Winter's Chill

Lady Eowyn knelt by her bed, hands folded in silent prayer. She prayed for Theoden King, she prayed for Theodred's soul, and she prayed for her outcast brother Eomer; but most of all, Lady Eowyn, shieldmaiden of Rohan, prayed for herself, and for her deliverance from the slinking eyes and slimy hands that followed her to her bedchamber each night. When her prayers were done, she crawled underneath the cold covers and tried to sleep.

Sleep would not come. Eowyn feared for her sanity; she would not be able to fight him much longer. Theoden was useless as a king and confidant now that he was under the white wizard's spell, and her brother was banished upon pain of death. The men were loyal only to their king, despite his state; all the men loyal to Rohan had followed Eomer into exile. She was alone, completely and utterly alone.

Almost alone. Alone except for the voice at night that crept out of the darkness, whispering sweet words of comfort and longing. Desire warmed a voice so cold with hatred and treachery, and Eowyn felt its pull on her grow each day. Her heart was no longer closed to the pleas of Grima Wormtongue. With Theodred's death, she had actually considered his offer of love. He wanted her, and she needed someone. Even if it was him.

Eowyn sat up abruptly in the darkness, her thin cotton shift clinging to her small but full breasts, nipples hardening in the chill air of the night. She closed her eyes briefly and heard his breathing. "Grima," she said softly, opening her blue eyes to stare into the darkness. "Grima… come to me."

Wormtongue stood in the corner, paralyzed. For a moment, he thought he was dreaming, but the chill in the air and the painful arousal he felt told him otherwise. She had asked for him. Lady Eowyn had asked for him! He took a tentative step forward and bowed low. "I am at your service, milady," he murmured, clutching his handkerchief in one hand while holding his long black robes with the other. He carefully raised his eyes to hers, and he saw defeat and acquiescence. A momentary stab of guilt plagued him, for underneath his heartless exterior, Grima Wormtongue really did love Lady Eowyn.

He spoke no words as she lay back on the bed, her chest heaving as she waited for his touch. Grima dropped the handkerchief on the stone floor and shrugged out of his robes, his pale white body gleaming like a slippery night-roaming fish in the moonlight. His heart pounded as he stared at the beauty laid out before him. Lady Eowyn's skin was flushed pink, her lips parted sensuously, her eyes closed. Wormtongue reached forward, gently pulling the shift up over her ripe thighs, her flat, muscled stomach, and her beautiful mounded breasts, ruffling her long blond hair as he slipped it over her head and dropped it off the side of the bed.

Grima leaned over and kissed Eowyn tentatively, seeing if she would respond to him warmly or cry out in terror. Did she really know what she was doing? He had watched her every night for months, but she had been strong and resisted. Now she was giving in. What had he done to her? Had he destroyed the very thing about Eowyn that he loved? Her power to be strong, her power to resist darkness, had captivated him. It was his weakness. He was drawn to darkness, and he could never be free. She was free. She had been, until now.

As he tried to move away, Eowyn pulled him down on top of her and deepened their kiss. Her tongue slid into his mouth, flicking at his, and in that moment, Grima knew he could not do this thing. He could not take this woman's innocence. Better that he die by her brother's hand. Never had he known such valiant people as these, people so willing to fight and protect what they believed in.

When Eowyn opened her eyes, Grima was gone. His robes and handkerchief were still on the floor along with her shift. Pulling it over her head, she grabbed his things and stood, padding through the hallway to his room. She could hear him crying inside.

The door was slightly open. She looked through the crack, eyes widening as she watched Wormtongue bury his head in his hands and sob himself to sleep. She had seen the darkness in him disappear for a very short time, and she wondered to herself if there was a real man in him, if perhaps he could be saved.

Laying his things down by his bed, she smoothed back his black hair and kissed his forehead. She supposed she would never know if he would gain salvation. Soon it would be out of her hands. His hesitation had shown her as much.

She was still free.


Grima looked at the army of Saruman and was surprised when a single tear fell down his cheek. "Leave none alive," Saruman had said. Eowyn was going to die at Helm's Deep.

He vowed to himself that one day he would have revenge. Saruman would be made to pay for the injustice of killing such a strong woman, the only woman Grima had ever loved.