casement. Leaning out, she shielded her eyes, blinking at the light, and peered off into the distance.

He gazed at her form silently, his hands flexing vacantly at his sides, as if longing for the prize that had been within their grasp. Thoughts wheeled behind his mind in a wild kaleidoscope of options.

Éowyn's narrowed, peering eyes widened as she saw a familiar banner. "Éomer… Théodred." She stated, her voice filled with disbelief and tentative joy. "They have returned!"