A/N: Apologies for not updating sooner. And I'm not even giving you a happy chapter to read. I'll try to update with some slightly happier chapters soon. For now, this is what you get. Hope you enjoy it.

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The celebration of their victory at Helm's Deep was a lively event, strangely contrasting the solemnity of the many deaths that had occurred. Éowyn hardly noticed. It had been overlong since she had seen Théoden or her brother looking so happy. Their joy was infectious, and it spread quickly to her and the rest of the guests in the Golden Hall.

Éowyn was watching the dancing from the sidelines when Aragorn approached her. "I hope you are not angry with me for denying you the opportunity to ride with us," he said softly.

Éowyn glanced at him, and her eyes betrayed the deep hurt he had inflicted. "Do you not believe me capable, my Lord?" she asked softly.

He sat beside her, gazing earnestly into her eyes. "My Lady, I believe you may well be a more capable warrior than I," he said. "But your people need you here - as they will continue to need you here. You understand, don't you? Without Théoden and your brother here to guard Meduseld and its capital there will be none to rule in their places. You must remain behind for that very reason. It is your duty to protect Rohan in a different way."

Éowyn smiled slightly at the compliment, but looked away. "I am a Shieldmaiden," she said quietly. "I was made for battle."

"I know," Aragorn said gently. "I knew the moment I first saw you."

Éowyn looked up and met his eyes once more. There was a depth of understanding hidden in his gaze that Éowyn almost never saw, and she was drawn instantly to it, like a moth to flame. "You achieved much for us," she said, almost adoring. "Without you we surely would have lost hope and failed."

Aragorn waved away the praise. "You, too, did your duty for Rohan," he said. "You killed the orcs who broke into the caves and saved many lives by doing so."

The light in her eyes seemed to die. "Not as many as you did," she said sadly. "I could have done so much more…"

Aragorn lightly laid his hand over hers. "You were where you were needed, my Lady," he said. "And that is what matters most."

A smile began to grow on Éowyn's face. She was searching for the right words to say when he brother dropped down beside her and threw his arm around her shoulder. "You should hardly be sitting on a bench in the corner, little princess," he said fondly, kissing her on the cheek. "Should you not be dancing, or gossiping with the maids?"

"Or besting you at your swordplay," she retorted, lightly pushing him on the shoulder.

He laughed merrily. "I cannot deny that you are quite a warrior," he said. "Wormtongue can attest to it. He'd be dead without you."

"Many would be dead if your sister had not stopped the orcs," Aragorn concurred. "She is quite an extraordinary woman. You are very lucky." He stood, took Éowyn's hand in his, and lightly kissed her fingers. "Westu Éowyn hal," he said softly, and then turned and disappeared into the crowd. Éowyn watched him leave, a terrible, aching longing for a dream she could never achieve growing inside her.

"He is a good man," Éomer whispered into her ear. "And I am happy for you. Will you have him?"

Éowyn blushed and turned to look at her brother. "If he asked," she said delicately, "Then, yes."

Éomer's eyes sparkled. "He will ask, sister," he promised. "He will ask."

Éowyn's heart leapt to her throat at the words. Aragorn was such a good and honorable man - with him, she could be everything she ever wanted and more. He would be her freedom, ending the darkness of her life. As her husband -

She stiffened suddenly as the word husband crossed her thoughts. Gríma rose unbidden in her mind, conjured by a word that should never have been attached to him. How would he react if she were to tell him that she and Aragorn were to be wed? She would have to be the one to tell him; he would not kindly accept her cowardice if she could not say it to his face. She could already see the look of utter betrayal and rage crossing his face, the look of utter wounded rage in his eyes.

Gríma would rather slit his own throat than see Éowyn wed another man. And it was not only his own throat he would be willing to cut. Lives, even thousands, might be put at stake if Éowyn spurned him once again.

Éowyn sighed and laid her head against her brother's shoulder. She was so tired of duty; tired of being forced to do something for the good of her country, rather than doing something for her own happiness. She wanted to be free.

"Something is troubling you, little princess," Éomer said, frowning in concern. "You should be happy this night."

Éowyn sat up and forced a smile. "I am happy," she promised. "I am merely tired. These past few weeks have been trying for us all."

"Indeed," Éomer agreed, his expression clearing. He kissed Éowyn's forehead again and commanded gently, "Go to your chambers and rest. I can see you are quite weary, and sleep will be much needed. Soon, perhaps, the battle will be at our doorstep; and all of us must prepare for when that day comes."

Éowyn nodded, quietly bid Éomer good night, and left the throne room at a slow, melancholy pace, her mind still caught on her future and what might become of her.

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Gríma awoke shivering with cold, and realized that he had kicked his furs to the end of the bed. He felt weak and dizzy; and even if he had had a strong desire to do so, he did not have the strength to reach for them.

Fortunately, not long after he awoke, the door to his chambers opened and Éowyn entered. She looked sad and troubled, her eyes downcast and her forehead creased in a slight frown. She looked up and saw Gríma watching her, and forced a smile. "I thought you would be sleeping," she said.

"I awoke moments ago," he said, shivering involuntarily.

Éowyn noted the furs pushed to the end of the bed and quickly moved to cover him again. "You must keep these on," she chided. "The night is cold."

"I am aware of it," Gríma said sardonically, gripping the furs with one hand and pulling them up around his chin. "How goes the feast?"

"Well enough," Éowyn said shortly. "But I am weary, and am retiring early from the festivities."

Gríma looked surprised. "So soon?" he questioned. "The night is still young, is it not?"

"I'm tired," Éowyn said a bit too sharply. She seemed to realize it, and she looked down in embarrassment. "My apologies," she whispered. "I don't know what's wrong with me…"

Gríma propped himself up weakly on one elbow. "Something is clearly troubling you, my Éowyn," he said concernedly. He noted a slight flinch at the possessive used before her name, and felt a stab of pain in his gut. "What weighs so heavy upon your heart?"

Éowyn sighed. "Many things," she said. "Things that are of no concern to you."

"You can trust me," Gríma promised.

"So you told my uncle when you came into his service," Éowyn snapped, another unnecessarily bitter comment. Gríma drew back in surprise, his gaze hurt. Éowyn looked remorseful and made an attempt to apologize by offering him tea.

"No, thank you," Gríma said flatly, dropping back onto the bed and closing his eyes tightly. "You are tired, as am I. We need our rest."

"Gríma- " Éowyn said softly, laying a hand on the furs.

"Go to bed, Éowyn," Gríma said firmly. Éowyn started to object, and he snarled, "I said go!"

Éowyn bit her lip so hard it began to bleed, and then turned and fled the room.