The tension in the great hall of Meduseld was palpable as Éomer confronted Gríma Wormtongue. You stood by Éowyn's side, your presence a source of strength and solidarity for your childhood friend. As a handmaid and shieldmaiden, you had always been there for Éowyn, and today was no different.

Éomer's voice rang out, filled with anger and determination. "How long has it been since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price, Gríma? When all the men are dead, you would take your share of the treasure?"

Gríma's eyes, cold and calculating, met Éomer's with a mixture of fear and defiance. He opened his mouth to respond, but as his gaze shifted, he found you standing beside Éowyn. His expression changed, a flicker of something darker crossing his face. His eyes lingered on you, his obsession evident.

You remained unaware of Gríma's fixation, your attention focused on the confrontation unfolding before you. Éowyn stood tall and resolute, her eyes blazing with anger and defiance.

"You have no power here, Gríma," Éomer continued, his voice steady. "Our people have been deceived for too long."

Gríma's gaze remained locked on you, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. "I have only ever served Rohan," he said, his words unconvincing.

Éowyn, sensing the shift in Gríma's attention, placed a protective hand on your arm. She had noticed the way he looked at you, and it only fueled her anger. "Leave this place," she demanded, her voice unwavering. "You are not welcome here."