Chapter Three
In which our Heroine meets with the Wood Elves.
Grima dreamed of hair the colour of moonlight soft to the touch and shimmering laughter; a delight to hear. A young girl dancing on a snow covered balcony, bent over an ancient book in a dusty library, tending a black horse. Then she seemed to grow right before his eyes into the most beautiful creature he had ever known. Pale and perfect. Eowyn. Then the blackness came and cut her down, killed her... Grima awoke, screaming. Another nightmare. They plagued him almost constantly, asleep or awake. In the worst Eowyn came to him, kissed him tenderly, and all the love he had for her gushed out of him along with his blood, as she stood over him laughing, a dagger in her slender grasp, a killing frost in her eyes. Was she yet living? He did not know. All that he knew was that Saurman and the Dark Lord had been defeated, and all that had once been wasteland was now made green with elven magic. That Gondor once more had a king he knew, had heard it discussed by the men in Bree, huddled by the stunted fire of a hovel that passed for an inn, in that bitterly cold winter that followed the Great War. No news of Rohan had he heard, nor dared ask, for fear of discovery. He had sat in that dark corner and hid from the candlelight for fear of enquiry and made no attempt at conversation. Once or twice the innkeeper wanted paying, and Grima appeased him with some of his meagre store of gold. Not long after his arrival he seemed to have acquired a nickname, one he found he liked. Here they called him Strider, and apparently took his solitary ways and dishevelled appearance as evidence of his being a Ranger. After a time he accepted this with good grace, and soon fell into the role they had provided him. As "Strider", whom he soon found out was a surly and secretive individual, a demeanour that suited his own current temperament, he was known in Bree and by keeping "in character" he was able to avoid detection for the whole of that winter. He felt indebted to whatever strange god or goddess guided his faltering steps that the true "Strider" did not see fit to materialize in Bree during his stay in the dismal and wretched nest of hovels. However, it was to be his last exercise in manipulation, for as soon as the nights grew warmer he had gathered some provisions and made off with a black horse he had found in the Stable yard, leaving some money behind in recompense. When the animal died during the year it took to reach the Iron Hills, he did not blame it; it had been a long and arduous journey, and Grima felt that his inexperience in dealing with the equine breed had led to its untimely death. He was much saddened by its demise, for it had been company of a sort, soothing and trusting, and oft times his salvation when his mind plumbed the depths of darkness and made him ponder his past with despair. Shouldering his makeshift pack he said a small prayer over the animal that had reminded him so much of his own horse, Dagger, that he had left behind when he had been banished from Rohan. For a fleeting moment, he thought upon its fate, and hoped the Rohirrim had not been unkind to it. Thinking of Dagger led him to think of Eowyn once again; how she had once ran to one dark cuckoo to save another, and how she had not realised how like that dark horse he had been. Little doubt she hated him now. And was just in her hatred, he admitted to himself, wiping the cold sweat of nightmare from his brow. How could he have thought she could want him? Even after all those little intimacies he had stored in his heart like pearls on a necklace, threading each one, whole and perfect, until the string was wrenched from his grasp by the Evil Wizard, forever tainting him with his lies and his promises. She would not remember how he doted on her, beyond his station as a mere advisor. But even the slightest whisper of her voice, the merest shadow of her presence had lifted his heart from his dark imaginings and made life among the bestial and backward Rohirrim bearable. She may not have known it, but the time when he had first come to Edoras, seeking help for the people of the Rhun against the rising numbers of evil minions of Mordor who continually ravaged the land he loved, he had betrayed them, because of her. He had hidden his distaste well, he thought. The men of the Mark had thought his aversion for their coarse, dung-clad land the affectations of a foreigner, as indeed he was. In truth, he had loathed his existence among them, and remained only to pass on what riches he could to his people, whom he had left so abruptly. The messengers he had sent gave him little news when they returned, and the hope that he was making life better for his village, and his family. He had not intended to stay long in the fabled Citadel; just long enough to see if aid could be secured for his ravaged land. Apparently the great Theoden-King did not think the lives of so many people to be worth the trouble. When the King offered him a place as his advisor, recognising his skill with words but taking no note of the young man's persuasive arguments, he intended to refuse. But when the young Niece of the king, the orphan in ill-fitting garments, tumbling in from the stables with straw in her silver hair and a sweet smile on her dirty face, took his cold hand and asked him to stay and play with her, he looked at her and thought how many improvements he could make in this land, and persuaded himself that he could do more good for his people by staying in Rohan than by going on to plead with the Steward of Gondor, as he had intended. When Saurman first tempted him with wealth, he had thought upon his proposal, and refused. When he offered him Eowyn, he did not think upon it but refused at once. She he would not take against her will, nor by enchantment, though it galled him that the Wizard had found his weaknesses so rapidly. What was then offered him had converted him almost without resistance; the Dominion of the Rhun. If that land were his, if he were king of the Inland Sea, he would be equal in rank to King Theoden, of stature enough to sue for Eowyn's hand unchallenged, and could protect his people from the pillaging and destruction wreaked upon them by their dark neighbour to the south. But it was all a lie. Grima cried, his tears turning to ice upon his cheeks, quickly brushed away by the coarse cloth of his cloak. He had been tricked most cruelly, and for all his mental agility had let his love for Eowyn, the sweet girl he cherished above all else; led him to more and ever darker betrayals. He wept profusely over his foolish and dashed desires, thwarted by his manipulating mind and accursed love. He had but little recourse now but to go back to the Rhunland and survey the damage wreaked in what was no doubt a bloody and horrific massacre. Maybe his family had survived, but he did not hold out much hope for that. Maybe, if any yet lived in what he expected to be a desolate waste where the Erhundai had once resided, one might yet remember him. Not that they would have need of an advisor, he thought sardonicaly. Instead, he intended to take up his family's office and seek to mend what he had helped bring about. He had no other way to remunerate for his sins...
As Eowyn's party prepared to spent their third night under the canopy of the aptly named Mirkwood, An Elven archer appeared in the circle of firelight, the bright flames casting dark and deceitful shadows on what in daylight would be a welcome sight. "What is your business in the Woodland realm?" he demanded arrogantly. Eowyn rose imperiously from her place by the fire and spoke to the archer in what little Elvish she had been taught by Arwen. "Sinl'e sond'ai Eowyn, mellonamin, sh'mellna Arwen sai Elrond, Su'la Elesser! Sawi'sta lo'utael Legolas, du Sa'haptine?" The haughty archer looked astonished at Eowyn's greeting, and bowed to her on bended knee before replying; "My Lady Eowyn, I shall return to you with our Captain in good time." And stepped out of the firelight and could be seen no more by mortal eyes. When the Elf left, the handmaid Thalie let out the breath she had been holding and sighed heavily. Eowyn looked upon her almost warmly and drew her nearer, taking her hand. "Are you yet satisfied?" she said, mildly amused by her handmaiden's regard for the Elven race. "We shall see more of the Elves in a short while, and you may gather more souvenirs if you wish." She said derisively, "Let us prepare for their return." As they packed up their camp, leaving no evidence that they were here that none but a ranger could tell of their passing, the diplomat spoke up, as he had wont to do, of his purpose in joining her party. "I should be leaving you soon, My Lady," he said eagerly, "I hope to serve my King and Country well in this endeavour." Eowyn forced a small smile for the pompous official. "I an sure you will do your best, Rayment." She said, her words carefully chosen so as not to dishearten the young man, although she had little hope for his mission. She knew that the Wood Elves were an insular folk, preferring to keep out of the matters of men, especially since their brethren, the High Elves, had departed Middle Earth, and seeking to gain their friendship would be useless. When the young archer returned with his Captain, Eowyn held out her hands to him and embraced Legolas Greenleaf as the old friend he was. "Legolas, you have not changed since last we met." The Shieldmaiden said formally; an accustomed if clichéd greeting to an elven friend. "But you, my lady, do look fairer still." Legolas replied, his astute senses noting her uncomfortable manner and halting, unfamiliar conduct. "I had heard you attended Eldarion's Celebration last season. Fares he not well?" "Indeed he does, Mellonamin. It was unfortunate that you could not be spared your duties to attend." "These woods do not walk themselves, my Lady. But I did have the good fortune to be present at the child's Sindarin ceremony at his recognition earlier this year." The event the Captain spoke of had been the most important festival in middle earth, Gondor's acceptance of a Half-Elf as their Prince, and his recognition in the line of Numenor and Elrond, himself Half-Elven. As these formalities had been completed, Eowyn introduced her party, her escorts silent, the ambassador effusive and vociferous, and her handmaid blushing furiously as she bobbed a curtsey. It was arranged that Eowyn and her party travel to the city of the Wood Elves, and Eowyn hoped to take some pleasure in their company, so different as it was from the Rohirrim. Eowyn felt pained by so much unwanted attention that required her to act other than how she felt, but knew that it was a fleeting pain and she would soon be allowed to lapse back into her accustomed manner. When a few days had passed, Eowyn spoke with Legolas again and at length, divining what she could of the account of Grima's demise, as it came second hand. That Grima had killed the evil Wizard Saurman with his own hand, she had not known, and proved a revelation in her feelings, such as they were, concerning Grima. The description was not one she cared to repeat, but played itself over in her dreams long afterward. She only voiced one of her multitude of thoughts upon the matter, that she would have done the same, had it been she in that situation. As it had long been assumed that Wormtongue was dead, Eowyn was not eager to let many know of her vision, except the few who may help her in her quest. At worst such knowledge could cause another war, and at best she might be thought mad. Therefore she was circumspect as to her reasons for her journey, intending to tell only Legolas of her true intentions when she was sure their voices could not be overheard. When at last they could arrange to meet alone, Eowyn told the handsome Captain of her vision, and her desire to seek Grima out. The Elf Prince answered as she had anticipated he would, waiting not for council beyond his years but deciding swiftly and resolutely. "I shall accompany you, my Lady, if you would wish it of me." "That would be wonderful." Eowyn replied with a smile, creating the illusion, at least on her part, of a friendly atmosphere. "I had intended to ask you, as I'm sure that you would be worth ten of my brother's horsemen on a journey such as this." Legolas laughed, "My thanks to you, my Lady. But there could be another you might wish to bring with us. We have amongst our midst a Ranger named Mirghast, a Kingsman, who has been lately trailing a horse thief from the Shire. If your tale is right then the man he has been tracking could be Wormtongue himself." "What indication do you have of this?" she said coldly, mistrustful. "From what he has told me, and as the man bears the seal of the King of Gondor; I have no reason to disbelieve him." "We shall see. Very well, we should consult him at least. How fairs he?" "Not well, my Lady. When our guards found him he was wandering on the edge of the woods in a fever; his affliction has since passed, but he needs some time to recover. As soon as he is strong enough I will let you know." The Elf left with a bow, leaving Eowyn to ponder his words.
And so the weeks passed none too quickly for the Lady of Rohan. Rayment, the obsequious ambassador, had made himself at home and begun his mission by attempting to talk to the Elf King, and being refused audience. Her two Horsemen escorts elected to return to Edoras, there being no need for horses in these dense woods, and that among the best archers in Middle Earth; their Lady was well protected. Eowyn was glad of this, as their uncouth grunting had been irritating to her ears, more used to silence and whispers. Eowyn's servant girl declined to leave her Mistress, claiming maidenly devotion, but in reality, Eowyn suspected harshly, she wished to remain to continue her friendship with an Elven guardsman she had been keeping much company with. For most of the time, Eowyn found to her pleasure, she was left alone. As visiting Royalty, she was entitled to impose upon another noble, and she was sure the Elves did not need any help from her, although she would have been glad to be useful. Instead she felt she was expected to wear her best long sleeved gowns and promenade around the city looking pretty, as the other Elven nobles did, or so it seemed. Eowyn suspected she could live out her life in the Elf King's halls and no one there would neither notice nor care. Prince Legolas had, she was told, been sent out on a border patrol and he would not be back for several weeks, and when she asked to see the Ranger she received nothing but confusion and blank looks. In her idleness she contemplated what lay ahead. After these weeks of nothingness, she longed to be once again on her way, but had no idea of where to search. The open road called to her, through the oppressive, claustrophobic trees, its song one she understood well. To be alone once more was what she yearned for, to not have to simulate feeling, and be true to the wind, however biting and coldly it greeted her. To find Grima was what she wanted, she knew. She was determined to reach him, find him and talk to him. To find out why he had betrayed her. Why he had left her...Eowyn shook herself, her thoughts becoming more indicative of personal feelings, ones that would never see the light of day. He was to be brought to justice, the last remnant of ancient evil. How could the man who had been so prominent in her childhood memories become so utterly evil? She did not know, but found herself hoping that he repented his evil ways. If he showed no remorse at his past, she would cut him down where he stood. If he repented, then...again she became muddled in her thoughts. Would she let him live, even then? So much death and violence had come to pass...could she bear more of it, by her own hand? Eowyn resolved to talk to Legolas about her errant thoughts when at length he returned, however much it pained her to reveal her feelings to one who might judge her ill. This winter in the Mirkwood left her with much time for thought, and at length she wondered how her people faired back in Rohan, whose open wilds she craved.
In which our Heroine meets with the Wood Elves.
Grima dreamed of hair the colour of moonlight soft to the touch and shimmering laughter; a delight to hear. A young girl dancing on a snow covered balcony, bent over an ancient book in a dusty library, tending a black horse. Then she seemed to grow right before his eyes into the most beautiful creature he had ever known. Pale and perfect. Eowyn. Then the blackness came and cut her down, killed her... Grima awoke, screaming. Another nightmare. They plagued him almost constantly, asleep or awake. In the worst Eowyn came to him, kissed him tenderly, and all the love he had for her gushed out of him along with his blood, as she stood over him laughing, a dagger in her slender grasp, a killing frost in her eyes. Was she yet living? He did not know. All that he knew was that Saurman and the Dark Lord had been defeated, and all that had once been wasteland was now made green with elven magic. That Gondor once more had a king he knew, had heard it discussed by the men in Bree, huddled by the stunted fire of a hovel that passed for an inn, in that bitterly cold winter that followed the Great War. No news of Rohan had he heard, nor dared ask, for fear of discovery. He had sat in that dark corner and hid from the candlelight for fear of enquiry and made no attempt at conversation. Once or twice the innkeeper wanted paying, and Grima appeased him with some of his meagre store of gold. Not long after his arrival he seemed to have acquired a nickname, one he found he liked. Here they called him Strider, and apparently took his solitary ways and dishevelled appearance as evidence of his being a Ranger. After a time he accepted this with good grace, and soon fell into the role they had provided him. As "Strider", whom he soon found out was a surly and secretive individual, a demeanour that suited his own current temperament, he was known in Bree and by keeping "in character" he was able to avoid detection for the whole of that winter. He felt indebted to whatever strange god or goddess guided his faltering steps that the true "Strider" did not see fit to materialize in Bree during his stay in the dismal and wretched nest of hovels. However, it was to be his last exercise in manipulation, for as soon as the nights grew warmer he had gathered some provisions and made off with a black horse he had found in the Stable yard, leaving some money behind in recompense. When the animal died during the year it took to reach the Iron Hills, he did not blame it; it had been a long and arduous journey, and Grima felt that his inexperience in dealing with the equine breed had led to its untimely death. He was much saddened by its demise, for it had been company of a sort, soothing and trusting, and oft times his salvation when his mind plumbed the depths of darkness and made him ponder his past with despair. Shouldering his makeshift pack he said a small prayer over the animal that had reminded him so much of his own horse, Dagger, that he had left behind when he had been banished from Rohan. For a fleeting moment, he thought upon its fate, and hoped the Rohirrim had not been unkind to it. Thinking of Dagger led him to think of Eowyn once again; how she had once ran to one dark cuckoo to save another, and how she had not realised how like that dark horse he had been. Little doubt she hated him now. And was just in her hatred, he admitted to himself, wiping the cold sweat of nightmare from his brow. How could he have thought she could want him? Even after all those little intimacies he had stored in his heart like pearls on a necklace, threading each one, whole and perfect, until the string was wrenched from his grasp by the Evil Wizard, forever tainting him with his lies and his promises. She would not remember how he doted on her, beyond his station as a mere advisor. But even the slightest whisper of her voice, the merest shadow of her presence had lifted his heart from his dark imaginings and made life among the bestial and backward Rohirrim bearable. She may not have known it, but the time when he had first come to Edoras, seeking help for the people of the Rhun against the rising numbers of evil minions of Mordor who continually ravaged the land he loved, he had betrayed them, because of her. He had hidden his distaste well, he thought. The men of the Mark had thought his aversion for their coarse, dung-clad land the affectations of a foreigner, as indeed he was. In truth, he had loathed his existence among them, and remained only to pass on what riches he could to his people, whom he had left so abruptly. The messengers he had sent gave him little news when they returned, and the hope that he was making life better for his village, and his family. He had not intended to stay long in the fabled Citadel; just long enough to see if aid could be secured for his ravaged land. Apparently the great Theoden-King did not think the lives of so many people to be worth the trouble. When the King offered him a place as his advisor, recognising his skill with words but taking no note of the young man's persuasive arguments, he intended to refuse. But when the young Niece of the king, the orphan in ill-fitting garments, tumbling in from the stables with straw in her silver hair and a sweet smile on her dirty face, took his cold hand and asked him to stay and play with her, he looked at her and thought how many improvements he could make in this land, and persuaded himself that he could do more good for his people by staying in Rohan than by going on to plead with the Steward of Gondor, as he had intended. When Saurman first tempted him with wealth, he had thought upon his proposal, and refused. When he offered him Eowyn, he did not think upon it but refused at once. She he would not take against her will, nor by enchantment, though it galled him that the Wizard had found his weaknesses so rapidly. What was then offered him had converted him almost without resistance; the Dominion of the Rhun. If that land were his, if he were king of the Inland Sea, he would be equal in rank to King Theoden, of stature enough to sue for Eowyn's hand unchallenged, and could protect his people from the pillaging and destruction wreaked upon them by their dark neighbour to the south. But it was all a lie. Grima cried, his tears turning to ice upon his cheeks, quickly brushed away by the coarse cloth of his cloak. He had been tricked most cruelly, and for all his mental agility had let his love for Eowyn, the sweet girl he cherished above all else; led him to more and ever darker betrayals. He wept profusely over his foolish and dashed desires, thwarted by his manipulating mind and accursed love. He had but little recourse now but to go back to the Rhunland and survey the damage wreaked in what was no doubt a bloody and horrific massacre. Maybe his family had survived, but he did not hold out much hope for that. Maybe, if any yet lived in what he expected to be a desolate waste where the Erhundai had once resided, one might yet remember him. Not that they would have need of an advisor, he thought sardonicaly. Instead, he intended to take up his family's office and seek to mend what he had helped bring about. He had no other way to remunerate for his sins...
As Eowyn's party prepared to spent their third night under the canopy of the aptly named Mirkwood, An Elven archer appeared in the circle of firelight, the bright flames casting dark and deceitful shadows on what in daylight would be a welcome sight. "What is your business in the Woodland realm?" he demanded arrogantly. Eowyn rose imperiously from her place by the fire and spoke to the archer in what little Elvish she had been taught by Arwen. "Sinl'e sond'ai Eowyn, mellonamin, sh'mellna Arwen sai Elrond, Su'la Elesser! Sawi'sta lo'utael Legolas, du Sa'haptine?" The haughty archer looked astonished at Eowyn's greeting, and bowed to her on bended knee before replying; "My Lady Eowyn, I shall return to you with our Captain in good time." And stepped out of the firelight and could be seen no more by mortal eyes. When the Elf left, the handmaid Thalie let out the breath she had been holding and sighed heavily. Eowyn looked upon her almost warmly and drew her nearer, taking her hand. "Are you yet satisfied?" she said, mildly amused by her handmaiden's regard for the Elven race. "We shall see more of the Elves in a short while, and you may gather more souvenirs if you wish." She said derisively, "Let us prepare for their return." As they packed up their camp, leaving no evidence that they were here that none but a ranger could tell of their passing, the diplomat spoke up, as he had wont to do, of his purpose in joining her party. "I should be leaving you soon, My Lady," he said eagerly, "I hope to serve my King and Country well in this endeavour." Eowyn forced a small smile for the pompous official. "I an sure you will do your best, Rayment." She said, her words carefully chosen so as not to dishearten the young man, although she had little hope for his mission. She knew that the Wood Elves were an insular folk, preferring to keep out of the matters of men, especially since their brethren, the High Elves, had departed Middle Earth, and seeking to gain their friendship would be useless. When the young archer returned with his Captain, Eowyn held out her hands to him and embraced Legolas Greenleaf as the old friend he was. "Legolas, you have not changed since last we met." The Shieldmaiden said formally; an accustomed if clichéd greeting to an elven friend. "But you, my lady, do look fairer still." Legolas replied, his astute senses noting her uncomfortable manner and halting, unfamiliar conduct. "I had heard you attended Eldarion's Celebration last season. Fares he not well?" "Indeed he does, Mellonamin. It was unfortunate that you could not be spared your duties to attend." "These woods do not walk themselves, my Lady. But I did have the good fortune to be present at the child's Sindarin ceremony at his recognition earlier this year." The event the Captain spoke of had been the most important festival in middle earth, Gondor's acceptance of a Half-Elf as their Prince, and his recognition in the line of Numenor and Elrond, himself Half-Elven. As these formalities had been completed, Eowyn introduced her party, her escorts silent, the ambassador effusive and vociferous, and her handmaid blushing furiously as she bobbed a curtsey. It was arranged that Eowyn and her party travel to the city of the Wood Elves, and Eowyn hoped to take some pleasure in their company, so different as it was from the Rohirrim. Eowyn felt pained by so much unwanted attention that required her to act other than how she felt, but knew that it was a fleeting pain and she would soon be allowed to lapse back into her accustomed manner. When a few days had passed, Eowyn spoke with Legolas again and at length, divining what she could of the account of Grima's demise, as it came second hand. That Grima had killed the evil Wizard Saurman with his own hand, she had not known, and proved a revelation in her feelings, such as they were, concerning Grima. The description was not one she cared to repeat, but played itself over in her dreams long afterward. She only voiced one of her multitude of thoughts upon the matter, that she would have done the same, had it been she in that situation. As it had long been assumed that Wormtongue was dead, Eowyn was not eager to let many know of her vision, except the few who may help her in her quest. At worst such knowledge could cause another war, and at best she might be thought mad. Therefore she was circumspect as to her reasons for her journey, intending to tell only Legolas of her true intentions when she was sure their voices could not be overheard. When at last they could arrange to meet alone, Eowyn told the handsome Captain of her vision, and her desire to seek Grima out. The Elf Prince answered as she had anticipated he would, waiting not for council beyond his years but deciding swiftly and resolutely. "I shall accompany you, my Lady, if you would wish it of me." "That would be wonderful." Eowyn replied with a smile, creating the illusion, at least on her part, of a friendly atmosphere. "I had intended to ask you, as I'm sure that you would be worth ten of my brother's horsemen on a journey such as this." Legolas laughed, "My thanks to you, my Lady. But there could be another you might wish to bring with us. We have amongst our midst a Ranger named Mirghast, a Kingsman, who has been lately trailing a horse thief from the Shire. If your tale is right then the man he has been tracking could be Wormtongue himself." "What indication do you have of this?" she said coldly, mistrustful. "From what he has told me, and as the man bears the seal of the King of Gondor; I have no reason to disbelieve him." "We shall see. Very well, we should consult him at least. How fairs he?" "Not well, my Lady. When our guards found him he was wandering on the edge of the woods in a fever; his affliction has since passed, but he needs some time to recover. As soon as he is strong enough I will let you know." The Elf left with a bow, leaving Eowyn to ponder his words.
And so the weeks passed none too quickly for the Lady of Rohan. Rayment, the obsequious ambassador, had made himself at home and begun his mission by attempting to talk to the Elf King, and being refused audience. Her two Horsemen escorts elected to return to Edoras, there being no need for horses in these dense woods, and that among the best archers in Middle Earth; their Lady was well protected. Eowyn was glad of this, as their uncouth grunting had been irritating to her ears, more used to silence and whispers. Eowyn's servant girl declined to leave her Mistress, claiming maidenly devotion, but in reality, Eowyn suspected harshly, she wished to remain to continue her friendship with an Elven guardsman she had been keeping much company with. For most of the time, Eowyn found to her pleasure, she was left alone. As visiting Royalty, she was entitled to impose upon another noble, and she was sure the Elves did not need any help from her, although she would have been glad to be useful. Instead she felt she was expected to wear her best long sleeved gowns and promenade around the city looking pretty, as the other Elven nobles did, or so it seemed. Eowyn suspected she could live out her life in the Elf King's halls and no one there would neither notice nor care. Prince Legolas had, she was told, been sent out on a border patrol and he would not be back for several weeks, and when she asked to see the Ranger she received nothing but confusion and blank looks. In her idleness she contemplated what lay ahead. After these weeks of nothingness, she longed to be once again on her way, but had no idea of where to search. The open road called to her, through the oppressive, claustrophobic trees, its song one she understood well. To be alone once more was what she yearned for, to not have to simulate feeling, and be true to the wind, however biting and coldly it greeted her. To find Grima was what she wanted, she knew. She was determined to reach him, find him and talk to him. To find out why he had betrayed her. Why he had left her...Eowyn shook herself, her thoughts becoming more indicative of personal feelings, ones that would never see the light of day. He was to be brought to justice, the last remnant of ancient evil. How could the man who had been so prominent in her childhood memories become so utterly evil? She did not know, but found herself hoping that he repented his evil ways. If he showed no remorse at his past, she would cut him down where he stood. If he repented, then...again she became muddled in her thoughts. Would she let him live, even then? So much death and violence had come to pass...could she bear more of it, by her own hand? Eowyn resolved to talk to Legolas about her errant thoughts when at length he returned, however much it pained her to reveal her feelings to one who might judge her ill. This winter in the Mirkwood left her with much time for thought, and at length she wondered how her people faired back in Rohan, whose open wilds she craved.