"Fulfilling the Bargain"
"Haven't you always been a faithful servant to me, Grima?" He flinched at the word; servant.
"Of course I have, my lord." Wormtongue folded his creamy white hands upon his lap.
Saruman eyed him, studying the face of his slave. For that is what he was and had always been; a slave. Not worthless, oh no. Grima had done wonders in conquering the Rohirrim. But he was a sniveling coward, a puppet. Though Saruman himself was thus far a puppet in his own right, he had no intention of ever admitting it.
"Theoden is dying, the people of Edoras are departing for Gondor. Even a city ravaged by war remains a refuge for the weak," he trailed his fingers down his long, white beard.
Grima nodded. "Yes." He hardly spoke of that which he'd been employed to accomplish. The pains of the townsfolk appeared not to interest him, but in reality he was suffering greatly. Grima knew quite well that it was his own foolish desire for power that had driven him to the careful watch and guidance of the wizard Saruman. The desire for power and the desire for beauty. Beauty was the thing that he longed for above all else. He spent many a sleepless, dreary Rohan night gazing at the stars and the moon. They were pale, lodged in a sea of endless black, as was he; but the moon was a symbol of comfort and strength. He was a hated thing, looked down upon by all of his kind.
Saruman narrowed his already narrow eyes, "It is over. You have done your part here."
Grima looked up, startled, a look of utter amazement passing through his usually dead blue eyes. "My lord?"
"I see that you've begun to fall. Your once proud manner has failed you, and you no longer wish to see Edoras in ruin. Though it is too late for that, I think I can offer you something yet. Kill Theoden, put an end to this, and Eowyn will be yours at last. That which you have waited and hoped for shall be yours. Completely."
Swallowing the bile that rose into his already sour throat, Grima found it difficult to respond. He sat, helplessly pulling at the kerchief in his cold, damp hands. Saruman rose before him, dismissing him to do the one, final duty that lay before him. His black robes swishing behind him, Grima rushed out of the doors into the night, the moon's waxen glow soothing his doubts away.
Theoden looked up only once. He let his head bow, too weak to put forth the effort again.
"Grima," he beckoned hoarsely. "Come."
"Yes, my king." Grima's eyes darkened. One turned a deep ocean blue, and the other became as black as the night sky in which his beloved moon was encased in. He moved to rest on one knee at the broken king's side. Their eyes locked, briefly, and Grima reached his shivering hand to console his king one, last time. Theoden's eyes were hollow, and he had no notion of the wicked things that Grima had done. He was the one person in his whole life who had trusted him. Bringing his cool blade to the king's chalky throat, Grima brought it to an end.
"I'm sorry, my king. Forgive me." It was the first, and last, time he would ever speak those words.
The deed was done. Grima wept, bitterly alone, in his chamber. The scampering of feet brought him out of a fitful slumber. Wiping the tears from his face, he entered the throne room. Eomer stared in shock at the corpse of his uncle. He had been banished, but word of the king's death had reached him quickly. Like a lion to the kill, he turned on Grima with a fierceness he'd never before encountered.
"You...hideous snake. You heartless beast," his blade was upon him, Eomer's eyes ablaze with hatred. Grima cowered, begging for his life.
"You cannot possibly believe that I would do this? He was my master, as well as yours. He was my king." Eomer retreated, the sword clattering to the stone floor. Tears stung his eyes, blinding his vision. Softly, as would a shadow, Eowyn entered. Grima sensed her presence, though he did not open his eyes. She crossed the room, taking her brother into her arms, comforting him. They departed for his chamber. Leaving him there to cry alone, she approached the slain king upon his throne. The rich velvet was stained with his blood, but he was no longer ill looking. His body and face had regained its youthfulness. Eowyn knew at once that his spell was broken and he was at peace. She shed a single tear, Grima could smell it. He wanted to lick it off her face, to savor its sweet warmth. There were so many things he wanted to do, wanted to show her. Turning to stone as cold as the floor on which he stood, Grima knew his time had come.
"Why do you cry for him? He never believed in you. Theoden, he never wanted you to be a shield maiden. Yet, you cast a tear from your deep, blue eyes onto your aching bosom. Why so sad, my lady?" He encircled her, locks of black hair brushing against her bare shoulders. She shivered. His tongue was working rapidly, the magic of his voice filling the room. "If I were you, I would rejoice in this freedom. Or is it freedom? With Theoden and Theodred both dead, is not your brother the next in line to the throne? And isn't he going to be even more protective now that you're the sister to the king?" She tried to spin away from him. But he caught her slender arm in his bony grasp. "Yes, you know you must go on. But remember, it was me who put you in your position. Do not forget me." He let go of her, headed for Isengard, to wait.
"That is all I asked of you, and you did what you were asked. Thus, you shall get your reward." Saruman waved him off. "There is a palace in the western land. Elven. They've departed for the Grey Havens, and it is deserted. There may be some rogues or plunders still afoot, but I will have them cleared out for you. And she will be waiting. This I promise you." Eager to leave from that place, to make his new home in a forgotten Elven kingdom, Grima bid Saruman farewell. He assumed it would be the last he would hear from the wizard. Of this, he was right. Saruman had no use for him, had promised him that which his heart yearned for. Eowyn. And, the wise Saruman intended to deliver.
It was all he could have ever dreamt of. Beauty reached every corner of the palace. It was nestled into the side of a snow-capped mountain, oaks and ash trees sheltering it. There were pillars made of precious metals, steps that shone with brilliance as though no foot had ever tread upon them. And fountains still bubbled in the courtyard. Taking the time to explore the palace, Grima's mind began churning. Had the elves abandoned such a place? There certainly had to have been thieves, and he wondered how many had been slaughtered by the hand of the wizard. He swept his ebony cape behind him, ascended the staircase with a harsh pain in his stomach. Anxiety took hold of him as the questions surged through his mind. Would she be there? Inside the palace, jewels glittered in plain view. He wasn't used to such opulence, for he had never before been in the presence of such wealth. He'd not been acquainted with elves or their fashions. There was a throne room, his own, and it put the throne of Rohan to shame. He trailed his hand over the material, ran a finger over the carvings in the golden back. A sound startled him from his splendorous hypnosis. He followed the muffled screams to what was obviously his chamber. There, in the glow of the milky moon, Eowyn lay bound upon his bed. Such a sight had never before befallen him. All the jewels, all the gold and silver, the kingdom itself could not have struck such wonder into his withered soul as that sight. She was his, at last. . .
Much more to come! Please, tell me what you thought of this first part.
"Haven't you always been a faithful servant to me, Grima?" He flinched at the word; servant.
"Of course I have, my lord." Wormtongue folded his creamy white hands upon his lap.
Saruman eyed him, studying the face of his slave. For that is what he was and had always been; a slave. Not worthless, oh no. Grima had done wonders in conquering the Rohirrim. But he was a sniveling coward, a puppet. Though Saruman himself was thus far a puppet in his own right, he had no intention of ever admitting it.
"Theoden is dying, the people of Edoras are departing for Gondor. Even a city ravaged by war remains a refuge for the weak," he trailed his fingers down his long, white beard.
Grima nodded. "Yes." He hardly spoke of that which he'd been employed to accomplish. The pains of the townsfolk appeared not to interest him, but in reality he was suffering greatly. Grima knew quite well that it was his own foolish desire for power that had driven him to the careful watch and guidance of the wizard Saruman. The desire for power and the desire for beauty. Beauty was the thing that he longed for above all else. He spent many a sleepless, dreary Rohan night gazing at the stars and the moon. They were pale, lodged in a sea of endless black, as was he; but the moon was a symbol of comfort and strength. He was a hated thing, looked down upon by all of his kind.
Saruman narrowed his already narrow eyes, "It is over. You have done your part here."
Grima looked up, startled, a look of utter amazement passing through his usually dead blue eyes. "My lord?"
"I see that you've begun to fall. Your once proud manner has failed you, and you no longer wish to see Edoras in ruin. Though it is too late for that, I think I can offer you something yet. Kill Theoden, put an end to this, and Eowyn will be yours at last. That which you have waited and hoped for shall be yours. Completely."
Swallowing the bile that rose into his already sour throat, Grima found it difficult to respond. He sat, helplessly pulling at the kerchief in his cold, damp hands. Saruman rose before him, dismissing him to do the one, final duty that lay before him. His black robes swishing behind him, Grima rushed out of the doors into the night, the moon's waxen glow soothing his doubts away.
Theoden looked up only once. He let his head bow, too weak to put forth the effort again.
"Grima," he beckoned hoarsely. "Come."
"Yes, my king." Grima's eyes darkened. One turned a deep ocean blue, and the other became as black as the night sky in which his beloved moon was encased in. He moved to rest on one knee at the broken king's side. Their eyes locked, briefly, and Grima reached his shivering hand to console his king one, last time. Theoden's eyes were hollow, and he had no notion of the wicked things that Grima had done. He was the one person in his whole life who had trusted him. Bringing his cool blade to the king's chalky throat, Grima brought it to an end.
"I'm sorry, my king. Forgive me." It was the first, and last, time he would ever speak those words.
The deed was done. Grima wept, bitterly alone, in his chamber. The scampering of feet brought him out of a fitful slumber. Wiping the tears from his face, he entered the throne room. Eomer stared in shock at the corpse of his uncle. He had been banished, but word of the king's death had reached him quickly. Like a lion to the kill, he turned on Grima with a fierceness he'd never before encountered.
"You...hideous snake. You heartless beast," his blade was upon him, Eomer's eyes ablaze with hatred. Grima cowered, begging for his life.
"You cannot possibly believe that I would do this? He was my master, as well as yours. He was my king." Eomer retreated, the sword clattering to the stone floor. Tears stung his eyes, blinding his vision. Softly, as would a shadow, Eowyn entered. Grima sensed her presence, though he did not open his eyes. She crossed the room, taking her brother into her arms, comforting him. They departed for his chamber. Leaving him there to cry alone, she approached the slain king upon his throne. The rich velvet was stained with his blood, but he was no longer ill looking. His body and face had regained its youthfulness. Eowyn knew at once that his spell was broken and he was at peace. She shed a single tear, Grima could smell it. He wanted to lick it off her face, to savor its sweet warmth. There were so many things he wanted to do, wanted to show her. Turning to stone as cold as the floor on which he stood, Grima knew his time had come.
"Why do you cry for him? He never believed in you. Theoden, he never wanted you to be a shield maiden. Yet, you cast a tear from your deep, blue eyes onto your aching bosom. Why so sad, my lady?" He encircled her, locks of black hair brushing against her bare shoulders. She shivered. His tongue was working rapidly, the magic of his voice filling the room. "If I were you, I would rejoice in this freedom. Or is it freedom? With Theoden and Theodred both dead, is not your brother the next in line to the throne? And isn't he going to be even more protective now that you're the sister to the king?" She tried to spin away from him. But he caught her slender arm in his bony grasp. "Yes, you know you must go on. But remember, it was me who put you in your position. Do not forget me." He let go of her, headed for Isengard, to wait.
"That is all I asked of you, and you did what you were asked. Thus, you shall get your reward." Saruman waved him off. "There is a palace in the western land. Elven. They've departed for the Grey Havens, and it is deserted. There may be some rogues or plunders still afoot, but I will have them cleared out for you. And she will be waiting. This I promise you." Eager to leave from that place, to make his new home in a forgotten Elven kingdom, Grima bid Saruman farewell. He assumed it would be the last he would hear from the wizard. Of this, he was right. Saruman had no use for him, had promised him that which his heart yearned for. Eowyn. And, the wise Saruman intended to deliver.
It was all he could have ever dreamt of. Beauty reached every corner of the palace. It was nestled into the side of a snow-capped mountain, oaks and ash trees sheltering it. There were pillars made of precious metals, steps that shone with brilliance as though no foot had ever tread upon them. And fountains still bubbled in the courtyard. Taking the time to explore the palace, Grima's mind began churning. Had the elves abandoned such a place? There certainly had to have been thieves, and he wondered how many had been slaughtered by the hand of the wizard. He swept his ebony cape behind him, ascended the staircase with a harsh pain in his stomach. Anxiety took hold of him as the questions surged through his mind. Would she be there? Inside the palace, jewels glittered in plain view. He wasn't used to such opulence, for he had never before been in the presence of such wealth. He'd not been acquainted with elves or their fashions. There was a throne room, his own, and it put the throne of Rohan to shame. He trailed his hand over the material, ran a finger over the carvings in the golden back. A sound startled him from his splendorous hypnosis. He followed the muffled screams to what was obviously his chamber. There, in the glow of the milky moon, Eowyn lay bound upon his bed. Such a sight had never before befallen him. All the jewels, all the gold and silver, the kingdom itself could not have struck such wonder into his withered soul as that sight. She was his, at last. . .
Much more to come! Please, tell me what you thought of this first part.