Personal Notes: This is a "Lord of the Rings: Two Towers" fanfiction. The
characters belong to the people who...well, own them. SO, without further
chatter from me...
The court was stony, cold, not welcoming. At the head of the room stood the throne, the withered corpse that was King Theoden sat in a heap upon it. His lifeless eyes had taken on a glaze, their pupils hardly visible. Next to him hunched a spindly figure, the King's advisor, Grima son of Galmod. The man had a twisted body, and a pale, cruel face. Two pinpricks of laser blue stood out from this ivory face, blue eyes that witnessed all that went on throughout the court.
Eomer, the King's nephew, crashed through the heavy wooden doors.
"I demand to speak to the King at once," he growled at the sniveling Grima. Wormtongue rose from his velvet seat, his little footsteps barely audible as he approached the gallant
Rider.
"I'm sorry, young Eomer, but the King does not wish to speak to you." His eyes flashed with hatred for the young man. Brushing past him, Eomer stormed up to the ailing King.
"Your majesty, I beseech you, please, hear me. I've gotten wind of an orc army heading this way. They have thousands, sir. Thousands!" But the King did nothing to acknowledge his nephew, only stared blankly into blackness. Pleased, Grima left the room in search of a hot meal.
The kitchen burned warmly, pans clinked, the stove crackled. The smell of bread and roasting meats wafted to him. He licked his thin lips, and retreated to the dining hall. No one sat at the enormous table, just the Wormtongue. He sat there for some time, amusing himself with thoughts of Eomer in chains. Also, another thought crept into his foul mind, something equally satisfying. The thought of the Lady Eowyn, also bound, hair limp, her spirit broken. That vision nearly sent him off the chair in search of her, but food was more important. A young servant brought the food to him. The girl wasn't much older than fifteen, he guessed. She was tiny, fragile, with alabaster skin that would yield to the touch. She brought him his food, careful to balance the large tray with her small body. She ultimately failed, and the tray toppled to the floor. His eyes narrowed, for he barely smiled, and flicked the snake eyes across her delicate features. What could he do with such a tender thing as that?
"Girl," his voice almost a whisper. "What is your name?"
"Naima," she said, her eyes averting his.
"Naima, you are a new servant to the King's palace? Well, let me instruct you on how to keep his advisor happy." Grima grasped the girl's arm. "Clean up the mess, and bring me my supper. Now."
He released her, and she scurried to accomplish the task. He grinned inwardly, pleased once more with himself.
Eowyn sulked about at night, fearful of something she didn't quite know. The sense of something coming. Often pacing the corridors of the castle, she would come upon the throne room. There, the King sat with nothing in his eyes, the color of egg whites. She grimaced, for she knew that some evil had come over him. He had once been a good and just King, the people everywhere were protected from all danger under his rule. But, the advisor had entered his life, turning him into a mindless puppet. She had seen Grima working his magic upon the King, his dark silver tongue slipping into his ear, whispering poison. Wanting to bring her blade to his throat, Eowyn had refrained from speaking to the advisor. Such a man could bewitch her with his snakelike powers.
The evening was cool, the snow falling out upon Rohan. It engulfed the palace in a bed of white. Eowyn climbed upon her midnight-black horse, patted his neck and said soothing things to him. She removed her practice blade from its leather sheath, and broke the horse into a full gallop. Eomer did the same with his creamy white horse, and they galloped toward each other at top speed. The clashing of swords, the agonizing cry of a painful fake death, and Eowyn had won the mock battle. They sheathed their swords and tumbled to the ground, rolling and throwing snow about them.
Grima watched from a balcony, his eyes longing. They played together, the two of them. A spark of jealousy welled within him. Eowyn's affection was centered on her brother alone. She laughed when in Eomer's presence, her eyes light and full of joy. But, the same could not be said for Grima. He saw only hate in the eyes that looked upon him. Watching the two of them frolic in the snow made him burn with the desire he had felt since meeting Eowyn. He wanted her to look at him that way, to gaze at him affectionately as though he were something she could stand to look at. He would make her see...
Part One...Tell me what you think!
The court was stony, cold, not welcoming. At the head of the room stood the throne, the withered corpse that was King Theoden sat in a heap upon it. His lifeless eyes had taken on a glaze, their pupils hardly visible. Next to him hunched a spindly figure, the King's advisor, Grima son of Galmod. The man had a twisted body, and a pale, cruel face. Two pinpricks of laser blue stood out from this ivory face, blue eyes that witnessed all that went on throughout the court.
Eomer, the King's nephew, crashed through the heavy wooden doors.
"I demand to speak to the King at once," he growled at the sniveling Grima. Wormtongue rose from his velvet seat, his little footsteps barely audible as he approached the gallant
Rider.
"I'm sorry, young Eomer, but the King does not wish to speak to you." His eyes flashed with hatred for the young man. Brushing past him, Eomer stormed up to the ailing King.
"Your majesty, I beseech you, please, hear me. I've gotten wind of an orc army heading this way. They have thousands, sir. Thousands!" But the King did nothing to acknowledge his nephew, only stared blankly into blackness. Pleased, Grima left the room in search of a hot meal.
The kitchen burned warmly, pans clinked, the stove crackled. The smell of bread and roasting meats wafted to him. He licked his thin lips, and retreated to the dining hall. No one sat at the enormous table, just the Wormtongue. He sat there for some time, amusing himself with thoughts of Eomer in chains. Also, another thought crept into his foul mind, something equally satisfying. The thought of the Lady Eowyn, also bound, hair limp, her spirit broken. That vision nearly sent him off the chair in search of her, but food was more important. A young servant brought the food to him. The girl wasn't much older than fifteen, he guessed. She was tiny, fragile, with alabaster skin that would yield to the touch. She brought him his food, careful to balance the large tray with her small body. She ultimately failed, and the tray toppled to the floor. His eyes narrowed, for he barely smiled, and flicked the snake eyes across her delicate features. What could he do with such a tender thing as that?
"Girl," his voice almost a whisper. "What is your name?"
"Naima," she said, her eyes averting his.
"Naima, you are a new servant to the King's palace? Well, let me instruct you on how to keep his advisor happy." Grima grasped the girl's arm. "Clean up the mess, and bring me my supper. Now."
He released her, and she scurried to accomplish the task. He grinned inwardly, pleased once more with himself.
Eowyn sulked about at night, fearful of something she didn't quite know. The sense of something coming. Often pacing the corridors of the castle, she would come upon the throne room. There, the King sat with nothing in his eyes, the color of egg whites. She grimaced, for she knew that some evil had come over him. He had once been a good and just King, the people everywhere were protected from all danger under his rule. But, the advisor had entered his life, turning him into a mindless puppet. She had seen Grima working his magic upon the King, his dark silver tongue slipping into his ear, whispering poison. Wanting to bring her blade to his throat, Eowyn had refrained from speaking to the advisor. Such a man could bewitch her with his snakelike powers.
The evening was cool, the snow falling out upon Rohan. It engulfed the palace in a bed of white. Eowyn climbed upon her midnight-black horse, patted his neck and said soothing things to him. She removed her practice blade from its leather sheath, and broke the horse into a full gallop. Eomer did the same with his creamy white horse, and they galloped toward each other at top speed. The clashing of swords, the agonizing cry of a painful fake death, and Eowyn had won the mock battle. They sheathed their swords and tumbled to the ground, rolling and throwing snow about them.
Grima watched from a balcony, his eyes longing. They played together, the two of them. A spark of jealousy welled within him. Eowyn's affection was centered on her brother alone. She laughed when in Eomer's presence, her eyes light and full of joy. But, the same could not be said for Grima. He saw only hate in the eyes that looked upon him. Watching the two of them frolic in the snow made him burn with the desire he had felt since meeting Eowyn. He wanted her to look at him that way, to gaze at him affectionately as though he were something she could stand to look at. He would make her see...
Part One...Tell me what you think!