The ride to Minas Tirith was long and unpleasant. The sun beat down upon the weary and heavily armored soldiers, veritably roasting them inside the hot chain mail and metal. Their sweat made the tunics they wore beneath their armor cling closely to their skin. The fabric chafed against their backs and sides, itching terribly – yet still they moved forward, until it was far too dark for them to continue.

The night, when it came, was most welcome to Éowyn. She had ridden long distances before, of course – after all, her people were the horselords. But she had never had to ride in armor, and never in such heat. Gondor, she concluded, must be impossibly hot even in the winter.

She also felt a great deal of pity for her charge, young Merry, who appeared as hot and sweaty as she. He almost fell from the horse when she dismounted; she had to quickly catch him and set him on the ground before he injured himself. He sat dazedly amidst the grass while Éowyn tethered her loyal horse to a nearby tree. When she was through with this task she came and sat beside him, offering him some water from a flask she carried. He drank ravenously until she pulled it away. "Careful, do not waste it," she warned. She took a few careful sips herself and looked around at the various soldiers setting up tents around them. "Today was hard for you," she said sympathetically, keeping her voice quiet to avoid drawing attention to her unnaturally feminine appearance and tone.

Merry sat up a little straighter and lifted his chin, pride coming into his eyes. "No harder than for you," he said. "Although I admit I am not accustomed to riding so far… nor on such a large animal. And it's hot."

Éowyn smiled a little and nodded her agreement. "It was difficult for me as well, as you have already guessed," she said. "I haven't ridden in armor before… or at least, not for such a great distance."

Merry grinned. "I imagine that you must have practiced fighting on horseback in armor at least a little," he said. "You seem to be such a –" Here he paused, glancing about nervously to see if other soldiers might hear. " – Such a woman," he finished in a low whisper.

She sighed. "My practice occurred less than I would have liked," she said. "My brother was too often there to disapprove… and then there was Gríma…"

Merry frowned slightly at the mention of the name. "This morning," he said hesitantly, "I saw you leaving his tent. You didn't… er… stay, did you?"

Éowyn flushed bright red beneath the helmet. "I don't see how that's any of your business, Meriadoc," she said angrily.

He had the decency to look ashamed. "Sorry, milady," he murmured. "It just seemed a bit… odd – seeing as how he betrayed your country and all that, as I understood it. I guess I just wondered…" He shook his head. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business, as you said."

Éowyn didn't respond. Her green eyes were troubled as she stared back in the direction they had come, a concerned frown on her face. They would have discovered her disappearance by now, back at the camp – and Gríma and the guards would have explained the situation to the few remaining people at Dunharrow. Her servant was there to defend his story as well as the guards, but still she wondered if they would believe him. Hatred for Gríma son of Gálmód ran deep in Rohan; there were many who would look for veritably any excuse to slay him.

Doubt crept into her mind. She shouldn't have left him behind as she had. He would have to struggle for even the slightest ounce of authority – and there would be no way for him to rule openly in her place. The Rohirrim would never accept him. Everything he did would have to be in secret. She trusted him to devise some variety of plan – the Valar knew he was clever enough – but it wasn't fair of her to thrust such a difficult task upon him after all he'd been through.

Besides, it was her duty to take care of Rohan, now that her uncle and brother were gone and her cousin was dead. That was the task she had been charged with, and she had recklessly abandoned it in favor of death. She wanted to die, wanted a glorious end to an impossibly painful life – but by leaving, had she destroyed her country and those dearest to her?

Gríma. How would he survive without her? Such a conceited thought, she realized angrily, but still true. He loved her, wanted her, almost seemed to need her if he were to survive. Without her, he had nothing. Without her he was empty and abandoned in a land that despised him. And she had chosen that fate for him. She had left him, knowing what her people would do to him – knowing what her death would do to him – and he had accepted it passively, swallowed the bitter poison she had handed him so thoughtlessly, all because she had commanded it. Because he loved her.

How could she have done such a thing, knowing somewhere in her heart that she loved him, too?

Frustrated tears slipped out from beneath her helmet. He didn't deserve her heart in so many regards; but neither did she deserve his, if this was how she repaid him his affection.

"My Lady?"

Merry's voice was soft but concerned. He moved closer to her and reached up to touch her cheek. "Please, forgive me if I made you cry," he said worriedly. "I didn't mean –!"

Éowyn hurriedly wiped the tears away. "It's not your fault," she said, furious with herself for allowing her emotions to show so openly. "I am merely… I am concerned. I have… placed many people I care about in very difficult positions by coming here."

"You want to defend your people," Merry reassured her. "So do I. That's why we're both here."

"You have every right to be here," Éowyn said sadly. "But I have other places in which I am needed. I came here with the intent to die – nothing more. But that is my own selfish need, and not what Rohan asks of me."

Merry bit his lip. "I think… well, I think maybe we'll all die," he said sadly. "Maybe we'll survive to the ending of all this, but it doesn't seem likely just now. And maybe… maybe this is where you're needed most. Fate works in funny ways, I find."

They were simple words, but oddly comforting. Éowyn smiled a little at the plain speech of her hobbit friend and then looked gratefully at him. "I thank you for your support, Merry," she said. "Your friendship is much appreciated. It is easy to doubt oneself in situations such as these."

"You've a noble heart, milady," Merry said gently. "I don't think you need to doubt in that."

Éowyn could not express her thanks for such kindness in words, nor did she have the time to do so. Another of their fellow soldiers approached and informed them, "There's some food towards the center of the camp. You two look as though you require some nourishment."

Éowyn inclined her head in acknowledgement and stood, pulling Merry to his feet. They said nothing to one another – they were too closely surrounded by other men – but they walked together to the center of the camp. There was a new sort of comfortable familiarity between them, a friendship that even the other men noticed. They shook their heads and murmured to one another, "The boy and the hobbit – an oddly mismatched pair. Neither should be here. But let us be grateful they have each other… while they have time at all…"

- - - - - - - - -

That night, after they had eaten, Éowyn and Merry sat separated from the others in the camp, as distant from her uncle and brother as they could be. They had been silent since their earlier conversation, but it had given Éowyn a great deal of time to think. She had considered Merry's words, rolling them about in her mind, reshaping and reforming her plans. Finally, she broke the silence by whispering, "I must return to Edoras."

Merry turned to her in surprise. "Why?" he said sharply. He looked startled at his own loudness, and then lowered his voice. "Why, my Lady?" he asked again, quieter now.

"My duty is first and foremost to Rohan and my people," she said determinedly. "And that duty would best be served in Edoras – ruling my people, as I should have been from the start. Gríma cannot do it alone; I am certain of that. And should our battle here fail – and we are all certain it will – Rohan will need a strong leader to protect it when Sauron's army pounds on our gates. Gríma cannot lead them in battle, nor would he wish to; that is my right, and my position. And I have… made him a promise."

"A promise?" Merry repeated.

"I promised my hand to him if he would rule Rohan honorably in my stead," she told her companion.

"Why?" he said, aghast. "He is a traitor!"

She shrugged. "Even traitors may be redeemed," she said, "And I may be the only one capable of saving him now. If I might spend my life at such an honorable task… healing the pain of those I love – my husband, my people, my country… then I will be content."

Merry stared at her in amazement. "This is your choice, I suppose," he said slowly. "And maybe you're right to decide as you have; but I won't be going with you."

Éowyn smiled sadly. "I'm not surprised, little friend," she said. "Your place truly is on the battlefield. You will defend your Shire there, and your friend Pippin, perhaps. But you and I, I am afraid, do not share the same path – much as I thought we might."

Merry bit his lip, then took her hand. "You are a good, brave, and honorable woman," he told her, a bit awkwardly. "Rohan is lucky to have such a leader."

Éowyn squeezed his hand. "And your hobbit friends are fortunate to have such a one as you to count among their number," she said. "And they will know of it someday."

Merry shook his head. "Not if I can help it," he said, steel in his voice. "They live their lives untouched by the terrors of war; and if I have my say they'll never even know that I had to rescue them. They'll continue on as they have for ages, and I'll be as insignificant as before."

Éowyn stared at him, taken aback by this statement. "You're very brave," she said. "And I pray that you will be recognized for all you've done. You will deserve it, before the end."

He did not smile at the praise. He released her hand and looked grim. "Farewell, my Lady," he said despairingly. "May you live long in the memory of your people."

"And may the hair on your toes grow long," Éowyn said with a cheerless little smile. "Goodbye, Merry."

Merry watched as she stood and gathered what little she had together. He was still staring her even after she had moved swiftly and silently to her horse, after she had untied it and lead it deep into the darkness – and somehow, despite his sudden and acute sense of being left alone, a bit of hope rose within him. People as good as she would make things turn out all right.

Of that, he could feel certain.

- - - - - - - - -

Fear hung like an ugly gray mist about Edoras, snaking about the small thatched-roof cottages and coiling in the darkest corners and alleys. The denizens of Edoras moved swiftly through their city's streets, eyes downcast, as they tried to avoid the thoughts of all the husbands, fathers, brothers, family and friends who were even now off at war.

Gríma and the small contingent of soldiers had returned nearly a fortnight earlier, and merely the traitor's presence made the people even more uneasy. He never left the relative safety of Meduseld's walls, and even when he was within that haven he spent relatively little time outside his own quarters. He had been rather astonished to note their clean state. Beda, Éowyn's maidservant who had returned with them, had explained that Éowyn had seen fit to tidy them. The thought of Éowyn in his quarters, her hands touching his things, gently putting them back in their places – it was unbearably painful to him. Someday he might have watched her at such tasks, admired the effortless grace of her movements and her incredible beauty as she worked – but that was a future he could never hope for. She had chosen death instead of him, and she had left him this impossible task – ruling the country without her.

Gríma and Éowyn's guard had ridden back into Edoras with Beda hidden beneath a cloak, so only her golden hair showed. She rode limply before Gríma on his horse, head draped in a heavy hood. When questioned, the leader of the guards, named Horst, had told whoever asked that Éowyn had fallen seriously ill, that she would for the time being be administered to by Gríma (under careful guard, of course) and that she be would confined to her quarters. When they entered Meduseld, they rushed Beda quickly into Éowyn's rooms so that none would see her closely enough to note the difference. Beda had been spending a great deal of time restlessly locked away in Éowyn's quarters, masquerading as their errant princess whenever necessary.

Thus far, their charade had been successful; but Gríma grew more fearful every day that they would be discovered. And of course he would be left with the blame for Éowyn's death, and he would be slain for it.

He didn't need death to punish him for letting Éowyn go; he punished himself enough as it was.

As if his own grief over her loss wasn't enough, he also received the brunt of the guards' anger over her departure. He had to fight for every single law he wanted to enforce and for every command he issued to the guards. They argued with every point he made; they never gave ground until it became clear that they had no other choice. Even suggestions that they knew would be invaluable to Rohan they argued with. At the end of each day his mind was ragged and worn, his nerves stretched to the breaking point. He wished endlessly for the days when he ruled without question, and then instantly regretted it each time. No, he did not ever want to be trapped in thrall to another, ever again.

Except Éowyn. He didn't mind feeling controlled by her.

Nonetheless, Gríma was mentally cursing her as he sat in council with the guards once more in her chambers – cursing her for leaving him in such an awkward and difficult position.

"You cannot force such laws upon our people," one guard was saying while Gríma mentally strangled him. "Not permitting them to ride their horses outside of Edoras without special permission or without guard is ridiculous!"

"The law is meant to protect Edoras' citizens from harm!" Gríma snapped in irritation. "Do you not understand that there are still Uruk-hai and orcs wandering Rohan's countryside? Your wife, Horst, or your children, Aelfast, could easily be slain by such creatures, should they choose to ride too far. It is a simple precaution that must be taken."

"It seems to me as though you are trying to trap our people here, as you tried to do before," Horst said harshly. "I do not trust you, snake."

"You have made that abundantly clear," Gríma snarled. "Were I in your position, doubtless I would feel the same; but you make my duty here an impossible one when you argue as much as you do."

"And we cannot permit you the opportunity to usurp Éowyn's rightful place on the throne, as you have done before," Horst retorted. "Éowyn would not have wanted you to rule unchecked."

Gríma was about to retort, but a familiar and most welcome voice replied before he could.

"Neither should you be obstructing laws you know are in the best interests of the country."

Gríma leapt from his seat, his face lit with an incredibly brilliant smile. "Éowyn," he breathed, incredulous but ecstatic.

Éowyn pulled her helmet from her head and smiled at him. "I… felt that my duties were better served… here," she said, hesitating slightly. Her words were directed at Gríma, her eyes full of her heart. I came back for you, they seemed to say. Can you forgive me for leaving you?

"My lady," Horst said, unbridled joy in his voice, "We are delighted to find you returned safely here." He bowed before her. "May I assume that you will take over immediately?"

"Not immediately," Éowyn said. "I have had a very long journey here, and I am tired; give me this day to rest, and I shall resume my place tomorrow. Now, if you wouldn't mind, gentlemen, I should like some time alone. You are dismissed for the day."

All present bowed and moved to leave. Gríma hesitated, then also turned to leave.

"Gríma, wait," Éowyn said, her voice betraying her own concern and affection. She blushed at her revealing tone and changed to a commanding manner. "I would speak with you; I need to know what has happened in my absence."

"Of course, my Lady," Gríma said in an equally distant voice, bowing slightly to her. The guards glared at him as they filed slowly out, threatening him with fates far worse than death should he harm their beloved princess. He watched them leave with an aloof glare, inwardly awaiting the moment when he was finally alone with Éowyn.

After what seemed an eternity, the door closed firmly behind the last guard. Éowyn's haughty stance melted instantly, and she veritably threw herself across the room to him. He caught her in his arms and kissed her so fiercely he momentarily feared he'd hurt her. She pulled back laughing, but there were tears sliding down her cheeks.

Gríma reached up and brushed them away. "Why so sad, my Lady?" he asked, a frown crossing his previously happy face. "I thought you were glad to have returned."

She laid her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I am happy," she sighed. "But there is so much pain still… my uncle, my brother, all the soldiers…"

"Ah, yes," Gríma murmured, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "They ride to their ends." He paused. "You did not go with them."

"My place is here," she said certainly. "My people need me." She lifted her head from his shoulder and met his eyes directly. "You need me," she said softly.

He smiled. "Yes, I do," he agreed. He reached up to stroke her face, then took a step away from her. "I shouldn't stay," he said, looking away. "Your guards will suspect something if I remain here overlong."

"Then let them," Éowyn said dismissively. She grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction of her bedchamber, then paused and looked back at him, tilting her head questioningly to one side.

A smile broke across his face. "Éowyn, I don't know if you realize how much I love you," he breathed.

Éowyn beamed. "Oh, I think I do," she promised.

- - - - - - - - -

Gríma awoke later that afternoon when Éowyn began planting little kisses everywhere on his face. "Mmmmm," he sighed. "My love…"

He felt her smile against his cheek. "You should be waking up, counsellor," she whispered.

He frowned slightly. "I was having a good dream," he said petulantly.

Éowyn pressed her mouth to his. "I suspect," she said impertinently, "That no dream you were having could be better than what is currently your reality."

His eyes fluttered open, and he drank in the sight of Éowyn propped up on one elbow, grinning impishly at him. Her golden hair was spread all across the pillow, the furs pulled up to her chest. He reached out and took a lock of her hair between his fingers. "You may be correct," he conceded, kissing the golden curl in his hand.

Éowyn brushed his dark hair from his face tenderly, then lost her glowing expression. "What's happened since I've been gone?" she asked. "You can't have ruled openly."

"Please don't ask such questions when I finally am allotted some small time alone with you, my princess," he said with a grimace.

"Counsellor," she said severely, "I am your queen, and you must obey my command."

Gríma raised a non-existent eyebrow in surprise. "My queen," he murmured, tasting the words on his tongue. "Very well, then. We had arranged a sort of deception, with your maid Beda acting as though she were you. We claimed that you were ill, and therefore you were confined to your quarters under my care. Horst promised everyone that he would be closely watching me, of course. We kept Beda here whenever we suspected someone might peek in to see if you were indeed present. We met as a council here, and I have been having quite the time of it trying to protect your people."

"I don't doubt it," Éowyn said gravely. "Can you forgive me for leaving you so?"

He looked up at her with adoring eyes. "I can forgive you anything, my love," he said, almost worshipfully. "And after all, you returned to me."

Éowyn smiled and bent to kiss his forehead. "I love you, counsellor," she said happily.

He drew in a sharp breath, eyes leaping to hers. He stared at her a few moments, incredulous. "Say it again," he commanded.

She frowned slightly in confusion. "I love you," she repeated.

He closed his eyes and let out the breath he'd drawn in so suddenly. "Oh, Éowyn," he whispered, "You have no idea how long I have been waiting to hear those words from you."

Éowyn felt as though her heart swelled and broke all at once, for all the tragedy they'd been through, for all the tragedy they faced, for all that they could have shared and for the all too brief time they were to have together. "When this is over," she said painfully, "When we have reached the end of all things… know that I loved you long ago and feared to confess to it; then denied it when your betrayal became clear. I wish only that the Valar had granted us more time, and the knowledge of what was to become of us when we hid our feelings from the other."

"Éowyn," Gríma murmured. "Do not fret over what is long in the past; you cannot change it, nor can I. The time we have is fleeting, yes, but treasure it while it lasts, and do not burden it with regret."

Éowyn closed her eyes tightly and felt tears slide from beneath her lids. "If I -!" she started, but Gríma sat up and kissed her, cutting her off.

"I know," he said soothingly when he broke away. "If you could change this terrible situation, you would. So would I. All your people know what you would do for them, if you could but save them. That's why they love you so… why I love you so." He smoothed her hair back from her face. "The war is still outside these walls," he said, "And although not so distant as we might like to believe, we have time yet before it knocks upon our doors. Save this precious time for us, my Lady; do not go into the past, nor look towards the future; be here… with me… and take comfort."

Éowyn smiled sadly, then laid beside him and let him cradle in his arms.

And there, nestled against her counsellor, she found peace.

9