Sleeping Beauty

            Darkness fell over Edoras, and the Lady Eowyn sat on the front marble steps, gazing longingly out over the plains. Her long, flowing, wheat-coloured hair blew gently in the cool night breeze, and she gave a small shiver. Though it was late summer, the nights were cool. Giving a quiet yawn, the young maiden stood to her feet, stretching her slender arms over her head. She had spent most of the morning and afternoon outdoors, gardening or taking part in whatever other household activity needed her assistance. Her Uncle was the King of Edoras, and she the Princess, yet she was the most unusual piece of work anyone in those parts had ever seen.

            Eowyn was not what people often pictured in their minds about royalty. She hated gowns, hated having servants following her everywhere…and she wanted to fight. She wanted to feel the thrill of holding a sword, sticking it through the gut of her enemy. Yet her gender and status prohibited her from taking part in battle. Growling a little, Eowyn decided that she would turn in. Not that she personally wanted to go to bed, but she did not want her Uncle’s advisor, Grima Wormtongue, coming out to fetch her. Wormtongue was one of the most hideous beings in all of Middle-Earth, in Eowyn’s opinion. He had long, greasy black hair, bulging bloodshot eyes, and a toad-like mouth. He voice came out in almost a hiss, and Eowyn could feel the hairs pricking up on the back of her neck whenever she was in his presence.  She never understood why Theoden had appointed him this position to begin with, but asking questions of that sort was forbidden.

            Eowyn pulled open the great double doors and entered the house, which was silent as death itself. Her shoe-clad feet made echoing clacks on the tile as she headed in the direction of her bedroom, which happened to be on the second floor. Just as Eowyn turned a corner, she let out a shriek…Wormtongue was standing there, his gangly body only a few inches from her own. It took Eowyn a moment or two to catch her breath, and when she did, she stepped back. “What do you want?” She asked coldly, noticing that he was carrying a bulging sack. “What have you killed now?”

            Wormtongue gave a great laugh and shook his head. “I have not killed anything, but your dear old Uncle has requested that you spin him a sweater for the coming winter.” He shoved the bag of…Eowyn opened the top a bit to see what was inside…yarn of multiple colors and bundles of soft, white wool into her arms. There were a few sharp spindles and a cup of needles nestled into the fabric as well.

            “He wishes for me to spin a sweater?” Eowyn asked, a bit puzzled, wondering why her Uncle would wish for her to make him a sweater at this hour of the day. If he had such an interest, he could have asked earlier, when her brain was fully alert.

            “That is what I said, my sweet,” Wormtongue sneered.

            Eowyn clutched the bag in her hands. “What if I do not finish it tonight?” She asked, feeling slightly nauseous at the horrid smell of Wormtongue’s breath.

            Wormtongue only gaver her a sickening grin before turning and walking swiftly down the corridors without another word. Eowyn sighed, shaking her head with a roll of her eyes. A sweater it would be…she could not defy her Uncle, that was certain…he had been so kind to her and her brother Eomer for all of these years. Spinning a sweater would be easy enough. Or so she hoped. Eowyn could barely see above the bag as she rushed to her room, and at last she dropped everything onto her four poster, quickly shutting and locking the door to avoid unsuspecting visitors. Her knitting needles sat in the corner desk, and Eowyn chewed on her lower lip in thought as she looked at them. If she made a perfect sweater, she would have to work all night, and she was not sure if her body could handle that.

            Eowyn gathered her yarn and her wool, and brought everything over to the desk. She used the specific needles that Wormtongue had provided for her in the sack, and began to knit. She watched as the sun finished setting and the moon rise, and the stars slowly begin to form in the velvety black sky. “Ouch!” Eowyn yelped, removing her finger quickly from her work, and watching as a drop of bright red blood fell onto the white yarn. She pulled her injured finger quickly to her mouth, sucking on it, cursing to herself under her breath as she did so. When at last the bleeding stopped, Eowyn raised her eyes, shrugging and going back to her knitting. “Ow!” She gasped again as the needle dug into her flesh once again.

            About twenty minutes later, she began to feel strangely sleepy. So sleepy, that her eyes felt heavy as stones. No matter how hard she tried, she could not in the least keep her mind on the sweater. Soon, she gave a faint sigh of “Ooooh….” And with a slight “Eeep!” slid right off of her seat and to the floor, sleeping soundly.

            What Eowyn did not realize was that Grima had been outside of her room the entire time, waiting. He had put a spell on the needles in the sack, making it so that whomever the needles pricked they would fall asleep for eternity, unless he alone lifted the spell with a kiss. As silly as the plan was, Grima felt it was perfect. He would at long last get what he wanted, and the Lady Eowyn would not have the power to struggle against him. It was brilliant…he let out a burst of maniacal laughter.

Grima attempted to let himself in, but found the door locked, and he cursed. It was not surprising to him that Eowyn locked her door at when she went to sleep. He luckily knew the old fashioned pick the lock trick, where he took one of of the leftover needles in his pocket, and began jiggling the door knob with it. Eventually the lock undid itself, and he pulled open the door, beaming as he saw Eowyn’s peacefully sleeping form lying on the floor beside the desk. She was on her side, her arms stretched out, her hair spread on the rug. Oh how beautiful Eowyn looked in this position. Grima managed to drag Eowyn’s limp body over to the large bed, and hoisted her up onto it. Wormtongue crawled up onto the bed, shedding his thick black cloak, which he wore every season of the year onto the ground.

He pinched Eowyn’s pale lips together, lowering his head towards hers. He was an inch away from actually kissing her when the door flew open with such force that it seemed to make the entire room tremble.

“HA! I knew you were up to no good, you slimey fiend!”

Wormtongue lifted his head and turned around, his eyes widening in alarm. He had not expected this…he had sent Eomer to “deliver” a message to the king of Gondor a week ago…how could he possibly be back so soon?

“Ah,” Wormtongue began, rising so that he could face the scowling rohirrim warrior in the eyes. “Eomer…” He gave a little laugh as he noticed that Eomer had his teeth bared and that his one hand was clutching his long, silver sword. “I was eh…not expecting you for at least a fortnight…”

Eomer raised his eyes, smirking a little. “You are a lying, sniveling rogue!” He snapped.

Wormtongue swiftly hopped from the bed and hobbled a bit over to Eomer, clucking his tongue in disapproval.

“Tut tut…that is no way to speak to your Uncle’s right hand now is it?” He asked.

Eomer snorted. “Not by choice you aren’t. Now what have you done to my sister? Why does Eowyn lay so still?” He held the tip of the sword against Wormtongue’s throat. Wormtongue let out a small gag and a squeak, beads of sweat starting to pop out on his forehead.

“Wrong?” He gasped. “She sleeps…that is…gurgh!”

“You lie,” Eomer snarled. “Eowyn does not sleep on her own will this time…you have cast some sort of spell on her…break it, or I shall kill you, mark my words…”

Wormtongue did mark Eomer’s words in deed…he did not doubt that Eomer would follow through with his deed, as he had killed before, that was common knowledge.

“A…aye, master Eomer…it is a spell, yes…”

Eomer gave a nod. “I thought so…”

“Only it cannot be broken lest I kiss her…”

CLANG! The sword fell from Eomer’s hands and clashed against the floor. “WHAT?!” he roared, rushing over to Eowyn’s bedside. He was at least, relieved, to see her chest moving up and down as a result of her gentle breathing, but it made him feel ill when he went over Wormtongue’s explination of the spell in his head. He knew Wormtongue fancied Eowyn from the moment he laid eyes on her.

“You heard me,” Wormtongue broke Eomer’s train of thought.

“You are sick,” Eomer  hissed. “If it weren’t for this blasted spell you put on her, I would never have let you lay a filthy hand near Eowyn…”

Wormtongue nodded. “I see. Well now…shall we make this quick and painless, then?”

Eomer sighed…there clearly was no other way around the situation. “If you must. But make it quick.” He turned away, not wanting to watch.

Wormtongue crawled back up onto the bed and lifted one of Eowyn’s tiny hands, gazing fondly at it. Too bad, really, he thought, as he glanced at Eomer who had his back to him. Then again, life did not always work the way one wanted it to. With a sigh, Wormtongue lowered his lips to Eowyn’s, giving her a tender but passionate kiss. As luck would have it, Eowyn’s grey eyes fluttered open in mid-kiss, and when they caught sight of Wormtongue, she gave a great shriek, shoving him roughly away. Eomer whirled around, gasping as he watched his sister spit and wipe her mouth with her hand frantically.

“What did you think you were doing, you disgusting frog?” She snapped, before turning her head. Suddenly she beamed. “Eomer!” She squealed with delight, leaping of of the bed and into his arms. “Dear brother, when did you return?” Wormtongue glowered…this was not the way a lady was supposed to act.

“Only moments ago and just in time too,” Eomer replied. He walked over to Wormtongue and grasped the man by the scruff of the neck. Eowyn stepped back, her eyes wide. “Now leave,” he sneered to Grima. “Before I do slit your throat.” He tossed the enemy towards the door, before stepping back to stand with Eowyn. Grima scowled, before touching the door knob.

“You’ll watch your tongue, young master, if you know what is best…” With a great BANG that caused Eowyn to jump, Wormtongue threw open the door, slamming it shut with such force, that the room seemed to tremble. When he was gone, Eowyn collapsed yet again into her brother’s arms, tears starting to pour down her pale cheeks.

“If you h-hadn’t come, Eomer, who knows w-what would have h-happened…” It made her feel sick to think about what Wormtongue could have done to her. She’d had nightmares about the possibilities before.

“Shhhhshh…dear sister, you have been through quite a trial,” Eomer comforted as best as he could, patting her hair, and standing her straight. “Come with me to breakfast and we’ll get this out of our minds. We shall sup and be merry, yes?”

Eowyn grinned and nodded, wiping her eyes with the corner of her sleeve, before taking his arm. The two of them left the room, shutting the door behind them. ‘This might be a bit more difficult to forget than you think,’ Eowyn thought to herself with a sigh. In deed, it was.

***The End***