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Éowyn fell back to the bed, her thoughts muddled as they grudgingly let go of her dream's orgiastic decadence. Her sex burned with unfulfilled desire, both from what had actually transpired with Aragorn and what she'd only imagined with the illusory Rangers, but she had neither time nor enthusiasm for sating her lusts now. She needed to at least try to sleep while she still could. I might never be completely free of my untamable lusts, but the horrifying conclusion to my dream reminded me of something I'd lost touch with: others' needs aren't necessarily aligned with my own, and discretion must sometime trump desire. I've acted with horrifying recklessness and disregard these last few days. It has to stop.
Exhaustion overtaking her at last, her eyes fluttered closed.
But can I stop? And what, she wondered as her breathing eased towards slumber, if Aragorn says no? What if he rejects me again? What if, when the King returns, he orders me to remain here while the others ride to battle and glory? As she fell into unconsciousness, her emotions coalesced around a single, desperate truth.
There's no hope for me, then. When I was mired in Wormtongue's clutches I sometimes feared that death was my only escape, and so it may prove again. But I won't be denied that choice. At least it will finally be my own.
<<<<<<<>>>>>>>
Elrohir allowed himself a quiet chuckle. If she does, I think the folk of Dunharrow may soon discover many extremely interesting ways in which they may demonstrate their love for the fair Lady Éowyn, and she for them.
Elladan smiled as they passed into the shadows.
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