A/N: Gah! I'm a horrible person! I haven't updated this fanfic since July! I beg your forgiveness:falls on knees: Well, by way of explanation, let me say that over the summer I got into The Incredibles and have since been inspired mostly with Incredibles fanfic, and thus my poor G/E fandom has gotten rather neglected. Recently I've been getting back into LOTR mode, so hopefully updates will be coming more quickly now. Anyway, hope this chapter is enjoyable to all of my G/E friends, although I suspect my language is getting slightly more archaic than it has been in the previous chapters. A good thing, and a bad thing; it could possibly interrupt the flow. :shrugs: Ah, well. Drop me a review and tell me what you think! I live to serve you all: )

- - - - - - - - - -

Helm's Deep had a history of sorrow, as most fortresses of war do, and the flat gray stone walls conveyed that sorrow to every man, woman, and child residing within the dismal place. With war and battle and certain death approaching, it was hard to be cheery; but even so, the walls brought on an unnatural depression that Gríma did not appreciate, especially so since his mood was typically foul to begin with.

He should not, he considered, have felt so melancholy at this particular moment. Was he not about to achieve the prize he had so longingly sought for so many years of his existence? Should this not have found him in some lighter mood, rather than in the black unhappiness that fate found him in now?

It was the image of betrayal crossing Èowyn's face that was angering him so. She had not looked at him once since they had met with her uncle at the Keep; but he could imagine most vividly the look of utter hatred and revilement that he would see deep in her eyes when she discovered that he had betrayed her and her countrymen - his countrymen - once again. She would never love him then, but for a wizard's spell; and Gríma was no longer sure he was quite willing to pay that price.

"Your silence unnerves me, counsellor."

Gríma's eyes darted ahead once more, startled out of his thoughts by Èowyn's words. "It seemed you did not wish to speak to me, my Lady," he said softly. "I did not wish to intrude upon your thoughts."

"Indeed?" Èowyn said coldly. "In elder days fears of intruding upon my thoughts and time alone seemed rarely to concern you. You cannot have changed so much since last we spoke."

Gríma made a negligent motion with his hand. "My Lady, you would be surprised how certain events can so profoundly change a man's character that you would not know him, were you to see him."

"I know you when I see you," Èowyn said bitterly. "And I do not like what I see."

"You are among many, my Lady," Gríma said sardonically; "My face has been greeted by little pleasure even from my own mother."

"I imagine she is ashamed of you, and of what you have become," Èowyn said.

"Ah, you refer to my bargain with Saruman," Gríma said, quickening his pace so that he might walk beside her. "You should not have been so astonished by it, my Lady. Your brother guessed it rather more quickly than you did, I am afraid. And you always struck me as the cleverer of the two."

"You have no love for my brother."

"You would have need to be concerned if I held such love of your brother as I hold for you, Èowyn."

Èowyn stopped in her tracks and turned rapidly to face him, her face flushed and eyes glowing with a passionate rage. "How dare you speak so?" she demanded, and though her voice was low her words held great power. "You love me not; if you did, you long ago would have ceased your agreement with the White Wizard, knowing how deeply it would wound me!"

"Little that I did ever attracted my princess's notice," Gríma said rather resentfully. "How was I to win the love of such a one as you without aid from another?"

Èowyn turned from him, her eyes turning anywhere but his face. "You could have done it," she said softly.

"Indeed," Gríma retorted scathingly. "And with what, my princess? Inane tokens of my affection, as other men did often bring you in the days before my power? Perhaps a letter or a note expressing my love for you in the sweetest words? Such things my princess would have ignored. Those are the trinkets of boys and younger men who would as soon have you as they would have a whore. No, you deserved something more spectacular, my Lady. I always believed it so."

"And by 'spectacular' you mean a wizard's folly and lies," Èowyn said, her voice shaking with emotion.

"No," Gríma said, almost wearily. "There again you misjudge me. No, I sought Saruman in the hopes of learning a wizard's art, the better to turn your heart and eyes to me. A mere scholar was not enough for a princess; wealth was not enough to satisfy your wild and untamable heart. And what use is power to a princess, when already she has almost anything that she can ask for at her fingertips, other than her own freedom? Freedom I could not offer you, not then; and so I sought to find it for you. A wizard's abilities could combine all my talents to the greatest betterment of my person; and with a staff in my hands I might have been able - or so I thought then - to allow you the freedom you so desired - the ability to roam where you would, and battle with your countrymen, and never fear rebuke from others in our land."

Èowyn seemed startled by the revelation that his original intentions had been so pure. She studied him curiously with her brilliant green eyes. Gríma gazed steadily back, allowing himself briefly to drown in their bright depths.

"All I ever wanted, my princess, was to help you," he told her softly. "But you did not - will not - believe it. And thus the wizard's evil was begun. He convinced me that the only way to win you was within his power, and that my country must first be brought under his rule, before you could be mine. You will, I trust, forgive a lonely man for being only human, and thusly falling into the trap of one who should have been much more than human."

Èowyn continued to meet his gaze a moment longer, and then turned away again. "I still doubt you," she said quietly, and though her words were soft they were like the stabbing of a thousand knives to him.

He glared at her furiously. "Doubt me?" he repeated fiercely. "You cannot - you will never - understand what it is like to live as I have! You cannot know what it is like to love as I love you and be turned away a thousand times when both you and I know that only I could ever fully understand you! You do not know the pain, the agony I have endured, year after endless year, suffering through this pitiful existence, waiting for some sort of light to penetrate the darkness! And then, to find that light - only to watch it slip away…" He held out his hands and closed his fingers in front of him, staring almost blankly at the gesture, as though even he did not fully comprehend its meaning.

If he had looked at Èowyn, he might have seen her expression soften. But he did not; and after a moment she turned away. "And by the same token, you cannot comprehend what it is like to watch both your parents slip into lifelessness before your very eyes," she said, tears coming unbidden. "You do not understand the horror of watching the only man you have been able to admire as a father and friend slipping into senility and agedness. You do not know what it is like to see the frail state of your country and know that it could be so much more - and know that someone you once trusted may be causing that fragility."

The last phrase caught his attention, and he looked up from where his eyes had been resting. "You never trusted me," he said, but the words barely masked a hidden flame of hope.

"Oh, but I did, once," Èowyn said. "When I was very young, and when we first met. I trusted you then. I counted you among my friends when I was a girl. But it is amazing how rapidly things change when a girl grows to womanhood."

Gríma smiled ever so slightly. "Ah, my Lady, you do not understand the minds of men," he said gently. "It is to be expected that men will react differently to a young girl than to a woman suitably marriageable - especially one so extraordinary as yourself."

Èowyn made an attempt to hide it, but Gríma still caught the blush that spread across her cheek. "It was never an easy to change for me to adjust to," she said. "I had once been treated as the equal of my brother and my cousin, and suddenly, I was… different from them. I was treated as a fragile ornament that men feared they might break if they spoke too harshly or trod too hard upon it, and I hated it. I hated feeling as though I were too delicate, too fragile to exist on my own. I am a Shieldmaiden - I am no fragile decoration for a king's court!"

"And anyone who knows you well knows this, too, my Èowyn," Gríma said in a low voice. "This I have always known."

Èowyn sighed heavily and turned her eyes towards the Horn of Helm Hammerhand. "They send me to guard you," she said. "To do a duty safe inside these walls - but I could fight! I could be of more use than this in this war!"

"I am not of enough importance to warrant my lady's skills in battle, then?" Gríma said dryly.

Èowyn glanced at him. "I doubt you will have any need of a guard," she said. "Saruman's orcs will never break the barrier, and even if they do, I will do as little as I may to defend you."

The words stung, but Gríma did his best to make light of it. "Were I to die by my Lady's hand, I would not be unhappy," he said with a mocking bow.

When he rose, Èowyn was smiling ever so slightly, the corners of her perfect lips turned barely upwards. A smile from her, no matter how small, was rare, and Gríma was grateful for it. She turned, the rare and precious smile fading away, and said, "You should not scoff at me. Your life is in my hands, you realize."

"My life has ever been in my Lady's sweet hands," Gríma replied. "You only now have excuse to recognize it."

Èowyn began to walk once more, and silence descended upon the pair. Gríma followed her without objection, and wondered what thoughts were in Èowyn's mind.

After a brief walk across the wall of the Keep, they arrived at the main fortress. Èowyn pushed open the heavy door and entered it, turning sharply to the right. "My quarters are here," she said. "Undoubtedly you and I will remain here this night."

"Not the Caves, my Lady?" Gríma questioned in surprise.

"I would not go to the Caves, and you certainly cannot force me to do so," Èowyn said. "We will be well barricaded here."

"As you wish it, my princess," Gríma muttered, but he was clearly unhappy with this choice. Then again… here they would be alone. And was that not what he desired?

"You said you wished to speak with me," he said aloud, to avoid betraying himself to her. "What matter did you wish to discuss with your humble servant?"

"Your groveling disgusts me," Èowyn said sharply.

"Be that as it may, Èowyn, that is surely not what you so desired to say," Gríma replied calmly. "I would have you unburden yourself."

Èowyn snorted, but said nothing more for a while. Finally, she stopped walking and opened a door on the right side of the hall. "In here," she said, motioning him to walk before her. He entered and looked around the room. It was small and humbly furnished - a small bed, a few chairs, a table. It was undoubtedly luxurious compared to other rooms in this place; but Gríma had rather looked forward to greater comforts than these. Orthanc was hardly a place where luxury abounded; and he had sorely missed the few comforts that Meduseld had had to offer. He satisfied himself with a small wooden chair in the corner of the room, and dropped into it gratefully. His long ride and all the walking about Helm's Deep had made him wearier than he had known, until he had chance to stop and rest. Now he doubted that he could ever rise from this hard wooden chair again.

"You seem tired," Èowyn said, a small, worried frown creasing her otherwise perfect features. "Do you desire anything?"

Gríma shot her a rather penetrating look. "Indeed," he said, implying much more in that single word than he had in any phrase he'd ever spoken to Èowyn.

She pursed her lips and said, rather disgustedly, "That does not include me, my Lord."

Gríma sighed and closed his eyes, hiding his head in his hands. "My Lady should speak more clearly, then," he said. "If you meant to ask if I needed rest, then my answer is that rest can wait. I would not mind water, if it is available; if not, do not trouble yourself searching for it. You have yet to discuss with me what is weighing on your mind, and I can see that it weighs rather heavily. Speak, Èowyn. I would rather hear your words sooner than later."

Èowyn looked away and stared at the blank stone wall for a moment or two. Then, she turned and dropped onto the bed, studying her hands as though they held the answer to a great riddle. "If you desired me so much," she said tremulously, "Then why did you not tell me so?"

Gríma looked up indignantly. "Everything that I did should have told you so, my Lady!" he said sharply. "In every word, every action, every glance, every gift I ever gave to you, it should have been quite obvious!"

"It would have been, indeed, had I been older," Èowyn said. "You forget how young I was when first you made your bargain. I cannot have been over fourteen years."

"A perfectly marriageable age. Younger than you were then have been wed before."

"That may be as may be, Lord Gríma. But I was little versed in the desires of men; my brother forbade discussion of it, and he it was whom I sought for advice. He allowed no man or boy to set his heart on me; and when he no longer protected me, it was you who took his place, guarding me jealously against any invader who might threaten your claim to my hand. And still I did not understand what had changed between us. I knew that something in your behavior was different; but I did not know what; and by the time I realized its cause it was far too late for you to turn back. You should have spoken to me, or to my Uncle."

Gríma laughed bitterly. "Ah, your Uncle," he said, his words so cold they might have frozen fire. "Perhaps I should have. And then, perhaps I did."

Èowyn looked up, startled. "You spoke to him?" she repeated.

"Oh, yes," Gríma said, glaring at the wall as though it was to blame for whatever crime Théoden had committed. "I spoke to him once of my love for you. He forbade me to speak of it again. He told me I was not worthy of your hand; that I, a scholar and his most loyal advisor - ah, do not protest, my princess; for then I was indeed loyal - that I was too weak, too pitiful, too undeserving of your light. But no other suitor understood you as I did; and no other man loved you as I did. I thought, perhaps, that seeing this your Uncle might at last give in; but he did not. A streak of stubborn pride runs in the house of Èorl; and it is most strong in Théoden King. His folly was in denying you to me; and mine in loving you in the first place."

Èowyn was silent for a moment, considering his words. "You knew what you did was evil," she said after a moment. "Why did you agree to it?"

"It seemed everyone already considered me evil; I did not see the use in denying my darker nature any longer," Gríma said with a fatalistic shrug. "And for your hand… eternal damnation was a most acceptable end, if you would but love me for one moment."

"There could have been others."

"There always could have been, my Lady," he said wearily. "But there were not. Oh, do not think I did not seek another to be the object of my affection; but they were dimmed in comparison to you. Mayhap you do not believe that one has a single soul mate on this Middle Earth, but I cannot believe that such a one does not exist, when I have loved you as I do for so long."

Éowyn was quiet for a moment longer. Finally, she spoke again. "You murdered Théodred," she said. It was not a question. She was simply seeking confirmation of a fact she already knew.

Gríma looked away from her. "Yes," he replied. "I did. He was in the way of Saruman's plans."

Éowyn might have been angrier to hear this, had she not already arrived at the same conclusion, pondered it heavily in the dark hours when she should have slept, and finally adjusted to it. "I suspected as much," she said simply. "This you did not do out of love for me."

Gríma opened his mouth to protest, but closed it when he realized she was right. "No, I suppose I didn't," he said, turning his gaze blankly to the floor. "It was Saruman's command, and my own vengeance. Your cousin held no love for me."

"No," Éowyn agreed. "He intended to kill you when he returned."

Gríma did not seem surprised to hear this. "Ah, yes," he said somewhat bitterly. "An assassination attempt. I knew it would come at some time. In fact, I was rather surprised when neither of them did attempt my murder." He turned his keen eyes to her. "You did not warn me."

"I did not condone it," she said simply. "As I do not condone your murder of my cousin. But one of you would have died, one way or another; I would have been a fool not to see that."

Gríma smiled mirthlessly. "This war has made cynics of us all - even you, whom I had so hoped to leave untainted," he said.

"Perhaps you should have considered that before you made your bargain with the White Wizard," Éowyn said harshly.

Silence hung heavily between them for a moment. Then, a knock came at Éowyn's door, heavy - an armored man, no doubt. "My Lady?" Gamling's voice drifted through the thick wood. "Your Uncle has commanded that you and your… charge be seen safely to the Caves. We should go at once. The light is failing us."

Éowyn glared at the door, as though by doing so she could remain nearer to the battleground; but at last she relented and rose. "We come," she called, and then turned to Gríma. "We must go, then," she said, a touch of ice lacing her voice.

Gríma rose reluctantly from the wooden chair. "The Valar know I would hate to reject the command of my princess," he said, bowing sardonically. "We shall be on our way, then."

The pair walked into the hall in silence. Gamling was awaiting them, eyeing Gríma with a furious hatred. "I do not see how you have the fortune to remain out of battle," he said.

Gríma met Gamling's comment with cold disdain. "You would be advised to leave these matters to your King," he said. "He is rather more intelligent than you, and knows better the affairs of his state."

Gamling huffed, infuriated, but although he clearly wished to say more, he turned on his heel and stormed off. "This way," he said through gritted teeth.

The unenthusiastic pair behind him followed.