Chapter I: Growing Pains
01 March, 3007
I was born in the year of 2995. Hilandia says that my mother, Théodwyn, had a hard time in the birth—much harder than with my older brother, Éomer. I'm sorry. It's not as if I had anything to do with it, but I hate to have caused her pain. Hilandia also says that Éomer, who was four, stared at me for almost a quarter of an hour before finally asking her, "Can you put it back? I wanted a brother."
I am not sure whether I believe her, as Éomer has no memory of it. He insists he liked me from the first—though I'm not sure I believe that, either.
My most vivid memory of Mother is the day she died. I was twelve years old, and that moment changed my life.
I slipped out of the house, climbed over the wall, and landed with a thump on the other side. Hilandia, the fat housekeeper, ran out of the house, stopping a moment to puff. I was not particularly eager to respond to her command to come to her; it was more than likely that she wanted me to help her with the dishes or some other chore. Ever since Mother had taken ill, I'd been enlisted more and more to help, and now that she was so sick she had to stay in bed, I had to do practically all of it.
That's not quite fair, as Hilandia did her fair share. But a lot of the servants had left us after my father was killed, and all that were left were some of the men from his eored, and could not be prevailed upon to help with the dishes.
Because of this, Hilandia and I had been mutual enemies all my life, and it served both of us right. Before Mother was too sick to play, we had teamed up on her together—getting in suits of armour and chasing her out of the house, throwing pinecones from the tree I was in the process of climbing, and switching the salt and sugar containers while she was cooking.
At the top of the tree, I reached for my stash of pinecones in the niche of the tree. I had been saving a monster cone for almost five weeks, and now I was sufficiently irritated enough to use it.
Hilandia walked to the gate and opened it. "Éowyn, you vixen!" she shouted, looking around for me.
I rolled my eyes. As I was taking aim, Éomer followed Hilandia outside. "Éowyn!" he called in the direction of my tree. "Get down, now!"
I scrambled to obey, dropping the cone in my haste. Hilandia spotted me as I neared the ground, and raced to meet me. Hardly had my feet touched earth when she grabbed my arm in a vice-like grip only motherlike figures can manage, and dragged me into the house. Éomer followed behind, assuming his seventeen-year-old-quite-grown-up-elder-brother role.
Hilandia pulled me into the house, through the halls past horsemen that had nothing better than giggle at the young woman of the house, behind a tapestry, and into Mother's room. I yanked loose then, and scowled at Hilandia. "I wanted her to bring you, Éowyn," Mother explained as Hilandia made a hasty exit. "You'll have to listen to her when I'm gone."
"Gone?" I had known Mother was sick… but the thought of her dying had never occured to me. "No… Mother, you're going to get better. You look better, Mother." And she did—yesterday she had been pale and weak; today she had more colour than usual, she was almost flushed. Her grey eyes were brilliant, sparkling like crystal.
"No," Mother shook her head sadly. "I'm not. And I need you to promise me you won't forget me."
"How could I forget you, Mother?" I asked.
"I didn't mean that sort of forget," she said. "I don't want you to forget what I've taught you. I'm sending you and Éomer and Hilandia to Edoras, to your uncle, Théoden. You will be in a world very different from the one here… and I want you to stay strong."
"I promise," I said, digesting what she'd said. I had been to Edoras when I was little, but I didn't remember it. Éomer had gone with my father many times since, so he remembered a lot, and was friends with many of the men there.
"Now give me a kiss, Éowyn."
I pressed my lips to her forehead, and it was then I realised how cold she was… like ice. It frightened me. I wrapped my arms around her, trying to warm her, but her whole body was just as cold. She stroked my hair. "You remind me so much of my mother," she said, "Morwen of Lossarnach."
I smiled weakly. "Yes, Mother."
"You have her faults, too," she said. "Her pride and her curiosity."
I shook my hair away from her hands. I didn't like being told my faults. "Yes, Mother."
"Now go, and call Éomer."
I found him sitting in the hall. "Mother wants you," I told him.
"Go help Hilandia," he said, trying to shoo me away. I headed off down the hall, rounded the corner, then peeked around. Éomer was disappearing past the tapestry into Mother's chamber.
I crept back and sat just outside, in hearing distance.
"—arranged for you to go to your uncle's," she was telling him. "You will be one of the Mark, and Éowyn will aid the King."
"Yes, Mother."
"You must be there for your sister, Éomer. She will be unaccustomed to the hierarchy there, and how women are treated. Look out for her. She has inherited so much of the Eorl pride, and it will be so hard for her—be sensitive to that! She loves you, Éomer, and she will follow all your honourable commands, but only those. Support her!"
"Mother," Éomer sounded a little annoyed. "Have you no words of warning for me, as well?"
"No, son. You do not need my counsel save : Look to your sister! You have your horses and your companions, but Éowyn has nothing save honour, and she must keep it. Look to your sister!"
Éomer's voice had tears in it, the choked edge. "Mother—"
"Call your sister."
He emerged from the room so quickly I scarcely had time to leap to my feet, and I almost tripped. Éomer glared at me and aimed a cuff my way, but I dodged easily, thanks to several years of practice.
I approached Mother's bedside again. Éomer stayed beside, weeping unashamedly. I didn't turn to give him privacy for his tears. "You will be tall," she said, touching my blond braid. She turned to Éomer, and tried to say something, but couldn't quite mange it. She fell back against the pillow, her face suddenly losing all its vividness.
She smiled, looking at something beyond us. "Éomund…"
And was gone.
There was a loud silence as I stared at her. "Mother?" I whispered at last.
Éomer gave a sort of moan. "She's dead, Éowyn."
My knees suddenly buckled and I fell. I knew I should cry—I wanted to cry—but I couldn't. I was frozen inside. I couldn't move.
I looked up at Éomer, who had pulled the bed sheet over her. He stared at me, his face wet with tears, the front of his tunic dowsed. "What's the matter with you?" he demanded.
"Mother…" I whispered.
I saw our father, for a moment, in his eyes, as he dragged me up and shook me. "She's dead, Éowyn!" he said. "Mother is dead!"
"Why did she die?" I managed to gasp.
"Father."
"What?" I frowned.
"She loved him, Éowyn," he said, drawing the coverlet back so he could look at her face. "She missed him."
I looked away. Father had died when I was ten. My few memories of him were very dim and unpleasant. I had done my best to forget, but I couldn't help remember.My father had been determined to go into the mountains and destroy a band of orcs who had taken up residence there.
"Éomund, that's suicide!" Mother said in a pleading tone.
I hid behind Mother's huge skirt, looking at him, standing on the porch with his band of men behind him. He was very tall, with fierce brown eyes and golden hair that was whipping around his face in the biting wind. I could feel tiny flakes of snow on my upturned face. It was cold, and my fingers were trembling as I balled them, rubbing them against my skirt to keep them warm. Éomer stood beside us, silent and grim.
"Théodwyn, I must! The orcs will destroy us all if I don't! It's only a small band—no harm will be done. I won't even lose one man."
Mother drew herself up. She was almost as tall as my father, though she slumped so much you hardly noticed it. "Then let me go, too."
My father laughed. "You?"
"I can ride! I can fight! I am as able as any man in your riding! Please take me, Éomund!"
My father shook his head. "Théodwyn, if you sought to be a shield-maiden, you shouldn't have married me. No woman of mine is going to be a soldier. That goes for my daughter, too!" he yelled as he pulled me from behind Mother. He bent down until he was looking into my face. "Do you understand me, Éowyn?"
I could smell the traces of wine on his breath—a bracer for the orc-hunt.
"But Father," I said, "I'm going to be a shield-maiden. Éomer is teaching me to wield a sword, and—"
He slapped me. Mother flinched, and her freckles stood out on the bridge of her nose as she paled. "Éomund, she's only—"
"Théodwyn, I won't have an upstart for a daughter—or a wife."
He stood up. I fingered the red mark on my cheek. It didn't hurt—much. My tears were from pride, not pain.
Father turned towards his horse. Mother chased after him, grabbed his arm and said words only they could hear.
"No, Théodwyn," he yelled in a voice that carried over the wind to me. He shoved her away fiercely and mounted his horse. Éomer bit his lip in hidden anger as our father rode away, followed by his best horsemen.
Mother fell to her knees and buried her face in her hands, sobbing.
It was the last time any of us saw him alive.
"Why did she miss him?" I asked.
Éomer shook his head. "I don't know."
"I don't miss him," I said defiantly, tossing my head. I was daring him to reprimand me.
"Neither do I," he said quietly.
I was surprised to hear that, and said so.
He stared to reply, but just then Hilandia walked in. She stopped short when she saw the still, white figure lying on the bed. "Asleep?" she said, fiddling a strand of her grey-blond hair that had escaped her bun.
"No," Éomer said quietly.
"Dead?" she whispered.
I was silent.
"Yes," Éomer said.
Hilandia screamed. "My lady's dead?" she shrieked. "My lady—the one I brought up with me own two hands—the one I cared for and served all me life—my lady's dead?"
Éomer nodded. Hilandia ran out of the room, still screaming.
A moment later, Éomer left, muttering something about taking a walk. As for me, I ran to the stables and took my horse, Windfola, out into the fields and rode him long and hard, trying to imagine life without mother. I didn't want to imagine it.
When I got back hours later, the men had removed Mother from her chamber to be sent to Edoras, where she would be entombed with the rest of her family.
The next morning, Hilandia bathed me and gave me a woolen gown belonging to Mother. It was heather green, with golden edging and horses running around the bottom of it. "It's too big for me," I laughed—my mother was taller than me, and larger around the chest, as well.
"You'll grow into it," Hilandia promised.
I didn't really care about the fit—it was thick and warm in the chilly weather. I hugged the long sleeves to me as we mounted our horses and began the day-and-a-half journey—if you were moving slowly, as we were—to Edoras. Windfola, my young and beautiful stallion, was a newly-broken bay from Edoras. His parents had been presents from my Uncle Théoden for my mother—his sister. We had had the horses less than a week before there was evidence of their activity. The mare gave birth to twin foals—Windfola, a stallion, and a filly, Míine. My father had given Windfola to me for my fifth birthday.
We camped that night close enough to Edoras to see pinpricks of light coming from the famed Golden Hall. I wished we could ride through the night, and be there the sooner, but old bones like Hilandia's could not tolerate so long in the saddle. I had, though, the promise of arriving at my new home before noon the next day.
My first impression of Edoras was men. Lots and lots of men. All over the place, members of the éored were grooming, feeding, or riding their horses; they were eating, talking, laughing; calling out across the courtyard to their comrades. There were men at my home, of course, but this was the capitol, the symbol of Rohan, and necessarily had more forces—ergo, more men. These men were dirty, swearing in the heat of the day; their beards and long locks were greasy and stringy.
The gates clanged behind us, and we dismounted. Edoras was built on a slope, and the houses were dug into the hill to keep them level, but the ground was uneven, and after an hour on a horse, it was all I needed to set me swaying and rocking, trying to keep my balance.
A little ruby-haired boy who looked scarcely six took our horses' leads. "I will take them to the stables, milady," he told me when I questioned his actions.
"Take care of him," I called after him.
"Yes, milady," he replied, his blue eyes wide with solemnity.
An older man, perhaps Hilandia's age, with a red beard came down the hill towards us. Hilandia nodded to him. "Lord Háma," she said.
"Hilandia." His voice was gruff, but gentle. He turned to Éomer. "You can be no other than the son of Éomund."
Éomer bowed. "I am, sir."
I coughed quietly.
Éomer jumped, then indicated me. "My sister, Éowyn."
"Milady," Háma said, taking my hand and pressing his lips to my fingertips. "May you find as much joy in the horses here as your name suggests." Éowyn is Rohirric for horse-lover.
Honoured to be treated as nobility, I blushed. "I'm sure I will, Lord Háma."
My speaking his name seemed to remind him. "Of course!" he said. "I have not introduced myself. I am Háma, The Door-Warden. I have been sent from the Golden Hall to receive you."
He took us up the hill towards the huge building at the top—Meduseld. The huge, deep stone steps leading to it were roughly cut, and I snagged the embroidery on the hem of my dress. I was sorry to rip the thread, but hoped Hilandia could mend it later.
Once at the top of the steps, in the wide open area in front of the door, I turned around and looked around. The hill that is Edoras rises up like an island in the middle of a vast valley surrounded by mountains. As massive as that hill is, it is nothing to the immensity of that valley. I was an ant, crawling across a horse's back, when I looked out at the scenery around us.
Háma put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me from my reverie. "I can guess your thoughts, milady," he said. "I never feel so small, so insignificant, as when I try to take in this view."
I met his eyes, surprised that he could read my mind so easily.
"Come," he said. "I will take you to your uncle."
He led us through a hall filled with tapestries, a burning fire in the middle. As my eyes accustomed to the dark,
He sat in a throne, gazing at us placidly. I blinked a moment, surprised at his small stature. My mother had told me stories of a tall, red-headed brother with eyes like a stormy-sky—this man was hunched, with a dirty blond-grey beard untrimmed and untidy. All his hair was still there, but it was as unkempt as his beard, and much the same colour, bound with a golden band. He drew his cloak of rabbit-skins close to him despite the sun that was beating down outside the hall.
Next to him, at his feet, sat a smaller man. His eyes were beady; his hair was unwashed, greasy, and had white flakes in it that I sincerely hoped were just dandruff; his lips were chapped and blue. I felt slightly sickened when I looked at him for very long—was that last night's supper on his tunic? It turned my stomach.
Éomer leaned down and whispered, "That's Gríma, Théoden's advisor."
I replied, "I think he's dwimmer."
Éomer spoke first. "Milord, I am Éomer, son of your sister Théodwyn. She has passed into the halls of your fathers, but before she died, asked that you receive her children into your care, adopting them as your own."
"I expected as much, and places have been prepared for you. Could I do otherwise?" Théoden asked. "This," he indicated a man I had not seen before, as he had been standing in the shadows, "is your cousin, Théodred."
Théodred was tall—taller than Éomer, I think. He had long, curling blond hair that came to his shoulders, and a golden circlet around his forehead to show his nobility. His eyes were a keen shade of bright blue that sent shivers down my spine.
"This is my sister Éowyn, milord," Éomer said, indicating me.
Théoden's reaction was not unlike a shrug. I whispered an angry oath that, had I said it any louder, probably would have forced him to notice me. I had learned it from my father. Théodred apparently heard, as he raised his eyebrows and appeared to be biting back a chuckle. He nudged his father, hard, and said, "Welcome, cousin Éowyn. We welcome you to Edoras."
"You may aid me in my old age," Théoden grumbled. "I cannot walk as I once did."
I bowed. Gríma took a long, hard look at me. It seemed to say he would see more of me that I wanted him to. Hilandia led me away, muttering to herself.
As I changed from my heavy travelling clothes, a girl about my own age entered my chambers. She had curly red hair that framed her face like a halo, and vibrant green eyes. I stared indignantly at the stranger who had entered my chambers while I was getting undressed.
The girl didn't seem ashamed or apologetic in the least, even though I wasn't wearing anything but my chemise. "Hello! You must be Éowyn!"
She spoke in a thick Dunharrowine accent, slurring the Eo together to be a long A.
I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I am. Who are you?"
"Can't you guess?" she said brightly.
I stared at her some more. "The devil," I suggested, pulling a frock over my head.
The girl pulled it down and began to lace up the sides. "I'm Weynia, Hilandia's daughter." I seemed to recal Hilandia having spoken of a daughter living in Edoras. "I'm supposed to be your lady-in-waiting, or something—let me help you with that."
I yanked away and tied the cords in a knot. I'd dressed myself since I was six years old, and had no intentions of stopping now at twelve. "I have a better idea," I said. "Let's just be friends."
My first night in Edoras was one of the longest in my life. My chamber consisted of a large bedroom and a small dressing room. My bed was huge—you could have exercised six or seven horses on it simultaneously with ease, I thought. You had to use a step to get up into it; it was piled so high with skins I couldn't get comfortable until I had kicked all but a few off the sides. The woollen blankets were soft and warm, and it was not cold that kept me awake,lying covered up to my chin with cosy warmth, studying a ceiling I could not see in the darkness, but knew must be scarcely nine metres above my head.
I had never slept anywhere but my own bed at home, and this bed was so much more luxurious in comparison to the innocent cot I slept on. But I checked my thoughts—This is home, I told myself. What was before can be no more.
My life at Edoras fell into gradual routine. Weynia woke me; I dressed; we both helped Théoden to the hall for breakfast. Then we helped him to his dais in the hall. I had about three hours then to wander the halls, read, and speak with the men until luncheon. Then I was free to ride with Théodred and Éomer until supper, after which I helped him to bed.
After that, I was free of my duties. Sometimes I rode in the darkened fields under the starlight, thinking of my mother and wondering about the future; sometimes I teased the guards (employing techniques my mother had taught me for pranks on Hilandia) or talked with Éomer. Théodred enjoyed my company, and even taught me sword-fighting. I became an expert, using a blade Théodred had given me.
One would think that working and living in such close quarters, Weynia and I would have become close friends. But while I was fascinated with horses and swords, she cared only for men and gowns and fancy trimmings.
As the years went by, I fulfilled Mother's prediction and became very tall. I was taller than Éomer by half-a-head, but Théodred was an inch above me. I had my father's eyes—the wild, brown eyes that threw sparks when angered. I had my mother's wonderful blond hair that grew thick and shiny, and hung down to my waist like a horse's mane. And I became beautiful. My mirror told me every day; the suddenly fawning manner of the guards told me; Hilandia told me; Weynia told me; Éomer and Théodred told me.
None of my new beauty changed my wild need to be included. For the most part, Éomer stayed true to Mother's command not to shun me. He took me on as many rides as he could without being mocked. But neither Theordred or Eomer appreciated the thought of a girl in her teens coming along with them, and I tried to understand. I was years younger than both of them, and I knew it must be embarrassing for me to tag along all the time. But I still wanted to be included.
Too proud to beg, I resorted to threats—and they weren't empty. Plenty of times I tagged along without being seen, and took note of what they did and who they were with, and I would tell Hilandia all about it—unless I got to go next time. Other times, when dirt ran low, I would substitute foods in their bags for rocks, or put salt in their wine and water. Rarely did these deeds go unpunished, and upon their return—usually sped by hunger or thirst—I would do well to hide out until the whole thing blew over.
Five years passed this way. When I was seventeen, Éomer and Théodred left on a trip to Helm's Deep. I was very lonely; they were my only true companions—Weynia and Hilandia were inadequate company.
The second night after they left, I retired early, having nothing else to do. I blew out my lamp and got into bed. I never locked my door, as Éomer and Théodred's chambers were only down the hall, and I feared nothing in the house of my uncle.
I was asleep almost instantly, the dreariness and loneliness producing a kind of weary stupor in me. I slept a deep, dreamless sleep, and did not know anything for hours.
In the middle of the night, I woke and sat up. The door was slowly opening, as if whoever was opening it was trying to do so without waking anyone. I slipped out of bed and wrapped myself in a cloak.
"Who's there?" I whispered. My voice sounded loud in the stillness.
I made out Gríma's slight, stooping form. I felt—understandably—uneasy, but remained outwardly calm.
"Master Gríma," I said. "What brings you here at such a time?"
He shut the door, and I heard the latch click as he locked it. "You, milady."
I stiffened, and backed against my bed. "I do not like your answer. I'm a little young to receive your attentions, Master Gríma."
He laughed—a little too merrily, I thought. He seemed drunk. "Why, you dolt. What do you think I'm after with you?"
I didn't want to find out. I moved to the window, where I kept my sword in the ledge. Besides, if necessary I could always leap out of it. The drop and consequent death was preferable to Gríma. "I think the only thing I can think when a man calls on me in the middle of the night."
He took a few steps closer. I lifted my arms across my chest, gripping my neck in my hands. "I'm not going to hurt you."
I took a shaky breath as he neared me. "You shouldn't be here."
He took one of my hands and pressed it to his lips. "Don't run from me, Éowyn."
"Please, sir, don't call me that."
He pulled my arm, drawing me towards him. "Isn't that your name?"
I tugged away. "I'm not your Éowyn, and I never will be. Now leave me alone or I'll—"
"You'll what?" he asked in a dangerous tone. I bit my lip. "Hilandia and Weynia are in the kitchen. Your brother and cousin are far away. Who will come to save you?"
"Háma—the guards…" I began, but my voice trailed off.
"…are too far away," he finished for me. "You can't escape me, Éowyn." He reached forward, both arms out, and I reached behind me, grabbing the sword and whirling it in front of me.
"Get out," I snapped. "And don't you ever come back to me again. Éomer will deal with you upon his return."
He frowned at me, but skulked away, hissing an oath. I locked the door behind him and sat upright in my bed until the sun rose, thinking hard.
When Théodred and Éomer returned, I told them what had happened. It was night, and we were standing on the porch, looking out over Rohan. It was easier to talk honestly with none of us making eye contact, deliberately facing away.
Éomer's reaction was fury; Théodred's was pity. "I swear on my life there will be never be a time when you are alone and unprotected," Éomer promised. "I won't let him touch you."
"I will protect you, Éowyn," Théodred agreed.
As the moon set, we stood there, my brother on one side, my cousin on the other. It was easy to believe, then, that everything would be all right, in the kingdom, in the halls… that life would be solved by their simple promise to keep an eye on me.
Time went by…. Nothing made any day different from the one before or the one to come, except for changes in the people. King Théoden was less of the former warrior and more of the half-dead aged man one sees in shepherds' huts. I had grown to love him, and it hurt me to know he would die, and very soon, if no one rescued him. He was never without Gríma, who whispered words in such ways that he wove a net of despair around the hearer's heart, and this he had done to the king. Thus did Gríma earn the name Wormtongue.
I noticed the change in Gríma's attitude to me, as well. After that night, he began to follow me more openly, and allowed no man but himself to near me, when he could help it. One Lord Éothain began to show me attention. I didn't appreciate it, but a week after he proposed marriage to me—which I indignantly refused—he was found dead in his chambers. The court physician said natural causes, but rumours of poison circulated the court—especially since the physician was one of Gríma's chattels. I wondered that he didn't murder Théodred as well, for he was closer than a brother. Or perhaps he feared the King's son to be too much of a risk.
Théodred had also changed. He no longer teased me or treated me as the little girl I no longer was. Once he had often picked me up and put me on his shoulder, or grabbed me by the waist and tickled me as I tried to flee his wrath after a prank of mine had been discovered. But now he treated me as a lady of the court. He spoke to me seldom in public, except a nod of hello when we ran into one another in the hallways—sometimes literally, given my habit of running headlong from place to place—or when we met in the stables. With Éomer, he talked to me—but only cordially. We were now lady and lord, not cousins.
But Éomer—dear Éomer—stayed the same. We were taller, but we were still brother and sister. When he wasn't busy, he came to my chambers, and he spent time talking, or taught me sword fighting—the more I learned, the easier I was about Gríma.
Often I would hear the patter of footsteps in halls behind me. I dared not leave my door unlocked. In the still of the night, sometimes I would hear a hand turn the handle, testing it. It was always locked, yet I dreaded the day he would catch me alone.
One night, I was standing at the wall, looking out over Rohan, admiring the view. As long as I lived in Edoras, I would never cease to be awestruck by the ocean of hills and mountains that surrounded us.
I heard a noise behind me, and whirled around, praying that it was not Gríma the Wormtongue.
It was Théodred. "I was a little afraid…" I began, but my voice trailed off.
He nodded, and came closer to me. I stepped back, until my back was pressed against the railing. He did likewise, and rested his hands on either side of the railing, trapping me. He and I were closer than we'd been for years, and it was a little unnerving. "Éowyn, I need to talk to you."
"Very well," I said, meeting his gaze evenly. "What is it?"
"We—Éomer and I—are being sent away." His voice was broken, and I saw tears glittering in his eyes.
"Where? Why?" I was afraid to hear the answer. How long would I be left in danger of Gríma this time?
"To the Westfold."
"No…" I whispered. "So far away…"
"It is a move by Gríma to get me away from you, I know it. He sees… he sees what I feel for you."
I swallowed and spoke carefully. "What is it that you feel for me?"
I looked down when I saw the look in his eyes. He spoke into my hair. "I love you."
My head came up with a jerk. "Théodred, are you mad? Gríma killed Éothain, and he'll kill you, too!" I turned around , looking out over the fields, trying to ignore his body pressing into my back. "Gríma has followed me for the last four years ago. You will die—and then he will come for me. Someday, Théodred, I will not have a sword. He will—"
I bit my lip, and clung to the railing so hard my knuckles turned white.
"What?" he asked.
Oh, don't you know? I turned around and faced him again. "He's had the last eight years to ask Eomer or Theoden for my hand," I hissed. "I think if he were interested in marriage, he'd have said something by now."
He touched my cheek, and I leaned into his hand, shutting my eyes. "Éowyn," he murmured, "If you are affianced to the Prince of Rohan, Gríma won't—"
"Do you think Gríma cares if I am betrothed or not?" I asked. "He comes to my chambers nearly every night…."
"Won't you marry me, Éowyn? We can take care of him when I am King. We can forget there ever was a Gríma—ever was such a thing as dread—such a thing as fear—such things as pain, and death. I promise, as my wife, you will forget all of this."
I looked at him. I wanted to tell him that I loved him as my brother. Nothing more. I could never love him the way he wanted to—the way he loved me. But then a thought come to mind: Wouldn't marrying a man you love like a brother be better than being taken by a man you hate like the devil?
And Théodred looked so hopeful—so loving. Gríma and Éothain had had lustful eyes—Théodred's were full of love. It would be cruel to refuse him.
"I will marry you, Théodred," I said. The words were hard to say, but I forced them out. "Tell your father tomorrow—near Gríma. Make sure he knows. Perhaps he will leave me alone."
"All right, beloved." Théodred kissed my fingertips. "I will leave tomorrow—and I will come back to you, I swear."
"Thank-you." He leaned forward and kissed my lips. I pulled away, a little startled, but then leaned in and kissed him. After he drew away, I lay my head on his shoulder to discourage further kisses.
"Éowyn," he murmured into my hair, "Say you love me—just once—before I leave."
Obediently, I opened my mouth to say the words I did not… could not mean. I rationalised it by telling myself that I did love him… just not in that way… and who knew? we would be spending the rest of our lives together… perhaps I would grow to love him that way.
But just then, we heard a sound behind us—a shod foot on the cold stone. We turned, still clasped together. It was Gríma.
I stiffened, and Théodred's arms tightened.
"Greetings, my prince; my lady," he nodded to us. "An uncommon time for a tete-a-tete, don't you think—in the middle of the night? I think, Théodred Prince, that your father will be very interested to hear what I have seen tonight."
I bit my lip, trying to hide my fear. Gríma would be sure to cause trouble for both Théodred and me, and I knew he would never let me be. We had to keep this from Théoden, at least until Theodred could speak to him about marriage. Théodred's arm tightened even more around my shoulders, and the other moved towards his sword hilt. "Get out of here, worm. Even you can find no evil in a betrothal. You will tell my father nothing we do not wish him to hear."
"Why not?" the Wormtongue asked, and I saw traces of a smile at his blue lips. "What would satisfy me more than the knowledge that the King knows the truth about his son and niece? That his niece is scheming to marry his son and steal his throne?"
I met his eyes, then, and spat angrily. "You are ridiculous. Theoden would see through that in a moment." I wish I could be as sure as I sounded… Theoden would believe anything his favourite said.
He took a step nearer and laughed at me—a cruel laugh. "I could be stopped, I suppose. We could make a bargain."
"I'm not bargaining with a snake," Theodred said. "My father should have been rid of you years ago."
Grima ignored Theodred and spoke to me. "I almost had you a few years ago, remember? Well, you will not fight me off a second time."
I pressed against Théodred in my efforts to back away from him. Théodred stepped forward, pushing me behind him. "No, Gríma," he said, drawing his sword. "You will never touch her."
Gríma glared at him, and gave a sound not unlike a hiss. Then he said, "I will have you, Éowyn, at the end of Théoden's reign! Don't look for your Prince to return—you will be mine, and no Prince of Rohan will ever have you!" With that, he spun around and entered the house.
I stood, shaking uncontrollably, trying to calm myself. Théodred stroked my hair until I regained sufficient control of myself to draw a shaky breath—the first I'd taken, I think, since Gríma had first accosted us.
"Are you all right?" Théodred asked me.
"I… think so," I said, struggling to keep from crying—how could a shield-maiden cry? "But now you see," I choked, "What he wants…"
"It's all right," he said soothingly, still stroking my hair.
"What will I do without you two to protect me?" I asked him helplessly.
"You'll be fine. I am leaving before Éomer, and I will be back before Éomer has cause to leave," he promised me, kissing the bridge of my nose. "Go nowhere alone, go nowhere unarmed." Then he escorted me to my bedroom, and with a final kiss, I went to bed, still breathless from the night's activities.
The next morning, Théodred and his host prepared to leave. I went out to bid them farewell. Théodred called to me.
"Yes?" I asked, running to him, aware of Gríma's eyes watching me from afar.
"I do not think that I will return to this house again, Éowyn," he said slowly.
"You will come back!" I said emphatically. "Don't let Gríma's wicked words lead you to despair!"
"Nevertheless, Éowyn—if I do not return alive, promise me he will never touch you!"
"I would die first," I promised. Then he kissed my cheek, and left.
I watched them out of sight. Théodred will return, I told myself. He has to.
They were gone less than a moment when I realised that I had never told Théodred I loved him.