Chapter one
In which our Heroine prepares to leave her home.
In the months that passed Eowyn thought on the vision she had received almost constantly. Grima was Alive! She remembered him before his fall into Sauraman's power, the intelligent and haughty Grima whose skill with words had impressed her Uncle, and the Wormtongue he had become.
His wit and mental prowess alone had been responsible for the numerous changes and treaties that had made life so much better for the young noblewoman. As her homeland grew prosperous she was given as many baubles and trinkets thought enough to appease a pouting and petulant young woman who had formally to be content with cast off's and hand-downs.
She thought of his arrival, an emissary from the Northlands, persuaded to stay as advisor to the King of Rohan. His dark hair and pale skin had made him stand out amongst the fair-haired peoples of the Ridermark, as his mind had stood out amongst their backward traditions and ways. Eowyn was but seven summers old when he had come to them.
She almost smiled, thinking of when Theoden had given her a horse two years before she was officially old enough, of how Wormtongue had led her to the stables and helped her choose from the newly trained colts in the pens, how he had helped her into the saddle for the first time, Theoden looking on from his window.
He had watched her grow up, she realised. He had always been in the background to offer advice, and told stories by the fire in the great hall, in winter when the Citadel was snowed in. the wooden halls had echoed with his footfalls and rung with his laughter...
Then the dark times had come, with the rising of the Dark Lord in the east, and what she believed was his lust, for her and for power had caused him to turn to evil and the White Wizard. His advice turned sour, he poisoned their good King's thoughts against his loving family and caused the good men and women of Rohan to live in tainted times, putrid with unkempt and unseen vileness.
He had tainted her memories as well, she realised. She had not thought of the good fortune he had brought, of the good times, until prompted by the vision she had seen in the Mirror. But that did not matter now, she knew. His betrayal had overshadowed his achievements. He was all that was evil and turned, as the worm they had named him.
The fair Shield Maiden felt she had no other recourse but to seek him out, or at least, ascertain that he was indeed deceased. She knew what her heart sought; the Death of Grima Wormtongue. Upon her return to Edoras she sought out her brother, who ruled now that her uncle was dead, and spoke to him of the vision what had been troubling her.
"He is alive." Eowyn said, steadfast, after explaining why she felt she must investigate the matter of Grima's death.
"He was killed in the Shire, Eowyn. The Hobbits have no reason to deceive us." said Eomer. "And what does it matter? He would not trouble us now." The Golden Halls echoed with the voice of its King, "Sister, come! Be as you once were. I had thought your heart lifted, but for the death of our Father-Brother. Do you mourn for him again?" "No, my Brother. Though his absence pains me." Eowyn winced at this understatement. Her Uncle's death had left her miserable for so long that only these past few years could she bear to hear his name spoken without seeing him in her mind on the terrible battlefield of her memory. His absence was like the world without the sun, as he had been in her life.
"Then what hath caused this melancholy? These past few years have seen you bright and shining, and I had hoped you had found happiness at last. You seem the Ice Maiden of yore once again." The handsome man smiled absently at his flaxen haired ward. Eowyn missed Theoden, the strong and considerate ruler, more than ever now. The crown rested so lightly upon her brother's brow that she wondered whether he had given any serious thought to anything since his coronation. He seemed content to dismiss her fears and ignore her warnings in favour of fighting and carousing. What would become of Rohan, she wondered, despairing, with such a man as its king?
"And so they shall call me Ice-Maiden again, if that is what must be." She sighed. "I am thoughtful, my King, and it is a dark spell my errant thoughts weave for me." "What would put your mind to rest, my Sister?" Said Eomer indulgently. He remembered the coldness his sister had held those years ago, and he had rejoiced at her seeming to thaw in this peacetime. But when he looked in her eyes he saw they had once again turned cold, blue as the heavens in midwinter, cold as the killing frost of early spring.
"It would ease my mind to leave here and journey elsewhere, my King- Brother. I would visit Legolas Greenleaf, who bore the tale of the Scouring of the Shire hence to us. I want to question him further." She said. Eomer-King acquiesced to this wish, hoping in his warrior's heart that his Sister would find some happiness among the Wood Elves, and forget this strange vision that had obsessed her these past months. He hoped she would be back by the winter, he told her kindly, as Edoras was often snowed in by yule time, and the celebration would be lonely without her to sit by his side.
Eowyn repaired to her chambers and begun preparations to leave for Mirkwood. As she gathered her belongings and deliberated what to leave and what to take, her Handmaiden entered her room and approached her quietly. "What is it, Thalie?" she asked vaguely. "My Lady, do you go alone to the Elf Wood?" she asked timidly. Thalie was a sturdy suntanned girl of barely fifteen summers, but had served Eowyn for three of them, and had ridden hard with her Mistress on many such trips in the past, and was used to her mistress's distaste for unnecessary chatter and her coldness of manner. Eowyn knew that her servant's intention was to ask to accompany her on this journey, for as a child she had been at the Battle of Helms Deep, and had greatly admired the fighting of the elves. Eowyn knew she carried a lock of elven hair in her purse even now; a souvenir that was greatly admired in the servant halls, or so she had told her Mistress. "Are you wanting to come, Thalie?" Eowyn asked disinterestedly, "Well, I suppose you may, for I should not relish the journey alone with only the company of the Horseman my Brother-King will surely require that I take as escort." "My Lady, it is not proper for one of such high birth to travel without a retinue." Thalie said. "Then you and the oaf will have to suffice. We go to the elves, and while they study ceremony amongst themselves, I doubt they will think any ill of our party." "Very well Mistress." Said the girl, grinning widely at the thought of seeing the elves again.
That night Eowyn went down to the Royal Stables, to see her horses. The sleek animals regarded her absently, used to the noblewoman's presence. She looked them over carefully, finally deciding to take her favourite, a white mare called Mischa. As she gave her an extra helping of oats, she heard a whine come from the far end of the stables, beyond the royal boxes. Approaching warily, it was a pitiful sight she saw. A black stallion had been cruelly tied up; its harness left upon it so it got no rest and had nothing but dirty, dry straw in its manger. Eowyn was infuriated by this and untied the animal, taking off its harness and talked to it, soothingly. It seemed clear that this noble beast had been mistreated for some time, judging by the scars it bore, and how it shrank from her touch, anticipating a beating. Although it was late, she stalked up to the stable rooms in a high temper, dragging the stable boy out of the tack room by his scruffy ear and pulling him to where the black stallion lay, gratefully resting. "Do you see this?" Eowyn yelled at the boy, "If I see this ill treatment of any horse in the Ridermark I will hold you accountable! How dare you do this to a beast worth more than you are?" she spat. "But...but Mistress..." the terrified boy stammered, "its Wormtongue's horse!" Eowyn sent the boy back to the stables hobbling stiffly from a beating with a paddle. Wormtongue's horse, was it? She looked at the dozing stallion. She should have known it was, since no one else had wanted a black beast but him. She remembered when it had been foaled, not long after she had had thirteen summers. The stablemen had offered the young black colt to anyone who wanted him, but none did. "Unlucky!" they said. No room for anything darker than dun in the Mark. They had been about to cast the unfortunate animal out into the wild, but Eowyn, witnessing this unnecessary cruelty, had ran into the citadel in search of someone who could make them stop, and ran headlong into Grima, bowling him over. He had helped the tearful child to her feet, laughing, dusted her off and listened carefully to her stammered tale of woe. "Please, Councillor Grima! The poor thing's just different!" she had gasped, distraught. "They will not listen to me!" "Come then, Mistress, and we shall see what we can do to help this equine cuckoo!" He had strode down the hill, haughty and determined, with his little Mistress holding his hand, drying her tears on her long sleeves. "Hold, Horseman!" he had cried out to the stablemen, about to push the colt into the wasteland. "I'll take that horse from you!" "Councillor," the brutish stableman had said "'Tis unlucky to ride a black. Are you sure you want it?" "Do you question the words of the King's Advisor, stableman?" Grima had said haughtily. The men returned to their work without another word, leaving Grima and Eowyn to lead the little black escapee to the stables, where Grima confided in the little girl that he hadn't the slightest idea about looking after horses. Eowyn remembered how funny she had thought it that he needed her help to stable the colt. They had spent that afternoon most pleasantly looking after the animal, that Grima had decided to call "Dagger".
"Poor Dagger," she thought, stroking his velvety nose. "Who else would take you but me?" the Shield Maiden led the tired animal to her personal box and settled him amongst her own horses, who's affectionate nibbles he bore with good grace. The horse had no choice of owner had been, and did not deserve the abuse it had received. It troubled her to think that her own people, who's lives revolved around the care and tending of horses could commit such acts upon a blameless animal. She believed that this was another symptom of the inadequacies of her brother's rule. Theoden would never have allowed such a thing to happen. She left the Stables to retire to her own chambers, her mind little more at ease that it had previously been.
In the end her Brother ordered she take two riders, as well as an ambassador and the handmaiden Thalie. Surly and Sulky, as she thought of horsemen, did naught but grunt and tend their horses for most of the day spent not riding, although they did make themselves useful when evening came and it was time to set up camp for the night. As they busied themselves constructing a tent for Eowyn and Thalie, the ambassador, Rayment as he called himself, told them long-winded and self- important tales of his training in Gondor. Eowyn feigned attention, despairing of her company. Instead she let her thoughts lead her back through her life, dwelling on the times Her uncle had looked upon her with favour. As she and her brother had grown up without parents, Eowyn had looked to Theoden as a Father. As a child she had run wild, almost unattended, allowed to run about as she liked, until the Northlander, Grima son of Galmod had come to join their court. At her young age she did not understand that she had become as unruly and rough as a boy-child, but when Grima told the King of her wildness he had put an end to her freedom, to make her into a Lady, he had told her. She had always been ruled by her King, and unhappily submitted to his orders concerning her upbringing. Then she had not appreciated what he had done for her, but looking back she was glad of it, for she had nurtured her mind under Grima's tutelage, and knew something of a world beyond the Realm of the Horse-Lords.
As night drew in the party withdrew to their tents and Eowyn slept, comforted in her dreams, where the sun shone always and her King was with her once more.
In the light of dawn they awakened to a crisp morning, heralding as it ever did, the approach of autumn with its lingering breath. It had been a long ride, but they had made good progress and were in sight of Fangorn Forest within a week of leaving Meldused. The party crossed the river Entwash and made for the Field of Celebrant, and thence in turn would they reach the woods of Lothlorien, which was uninhabited now, as the King's family and guests were long since returned to their homes in all corners of Middle Earth, but none dared enter the old elven city uninvited lest they faced the King's wrath. Although, Eowyn considered, the penalty would not be so great for her, a friend of both the King and his wife, she would not wittingly bring strangers into that bright haven without its owner's knowledge, and so they skirted its edge.
All these weeks of travelling had not changed Eowyn's mind about what she thought of as her mission. The vision she saw in the fabled Mirror was true, she knew in her heart. Grima son of Galmod was alive, and should be brought to justice. That he lived galled her, that he prospered more so. She fancied in her idle moments that this was why she had found no rest; that the war was not truly over till the last vestiges of its evil were scoured from Middle Earth. When she thought of him, lying shivering in a cave somewhere on some mountain her breath halted and a strange feeling swirled in her breast; revulsion, she supposed. Yet she could never think of him now and not think, however briefly, of how he had watched her stalk the Halls of Edoras, how her every movement entranced him like a snake. In the years of her youth she had been alone most often, left to do those things considered Lady-like, such as embroidery or tending flowers, but there were no other noble ladies to guide her, and had no cloth to embroider, nor seeds to grow. And so she had grown insular, she knew now. Stalking the halls and wandering the citadel restlessly, preferring the dusty books in the little library to real people, and began to frost over, like a flower in the snow without anyone to nurture warmth in her heart.
It had been Grima who had first called her Ice Maiden, as if to point out the flaws in her character for everyone to see. The Lady Frost, Mistress Coldheart, they called her.... But Her hands were not the only ones cool to the touch... She shivered in the warmth of the fire. "Are you all right, Mistress?" enquired her handmaiden, concern showing on her young face. "I am fine, Thalie. Just a slight chill." Eowyn replied, reflecting upon the understatement of her words. She was chilled to the bone, and it seemed had always been so. "Well, I'll put another log on the fire, at any rate." As she watched the girl try and raise the fire, she wondered what it would take to thaw her heart, to make her blood run warm...
In which our Heroine prepares to leave her home.
In the months that passed Eowyn thought on the vision she had received almost constantly. Grima was Alive! She remembered him before his fall into Sauraman's power, the intelligent and haughty Grima whose skill with words had impressed her Uncle, and the Wormtongue he had become.
His wit and mental prowess alone had been responsible for the numerous changes and treaties that had made life so much better for the young noblewoman. As her homeland grew prosperous she was given as many baubles and trinkets thought enough to appease a pouting and petulant young woman who had formally to be content with cast off's and hand-downs.
She thought of his arrival, an emissary from the Northlands, persuaded to stay as advisor to the King of Rohan. His dark hair and pale skin had made him stand out amongst the fair-haired peoples of the Ridermark, as his mind had stood out amongst their backward traditions and ways. Eowyn was but seven summers old when he had come to them.
She almost smiled, thinking of when Theoden had given her a horse two years before she was officially old enough, of how Wormtongue had led her to the stables and helped her choose from the newly trained colts in the pens, how he had helped her into the saddle for the first time, Theoden looking on from his window.
He had watched her grow up, she realised. He had always been in the background to offer advice, and told stories by the fire in the great hall, in winter when the Citadel was snowed in. the wooden halls had echoed with his footfalls and rung with his laughter...
Then the dark times had come, with the rising of the Dark Lord in the east, and what she believed was his lust, for her and for power had caused him to turn to evil and the White Wizard. His advice turned sour, he poisoned their good King's thoughts against his loving family and caused the good men and women of Rohan to live in tainted times, putrid with unkempt and unseen vileness.
He had tainted her memories as well, she realised. She had not thought of the good fortune he had brought, of the good times, until prompted by the vision she had seen in the Mirror. But that did not matter now, she knew. His betrayal had overshadowed his achievements. He was all that was evil and turned, as the worm they had named him.
The fair Shield Maiden felt she had no other recourse but to seek him out, or at least, ascertain that he was indeed deceased. She knew what her heart sought; the Death of Grima Wormtongue. Upon her return to Edoras she sought out her brother, who ruled now that her uncle was dead, and spoke to him of the vision what had been troubling her.
"He is alive." Eowyn said, steadfast, after explaining why she felt she must investigate the matter of Grima's death.
"He was killed in the Shire, Eowyn. The Hobbits have no reason to deceive us." said Eomer. "And what does it matter? He would not trouble us now." The Golden Halls echoed with the voice of its King, "Sister, come! Be as you once were. I had thought your heart lifted, but for the death of our Father-Brother. Do you mourn for him again?" "No, my Brother. Though his absence pains me." Eowyn winced at this understatement. Her Uncle's death had left her miserable for so long that only these past few years could she bear to hear his name spoken without seeing him in her mind on the terrible battlefield of her memory. His absence was like the world without the sun, as he had been in her life.
"Then what hath caused this melancholy? These past few years have seen you bright and shining, and I had hoped you had found happiness at last. You seem the Ice Maiden of yore once again." The handsome man smiled absently at his flaxen haired ward. Eowyn missed Theoden, the strong and considerate ruler, more than ever now. The crown rested so lightly upon her brother's brow that she wondered whether he had given any serious thought to anything since his coronation. He seemed content to dismiss her fears and ignore her warnings in favour of fighting and carousing. What would become of Rohan, she wondered, despairing, with such a man as its king?
"And so they shall call me Ice-Maiden again, if that is what must be." She sighed. "I am thoughtful, my King, and it is a dark spell my errant thoughts weave for me." "What would put your mind to rest, my Sister?" Said Eomer indulgently. He remembered the coldness his sister had held those years ago, and he had rejoiced at her seeming to thaw in this peacetime. But when he looked in her eyes he saw they had once again turned cold, blue as the heavens in midwinter, cold as the killing frost of early spring.
"It would ease my mind to leave here and journey elsewhere, my King- Brother. I would visit Legolas Greenleaf, who bore the tale of the Scouring of the Shire hence to us. I want to question him further." She said. Eomer-King acquiesced to this wish, hoping in his warrior's heart that his Sister would find some happiness among the Wood Elves, and forget this strange vision that had obsessed her these past months. He hoped she would be back by the winter, he told her kindly, as Edoras was often snowed in by yule time, and the celebration would be lonely without her to sit by his side.
Eowyn repaired to her chambers and begun preparations to leave for Mirkwood. As she gathered her belongings and deliberated what to leave and what to take, her Handmaiden entered her room and approached her quietly. "What is it, Thalie?" she asked vaguely. "My Lady, do you go alone to the Elf Wood?" she asked timidly. Thalie was a sturdy suntanned girl of barely fifteen summers, but had served Eowyn for three of them, and had ridden hard with her Mistress on many such trips in the past, and was used to her mistress's distaste for unnecessary chatter and her coldness of manner. Eowyn knew that her servant's intention was to ask to accompany her on this journey, for as a child she had been at the Battle of Helms Deep, and had greatly admired the fighting of the elves. Eowyn knew she carried a lock of elven hair in her purse even now; a souvenir that was greatly admired in the servant halls, or so she had told her Mistress. "Are you wanting to come, Thalie?" Eowyn asked disinterestedly, "Well, I suppose you may, for I should not relish the journey alone with only the company of the Horseman my Brother-King will surely require that I take as escort." "My Lady, it is not proper for one of such high birth to travel without a retinue." Thalie said. "Then you and the oaf will have to suffice. We go to the elves, and while they study ceremony amongst themselves, I doubt they will think any ill of our party." "Very well Mistress." Said the girl, grinning widely at the thought of seeing the elves again.
That night Eowyn went down to the Royal Stables, to see her horses. The sleek animals regarded her absently, used to the noblewoman's presence. She looked them over carefully, finally deciding to take her favourite, a white mare called Mischa. As she gave her an extra helping of oats, she heard a whine come from the far end of the stables, beyond the royal boxes. Approaching warily, it was a pitiful sight she saw. A black stallion had been cruelly tied up; its harness left upon it so it got no rest and had nothing but dirty, dry straw in its manger. Eowyn was infuriated by this and untied the animal, taking off its harness and talked to it, soothingly. It seemed clear that this noble beast had been mistreated for some time, judging by the scars it bore, and how it shrank from her touch, anticipating a beating. Although it was late, she stalked up to the stable rooms in a high temper, dragging the stable boy out of the tack room by his scruffy ear and pulling him to where the black stallion lay, gratefully resting. "Do you see this?" Eowyn yelled at the boy, "If I see this ill treatment of any horse in the Ridermark I will hold you accountable! How dare you do this to a beast worth more than you are?" she spat. "But...but Mistress..." the terrified boy stammered, "its Wormtongue's horse!" Eowyn sent the boy back to the stables hobbling stiffly from a beating with a paddle. Wormtongue's horse, was it? She looked at the dozing stallion. She should have known it was, since no one else had wanted a black beast but him. She remembered when it had been foaled, not long after she had had thirteen summers. The stablemen had offered the young black colt to anyone who wanted him, but none did. "Unlucky!" they said. No room for anything darker than dun in the Mark. They had been about to cast the unfortunate animal out into the wild, but Eowyn, witnessing this unnecessary cruelty, had ran into the citadel in search of someone who could make them stop, and ran headlong into Grima, bowling him over. He had helped the tearful child to her feet, laughing, dusted her off and listened carefully to her stammered tale of woe. "Please, Councillor Grima! The poor thing's just different!" she had gasped, distraught. "They will not listen to me!" "Come then, Mistress, and we shall see what we can do to help this equine cuckoo!" He had strode down the hill, haughty and determined, with his little Mistress holding his hand, drying her tears on her long sleeves. "Hold, Horseman!" he had cried out to the stablemen, about to push the colt into the wasteland. "I'll take that horse from you!" "Councillor," the brutish stableman had said "'Tis unlucky to ride a black. Are you sure you want it?" "Do you question the words of the King's Advisor, stableman?" Grima had said haughtily. The men returned to their work without another word, leaving Grima and Eowyn to lead the little black escapee to the stables, where Grima confided in the little girl that he hadn't the slightest idea about looking after horses. Eowyn remembered how funny she had thought it that he needed her help to stable the colt. They had spent that afternoon most pleasantly looking after the animal, that Grima had decided to call "Dagger".
"Poor Dagger," she thought, stroking his velvety nose. "Who else would take you but me?" the Shield Maiden led the tired animal to her personal box and settled him amongst her own horses, who's affectionate nibbles he bore with good grace. The horse had no choice of owner had been, and did not deserve the abuse it had received. It troubled her to think that her own people, who's lives revolved around the care and tending of horses could commit such acts upon a blameless animal. She believed that this was another symptom of the inadequacies of her brother's rule. Theoden would never have allowed such a thing to happen. She left the Stables to retire to her own chambers, her mind little more at ease that it had previously been.
In the end her Brother ordered she take two riders, as well as an ambassador and the handmaiden Thalie. Surly and Sulky, as she thought of horsemen, did naught but grunt and tend their horses for most of the day spent not riding, although they did make themselves useful when evening came and it was time to set up camp for the night. As they busied themselves constructing a tent for Eowyn and Thalie, the ambassador, Rayment as he called himself, told them long-winded and self- important tales of his training in Gondor. Eowyn feigned attention, despairing of her company. Instead she let her thoughts lead her back through her life, dwelling on the times Her uncle had looked upon her with favour. As she and her brother had grown up without parents, Eowyn had looked to Theoden as a Father. As a child she had run wild, almost unattended, allowed to run about as she liked, until the Northlander, Grima son of Galmod had come to join their court. At her young age she did not understand that she had become as unruly and rough as a boy-child, but when Grima told the King of her wildness he had put an end to her freedom, to make her into a Lady, he had told her. She had always been ruled by her King, and unhappily submitted to his orders concerning her upbringing. Then she had not appreciated what he had done for her, but looking back she was glad of it, for she had nurtured her mind under Grima's tutelage, and knew something of a world beyond the Realm of the Horse-Lords.
As night drew in the party withdrew to their tents and Eowyn slept, comforted in her dreams, where the sun shone always and her King was with her once more.
In the light of dawn they awakened to a crisp morning, heralding as it ever did, the approach of autumn with its lingering breath. It had been a long ride, but they had made good progress and were in sight of Fangorn Forest within a week of leaving Meldused. The party crossed the river Entwash and made for the Field of Celebrant, and thence in turn would they reach the woods of Lothlorien, which was uninhabited now, as the King's family and guests were long since returned to their homes in all corners of Middle Earth, but none dared enter the old elven city uninvited lest they faced the King's wrath. Although, Eowyn considered, the penalty would not be so great for her, a friend of both the King and his wife, she would not wittingly bring strangers into that bright haven without its owner's knowledge, and so they skirted its edge.
All these weeks of travelling had not changed Eowyn's mind about what she thought of as her mission. The vision she saw in the fabled Mirror was true, she knew in her heart. Grima son of Galmod was alive, and should be brought to justice. That he lived galled her, that he prospered more so. She fancied in her idle moments that this was why she had found no rest; that the war was not truly over till the last vestiges of its evil were scoured from Middle Earth. When she thought of him, lying shivering in a cave somewhere on some mountain her breath halted and a strange feeling swirled in her breast; revulsion, she supposed. Yet she could never think of him now and not think, however briefly, of how he had watched her stalk the Halls of Edoras, how her every movement entranced him like a snake. In the years of her youth she had been alone most often, left to do those things considered Lady-like, such as embroidery or tending flowers, but there were no other noble ladies to guide her, and had no cloth to embroider, nor seeds to grow. And so she had grown insular, she knew now. Stalking the halls and wandering the citadel restlessly, preferring the dusty books in the little library to real people, and began to frost over, like a flower in the snow without anyone to nurture warmth in her heart.
It had been Grima who had first called her Ice Maiden, as if to point out the flaws in her character for everyone to see. The Lady Frost, Mistress Coldheart, they called her.... But Her hands were not the only ones cool to the touch... She shivered in the warmth of the fire. "Are you all right, Mistress?" enquired her handmaiden, concern showing on her young face. "I am fine, Thalie. Just a slight chill." Eowyn replied, reflecting upon the understatement of her words. She was chilled to the bone, and it seemed had always been so. "Well, I'll put another log on the fire, at any rate." As she watched the girl try and raise the fire, she wondered what it would take to thaw her heart, to make her blood run warm...