A/N Hello again! Ok, I just posted one story today, and people told me to post more, so I am;-) I'm posting more on Faramir and Eowyn, because that's usually what I write on! Enjoy, all of you.

By the way...Just wanted to clear something up;-) In my last story, Until the Stars are All Alight one of my reviewers told me that I had a spelling error: except instead of accept. Well (and yes, it is just professional pride that is prompting me to say this;-) I actually didn't write that part, I got it off of councilofelrond.com, in their script section, and I didn't really look at is because I assumed they were grammatically correct. Anyway, the long and short of this is that I'm sorry I didn't catch that. Better luck with this one? Lol;-)

Disclaimor See Until the Stars are All Alight (Basically nothing of Tolkiens is mine;-)

Wounded Hearts

By Dimfuin

He moves slowly towards me, smiling a false smile, his sleepy eyes half open. He slithers across the floor, now and then glancing towards the right or left, but he keeps on coming. I am rooted to the spot, unable to leave the side of my King, and yet unable to abide this thing coming towards us. I know that over the past years it has been him and him alone who has poisoned the King's mind, turning him from a strong ruler into a doddering old man who stays all day hunched over the throne, yet I am powerless to do anything. Eomer, it is true, can ride his horse and take his anger out on the parties of orcs who roam over our land, but seldom indeed it is when I have a chance to leave this city, or even Meduseld, for that matter.

He is so close now I can smell the stench that rises from his garments, and I find myself wondering when he last bathed. His eyes are rimmed with red and he opens his mouth in some semblance of a smile, though I can see his long pale tongue flickering over his teeth. I cannot suppress a shudder, and I quickly turn my attention to straightening the robe that lays on the Kings lap.

A hand touches my arm gently, and again I cannot suppress a shudder. Why am I letting him touch me? But his hand, cold and clammy, moves up my arm to my neck, and I do not stop it. It lingers there for a minute, chilling my very bones, and then comes to rest on my cheek. I lift my eyes slowly, unwilling to look into the eyes of this thing that dares touch me. And yet still I do not shake him off. Why ever not? I am powerless over my own body, and---dare I say it?---I have a certain delight in letting this slime and filth fall for me. My life is a blank white sheet---why should I not allow him to fill a part of it?

"So beautiful is Eowyn, daughter of Theodwyn and Eomund. And yet she seems to be touched by a frost." His honeyed words are like another stench, this one more horrible than the last. I finally look up into his eyes and am rewarded with an emotion that I thought never to see in this man who is like a crawling animal. Lust. I tremble at the sight and suddenly I do not think I can take this anymore. His hand brushes lightly over my cheek and suddenly I snap. Beginning to back away, I say quietly, "Who are you, snake? Why do you follow my footsteps and haunt my paths? I am Eowyn, a daughter of kings! Get away from me!"

He smiles in delight and takes a step forward, his eyes dimming slightly. "Oh, but you will never have the chance to show yourself, daughter of kings," his words make me feel cold, and I curse myself for allowing that. He goes on, the slipperiness coming back. "You are not content, Eowyn. I see it daily. But why does Eomer not?"

I begin to ask the same question for myself and then stop abruptly, breathless. This man has even the power to turn me against my own brother. Surely he is not human at all, but rather some nameless evil disguised in a man's body! I try to turn away, but his eyes, red and bloodshot, hold me. I hit a wall and can back up no more. His voice begins to whisper in my ear, "A gilded cage, Eowyn. That is what your lot in life is, Eowyn. Eowyn! A hutch to trammel some wild thing...Eowyn. Eowyn!"

I am being shaken gently, and my eyes fly open. "Eowyn," whispers a voice in my ear, and a hand is placed gently on my arm. I shudder and scoot away from the voice and touches, fear coursing through me. I will not let that snake touch me again!

"Eowyn, it was a dream, my love. You were dreaming," the soft voice says again, and, bewildered, I realize that it is not Grima Wormtongue's voice in my ear, but that of my husband.

"Faramir?" I ask, looking about me, and arms encircle me and pull me towards a body. I look up into the gray eyes of my beloved. Relief settles like a blanket over me and I lay my head against his chest, tears starting. "Oh Faramir!" I whisper, and he kisses the top of my head.

"Tell me about it," he murmurs, stroking my hair. I gulp.

"I was back in the court of my uncle, standing by his throne. That...that...snake, was there, and he touched me, and I couldn't stop him. I, who slew the Witch-king, was powerless to stop him from caressing me!" I shudder involuntarily again and Faramir's arms tighten. "It was horrible," I go on, eyes shut, and again I see the bloodshot eyes before me, leering and lust-filled. "He began to tell me what my life was like, that I would never be free and that I would spend my years in a gilded cage, unable to prove my lineage."

"But Eowyn, that is not true," the gentle voice of my husband says, "You have proved it. You are happy now." There is an edge of worry in his voice, and I take a deep breath, then turn and look up at his face.

"Yes," I smile faintly, "Yes. He should not hold onto my dreams still, plaguing my nights. Why does he, Faramir?"

Faramir sighs, then places a kiss on my cheek. "I do not know, my love," he says slowly, "But we need not be consumed by it."

"No," I sigh, and then there is silence between us as we stare out into the dark of night in Ithilien, the land of the Moon. I snuggle into my husband's arms, grateful for their warmth from the chill that has crept up my body. I turn, looking deep into his changeable and wise gray eyes. "Kiss me, Faramir," I whisper, and he presses his lips softly upon my own, dispelling both the coldness and the rotten taste left in my mouth---replacing it with a feeling of security and something I would never believe I would posses, a year ago. And that is love.