Gríma: Oh, he must've died s-sometime in the night. What a tragedy for the King to lose his only son and heir. I understand. His passing is hard to accept... especially now that your brother has deserted you.
[He places a tentative hand on Éowyn's shoulder. She shakes him off in disgust and stumbles hurriedly to her feet, shaken]
Éowyn: Leave me alone, snake!
Gríma: Oh, but you are alone. [he stands, circling her like a predator] Who knows what you've spoken to the darkness, in the bitter watches of the night... when all your life seems to shrink, the walls of your bower closing in about you... a hutch to trammel some wild thing in. [he touches her cheek lightly and her eyes flutter closed] So fair. So cold. Like a morning of pale spring still clinging to winter's chill.
[She opens her eyes and looks into his for a long moment]
Éowyn: Your words are poison.
[She leaves him]
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