One day you'll see her and you'll know what I mean;
Take her or leave her she will still be the same
She'll not try to by you with her time
But nothing's the same, as you will see when she's gone…
Éowyn brought Gríma to a new understanding of himself with every moment he spent with her. Perhaps that was why he loved her so much; because she was so unabashedly herself, and by being so, made him the same way.
From the first glance, he knew he loved her and would always love her; from the first word that passed her lips he knew he would treasure everything she ever would speak until the day he died; from the moment he first touched her, he knew he would never be capable of touching another and feeling that way - the way that words, no matter how reliable they typically were, could never describe.
She lived in a world of light and swords and horses, of plains and freedom and the wild Rohirric wind. Sometimes, when she was feeling particularly generous, she bestow upon him the briefest of smiles, and with that miniscule gesture would take him away to that beautiful place. In her precious world, he was so much more than a traitor, so much more than Gálmód's bastard, so much more than a lowly counsellor. There, he thought, he could be everything he'd ever dreamed, and more; he could be worthy of her love, when he stumbled into the brilliant light of her safe, secret place.
He craved those moments, awaited them ravenously, and wept when they were gone.
