Éowyn has risen early from a sleep filled with troubled dreams of death and darkness. She walks the corridors of the Golden Hall quietly, conscious of the noise that her footfalls make in the oppressive silence. There is no sign of her uncle, his advisor, or her brother. The city itself still lies asleep in the silence of the undawned morning; even the most diligent farmer is still abed. As the sun beings to peer out from behind the far-off mountains, shelooks out over the land – the rays bathe begin to bathe Meduseld in light, but there are so many dark corners that it can never be fully illuminated. The rise catches the gold filigree on the hall and it glows brightly – but the dark wood interior remains as dark as ever. Éowyn walks along the edge of the wall, looking out over the plains and turning over the plans in her mind.
I discussed several possibilities as regards Grima with my brother last night. The thought of what we have agreed to do makes me tremble, but I wonder at this trembling. Is this not what I have wished for, for so long? Is this not what I have lain awake at nights and dreamed of? The Worm gone, never to bother myself or my uncle any longer... the Worm fallen under the sure hand of my brother, who will truly, I trust, prove himself to be as great as Theodred. Oh, Theodred.
I must steel myself to do what I know is right; this loathsome fear in me must be set aside, somehow, if we are to triumph.