A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all my faithful reviewers who have stuck with this story for all 21 chapters (88 pages!) and who have put up with my sporadic updating. I would particularly like to dedicate it to SperryDee, who was in a car accident and read the previous chapter while trapped in a hospital bed, and to 13 o'clock Erik, who made me an INCREDIBLE Gríma/Éowyn YouTube music video. Thanks, and I love you all!

Éowyn returned to her place on the throne after resting a few days in her own quarters. She and Gríma had both agreed that if she instantly began to appear in court it would seem suspicious. Word was spread amongst the people of Edoras that Éowyn was greatly improved and that she soon be well enough to leave her chambers. "Not by Wormtongue's hand was this miracle worked," many of them muttered. Gríma heard the whispers but did nothing to abate them, and although the barbed words were meant to strike and wound him, they caused him no pain. Finally receiving Éowyn's love was all that mattered to him.

Éowyn was restless and anxious to take up her position again, and after three days time she dressed and went to the throne room to make her first public appearance, despite Gríma's protestations. After that day, Éowyn always rose from bed early and hurried to begin her duties as queen. There was no problem that occured to which she did not attend, no matter left unsolved. She was a good ruler and her people gained more confidence when she reclaimed her place. There was not one among the populace of Rohan who did not love her. Gríma's love for her was the most apparent of the lot and, much to the chagrin of her people, her fondness for him was equally clear.

Éowyn did little to hide her new affection for Gríma, perhaps because she understood that they had only a short time before all was lost to them. Her people whispered angrily about it and constantly advised her to withdraw her heart from such an unworthy traitor, but she did not heed them. Neither did Gríma heed the evil looks that were often given him when he passed through a crowd of servants. Ever was he by her side, whether in the counsellor's chair adjacent the throne by day or in her bed at night. He left her alone only when she went out to ride her horse, and then he would pace anxiously across Meduseld's porch until she returned unharmed.

Soon, however, all joy seemed to slowly disappear as days drudged slowly past. Whatever brief happiness Éowyn and Gríma imparted to each other in the late hours of the night was fleeting and disappeared when the sun rose once more. The days had become dark and full of worry; word had not returned to them of the battle for Minas Tirith, and they feared the worst. Still more disturbing, orcs had been seen on the plains of Rohan, never openly attacking but skulking about close to towns and homes in the lonely countryside. Éowyn once more grew grim and fierce, and Gríma was ever gazing darkly into the distance, his thoughts his own.

Late one night, Éowyn awoke with a terrible cry, bolting upright in the bed she now frequently shared with her counsellor. Her scream in turn awoke Gríma, who always slept lightly and who was ever attuned to Éowyn's needs. He sat up and reached out instantly to draw her back against him, arms comfortingly encircling her. She leaned into him with a shuddering sob, her whole body trembling. "Hush, my love," Gríma soothed, "It was only a dream… I'm here… you've no need to weep."

Éowyn tried to quell her tears briefly. "I saw – I saw – I saw my… I saw my uncle," she choked out, her voice barely rising above a whisper. "I saw him lying dead and crushed upon the ground, and a great shadow stood over him, and it was laughing – laughing, because it had slain my King." She let her head drop as fresh cries rose to her throat and escaped from her lips.

"Shhh," Gríma murmured, stroking her hair. He was grateful she could not see the troubled look on his face. "You need not fear; it was merely a dream."

"No," Éowyn said certainly, surprising clarity in her voice. "No, counsellor, he is gone. Our King is gone."

The despair in her voice and in her face was absolute; it was enough to convince Gríma that she was indeed right. He was astonished by the pain he felt deep within himself at the realization that Théoden was dead. He had betrayed the man, after all, had bent him and broken him until he was hardly human any longer. But Théoden had ever been good to Gríma, had cared for him and made certain he received an education and had given him a place in Rohan's court. If he had not been so weak, if he had not been so easily manipulated, he would have served Théoden gladly for all the span of his years.

Éowyn had ceased crying now. The tears had retreated from her eyes and her sadness had retreated with them into some deep place where it could not be easily reached. The woman lying in his arms was rigid and cold now, like stone, like ice. He wanted to comfort her, but she had already pushed aside her anguish; her usual aloof façade had taken its place.

"My queen," he said softly, "I am sorry."

"You could not have changed the outcome." She pulled away from him and sat up, arms wrapping around her knees. "You should sleep," she said distantly. "Tomorrow will be a difficult day, I think."

Gríma wanted to offer her more comfort, but he knew better than to try to draw her from her armored shell. "Good night, my Lady," he said softly. "Wake me if you should require me for any reason."

She did not acknowledge his words but he was certain she had heard. He laid back on the bed but did not sleep; he could not, knowing his lady was distressed.

Éowyn sat for a long time at the end of the bed, staring blankly into the darkness of her room and wondering if she had made the correct choice in returning to Edoras. Her people needed a leader, that was true; but she might have saved her uncle if she had been at the battle to defend him.

Finally, she laid down to sleep again, knowing her restless thoughts would do her no good. She was not surprised when Gríma turned and wrapped his arms around her, tugging her against him. A tiny smile flickered on her face at his touch, then died and disappeared as sorrow overtook her once more.

When at last she slept, she dreamed again – but this time the dream was of her Hobbit friend, Merry. She saw him standing before the shadow. He was speaking but his words were garbled and she could not hear them. The shadow was laughing again, mocking him as it stooped to devour him; but suddenly there was a blinding flash of light, and there was no laughter, merely the anguished screams of the shadow as it twitched and coiled in its death throes. It howled as the burst of light swallowed it up, and tendrils of its blackness reached forth and sucked Merry down with it, beyond Éowyn's reach.

When she awoke again from this dream, Gríma was watching her concernedly. "You cried out for Merry," he said.

"The shadow that killed my uncle," Éowyn said hesitantly, propping herself up on one elbow. "He stood before it, and somehow it… it was destroyed. But it took him with it."

Gríma leaned forward and kissed Éowyn's forehead. "Let us pray that Merry did not die along with whatever it was he defeated," he said.

"Not dead," Éowyn said faintly. "But lost."

Gríma laid a hand on her cheek. "Éowyn, love, you could not have saved either even if you had been present," he said gently. "If anything, you would have fallen along with them – and Rohan could not have borne such a loss."

"We will all fall, soon," Éowyn said grimly. "The end draws ever closer, and we have no power to stop it."

"We know not the outcome of the battle for Minas Tirith," Gríma said carefully. "Do not lose hope now – for if you do not believe, then none in Rohan shall believe."

Éowyn felt a few tears slide down her cheeks. "It is a great burden, to hold the fates of so many in your hands," she whispered.

"Indeed," Gríma agreed. "And you have done all you can for them. They know that."

Éowyn hung her head, golden hair sweeping across her face to hide it from view. Gríma pushed it over her shoulder and waited for her to reply. Finally, she raised her head and opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment a knock came at the door. "My lady," Horst's voice called, "It is the dawn. Are you awake?"

Éowyn did not respond, her head dropping once again. "She's awake, Horst," Gríma finally said.

Horst's tone grew much less respectful. "Lord Counsellor," he said frigidly. "I suppose you also shall be required to rise."

"Your kindness is appreciated, Horst," Gríma snarled. "You may go."

At first there was no sign that he had left; then, they heard the sound of his boots as he moved swiftly down the hall.

"I loathe that man," Gríma said irritably.

"I'm sure he says the same of you," Éowyn sighed. She looked up and laid a hand on Gríma's cheek. "I suppose we should begin the day," she murmured.

Gríma's eyes fluttered closed, and he reached up to capture Éowyn's hand in his. "Yes, I suppose…" he breathed.

Éowyn watched him, her face unsmiling, but part of her heart melted as he turned and kissed the center of her palm. She leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. He accepted her kiss greedily and returned it passionately. "I love you," Éowyn said softly when she'd pulled back.

"I can never hear you say that enough," Gríma sighed.

Éowyn's lips twitched into a smile, and then she arose, every inch a formal and aloof queen.

It was time to face another dark and unhappy day.

- - - - - - - - -

Two days later, a messenger came galloping through Edoras' gates, riding like the wind. He wore the armor of one of the Riders and carried a banner of Rohan. As he road through the main street of Edoras he cried to all standing outside their homes, "The battle is won! Minas Tirith has been saved; the battle is won!"

Shouts and exclamations of joy and surprise arose all through Edoras. People rushed to the main road, hoping to see the messenger himself, but he moved as quickly as possible to the steps of Meduseld. He dismounted at their base and hurtled up the steps, taking two at a time when he could. He hurled open the doors to the throne room and cried heedlessly, "Lady Éowyn! The battle is won! Minas Tirith is ours!"

Éowyn leapt from her throne with a cry of disbelieving delight. She ran across the throne room and met the soldier halfway, embracing him in her happiness. "They were defeated?" she exclaimed.

"We had thought all was lost, my Lady," the soldier said, a smile on his face. "There were Haradrim with their great beasts, the oliphaunts, and they nearly had us there. Then we saw black ships coming into the harbor from the river, and we were certain we were dead men. But, to our surprise, it was Lord Aragorn who leapt from the ships and not our enemies. With him were Legolas and Gimli and an army of greatly unnatural beings that could not be slain. They destroyed Sauron's army and saved us from certain death."

Éowyn clasped her hands before her face and smiled brilliantly. Suddenly, the smile disappeared. "Théoden King has fallen," she said sadly.

The soldier also ceased to smile. "He has, my Lady," he said, his voice full of his loss. "It was the Witch King who felled him, the leader of the Nazgûl. The men around him were so struck down by their fear that they could do nothing to aid him." The soldier abruptly seemed to brighten. "But the Witch King, too, is defeated."

"What?" Éowyn cried. "But I thought –!"

"Lore claims that no man can kill the Witch King," Gríma interrupted, finally able to enter the conversation. He had been listening intently from behind Éowyn but had said nothing.

The soldier glared untrustingly at him, but said, "And it was no man who defeated him, but a Hobbit."

"Merry!" Éowyn burst out. "Is he well, or did the Witch King take him, too?"

"He is not well, my Lady, but he fights for his life," the soldier said. "Some darkness fell upon him after the Witch King was slain; Lord Aragorn calls it the Black Breath. He is working to heal him."

Éowyn felt a pang in her heart at the thought of Aragorn, but she did her best not to show it. "My brother?" she asked tremulously.

"He is well, my Lady," the soldier assured her, "And he would be glad to know that you are here and safe. He fears that you came with us and fell in battle. So many were slain, we could never recognize and know them all…"

Éowyn closed her eyes, sorrow in her heart. "I would have been honored to fall beside such great men," she said.

The soldier dropped down onto one knee before her. "My lady," he said, voice choked with emotion, "We would have been honored to have you fight beside us; but to know that you had fallen, and that we had not saved you, would have destroyed us. You are a beacon of hope – to us all." Here the soldier glanced significantly at Gríma. He perhaps guessed more of what Gríma felt than any other Rohirrim appeared to.

Éowyn pondered his words a few moments longer; then, with a sad smile, she held out her hands to him. "Rise, my friend," she commanded. "You have ridden far and done much in these dark days; you shall be greatly rewarded. But for now you must rest."

"There is one more thing I am bound to tell you, my Lady," the soldier said. "Lord Aragorn leads the remaining Rohirrim and his Gondorian soldiers to the Black Gates, there to face Sauron for the final time."

"The Black Gates?" Gríma exclaimed. "Is he mad?"

The soldier sighed. "Some think so," he said. "I was assured that there was some overarching reason behind all that they did, but I know not what it is."

Realization seemed to dawn on Éowyn's face. Gríma looked at her curiously but did not question her. "Thank you, friend, for all that you have done," Éowyn said sincerely. "Now, return to your home here and rest. We shall hold a feast to honor those who fell in battle and those who go to defend us against our enemies tomorrow night."

The soldier bowed deeply and then turned and walked wearily out the door. Éowyn stood, deep in thought, in the midst of the throne room. Gríma did not want to interrupt her, but many impatient questions pounded in his mind as he watched her.

A small smile broke out onto her face. "Go on, counsellor," she said with a small laugh, "I know your curious mind is crying out for answers."

"You know why they go to the Black Gates to fight," he said instantly.

Éowyn nodded. "I do," she said. "But here is not the place to speak of it…"

She dismissed the guards and servants from the throne room and sent them to prepare for the great feast that was soon to occur. Then, she led Gríma to their quarters. She dropped onto the bed and began, "Merry and Pippin are not the only Hobbits abroad at this time. There are two others in their number. One of them, Frodo, carried Sauron's One Ring from the Shire to Rivendell, and, if our hopes are confirmed, carries it still, right into the heart of Mordor to destroy it…"

And so she revealed what she knew of Frodo and Sam, of the Nine Companions and their journey across the lands of Middle Earth. Gríma listened raptly, taking in every detail of the story as it was told to him. When Éowyn had at last exhausted her knowledge of Frodo's travels, she concluded, "And so I imagine that they go to the Black Gates to draw Sauron's eye from Frodo as he reaches Mount Doom at last, so that he will go unnoticed until the very last moment."

Gríma was silent a long time, considering all that she had told him. "They are brave creatures, Hobbits," he said finally, a deep admiration in his voice. "Why do they not hold a more honored place in our stories and legends?"

"I can't imagine that they won't, now," Éowyn smiled.

Gríma smiled also. "This must be to what Gandalf was referring when he told me that I might someday write the tale of these days for all who come after us to read," he said. "He thought I would write Frodo's tale."

"And mine," Éowyn reminded him playfully.

"Yours is already begun," Gríma told her seriously.

"It is?" Éowyn said in surprise. "And you haven't shown me?"

"It isn't finished," Gríma said defensively. "I can't permit you to read it until it is complete, now can I?"

"You could if you chose," Éowyn pouted. "What if you write something I don't like?"

Gríma laughed. "Oh, Éowyn," he said, "What could I possibly say about you that you wouldn't like?"

"That I was selfish?" she suggested. "That as beautiful as I was, something about my features was not quite right – my nose, perhaps."

"I happen to like your nose," Gríma informed her with a grin. The smile faded slowly and he looked away. "They will be destroyed if Frodo is not at Mount Doom, or if he lost the Ring or fled with it."

Éowyn closed her eyes tightly, as though protecting herself from such a fearful thought. "Then we must pray that Frodo remains well, and that his task will soon be complete," she said firmly.

"And if that is not the case, my Lady?"

Éowyn opened her eyes and looked steadily into Gríma's face. "Then we will face a very bleak future," she said darkly.

- - - - - - - - -

But the future was not a bleak one for the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, and it was not long before those in Edoras discovered it.

Another messenger arrived within a fortnight of the first's coming, galloping through the streets and crying, "Victory! Sauron is defeated! Victory is ours!"

To Éowyn he delivered a message from her brother, asking her to come at once to Minas Tirith to celebrate Sauron's destruction – and to meet the Hobbits who had saved them all. He also informed her that, though Aragorn's efforts, Merry had been healed, and that the ever-rambunctious young Hobbit was anxious to see her again. Merry had told Éomer of Éowyn's intent to ride with the soldiers, and how she had turned back, and Éomer, although delighted that his sister lived, also reprimanded her repeatedly in his message for risking her life in such a way.

Much to Gríma's surprise, he was also sent a message – from Gandalf. It was simple and brief: "Now is the time to use your art to your people's advantage," the neatly written note said. Attached to the message was a long, written manuscript detailing Frodo's journey and, where appropriate, the journeys of the other Nine Companions. Gríma read through the script in stark silence while Éowyn watched him intently. The instant he was finished, he rose from his seat by her throne and disappeared into his chambers. Éowyn had intended to ask him what the message had been about, but he did not give her the opportunity. Gríma did not emerge from his rooms for a very long time.

When at last he reappeared, it was time for Éowyn and her company to depart. Éowyn had ordered Gríma's horse saddled, in case he should intend to go with them, and he mounted the horse wearily, a long scroll tied tightly closed with a black ribbon and clutched tightly in his hand.

"You look as though you haven't slept," Éowyn said disapprovingly.

"I haven't," Gríma replied blearily, voice cracking from exhaustion. "But it has never been unusual for me to choose writing over sleeping."

"All this time you have been writing?" Horst said in surprise.

"Such is my gift, and ever my task," Gríma said simply, and with that they were off.

- - - - - - - - - -

Merry was the first to note the party of Rohirrim approaching Minas Tirith. "Éowyn!" he cried ecstatically from the post where he stood. "Éowyn has arrived!" He turned and hurtled into the throne room where Aragorn, Éomer, Gandalf, and Faramir the Steward sat speaking. "Éomer King!" he shouted in delight, "Éowyn is here!"

Éomer leapt in a most undignified manner from his seat and ran hurriedly from the room. Merry ran after him, attempting to keep up, but his legs were far too short. Noting this, Éomer paused with a laugh. "Come, my friend!" he said. "If you cannot run as quickly as I, then I shall carry you!"

Merry stopped beside him, panting heavily. "As undignified as that sounds," he said in amusement, "I'm right exhausted enough to accept."

Éomer scooped the hobbit up and carried him on his back to a stable. There, he pulled out his horse, unsaddled and unbridled, and swung Merry up onto the horse, and then himself. "Now," he said, "Let us ride in true Rohirrim fashion to meet my sister."

The horse moved swiftly down the streets of Minas Tirith as people leapt aside for the King of Rohan and his small charge. It was snorting and panting by the time they arrived at the gates at the base of the city, but it had gotten them there in time to watch as the gates were pulled open.

Éowyn was at the head of the group, followed closely by Gríma, Horst, and the two messengers. Behind these five rode a party of Rohirrim, armored and proud, who guarded their queen against any harm that might come to her. Éowyn, too, appeared weary but happy – it had been a long and tiring journey with little rest. Yet still there was a small smile upon her face as she drew her horse to a halt. She glanced over her shoulder and beamed at Gríma as he also stopped, her eyes sparkling. He smiled back at her with the greatest tenderness, his adoration for her quite plain.

"Éowyn!" Merry called to her, and at the sound of his voice her formal demeanor melted away.

"Merry!" she cried, dismounting her horse and running to them. "Éomer!"

Éomer dismounted first, and then assisted Merry down. "You stupid, stupid woman!" he cried, snapping her up in a tight embrace. "How I wanted to beat you when I heard you'd intended to ride with us! You could have been slain and I would never have known!"

"I missed you too, my brother," Éowyn replied with a smile.

He embraced her more tightly at these words. "I feared for you," he whispered. "I feared so greatly for you… if I had lost my liege, and you as well… I would have been destroyed."

Éowyn forcefully swallowed the tears that rose at these words. "All is well, brother," she said gently. "You have fought and defended our people and I have cared for them as best as I could in your absence. Our uncle would have been proud of you."

Éomer smiled and lightly kissed the top of his sister's head. "And he would have been proud of you, too, for all that you have done at home," he said. "Great things you have wrought. You are the most precious treasure that Rohan possesses."

Éowyn blushed prettily, then pulled back with a laugh. "Merry, my friend," she said, kneeling and embracing him.

He hugged her tightly. "I'm sorry," he said painfully.

Éowyn pulled away in surprise. "What on earth for?" she asked.

"I'm sorry… that I couldn't save Théoden," he said, hanging his head. "I tried, you understand. I was right beside him when he fell… but the great beast that the Witch King rode on… well, it was too big for me, see, and it threw me aside, and… and it knocked over his horse, and the horse crushed him, and that was the end." He angrily brushed away a tear. "And when I'd recovered, it was too late," he finished.

Éowyn laid a hand on his cheek. "Merry," she said, "You destroyed the Witch King, a task no other could have completed."

"If you'd been here, I'll bet you could have," Merry said certainly.

Éowyn shook her head. "You were meant for this task," she said. "And I am grateful that Eru saw fit to spare you once it was completed." She smiled once more. "Come; now is not the time for mourning. Now, we will celebrate that we have been freed of the darkness that has long held sway."

She stood and turned back to her guards. She held out her hand, and Gríma rushed forward and took it, clasping her fingers tightly with his. Éomer glanced at their locked hands disapprovingly but fell into step beside his sister without commenting.

They walked in slightly awkward silence for awhile, until Aragorn, Gandalf, and Faramir appeared ahead of them. Éowyn broke away from the group to embrace Aragorn, a brilliant smile on her face. Gríma froze in his tracks and watched her go with wide eyes, fear and envy apparent. Éomer noted his look and said, "I do not think you need fear that she will leave you, counsellor."

Gríma looked to him in surprise. "She loved him," he said.

Éomer nodded. "That is true," he said, "But I do not think she harbors more than a sisterly affection for him now; after all, he clearly rejected her at Dunharrow, else she would not have tried to ride with us."

"You have not reprimanded me for failing to stop her," Gríma noted.

"I do not think anyone could have stopped her once she had made her decision – not even my uncle," Éomer replied with a sigh. "And besides, I know that she must have returned not simply because of her duty to Rohan, but because of you."

Gríma smiled softly. "I would like to think it so," he said.

Éomer scrutinized him carefully. "You intend to marry her still?" he asked. "You will never rule Rohan, you realize."

"That was never why I loved her," Gríma retorted, steel in his voice.

Éomer nodded again, thoughtfully this time. "I know that now," he said, "But until you returned I did not understand why it was you desired her as much as you did. I simply assumed you craved her power and her body. But you would not have suffered through all of this as you have if you did not love her with every fiber of your being."

Silence fell between them. They watched Éowyn as she spoke with Aragorn, laughing and smiling. "If she should choose it," Gríma said hesitantly, "Will you give me your sister's hand?"

"She is a great gift," Éomer said stiffly, "And you do not deserve her."

"I imagine we all agree on that," Gríma replied dryly, "And I include myself amongst that 'we.' But that does not answer my question."

Éomer looked away, eyes intently studying the cracks in the stone of Minas Tirith's walls. "Give me time to think on it," he said finally. "You may have proven yourself in my uncle's eyes, but I will be harder to convince."

"You know I love her as much as you do," Gríma said.

Éomer hesitated, and then nodded shortly. "Yes, I know," he murmured. He forced a smile onto his face and walked to stand by his sister and Aragorn.

Gríma hung back, watching the happy group. He was once again an outsider, watching an intimate party of friends but never being able to share in their joy. He was about to walk away when he heard a soft cough from behind him. He turned and saw Merry standing there. "You've taken care of her, I see," he said carefully.

Gríma looked back at Éowyn. "I've tried my best," he said.

Merry came to stand beside him. "I've never seen her so happy," he said.

"Aragorn and her brother bring her much pleasure," Gríma said bitterly.

"So do you," Merry said. "She smiled like that at you when you rode in."

Gríma glanced at Merry hopefully. "Did she indeed?"

"I've no idea how you didn't notice," Merry said with a snort. "It was plain as day to my eyes."

"Hobbits seem to me to be quite extraordinary creatures," Gríma said with a grin. "What is plain to you is less obvious to the corrupted eyes of men."

Merry was about to reply when Éowyn broke off from the circle of men and came back to Gríma, looping her arm through his. "You look lonely," she said. "And as wonderful as Merry is, he can't be nearly as fascinating as I am."

"I take offense to that," Merry said, looking put out.

Gríma chuckled. "My apologies, Merry, but I'm afraid she's right," he said.

"Come, both of you, join us," Éowyn insisted. "We have much to discuss. Tomorrow there will be a great celebration in honor of Frodo and Sam, and we must all prepare for it."

The trio joined the other group, and after brief introductions to Faramir, they moved off through Minas Tirith's streets to discuss the details of the day that was to come.

- - - - - - - - -

The rest of the day was spent preparing a clearing in the midst of a great wood a ways into Ithilien. Gríma did little to physically assist in preparations, but instead spent the time with Gandalf. Éowyn watched him the whole day through as he and Gandalf pored over the manuscript that Gríma had carried from Edoras. They whispered together, Gandalf occasionally pointing to something and Gríma marking it with a note. Almost like old friends, Éowyn thought with a wry grin. She would never have imagined such an oddly matched meeting several months ago – but then, everything had changed since that day when Gríma had banished himself to Orthanc.

When the sun finally had set, and all the others had quit their work and returned to their homes in Minas Tirith, Gandalf and Gríma were still working by the light of Gandalf's staff. Éowyn sat with her back against a tree and waited for their task to be completed. When at last they were done, it was Gandalf who noticed her first. "I believe," he said in amusement, "That someone is waiting for you."

Gríma looked up from the parchment he had been studying so intently and leapt to his feet. "Éowyn!" he exclaimed. "You should have left with the others."

"I didn't want to leave you," Éowyn said, taking the hand he offered her and letting him pull her to her feet. "Besides, you know not where we are to lodge tonight."

"I assumed you would be staying… elsewhere," he said, pausing carefully to consider his wording, as Gandalf was present and being too obvious would have been awkward.

Éowyn tossed her hair over one shoulder haughtily. "Then you were mistaken," she said, ignoring Gandalf. "I didn't see any reason to be separated."

"Your brother won't be pleased," Gríma said with a resigned sigh.

"Let me handle my brother," Éowyn said calmly. She turned to Gandalf and bid him goodnight, then led Gríma off towards the city. "What have you been doing all day?" she asked curiously when they were alone.

"That I cannot tell you," Gríma said, twining his fingers with hers. "It is to be a surprise for tomorrow."

Éowyn looked so disappointed that Gríma laughed. "Don't worry," he said, pausing briefly to kiss her forehead. "I have something else for you."

Éowyn raised a questioning eyebrow, but did not ask aloud what gift he had for her, and he did not reveal it.

"You visited much with Aragorn today," Gríma noted, and the jealousy that edged his voice was unmistakable.

Éowyn sighed. "He is a hero, and my friend, and nothing more," she assured him. "He has done so much for the Free Peoples in this great war. He will be a good king."

"As will your brother," Gríma said.

Éowyn looked up at him, startled. "I never expected to hear you say a kind word of my brother," she said in awe.

He grinned. "Nor did I," he confessed, "But Rohan needs him, and he will lead them well. I still believe that you would be a better ruler, but my opinion matters little."

Éowyn lightly slapped his arm in reproach. "My brother is better trained in the ways of a king," she said. "And he will rule wisely and well. I believe in him."

She turned onto a path in the midst of the woods and led Gríma to a small cottage nestled away. "This is where they're to have you stay?" Gríma questioned in surprise.

"Aragorn's steward thought I would be comfortable here," she said. "He offered it to me as a retreat whenever I should wish to escape the life of a lady of the court."

"He sounds far more interested in you than he should be," Gríma said darkly.

"Your jealousy is unbecoming," Éowyn told him. She stopped in front of the door and turned to kiss him. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and held her close until she pulled back. "You need fear nothing, counsellor," she breathed. "My heart is ever yours."

"As mine has ever been yours," Gríma replied, kissing her again.

Éowyn smiled and turned aside. "I want to see this gift you have for me," she said, opening the door to the cottage and going inside. Gríma followed her and watched as she moved to light the candles inside the cottage. As he watched he removed from his cloak another scroll, smaller than the one he carried but tied with a more beautiful ribbon. Éowyn turned and saw it in his hand, and her eyes lit up. "My story?" she asked.

He nodded and smiled, and handed it to her. Gleefully she turned and dropped onto the pallet, sitting directly at its edge and unrolling the scroll with eager hands. Gríma left her to read, slipping into a small separate room to undress and bathe.

When he returned into their room Éowyn was still reading. She had not moved at all, her eyes focused on the page and glassy with unshed tears. Gríma stood in the shadows and watched as she turned page after page. Finally, she let the manuscript drop into her lap as she finished the last words. She did not look up, but stayed looking a long time at the page before her.

"I have upset you," Gríma said fearfully, after a long silence.

Éowyn's eyes jumped to his, still full of tears. "No," she whispered. She stood, setting the pages aside lovingly, and went to him. "No, my Lord; it is beautiful beyond compare. You have created me to seem as though I belong amongst the Valar. You flatter me far too much, I think."

"No, my love," Gríma breathed, "You are merely blind to how precious you are."

Éowyn smiled tenderly, the tears in her eyes sliding gracefully down her cheeks. Gríma pulled her into his arms and kissed her deeply, infusing it with all the love he felt for her. He lifted her from the floor and carried her to the bed, and they did not stir from that place until long after the sun had risen.

- - - - - - - - -

The next afternoon, they all met in the field they had arrayed for the celebration and for Aragorn's coronation. Gandalf and Gríma met briefly one final time before Gríma returned to his place in the crowd. He came to stand beside Éowyn and Éomer, with the other Rohirrim arrayed behind them. Éowyn reached out and took Gríma's hand in hers, quietly noting, "Gandalf has left us. To where does he go?"

"To fetch the heroes we have gathered to celebrate," Gríma replied. "Someone must bring them to us."

For a while they spoke amongst themselves, until Pippin came hurtling into the clearing with Merry in tow. "They're coming!" Pippin cried. "They'll be coming soon!"

Excited chatter filled the clearing as Merry rushed to stand beside Éomer and Pippin ran to stand next to Faramir on the opposite side of the clearing. Aragorn raised a hand, and everyone fell silent.

At that moment, Gandalf entered the clearing, with two Hobbits before him. They were clad in dirty and ragged clothes, doubtless those that they had worn on their long journey to Mordor. They stared at the crowd surrounding them in great wonder, eyes wide and disbelieving.

Aragorn lifted his hands and called, "Praise them with great praise!"

"PRAISE THEM WITH GREAT PRAISE!"

The clearing echoed with the chorus of voices raising up the cry. Both Hobbits turned bright red, eyes still wide in wonderment. One of them scrutinized Aragorn carefully, and suddenly cried out, "Strider!"

Aragorn laughed in delight. "Yes, Sam, it is your Strider," he said, choking slightly on the words, as though a great swell of emotion had risen within him.

At this Sam and Frodo both rushed across the clearing and embraced the King of Gondor with glad cries. Then he led them to the dais on which a throne sat, and seated them upon it also. He sat in a chair between them and glanced in the direction of the Rohirrim.

Gríma loosed his hand from Éowyn's and stepped forward with a sweeping bow. "I beg your leave, my liege, to speak," he said in a clear voice that echoed all across the clearing.

"It is given you," Aragorn granted.

Gríma straightened and looked directly at the two Hobbits seated before him. "Lords and knights and men of valor unashamed," he began, his voice entrancing all who stood listening, "Kings and princes, and fair people of Gondor, and Riders of Rohan, and sons of Elrond, and Dúnedain of the North, and Elf and Dwarf, and greathearts of the Shire, and all free folk of the West, now listen to my tale. For I will tell you of Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom…"

Sam emitted a cry of delight, and Éowyn drew herself up in astonishment and pride. The tale swept away all in the audience, drew them in and brought them to tears, and all the while Éowyn fell even more deeply in love with the man she had once called a traitor.

The afternoon faded into evening, but none noticed, so under the spell of Gríma's voice were they. He continued until the shadows had grown long and the sun had nearly dropped beneath the horizon; but then at last his tale was complete. "Praise them with great praise!" he concluded, and then he bowed deeply before the Hobbits and the King of Gondor.

For a while, silence hung over the crowd. Then Aragorn rose and announced, "And now, we will feast!"

Laughing merrily, the great host moved off towards pavilions that had been set up in the day previous and seated themselves. Éowyn stood still awhile longer beside her brother, watching as Gríma rose from where he knelt. He appeared completely different from the man he had been before to both of them. His hair was swept back from his face and tied neatly, and he wore deep blue robes instead of the gloomy black he normally chose. He stood taller, proud of his accomplishment in the telling of Frodo's story, and his eyes sparkled with a fierce new pride that had not been present before. He smiled and bowed low when Frodo and Sam approached him to thank him for his tale. He and Frodo spoke earnestly for a long time, surprising both Éowyn and Éomer.

"They are kindred souls in a way, those two," Gandalf noted with a chuckle. Both turned to him in surprise.

"How so?" Éowyn asked.

"They love to read and write," Gandalf explained. "Tales and history and lore and language are the true loves of them both; they have dedicated their lives to them. No doubt Frodo was most curious about the man who wrote his tale into such a beautiful poem."

"He is talented, my counsellor," Éowyn said with a fond smile.

"He is indeed," Gandalf agreed, "And I am grateful that his talents have been put to good use for us. Saruman manipulated and wasted him, corrupting him beyond his purpose. You have healed him, my Lady."

He laid a hand on her shoulder and then moved away from her, approaching Frodo and Gríma. He paused to compliment Gríma on his excellent work, and then led Frodo away.

Éowyn took her brother's arm. "Come," she commanded. "We should thank Gríma for such a marvelous telling of Frodo's story. And besides, we must eat."

Éomer nodded slowly, then followed her as though in a daze.

Éowyn ran to Gríma and embraced him, kissing him lightly before stepping back. "That was beautiful," she told him. "If all men could use words as you do, we should all be doomed."

Gríma waved the praise away. "It was nothing," he said. "There are surely others who could have done better."

"No," Éomer said, speaking for the first time. "No, I don't believe there is another minstrel, bard, or lore master who could have told it with as much empathy and feeling as you did. You have a great gift, counsellor."

Gríma bowed low. "I thank you, my liege," he murmured.

Éomer started slightly then smiled. "I've been thinking," he said. "About your… request."

Gríma stared at him, suddenly afraid. Éowyn looked between the two, unsure of what they were speaking about. "And?" Gríma asked, holding his breath.

"And," Éomer said slowly, "I think… that whatever I may have said previously… you deserve what you have asked for."

Gríma looked as though he might die of happiness. "My king!" he exclaimed. He knelt before Éomer and said, "How can I repay you such generosity?"

"Take good care of her," Éomer replied, eyeing his sister with a grin. "She can be quite difficult sometimes. But perhaps you know that better than others do."

Gríma rose with a smile. "As you command, my liege," he said.

"And," Éomer added, "I'll expect you to come to my court and entertain me with your latest tale at least once every month."

Gríma inclined his head in acceptance, and Éomer nodded shortly, turning and joining the others in their places.

Éowyn turned to Gríma in amazement. "Does this mean -?"

"Your King," Gríma said with a grin, "Has given his permission for me to marry you."

Éowyn cried out in delight and threw her arms around Gríma's neck. He swept her up and kissed her, holding her as tightly as he could against him.

When he pulled back Éowyn smiled and laid her head against his chest. "Then how does our story end, counsellor?" she asked.

"Hmm," Gríma said ponderously. "In a safe little cottage nestled away in the windswept plains of Rohan with fourteen children."

"Fourteen!" Éowyn exclaimed. She shook her head. "You may need to rethink that part."

Gríma sighed in mock disappointment. "One can't have everything, I suppose," he said.

Éowyn laughed and said, "Come, husband; the others are waiting for us."

And with that she led him to the pavilion, where he joined the other Rohirrim and sat as an equal among them at last, a traitor no more.

END

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