Éowyn nodded, sombrely. She was unfamiliar with the specific turn of phrase, but the meaning was easy enough to grasp, not least because it was so thoroughly accurate. "He spoke against our uncle's advisor. Gríma Wormtongue - a vile creature, but one who had already been dripping poison into the King's ear so long that it was fortunate Éomer was merely banished." Her nose wrinkled in remembered disgust. "And for months more I had to stand by and watch that foul man lead my uncle deeper into the shadow, until he forgot all his strength and his courage and would have let the forces of Mordor sweep unopposed through the land. For months I had to hold my tongue and speak soft of hard matters, lest I too be driven from my lord's side. For months. It felt like an age."