A.N: Despite the fact that I am not really a Gr_ma fan, the idea for this story haunted me until I finally decided to write it. Its basic intention is character study of my own interpretations from Tolkien's work, especially my thoughts on Wormtongue's love for _owyn. What I was attempting to do here was present a more innocent view on his character....don't know if I was successful at that or not....lol..

A Night Once Living

(dark, my lady, so dark my anticipation of your every word...)

He waited in the empty corridor, a vital shadow in the darkness, cowering where he could watch all and be seen by none. Such discretion was unnecessary. There was no one in these halls at this hour, no one save for himself.

Night had fallen over Edoras two hours ago. In days before, distant memories now, there would yet be feasting in Meduseld, and laughter echoing throughout the halls, the very sounds of life itself. The men would be conversing in the loud, almost raucous tones of night speech and from time to time the high sound of a woman's laughter would break forth. Lovers would seek to woo in the torchlight, and in the shadows a furtive kiss would be stolen; a blush would color a young girl's fair cheek.

These things were ended now. There was no place for laughter anymore, nor light enough to illuminate a companion's smile. Even in the sun this place was enveloped in shadow, and nothing was left untouched by it. And he knew the reason for this, did he not? He alone knew why there was darkness even on the brightest day, he knew why the king had fallen to invalidity. He knew and he had done nothing to stop it.

(...come to me, my lady, in this darkness, in this silence, come to me...)

Quietly he cleared his throat, drew his heavy cloak tighter about his chest. The night was chill and the torches that lit the ends of the corridor provided but the smallest heat, but he would not abandon his vigil. There still remained the hope that she might come.

Few there knew of her walks through the halls of Meduseld, deep in the night when no one would hinder her. Her brother was aware of her uneasiness, her interminable restlessness, as was the king's son, Theodred, but neither could understand how often she was kept from sleep by the dark thoughts that pervaded her mind, bidding her leave the sanctuary of her room to stalk about the darkened corridors as a guard might. Such secrets were hers and hers alone.

And his.

(...come to me, my bright one, and I will ease the sadness of your mind, I will cast the tears from your eyes, I will so very gently strip you of your silence and wrap about you such reassurances as will cause your icy heart to turn...)

And she was changed as much as her country now. Gone were the days—only recently passed, truly, for he could remember them with stunning and perfect clarity—when her laughter, high and sweet, could be heard whenever she was in Meduseld, for whenever she was there, so, too, there was happiness. Gone was the pale smile from her face. Now her lips were hard and her voice quiet, oppressed by the shadow that obscured even her own mind. Now her eyes were filled with tears, and her face ashen.

Her melancholy pained him as almost nothing else could. It had never been his intention to see her so saddened, to rob her of all possible joy. Indeed, his intent, in making the crucial decision that had brought upon this place these ominous transfigurations, had lain in the opposite. He had desired only her happiness.

He did not, though, yet lament the bargain he had made. There was still time in which these terrible effects might be rectified. The end was fast coming but it had not come yet, and until it did he would in his every private hour endeavor to change her heart.

But if he failed, what then? Nothing. She would be his, whether she truly chose it or not, but he would have her, if it were possible, come to him of her volition. He would see her eyes, unenchanted, turn to his terrible and unworthy countenance before they were bound to him by the product of some spell.

It was for her that he had become what he now was, a traitor to his master and to the only man who had ever regarded him fairly. Nothing else could have caused him to commit so great a transgression. He had been promised wealth and he had refused; he had been offered every physical and spiritual comfort, and still he had not accepted. He had been offered lordship over a small province that could easily be made on the edge of this country; what use had he for that? He had been offered at last the company of a woman, of any number of women, endless trains of them, all yearning only to please him; this prospect had appalled him. And yet it had caused something within him to stir, had it not? It must have, for the wizard had smiled, as if he had seen something in his eyes of which he himself was not even consciously aware, and the offer was amended. He could have the one thing he desired above all else, and all that was required of him was to merely exert his influence to an even greater degree than he had previously. It was no great feat.

And what was it that he so desired? Éowyn's happiness. No. Éowyn. For if she were his she would be happy. He had been certain of this then and he was certain of it now.

He had loved her for almost as long as he could remember, for the days before her now were inconsequential and unworthy of memory. He was lost until first he had seen her face, and he had not known life until she had graced him with a hopeful glance of her own.

She had been but a child when he had met her, a bright-eyed and fair but morose young girl unfamiliar with her uncle's halls. The deaths of her parents had left her stricken and robbed her of her lovely smile, and with her brother as her only companion, she had seemed a stranger within this place, examining her surroundings with all the curiosity of a young cat. Only children could truly display sorrow and wonder at once and she had done so, allowing her grief to consume her only in her idle moments.

But such moments were rare then. There was no room she left unexplored; no corner that was not scrutinized by her pale eyes. The deep shadows that could fill the hall, so daunting to most children, had not frightened her in the slightest. In the stables she had found sanctuary; in her childish games she had yet been an elegant lady, but nonetheless one who had more use for a sword than a crown.

He had not truly encountered her until she had been a few weeks at Edoras, despite his closeness to her uncle. The brightest hours of the day were hers in which to pretend she was queen in Meduseld and victorious on the battlefield; it was not until the cool of the evening that he dared to venture forth from his chambers, unless the king beckoned him beforehand, and by then she had become occupied with the simplistic myriad of daily events that did not begin until the sun had begun to set. He had no use for gatherings or feasts, or the merriment of the congregations that often formed in the Golden Hall in the darker hours, for his company had always been disdained, even while he was yet a loyal servant of the king. But in these things the small girl had reveled, and thus it was that their paths were so long in crossing.

The king had summoned him early one afternoon but his purposes had been brief, and he had been left with the rest of the evening in which he would be idle. Not daring to leave the great hall, he had haunted the corner behind the king's unoccupied throne, waiting motionlessly in shadow for his services to be required again. No one, passing through whilst in their own endeavors, saw him. No one cared. The king alone gave any notice to his existence now.

After he had kept this vigil for but an hour, he was startled from a peaceful reverie by the high voice of a child, singing in its delicate and unsteady tones a melody he had not heard since he was a young boy. He had watched in petrified silence as the young girl approached. He recognized her immediately, the fair-haired maiden child who would become the lady of this hall, but he could not move, not even to escape her notice. The sound of her voice and the sight of her pale face frightened him into a state of paralysis.

Her large blue eyes found him in the shadows and coming almost to his feet she paused, gazing up at him with perfect childish scrutiny. He was too astounded even to blink. Her eyes tore into him, wide and deepest blue, prepared to draw blood at the slightest furrowing of her brow. After a moment of study her small hand flew to her throat and her lips parted in a sharp scowl. "What a hideous statue," she had murmured, and taking no more interest in him she fled to return to whatever childish fancy had consumed her time previously.

Such words were not easily forgotten. Late in the evening he had caught a glimpse of his reflection in a pane of gold that adorned a corridor as a strange mirror and upon examination found that the girl's egregious words were indeed quite justified. His face, thin and deeply etched even beyond his years, was sickly and ashen, colorless as that of a carved figure. His eyes in the darkness seemed to shine as though sculpted of some dark crystal. The clothes he wore, simple and dark and not at all suited for one who lived so highly in the king's esteem, seemed but adornments draped over his marble shoulders. A statue, indeed, one serving no purpose but to briefly entertain the eye of the king's visitors. A hideous, scornful statue.

She seemed to maintain this opinion of him even now, but in these latter years her fear and disdain had but grown. He did not hold her to blame for this. As a child she had feared his appearance, for his face was that of a monster to her, but now she was a woman, and with her womanhood had come a new threat, one that he loathed but could nonetheless understand. Perhaps this was why she no longer roamed the corridors so freely in her restlessness. The others who resided in Edoras feared what they could not name, the same darkness, perhaps, as that that had consumed their invalid king. She feared something much more tangible than phantom enchantments.

(...is this why you desire so greatly the same occupation as your brother, your princely cousin? Is this why your hand is so often wrapped about the hilt of your sword? You need not harbor such fears with me, my lady, for I will kneel before your blade and kiss the stone upon which rest your feet...)

It pained him that she should think so poorly of him. He was unlovely, yes, a thing of terrible countenance in her eyes; he was a traitor to all to which he had once sworn his allegiance, but he was no fiend, no inhuman creature. He had never wished to harm her; he could not have harmed her if he had so desired. The will even of the wizard could not turn him to such wickedness. He did not even know how to so offend. His only desire was to love her.

(...on a night such as this, my lady, my unhappy queen, when you are entirely alone and you have no comfort but the dreadful silence, could you not agree to love me...)

And indeed, she would be his, when at last his purpose was fulfilled. The wizard knew his fondest hopes; he had agreed to them. She would not be his unwilling bride but a doting lover, a faithful and devoted wife. She would no longer shudder under his gaze or scowl at the sight of him. She would stand at his side always, desiring to be near him incessantly. She would permit him to kneel at her feet and offer to her his undying servitude.

And what would he do, once she was given to him? Happiness would at last be attainable. The deformity of his lowly appearance would cease to be of import. She would at last be his, and he would be permitted to be hers, and they would know only each other; she would never know fear or pain again. The two of them would shun the heavy light of the day, rising only when the sun was beginning to set low upon the hills that gently rose in the west. The color of her face would be like that of a pale flower, and red would be her hair in the darkening light. She would set her hand in his, would allow him to caress her soft and uncalloused palm, her long and slender fingertips. He would kiss her small wrists and know lovingly the pattern of the veins that lay beneath her flesh. His hands would find shelter in her golden hair, and the warmth of her vital flesh would overcome the chill of his own.

But what of his greater desires, those dark things of which he had so fondly dreamt to occur when they knew only each other's presence without interruption? What would be known betwixt them as they lay upon their shared bed, warmed by the heat of her graceful body? His arms, he wished, would gently lie about her waist, holding her within the sanctuary of his affections but not so closely as to poison her beauty with his hideousness. When they were consumed with wakefulness, when thought and memory kept them so affected that weariness was postponed, he would lay his head against her shoulder, or—and this he dared not even dream—possibly even upon her slender abdomen, for once while studying the folds that appeared in her dress over this smooth plane of her flesh had experienced the wicked thought that to lay his head there would give his soul such joy as could not even be imagined, and as he did she would stroke his thinning hair, no longer fearful of him at all. And on those lovely evenings when love mounted to passion (my lady, forgive me for such wicked thoughts!), he might ever so fervently kiss her pale forehead and—dare he think it! —she might press her virtuous lips to his colorless and anxious cheek...what joyous thought! What perfect dreams! The mere prospect thrilled his wearied mind deliciously.

(...on a night once mine, my lady, would you forgive my terrible countenance and grace me with the study of your own...)

But such was only fantasy now, and would remain so until at last the wizard fulfilled his own purposes. He was left only with his own anticipation, and though it was not a content one, it was nonetheless a hopeful one.

He moved from the shadows, allowing the distant firelight to touch upon his face. Artificial warmth, nothing compared to that which must certainly flow from her hands. No one would see him there. She would not be coming to this forsaken corridor this night; and were she to leave her desolate chambers, it would be the company of her brother or cousin that she sought. He needed nothing to remind that she despised him.

As if in contradiction of this thought, the sound of footsteps arose at the corridor's end, startling him from his bittersweet reverie. He shuddered, unnerved, and raising his astounded eyes he beheld her, not yet close enough to touch him but there nonetheless, staring at him in unabashed silence. Her eyes were red and her lips swollen, as if she had only recently been weeping. The plait of her hair had been carelessly undone, likely by her own trembling hands. The light in her eyes as she stared at him was that of wonder.

(...yes, my lady, come to me, summonsed by my longing for you, come and tell me that we need no wizard's enchantment, that you are mine and always will be, come to me and I will put every fear to rout, come and the two of us shall flee this darkening place, we shall conceal ourselves from the encroaching shadow and live in happiness...)

"Does something trouble you, my lady?" He felt the words leave his lips softly, a whisper that could not carry far down this corridor.

She did not answer. Her eyes bore into him still, and on her lips a vague and fearful scowl arose. He had been mistaken. It was not wonder that he saw in her eyes but sadness, and beneath her sorrow the stirrings of apprehension.

(...why do I frighten you, my lady, my love, when I am the only one who understands you, who loves you, I am the only one who would hold you in this darkness and give you comfort...)

He advanced another step toward her, feeling the corners of his thin mouth turn slightly upward but not allowing a smile, for he was well aware how hideous was that expression upon his face. "It grows late; have you not slept?" He knew the answer, but he would inquire even the most trivial thing simply to hear her speak.

She shook her head; her loose curls batted her face. He wanted to be allowed to touch one, to simply kiss a single strand...

Another step. So close was he now that if he raised his hand it would surely graze the great folds of her dress, and the temptation to do so was great, but overpowering was the cold expression in her hard eyes.

All was silence. They were alone here, he realized, as before but not fully, and there was no one to observe their actions, no one to believe that his intentions were malignant...no one to remind her that he was far below her noble station...

(...please, my lady, I beg you, I beg you...)

She raised her head, looked at him firmly. Her lower lip (so lovely in the darkness) began to tremble.

(...I love you...)

"Move aside," she said quietly, and when in his astonishment he stepped backward she fled past him, leaving him to ponder the loveliness of her shadow before she was completely beyond his sight.

(...so cold, my lady, so cruel, but I am yours, I am yours to hurt you as will...)

He fell against the wall, lowering his horrible face to his tremulous hands. How foolish he was, how bungling, to have believed for one moment that she might feel within her the same affection he had so long given to her. She despised him this night as she ever did. No desperation would change that, no solace of the firelight, no gentle smile. Only one thing...

A bitter laugh escaped his throat, low and choked by his cold palms. He could win her, yes, for already he was paying the wizard's price, and soon, though she now was unwilling, he would be well requited.

It would happen very soon now.

(...I am dead without you...)

He quitted the corridor, relinquishing his amorous haunting for the night. To his chambers he would now go, where better things awaited him, solitary dreams of better days to come, of happiness in her beauty...

(...but on a night once living you will be mine...)

He would have her yet.

A.N: I'm aware that certain parts of this fic make it seem as though he had a romantic interest in her when she was a child. I personally do not think he did; it was my interpretation when I first read LOTR that his affection for her was not very physical, but I may be wrong about that. It's my opinion that, if indeed he had much contact with her when she was a child, the greatest pleasure he would have taken from that is the feeling of some kind of normalcy, for I think that he was disdained most of his life, even prior to his betrayal of Theoden, or else that's just my romantic little notion.... ^^

Comments are VERY welcome, and thanks to anyone who actually reads this!