Éowyn stood alone for a long while, darkness settling around her and swallowing her whole. She heard men speaking in distress, but their voices were distant and swirled like water around her. Her disbelief and pain slowly sank into her bones, burning her all the way through to her soul.

Aragorn had denied her. Despite what her brother had said and despite what had seemed Aragorn's most obvious intentions, he had not returned her love. How was it possible? He had appeared to care for her. He had looked at her with such intensity and affection; he had seemed to know her, to understand her better than any other man.

No. Not any other man. There was one who knew her better…

Éowyn jerked abruptly from her heartbroken trance. No. Gríma could not help her. Her fists clenched involuntarily, and she angrily wiped tears from her cheeks. She could not stand the thought of facing him and admitting that he had been right when he had told her Aragorn's desires were not at all what she thought. She had supposed he had been lying then, a pathetic attempt to drive her from the man she loved; but he must have known something that she had not…

The thought only made her angrier. If he had known, then surely her brother or uncle had also known. How could they have encouraged her fragile and innocent adoration when they had surely realized that her hopes could never come to fruition?

Éowyn abruptly steeled herself, the tears ceasing to flow from her eyes, her face hardening and going still. She had a talent for numbing her emotions; it had earned her a reputation describing a stern nature and a cold, bitter aloofness. It was her method of escape. If she froze her emotions, stilled the agony in her heart and swallowed her despair, it could no longer destroy her. Instead, it ate silently at her soul, rending her from the inside out. It was a terrible price to pay to hide her pain, but Éowyn daughter of Éomund had never felt the need to share her agony with anyone.

She turned and walked into the camp. Her step was slow and measured, her face grim. If any that she passed could tell that she had been weeping, they did not acknowledge it. In fact, most of them did not seem to notice anything was amiss. Their eyes were downcast and their faces as dour as Éowyn's. She did not pause to ask what the trouble was, but inwardly she wondered what had put the soldiers in such a bleak mood.

When she reached the middle of the camp, Gamling spotted her and acknowledged her with a small bow. "I see by your look that you are already aware of Aragorn's departure," he said.

Éowyn could not keep a small flinch from flickering across her face. Oh, she knew, knew it more acutely than Gamling ever would. "The Riders are disheartened," she said softly, her voice betraying her own sadness.

Gamling nodded. "Without Aragorn, we have no hope of defeating Sauron's army," he said, and he sounded almost angry.

"We had no hope of that at the start," Éowyn said flatly. "Our numbers are not great enough. Even the son of Arathorn could not lead us to victory."

Gamling had known this, of course, but to hear it from her seemed to make the situation worse. "Then why did Théoden King bring us here?" Gamling demanded. "To die for honor? I have a family to care for, and a home to defend! I should not waste my time on useless battles that we cannot win!"

Éowyn's rebuke was swift and her voice sharp. "My uncle does what is best for his people," she said severely. "There is some wisdom in this that you and I cannot yet see."

"He did not always do what was best for us," Gamling muttered. "He trusted the Wormtongue and let that same bastard use him as a puppet through which Saruman ruled our lands."

"That was not his fault!" Éowyn cried. Her hand leapt of its own accord into the air, as though to strike Gamling, but she forced herself to let it drop. "You will not speak of Théoden King this way," she warned, "Or you will be branded a traitor and banished."

"Banished?" Gamling scoffed. "As Gríma has been banished from our lands? If such would be my punishment, then label me a traitor, my Lady. I fear such men are the ones who will be rewarded ere this war is ended."

Éowyn had nothing to say to this remark. She glared icily at Gamling and then turned away, a pale golden ghost disappearing into the blackness of the night.

- - - - - - - - -

Gríma watched from opening of his tent as Éowyn made her slow and careful way towards her own shelter. He had not seen what had occurred, but he had already guessed that Éowyn knew that Aragorn had gone. The hardened expression on her face confirmed his thoughts. So she knows he has abandoned her, he thought, And it has wounded her deeply.

He stepped out from his tent and gave a sweeping bow. "My princess," he murmured.

"I do not wish to see you," Éowyn spat, and the venom in her voice startled Gríma so greatly that he almost fell.

He managed to recover himself and stood once more, his body rigid. "Why do you speak so harshly to me?" he demanded. "You have no right. Indeed, it is I who should have reason to quarrel with you."

"It is only so in your twisted mind," Éowyn snarled. "Will you never leave me be, damnable traitor? I want nothing to do with you! Take your leave of me at once. Indeed, I would consider you wise if you chose to flee this place entirely." When he still remained, gazing at her with a deeply injured stare, she cried, "Go!"

His eyes hardened, and he bowed again, if only slightly. "As you wish it, Lady Éowyn," he said in a low voice, barely containing his anger. "I will leave you…" He paused, and then glanced at her significantly. "…for now."

"For now?" Éowyn repeated, nearly erupting with her rage. "And why not forever, as I would ask of you? Can you not understand that I wish to be alone?"

Gríma bravely took a step closer. "You want time to yourself for awhile," he corrected. "But this I know for certain: you do not wish to be left alone forever. You have been abandoned and left to yourself all your life. Your mother and father, your uncle, your cousin, your brother, even your beloved Aragorn have all left you behind. Maybe you will pretend you wish me to do the same, but I will not abandon you as they did – ever."

Éowyn was suddenly speechless, her eyes glistening with tears. Her words had hurt Gríma deeply, but he could not bear to see the torment in her face. "Éowyn," he said softly, reaching out to touch her cheek. "I am truly sorry… I did not ever wish to cause you pain, or to allow any other to do the same…"

The tears overflowed as Éowyn closed her eyes tightly. Her fragile composure shattered and she bit her lip so hard it bled as she tried to hold back sobs. Gríma rushed to her side and made to embrace her, but she pushed him away. "No," she choked, "Not now. Please. Just let me be alone…" She opened her eyes and looked at him penetratingly. "…for now."

Gríma smiled slightly despite himself. "As you wish, princess," he murmured.

She drew in a deep shuddering breath and turned from him, entering her tent with the same precise, slow step. Gríma watched awhile longer before turning and disappearing back into his own tent to wait for her.

- - - - - - - - -

Éowyn laid in her tent for a long time, alternately weeping and murmuring terrible curses under her breath as she hid beneath her warm furs. She let her sadness and loneliness wash over her, let them crush her in their merciless grips, let them nearly destroy her. When at last she was completely hollowed out, shattered and broken with no tears left to shed, she pushed back the furs and crawled from her makeshift bed. It took an amazing effort of will to pull herself to her feet, and Éowyn wondered how she would survive the following days if even such small tasks weighed so heavily upon her. For the moment, successful in her small venture, she focused all of her attention on walking across the way to Gríma.

Having allowed herself to be broken, she now needed someone who could begin the slow process of healing her. Gríma had extended the invitation to do exactly that, and Éowyn fully intended to take it.

The camp was dark and still, yet uneasy. Éowyn's eyes flickered all around her, watching the camp for any signs of movement. Although nothing stirred and no one spoke, she suspected that few of the Riders were truly sleeping. They knew the fate that awaited them when they would leave the following morning, and they feared it. They knew images and premonitions of the upcoming battle would be all that greeted them, should they fall prey to sleep, and thus they remained awake, eyes wide and frightened and bodies tensed.

Éowyn was almost grateful that she was not one of these soldiers, and that she would not be kept awake by the horrors of war. Yet, death on the battlefield seemed to her a better place than Dunharrow, for here all her hopes and desperate wishes for the future had been destroyed. Without that future, there was nothing.

Nothing, except…

Éowyn pushed back the flap to Gríma's tent and entered unannounced. Gríma was characteristically instantly aware of her presence, even though she had not made a sound. "Ah, my princess," he murmured, rising from his bed. "I wondered when you would be coming."

"You did not think that I might choose not to come?" Éowyn questioned, almost offended that he had assumed she would appear.

Gríma looked at her shrewdly. "You would not wish to be alone," he said calmly. "Not all of tonight. Your loneliness would drive you out in search of some variety of companionship to fill the void that Aragorn has left in you. There would be no point in resisting the offer I made to you."

"I suppose the fact that you were a traitor to my country would not suffice as an excuse?" Éowyn questioned sullenly, stepping further into the tent.

"No, it wouldn't," Gríma replied. "For have I not already shown myself to be loyal to your country again?"

Éowyn closed the distance between them rather abruptly. Gríma almost took a step back, but clearly forced himself to remain where he was. Something in his eyes told Éowyn the slight space separating them was almost unbearable to him. "Why do you always refer to it as my country?" she asked softly. "It's your country too."

Gríma shook his head. "Rohan will never be my country, Éowyn," he said bitterly. "The way in which it has wronged me, and the ways I have wronged it, have separated us forever."

"If you did not hold so strong a grudge, then Rohan would welcome you back someday," Éowyn said.

"Someday," Gríma muttered. He changed the subject. "What happened tonight? Did you see Aragorn when he left?"

Éowyn had thought her emotions drained, but the pain rose fresh in her throat as though she had not spent the past hours weeping. "I saw him," she said quietly, turning her eyes to the ground. "I tried to stop him from leaving. I asked him why he would abandon us – why he would abandon me… and I told him, although not so directly, that I loved him." She closed her eyes, and a sigh shuddered through her body. "He told me that I loved naught but a shadow and a doubt; that he could never be the man I made him in my dreams. And so he left me." Anger exploded suddenly inside her. "How could he do this to me?" she demanded furiously. "He had seemed to care for me –!"

"He did care for you, Éowyn," Gríma interrupted. "He admired you, I think, and were his destiny not different from yours, if his beloved had not remained for him… then perhaps he might have taken you as his wife."

Éowyn glanced curiously at Gríma. "His beloved?" she repeated. "Who is she?"

Gríma shrugged slightly. "An elf of Rivendell, the daughter of Lord Elrond Half-Elven, it is rumored."

Éowyn started in surprise. "An elf?" she said, and then sighed slightly. "Well, of course she is an elf. How am I, a mortal woman, to compete with the beauty and elegance of an elf maid?"

"You are fairer than any of their kind," Gríma protested.

"You have never seen an elf," she accused.

"I have seen elves, my Lady," he stated matter-of-factly. "Once when I was a boy I wandered far and came across a band of them. And though they were indeed as beautiful as tales claim, still I find you fairer than any of their race."

Éowyn looked taken aback. "Why?" she finally managed to say.

Gríma pondered this for awhile. "Elves are creatures of great wisdom, ethereal, older than any of our race," he said slowly. "They seem… above us, I suppose, almost like a trick of the light – you might reach out to try and capture one, but they will merely slip through your fingers." He looked at her with such obvious adoration that she blushed. "But you, my Lady," he said, "Your beauty is like theirs, only closer to the human heart. You are glorious beyond compare, yet I could still reach out and touch you… you are one of us and yet not so, the spirit of an elf in the bettered body of a human."

Éowyn looked away. "Once again your silver tongue sets me to shame," she said. "You flatter me, my Lord."

"I tell only of what I see." He dared to reach out and brush a lock of golden hair from her face. "I am sorry that he has abandoned you and left you such pain, my Lady," he said gently. "I saw how deeply you loved him."

Éowyn met his gaze again. "And you were envious," she pointed out.

"As any man should be when you turn your eyes to someone else," Gríma said simply. "I suppose I've grown comfortable with the knowledge that someday you'll be mine. But the promise made has been shattered, and there are no more guarantees."

She studied him for a minute, and then asked, "How did Saruman intend to keep me for you? He knew I did not love you."

Surprisingly, Gríma didn't flinch at the question. "I know little of Saruman's plans, for if he did not feel that it was something I could assist with, then he would not tell me of it," he said. "I suppose he would have cast some variety of spell on you, or perhaps he would have given you some potion to turn your heart and eyes to me. Or perhaps he would merely have captured you and kept you locked away in his tower, in some dark room where I could always find you if I desired it." He shrugged slightly. "I dared not question him about what I was to receive. I assumed my payment would come, and that was that."

"Would he have given me to you?" Éowyn questioned.

Gríma chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh, no," he said bitterly, still smiling in grim amusement at his own foolishness. "No, my dear, he would have slaughtered us both – you first, most likely, so I could watch as he tormented you and brought you to your end. By killing you, he would have slain me too, for even if he chose to release me after murdering you, I would have killed myself. I would have had nothing to live for."

Éowyn sighed and hung her head. "I suppose he manipulated you also in that regard, as he manipulated my uncle and the rest of us through you," she said sadly.

Gríma tilted her chin upwards. "That time has passed, Éowyn," he said. "Saruman is gone, and both you and I are free to choose our paths in this war."

The words touched something deep within Éowyn. All her life, her path had been set before her – become a lady of the court, become a princess, become a wife. No one asked her what she wanted, and certainly no one listened to a girl's foolish dreams of becoming a warrior. Even Gríma had often denied her the freedom she craved most, even though she supposed his intentions were purer than she had assumed before.

We are free to choose our own paths.

She arrived at a decision quite suddenly. She straightened determinedly and met Gríma's now curious gaze. "I'm going with the Riders tomorrow," she said softly.

He did not seem surprised. "I thought you might intend that," he said with a sigh. "I would warn you against it, but nothing I can say or do will hinder you." He studied her for a moment, and then said, "You realize it is your death that you ride to?"

She nodded.

He sighed again. "I suppose nothing is certain," he murmured painfully. He reached out and cupped her face in his hands. "Then tonight is the last time I will see you," he said regretfully. "And the last time you will see me."

Éowyn nodded again, her eyes locked with his. They stood in silence a moment longer, and then he bent forward and kissed her deeply. Éowyn made no move to stop him, and indeed, returned the kiss. Gríma closed the space between them and embraced her tightly, as though he was terrified of releasing her.

When they broke apart, breathing heavily, Gríma spoke suddenly. "I know this is your path, my Lady, and that you must follow it to its end," he said agonizingly. "But tell me one thing: if you return from this battle alive – if by some miracle the Valar see fit to spare you – will you marry me?"

Éowyn hesitated, and then nodded. It was an empty promise, she knew, as did he; there was no return in store for her. She intended to die with honor, not to be brought home and made to bend to the wishes of a man. The promise lingered between them for awhile, silence encompassing them as Gríma stroked Éowyn's hair and Éowyn rested her head on his shoulder. At last, Éowyn broke the silence. "When I have gone, you must rule in my place," she said.

Gríma pulled back, stunned. "You would place me on the throne?" he asked incredulously.

"You will take this responsibility with the promise of my hand if Rohan is kept safe," Éowyn said calmly. "If you return to Sauron then rest assured you shall never have me."

Gríma smiled bitterly. "The chances that I might ever have you are very, very remote, my dear," he said. "You intend to let yourself die, and if you are spared you will come to me an unhappy bride."

"Not unhappy," Éowyn said softly. "Not if you care for Rohan in my absence. No matter how you wish to believe otherwise, Rohan is your land too."

Gríma studied her with a frown on his face, considering her offer. Finally, he nodded curtly. "It is done, then," he said. "You will have to leave a letter for the others, signed in your own hand, that states your wishes. Even that may not convince them."

"It will when they see that it states they have the right to execute you should it be conclusively decided by all around you that you have betrayed Rohan," she said with a small smile.

"Perfect," Gríma muttered, "Now they can slay me without any provocation."

"They must have proof of your betrayal," Éowyn protested.

"And if you are not here to oversee this process, my fair one, then who is to say that they will follow your command?" Gríma questioned.

"If they value their honor – which they do – then they will heed me," Éowyn said certainly.

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. "I should go," Éowyn said quietly.

Gríma twisted the fabric of his robes in his hands. "You don't have to," he mumbled. "You could… stay with me…" He flushed at his own inarticulateness and the daring of his request.

Éowyn hesitated briefly, considering. Then, to his astonishment, she nodded.

Gríma stared at her for a moment in disbelief. A dazzling smile crossed Éowyn's face, and she chuckled in amusement. She floated lightly past him, bent, and blew out the candles illuminating his tent. "Well, my Lord?" she whispered.

Gríma reached out and pulled Éowyn close to him again. "I love you, Éowyn," he whispered huskily.

She smiled in the dark. "I know."

- - - - - - - - -