A/N: Aha! I'm amazing! I give you two chapters! Sing and dance and feed acorns to the happy chipmunks! Seriously, now… um… I wish I could tell you this chapter makes everything that happened in the last chapter ok, but it doesn't. I will do my best to update quickly so you will not have to suffer through waiting to find out what happens next. Apologies if I (once again) fail to uphold my promise. Thanks to everyone who reads and reviews! I love you all!

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Weeks passed, and talk of war in Gondor became common among the folk in Edoras. Even Gríma was not isolated from it, although he was confined to his bed for the majority of the following month. Éowyn shared with him what news she heard, as did a few guards and servants who passed through his room on occasion. By the time he was on his feet again and prepared to truly serve Théoden once more, he had already been well briefed on what was occurring.

Théoden repeated the information to him anyway when Gríma first resumed his old seat by Théoden's throne. "Gandalf has left us to fly to Gondor," he said somewhat bitterly. "One of the hobbits seems to have stolen a Palantir and seen Gondor's impending doom in it. They both go to warn him. Gandalf has asked me to go to Gondor's aid, should they require it. But Gondor never helped us in our time of need… why should we help them?"

He seemed to be asking Gríma's opinion, so Gríma said cautiously, "My liege, Saruman is no longer a threat; we must now look to our more dangerous enemies.

If the armies of Mordor defeat Gondor, then very little stands between Sauron's armies and ourselves."

Théoden glanced at the others surrounding him - Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, and Éomer. Éomer was the first to speak. "I still do not trust you, Gríma," he growled. "But, I must reluctantly agree. If Gondor falls, then it is almost certain that we will too. As Gríma said, there is no one else who will block Mordor's advance if Gondor falls."

Aragorn was nodding in agreement. "You must also think of what will happen after this war," he said softly. "If Mordor is defeated, everyone's interests will be much better served if we are not enemies. You will need an alliance with Gondor if all goes in our favor."

Legolas and Gimli nodded in agreement, but added nothing significant to the conversation. Merry hesitated, and then spoke up. "Théoden King," he said carefully, "I'd also like you to go to Gondor's aid. It's just… Pip's there and I'd like to see that he's taken care of. Besides, if Rohan falls, then the Shire is sure to follow. We have no weapons; we're a peaceful people by nature. We'll be crushed for certain. And that's why we came anyway, isn't it? The four of us hobbits, I mean. We came to make sure the Shire would be safe."

Théoden seemed especially moved by Merry's testimony. Clearly, Théoden had grown quite fond of the little hobbit in his time at Edoras. Gríma made certain their friendship was duly noted in his mind.

"We must be prepared to act on a moment's notice," Aragorn warned. "Gandalf will be sending us a signal any day now. When that signal comes, we must go at once to Gondor's aid."

Théoden nodded slowly. "Éomer, warn the Éorlingas to be prepared for a rapid departure," he said. "And you will also be in charge of sending messengers to the other parts of Rohan when the time comes. We will move quickly and go to Dunharrow as soon as we can, once the signal fire has been lighted."

Éomer nodded shortly. "Then it is decided?"

Théoden sighed. "I do not know," he said. "All of you claim that we must ride at once to Gondor's aid; but where was Gondor…" He hesitated and swallowed hard. "Where was Gondor when my son was killed?"

Éomer glared at Gríma, and Gríma looked away, his guilty eyes staring unhappily at the stone floor.

Merry spoke softly from the floor. "Begging your pardon, my King," he said, "But the eldest son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, is dead as well. Rohan wasn't there to save him either."

Théoden glanced at the hobbit in surprise. "Boromir is dead?" he repeated.

Legolas spoke from the midst of the group. "He traveled among the Nine Walkers," he said. "He was one of our group. He died trying to save Frodo from certain death. Saruman's orcs came after us in the hope of stealing the Ring first."

Gríma turned his eyes back to the group in confusion that he chose not to voice. Éomer was the only one who noticed, but he did not draw attention to Gríma's lack of information, either. Apparently Gríma was to be left out of this conversation, deliberately or not.

"When the time comes, I will make my decision," Théoden said after a moment of silence. "For now, we must be prepared to leave the instant a signal is sent us. Even if we do not ride to Gondor's aid, we must prepare for war."

The decision made, all present bowed and then departed the throne room.

- - - - - - - - - -

Gríma found Éowyn sitting in the grassy plain outside of Edoras' walls. He was not particularly surprised to see her sitting just beyond the boundaries of safety, and neither was he concerned for her. She was carrying a sword that was attached at the waist of her simple shift. Her golden hair was blowing in the wind, and she was sitting amongst the tall grass, eyes focused on the distance.

Gríma seated himself cautiously beside her. Although Éowyn had been his caretaker for the past few weeks, neither had apologized for the small spat they had had on the night of the celebration. Gríma was deeply remorseful and ready to put the incident behind them. He waited a moment for her to speak, and when she did not, he said quietly, "I'm sorry, Éowyn."

She did not look at him. "So am I," she said, and she sounded sad and lost.

The hopelessness in her voice terrified him, and his hand rose of its own accord to rest comfortingly on her shoulder. "Éowyn, what troubles you so?" he asked fearfully. "Please, unburden yourself. I would not see you so sad."

Éowyn sighed and closed her eyes, a single tear trailing down her cheek. "Do not ask me to tell you," she pleaded. "It is not a matter with which you can assist."

Gríma drew his hand back as though burned. "Why not?" he demanded.

"You are a very interested party."

Gríma felt panic rising inside him as he suddenly guessed exactly why she had been so formal and aloof with him since the night of the celebration. "You are to wed someone else."

Éowyn still did not move. "It has not been confirmed," she said.

Gríma's heart seemed to drop like a stone into his gut. Feeling dizzy and almost nauseous, he whispered, "Who?"

Now she truly did look at him. "Who do you think, Gríma?" she asked.

Another stab of pain, ripping across the nearly healed scar of his orc-inflicted wound, stopped to throb painfully just above his heart. "Aragorn is an honorable man, I suppose," he managed weakly.

For a moment, relief washed over her face. "You truly think so?" she asked, sounding delighted that he had released her in such a way. Any relief that she had shown, however, seemed to evaporate when she saw the expression on his face.

Now it was Gríma's turn to look away. "He is everything you deserve, Éowyn," he said painfully. Suddenly, a terrible anger built up inside him, and his hand clenched involuntarily, as though he were strangling the Ranger to death. "But, damn it all, Éowyn, I love you more than he ever will!"

"Gríma - " Éowyn rushed to soothe him, to try to explain, but there were no words that would calm him now. He leapt to his feet and backed away from her, betrayal written on every inch of his face.

"Why?" he demanded harshly. "Why do you hate me so much?"

Éowyn pulled herself up to her feet, too, and tried to be nearer to him, but he shrank back. "I don't hate you," she said, almost begging him to believe her. "I truly don't. You have changed so much, or at least you have shown qualities I did not realize you possessed; and I am… grateful to you for that."

An ugly sneer crossed Gríma's face. "Grateful?" he spat. "I don't want your gratitude, or your pity. Save it for someone who deserves it. Save it for your precious future King of Gondor, if you so desire. Surely he will have more use for it than I."

"Gríma!" Éowyn exclaimed. She should have expected him to react so violently, she truly should have; but she hadn't. She had expected anger, but she had not expected it to be so powerful. She tried to work frantically against his rage. "Will you at least listen to me?"

"No," he said flatly. "I won't."

He was in the midst of turning to rush back into Edoras when he froze and his eyes locked on the mountaintops behind Edoras. Éowyn, too, turned her eyes to see what he might be staring at, and, with a jolt of shock, saw the flicker of a fire on one of the peaks.

"Gondor," she breathed, and then she and Gríma both set off for Edoras at a dead run.

- - - - - - - - - -

Edoras was already in an uproar when they rushed into it. Théoden had clearly decided to answer Gondor's call; the Éorlingas were suiting up in their armor, women were rushing about packing items for their men, and horses were being saddled and prepared for the ride to Dunharrow.

Éowyn felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of battle, but it was quickly doused by the foul expression on Gríma's face. He took no delight in battle, and to him this war meant nothing but pain and suffering. At the moment, he looked like he would rather have died at that instant than live through the rest of the war and see its consequences.

His fury was plainly written on his face for all to see, and when they arrived at Meduseld, Théoden mistook it for displeasure at his decision. "This is what you advised me, Gríma," he said in a low voice to the counsellor. "Are you not pleased that I have listened?"

Gríma glanced at Théoden, startled. Clearly he had not even realized his king was near. "My liege," he said with a deep bow, "Forgive me. I am indeed pleased that you have chosen to go to Gondor's aid. Indeed, your sister-daughter and I saw the signal fire and ran as quickly as we could to tell you it was lit. You have already noted it, I see."

Éowyn was still flinching at the coldness in his voice as he had stated, "your sister-daughter."

Théoden had noticed it, too. "I have some errands that you might be able to help me with," he said, gently guiding Gríma towards one of Meduseld's many corridors. "Éowyn, go to the armory and help the men find swords, and see if you can clear the rust from those that are wearing down."

Not surprisingly, sending her to the armory also sent her in the opposite direction of Gríma. Éowyn turned and went to the armory without question. She trusted Théoden to talk some sense into Gríma.

- - - - - - - - - -

"You and Éowyn have fought," Théoden said bluntly when they were out of earshot of most of the servants.

Gríma smiled bitterly. "You are very straightforward, my liege," he said. "Yes, we quarreled a little."

"A little?" Théoden repeated incredulously. "I have never in all my life seen you address her so coldly, and believe me, I have seen more interactions between the pair of you than you realize." He stopped and turned to his formerly traitorous counsellor. "What happened?" he asked gently.

Gríma looked Théoden straight in the eye and asked tremulously, "Is it true Éowyn will wed Aragorn, son of Arathorn?"

Théoden raised his eyebrows. "I have not heard it mentioned," he said slowly, But I admit, it would hardly surprise me if that was what she chose."

Gríma looked away, a flash of pain crossing his face at these words. Théoden frowned slightly. "She told you she was to marry Aragorn, then?" he prompted.

"She said that it was not confirmed," Gríma said dejectedly.

"Clearly, then, he has not asked her." Here Théoden paused. "Of course, neither have you, counsellor."

"Éowyn knows my intentions," Gríma said with a small snarl. "She has been aware of them for some time now."

"That does not change the fact that you have not asked her," Théoden said. "Perhaps if you proposed formally…"

"No," Gríma said certainly. "She will have Aragorn, if he will have her; and I cannot imagine any circumstance in which he would refuse Éowyn."

Théoden began walking again, and Gríma followed a few paces behind. "I have heard rumor of an Elfmaiden in Rivendell," Théoden said cautiously. "One who fell in love with a mortal."

"You think of Luthien and Beren," Gríma corrected, but Théoden was already shaking his head.

"No," he said. "She is a different woman, and he a different man. Aragorn is that man."

Gríma looked up, startled. "You think Aragorn has promised himself to an Elfmaiden?"

Théoden shrugged. "It is only a rumor," he said, But since I overheard Legolas and Gimli speaking of it it may be more than a rumor."

Gríma felt a small flame of hope rising within him. "Then why does he tempt Éowyn so?" he demanded. "It's hardly fair to her."

"As I understand it, the Elves are leaving these shores," Théoden said slowly, piecing his theory together as he spoke. "Perhaps she, too, will leave; perhaps Aragorn cannot be certain what she will do. He finds himself interested in Éowyn, but he cannot know if the Elfmaiden he loves has gone or remained. I can hardly blame the man for wanting Éowyn. Can you?"

Gríma's hands clenched into fists, but he gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

Théoden laid a hand on Gríma's shoulder. "There is time yet, counsellor," he said softly. "This war is not yet over, and we may all be dead before we can make any worthwhile choices. Even if we do win this war, Éowyn will not wed someone unless asked. You would do well to remember that."

Gríma nodded again, and Théoden smiled slightly at him. "Pack a few significant things," he said. "We will be prepared to depart by late this afternoon. You will ride with us to Dunharrow, and there I will determine if you are well enough to ride with the others. If not, you will remain with Éowyn while she rules in my stead. Perhaps then you can discuss what will happen with Aragorn."

That was hardly what Gríma wanted to discuss when he would finally have the chance to be alone with Éowyn, but he could not say as much to her uncle. Instead, he bowed deeply and then rushed towards his quarters, anxious to find his journal and pour out his rage into its soothing pages.