With Hope and Without Hope

Chapter 49: Creatures of Legend

Grima burst through the door, startling Éowyn as she prepared to take her uncle to the hall. "There is no need for the king to appear. The trespassers were full of deceit and trickery. They have been sent to a cell."

Éowyn considered Grima's words to discern where the deception lay—for with Grima there was always deception. The desire that crept into the man's eyes soon forced hers away, and she laid a hand on her uncle's arm. "Uncle, as Grima has seen to the visitors, would you like to return to bed?" The man nodded tiredly and turned without a word.

Once she saw the king resting comfortably, Éowyn decided a visit to the jails was in order. After witnessing the earlier manipulation of words and people, she was all the more convinced that she could rely on none to act on behalf of Rohan.

Éowyn quietly found her way to the gloomy lower levels of Meduseld by paths that assured none saw her but the guard at the entrance to the jail. Grima had quickly decided the trespassers were liars and traitors. Were they simply dangerous to Grima and Saruman? She would learn for herself how treacherous they were.

She sought out the guard Wilhelm. He often supported her endeavors, regardless of whether they abided by a new law of Grima. She was always certain of his aid because it was offered not out of love for her, but for Rohan. After explaining to Wilhelm the need for her visit and obtaining the key, Éowyn followed the dark corridor to the cell.

What she found was wholly unexpected: two small figures huddled in the dark. She thought them both dwarves, but then recalled the child in the king's court. There had been whisperings since Saruman's arrival of the holbytlan tales come alive. Could this be one?

She stared at them both as they slowly stood and looked back at her through the barred window in the door. She freed a torch from the sconce on the wall behind her and approached the door with a deep breath. "You are those imprisoned for trespassing, is that so?"

The two looked at each other, clearly familiar enough to speak without words. The dwarf looked to her and nodded sharply. "Yes, that is the charge, though it was not the king who passed the judgment."

Éowyn met his sharp eyes, taking in his haggard appearance. "No," she said finally. "You had the pleasure of speaking with Wormtongue." She glanced at the guard. "Whence do you hail?"

The two looked at each other again, more words passing she could not hear. "Pardon my directness, Lady," the dwarf said. "From this side of the door, there are few questions we may put. And yet I am compelled to answer your question with one of my own: Who sends a lady to a jail to interrogate prisoners?"

Éowyn held back a smile, realizing this dwarf would not be cowed by mere bars and guards. Perhaps he would be by status and nobility, as many others were. She unlocked the door and stepped inside the musty cell. She left the wooden door open to the corridor. She would have her answers.

The light from her torch revealed a cell roughly crafted from stone and wood. The grit on the floor crunched under her feet, but the air was cool on her face. The pallet might have been enough for the two to share. She saw not even a water jug.

"I am Lady Éowyn, daughter of Éomund and sister-daughter to the king. None sent me. I come with questions of my own, and you shall answer." She paused and eyed the two, now standing before the rude bed. Glancing behind her, she continued, "Your answers remain with me. What are your names?"

"I am Gimli, son of Gloín, of the Lonely Mountain." The dwarf looked weary and drawn, and Éowyn realized he was in need of food. His face was dirty, but some of the smudges might have been bruises in the meager light.

"And I am Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire. But call me Merry, if you please."

"The Shire and the Lonely Mountain are a long journey from Rohan. What has brought you so far from home?"