What He Would Give
by Dana

Disclaimer: The characters are property of JRR Tolkien.
Pairing: Gríma/Éowyn/Éomer
Rating: PG-13

Her fine dress is a length of snow-pale silk, and her skin is even fairer. Still, his hand about her wrist is even more pale, and he leads her from the throne room, from the great golden hall, and to the king's own room. She is rigid, unbending. Her golden hair, alone, is wild still, and falling free.

"He wishes to see you, my lady."

And he does. The King is sitting on his bed, the covers drawn and the bedfurs stretching wide. She does not struggle as he pushes her to the bed – the fight was broken from her, long ago. She does not tremble, again, at his touch – though the King's gaze is on her, and his own long fingers trace the length of her arm.

She does shiver, though, at his kiss – the strength in his frame, that she had forgotten, and she is caught beneath him – light smothered beneath dark – and he sucks the shock from her breath.

Her uncle is dead, her cousin, too. And this is her own brother's betrayal.

(It is a dream of his, and only that, but what Gríma would give of his own blood, to see it come to pass.)