Characters: Éowyn, Éomer, Grima (sort of)
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Tolkien. I make no money from this
Note: Continuing my series of dark mini-AUs
The storm hangs like a breath drawn in but not yet let out. Underneath, the evening hovers like a clenched fist, squeezing the last slivers of daylight into the gathering dark.
As the gale is let loose and floods the copse, Éowyn throws the torch. The flames cackle...engaging the man at the end of the rope in a merry dance.
Her hair has come loose and whips Éomer’s face. He grabs it, loops her hair-ribbon...and yanks it tight.
Éowyn leans back into the hood of the wind and closes her eyes...until she hears the rope snap and its burden fall.