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?"

The look the two shared told of a journey long and not without grief. Again, the dwarf spoke. "We have traveled far, that is true. For a noble cause did we embark on our journey. Then, orcs captured Merry and his cousin Pippin, and I with my two doughty friends raced after them day and night, for we would not rest until we had found them. That was how we came to be in Rohan."

"And you rescued them, clearly, as Merry stands here with you, is that so?"

Gimli shook his head slowly as the holbytla named Merry shuffled his feet—hairy feet!—and looked about. "No," he said quietly. "We were captured. The orcs dragged us all to Isengard."

"To Isengard? I see." Iron cuffs clung to Gimli's wrists as he crossed and uncrossed his arms. The tale of these two was undoubtedly great, and Éowyn was more doubtful than ever of Grima's cause for their imprisonment. "I cannot help but wonder how you escaped Saruman, for surely he held you there, did he not?"

"He did indeed, and our escape I owe all to Master Merry. From Pippin he had learned of news we thought would be of great interest to Rohan, and so we made haste in our escape—"

"News of interest to Rohan? You must tell me this now!"

"We made this journey to alert you to Saruman's plans for Rohan. But we have been told Saruman is already here. We advised the pale man who met with us that orcs were marching to Edoras, and warned him also of the deceit and trickery that were the mainstay of Saruman's schemes, but he seemed quite unconcerned." The dwarf narrowed his eyes. "Is this Grima someone you trust?"

Éowyn glanced back again as she toyed with how much to reveal. She found less to mistrust in Gimli than she did above. "Not with a dog's piece of meat would I trust him," she said in a harsh whisper.

Gimli nodded, crossing his arms again. "As I gathered. When I told him of Saruman's plans," the dwarf said as he continued to fidget, "he whispered that he might help him. I do not think this Grima has Rohan's best interests in mind." Merry too shuffled uncomfortably, and Gimli looked at him, words again passing silently. Suddenly narrowing his eyes, the dwarf grasped Merry's arm, but said nothing aloud.

Setting aside her curiosity, Éowyn decided to pay for Gimli's honesty in kind. "Wormtongue, as some call him, has only his own interests in mind. And lately they seem to agree with Saruman overmuch. What do you know of the man who accompanied him? Saruman says that he is the heir to the throne of Gondor."

"Ar—Strider!" Merry spoke up suddenly. "So he did bring him! He is one of our friends we were forced to leave behind when we escaped. But he is under Saruman's spell, we think. At least, Pippin seemed to think so."

"This Pippin is your cousin?" she asked, and suddenly much more made sense to Éowyn. "He would appear much like you?"

"Eh, yes. Why?" A gleam of hope appeared in the round face.

"There was a holbytla with Saruman. I thought perhaps he was his servant."

"Pippin, dear Pip! He brought him too!" These words seemed to please the holbytla to no end, so that he nearly bounced. Éowyn came close to laughing at the incongruous sight of one so delighted in such a dreary place. She was quite sure such a smile had never graced this cell. To Gimli, Merry said, "That's good, I suppose. He's out of the tower. Oh, Pippin!" He turned to Éowyn then. "Did he seem all right to you?"

Éowyn struggled to hold back a smile. "I suppose. From what I could see, he seemed well, though perhaps a bit taken aback. He looked ...very small. I think he felt small, too. As the others spoke in the Hall, his eyes darted about, taking everything in."

"Good ole Pip, still keeping a lookout for an escape."

"And Strider?" Gimli asked. Now his eyes darted about. The changed in his demeanor made Éowyn nervous as well. "How did he seem to you?"

"Strider is the name of the heir to Gondor?"

Gimli glanced at Merry and shrugged. "His given name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, my Lady. We thought it best not to use that name lest it fall upon the wrong ears. Some would use such a man for their own ends."

As had Saruman, no doubt. "The man was quiet, mostly," Éowyn said, her own anxiety growing with the prisoners'. "In truth I saw little. I was performing other duties, but I found a view of the proceedings. He declared himself willing to fight for Saruman. Never once did he contradict the wizard. In all honesty, I considered him to be trusted as little as Saruman."

Merry suddenly pulled on Gimli's ragged sleeve, his eyes wide. "Gimli, I can't bear it any longer. Don't you feel it? It's stronger now. Is that not the same feeling as the other night? Could it be?"

Gimli's worry was plain on his face. "Do you suppose one of them comes for Aragorn?"

Suddenly the nervousness that had built within her became an urge to flee, to hide, a feeling of terror to which she was wholly unaccustomed. "Of what do you speak? Does some evil approach? Who comes for Aragorn?"

"Have you heard, Lady, tales of the Black Riders, Ringwraiths, the Nine Servants of Sauron?"

"Of course, but..." Her breath caught in her throat. "One of the Servants of the Enemy has come to Edoras? Is this what you say?"

"I fear that is the case," Gimli said.

"It certainly feels that way to me," Merry added. "It's that roiling feeling in the stomach. There's nothing like it. We—" Merry glanced at Gimli before continuing, "We had a visit from one of them one night on our way here. For some reason, it didn't kill us. It got distracted and left."

Merry's calm description of his close brush with Death made Éowyn doubt his words, but before she could say a word, Gimli added, "Pippin told us that one of Saruman's possible strategies was to hand off Aragorn to Sauron. An army has been sent across Rohan to collect him. This Ringwraith might be part of that army, strange though it seems. I must admit I am uncertain what is happening."

Ringwraiths in Edoras! She wished to discredit the two prisoners, to disbelieve their tale, but they knew too much. With that, Éowyn made her decision. "It is clear we are in danger, regardless of Sauron's schemes."

"But Strider is most in danger!" Merry cried. "The Black Rider comes for him—for Aragorn, that is. I don't know what Saruman has done with him, but if we could ask it of you, Lady Éowyn, please find a safe place for him. He may be about to follow Saruman into the trap this moment!"

Éowyn frowned. She had no wish to speak with either the man or the wizard. Aragorn clearly supported Saruman and was prepared to fight for him. Yet these two called Aragorn friend and were sure he was under the wizard's spell. Éowyn found herself wanting to trust these two small people, grimy and damaged as they were. "Perhaps I will try to speak with him. I will see then what he has to say."

"Remember that Saruman has the ears and eyes of a wizard," Gimli warned.

Éowyn gave a wry smile. "Just as Grima Wormtongue is another set of eyes and ears for him."

"Would it be possible," Merry asked with a pleading look, "to find a way to get us out? We were quite unfairly imprisoned, if you ask me." He had the good grace to look sheepish before adding, "And perhaps some food?"

"It is a hard reward to escape one prison to be thrown into another. Considering what you have told me and what new visitors we may have, you may be safer here than above. But have you not been fed?" The two shook their heads. "Very well. Food and water shall be brought to you. I will see to that directly."

"I thank you, Lady Éowyn," Gimli rushed to add, "and if I may beg your indulgence once more, allow me to inform you that hobbits are voracious creatures. It would do well to bring as much food as you can muster!"

With raised eyebrow and a sharp nod, Éowyn left the prison, wondering at the strange creatures populating her world.