A/N: Thanks everyone for all of your reviews!
I had said it myself. It was not safe here. And yet Éowyn had risen from my side and had gone somewhere alone, leaving me in the tent. Though my mind was yet benumbed with cold, I knew that something was very wrong. Moving slowly, I lifted myself from our bedroll, and my shaky fingers fumbled with the sodden clothes that I found piled nearby. I could feel a warm wetness seeping down my neck, and momentarily dizzy, I thought to lie back down and rest as my wife had bid me. But when I heard voices outside and realized that she was not alone, I quickly dressed in what clothing I could readily find, and buckled on my sword belt before I exited the tent, stepping past the fire and into the frigid air.
A man with long dark hair, dressed in a long, black cloak, had his back to me, and he was slowly advancing on my wife as he spoke, and I wondered why she did not back away from him. But as I moved toward them, I listened to his words, and I realized that this man, this Grima Wormtongue, had been stalking her for years. And the words, the unrepeatable filth that was flowing from his mouth as he spoke to my Éowyn, made me realize why she had not wished to tell me the whole story of this man's role in her life. I could no longer hold my tongue.
"What do you think you are doing?!" I growled, and Wormtongue started and then froze in place.
"Lord Steward, I am surprised by your resilience," he spoke. "I had not thought that you would be strong enough to rise so soon after your accident. I regret that you were not killed outright, but I had not thought that your wife would prove so heroic." His words dripped venom, and I wondered at Éowyn's stillness, my heart filled with dread.
"What have you done to her?" I asked, and he turned toward me, keeping her behind him, keeping a hand clamped around her forearm. His pale gaze was powerful, and I suddenly felt lightheaded under his scrutiny. I drew my sword. "Let her go," I said, fully intending to kill him when I was certain that Éowyn was safely away from him.
"Lord Steward, I hold no weapon in my hand. It would be most dishonorable for you to slay an unarmed man in cold blood." For a moment I considered his words, thinking that they held some merit, but then I cleared my thoughts of his influence.
"You are no better than a rabid dog and should be treated as such." My voice rose in anger. "How dare you speak to my wife in that manner? How dare you lay your hands upon her?"
"She was mine before she even knew of your existence, Lord Steward. How could you wed her when she already belonged to another?" Doubt filled me for a moment, but when I looked at Éowyn's face, seeing the fear in her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks, I knew that none of his words held a shred of truth, and, indeed, he was attempting to weave a spell around me with his voice as my wife had warned me he was capable.
"I should cut your throat for even thinking such!" I hissed.
"How would the Steward of Gondor explain away a cold-blooded killing in the wilds of Dor-en-Ernil? Your conscience will not allow you to cover your crime, will it?" He was attempting to overcome me with his words, and the lightheadedness returned. "Your will is no match for mine, Lord Steward." Before I could think, there was a dagger in his hand, and then everything happened at once.
Wormtongue did not kiss me. Dimly, I realized that we were not alone, and when Grima turned away from me, I saw Faramir standing there in his shirt sleeves, the expression upon his pale face wild yet weary. I could not force my tongue to form the words to warn him away from us, as I stood there uselessly, knowing that Grima might slaughter my husband before my eyes at any moment.
The buzzing in my head made it nearly impossible to hear the words that were exchanged between them, but I could see Faramir plainly as he drew his sword, and his emotions wavered between outrage and doubt. Grima was trying to ensorcel my husband with his words, but Faramir was fighting him, and when he looked to me, I tried desperately to speak, but my voice was frozen.
When his eyes flicked back to Grima, he was wroth again, but when Wormtongue spoke, I thought that Faramir might collapse as the blood fled his face. As the spell tightened around him, I was amazed to find that the one around me seemed to loosen. Then I saw the dagger appear in the worm's hand.
"Faramir!" I cried, my tongue at last loosened as Grima flung the blade toward my husband. My hand found my sword at my waist, and I drew it instantly, even as I saw the dagger embed itself in Faramir's side as he turned himself too late to dodge the weapon. Miraculously, he kept his feet, his face a mask of rage and pain, and with a growl, he lunged forward embedding his blade in Grima's gut, even as I ran the evil worm through from behind.
Wormtongue stiffened, gasped and then choked as our blades were withdrawn, but even as he slumped to the ground, I was already next to my husband, supporting him against my side. I glanced down at Grima, who lay bleeding in the snow. His mouth was working, though I could hear no words. I prayed that he could yet hear mine. "I hope that my uncle and my cousin are waiting for you just beyond the veil, worm. I am certain that they would like to speak with you about your abominable behavior during these past few years." With a shudder, his eyes closed for the last time, and I silently rejoiced to be free of him finally.
Faramir was shivering with cold as he looked down at me in the growing gloom, a strength in his gaze that belied his physical state. He said naught as I carefully led him back to our tent to tend to his wounds and then tell him everything about my past.