Author's Notes: sweeps in wearing large black cape I have returned from afar with more fanfic! bows deeply Thank you EP41, Vereena, and others for their nice reviews! It excites me to hear what people think. So drop me a line and tell me how you feel about this chapter. (Sorry, more Èowyn stuff than Gríma. There'll be more on him later.)

Really quick note: EP41: I thought the image of Èowyn scrubbing him till he sparkled was funny, too. giggles

And now… sweeps out; lights fade

The gates in the wall surrounding the Tower of Orthanc opened to allow Gríma entrance, and he galloped inside at top speed. He heard the fatal slam of the gates behind him and tried to ignore the ominous feeling that there was no escape from this hated place any longer.

Machines clanked around him, loudly, and Orcs and Uruk-hai alike shouted rude remarks at him as he rode past. He attempted to ignore them, praying that someday all of them would fall into the massive pits where much of Saruman's work was carried out. He doubted highly that this would happen, but he could dream. He had been doing so for most of the years of his life.

He stopped when he reached the tall stairs leading to the doors of Orthanc. He dismounted and climbed as quickly as he could. He could practically feel Saruman's wrath from the ground level, and, though he was not looking forward to meeting with his master, to delay that meeting would only serve to make Saruman angrier.

As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, the door banged open, and there stood Saruman, his eyes flashing and his arms crossed over his chest. "Well, well, well," he said icily. "So the failed spy has returned."

Gríma dropped onto one knee. "I did everything I could, my Lord," he murmured fearfully. "I commanded them to take Gandalf's staff - it isn't my fault they didn't - "

"Of course not," Saruman said, and his voice showed his deep contempt for his servant. "Rise. You need no longer grovel." Gríma stood, but refused to meet the wizard's gaze.

Saruman turned and swept into the building. "We shall have to implement other plans," he said decisively. "You know what Théoden's next move will be?"

Gríma shrugged slightly. "Théoden will not stay at Edoras," he said evenly. "It's too vulnerable, and Théoden is more aware of this than anyone. The Rohirrim will flee to Helm's Deep - the great fortress in the mountains."

"And can you think of any way to impede their progress to this fortress?" Saruman asked.

"They are most certain to go slowly, my Lord," Gríma said. "They will have women, children, old ones, and the sick and handicapped with them. It would be an easy task to overtake them."

Saruman smirked. "Excellent," he murmured. "Come," he said sharply, and then he began down the stairs again.

Gríma followed him

c

Èowyn began the difficult task of cleaning out Gríma's quarters in the first room - the library, she had begun to call it. Her first priority was to look through the art on the table and decide what was to be kept, and what was to find a place in a deep, deep drawer, or in a dark corner - or in a fire pit, for that matter. There were several pictures that she was fairly certain she did not want anyone else seeing - and that Gríma would most certainly have wanted to keep secret.

These were the pictures that Èowyn took care of first. She dusted and cleared the desk in the room and, finding one of the drawers to be empty, she placed the sketches in it. She silently prayed that no one would be looking in that drawer anytime soon. The rest of the artwork she placed on top of the others in the same drawer. Having taken care of that chore, Èowyn set about the rest of her task: cleaning.

She started with the floors. They were hard stone, as were all the floors in Meduseld, and they were disgustingly filthy. Over this floor, there were a few carpets. These Èowyn carried outside and beat clean of dust and whatever other grime they contained. The dust practically choked her, and it covered her from head to foot. She wasn't at all embarrassed, however, until she noticed someone watching her.

"May I ask why my Lady is cleaning?" the dark-haired visitor who had come with Gandalf questioned, approaching her. Èowyn realized, as her cheeks flushed, that he had been watching her for quite some time.

She shrugged in embarrassment. "Lord Gríma's quarters must be cleared for whomever will come after him," she said carefully. "I took the task upon myself."

"That sounds like a great lot of work," the man said. He bowed slightly. "I will help you, if I may. I am Lord Aragorn."

"I am Lady Èowyn," she replied, bowing in return. "I would appreciate your help."

Aragorn smiled, and then turned and motioned. Two other figures approached, one short and stocky, the other tall and slender. Èowyn recognized them as the Elf and the Dwarf that had come with the dark stranger Aragorn. When they had arrived, Aragorn introduced them. "This is Prince Legolas of the Mirkwood Realm, and Gimli son of Gloin," he said. "This, gentlemen, is Lady Èowyn, the King's niece."

Each murmured something polite, and then the Elf, Legolas, said, "May I inquire what my Lady is doing?"

"Cleaning the previous counsellor's quarters," she said, brushing a stray lock of blonde hair from her face. "Aragorn has offered to help me."

"We will, as well," Legolas offered immediately. Gimli did not look particularly happy about this, and expressed his displeasure in a low, throaty growl. However, he said nothing more, and the three strangers followed Èowyn back into Gríma's rooms.

The three looked around with some disgust, and Gimli commented, "This counsellor was not a very particular housekeeper."

"Would you have thought anything else, from his appearance?" Èowyn asked, smiling despite herself. "He was never particularly cleanly. He threw himself into what he did with all the passion in his soul. He didn't have time to clean, or so he believed."

Èowyn, who had brought in a bucket of water and a scrubbing brush earlier in the day, dropped to her knees and began to work at the dirty floor. "The next rooms are worse," she informed Legolas, Aragorn, and Gimli. "They'll be more difficult to clean."

"We'll start on the next room," Legolas said, again speaking for Gimli and himself. Again Gimli did not seem pleased with this decision, but he made no objection other than low, mumbled complaints, and he followed Legolas into the parlor.

Èowyn and Aragorn worked in silence for a long time. Then, Aragorn spoke. "Perhaps my Lady could explain something to me about Lord Wormtongue."

Èowyn flinched slightly at the cruel nickname given the King's Counsellor. "What is it you wish to know?" she asked.

"I saved his life," Aragorn said carefully. "Yet when I offered him my hand, he spat on it. Why?"

"I would imagine that he had no desire to be indebted to someone else," Èowyn replied, replaying yesterday's scene in her mind. "He might have felt trapped. He couldn't stay, because he was certain someone would kill him - but if he went, he was going to a crueler master than any he could have here. It would have been better for him to die, and yet, you spared him. And there were things here that were hard for him to leave behind…"

I think. I hope.

Èowyn trailed off, and one tear slid down her cheek. You looked back. Did you see me watching you? Was it as hard for you to leave me as it was for me to watch you go?

"My Lady?"

Èowyn looked back at Aragorn, and then hung her head.

"I'm sorry," Aragorn apologized quickly. "It is hard for you to speak of him. I understand."

Èowyn turned to stare at the wall. No, you don't.

Was that a bad chapter ending? I have this problem with endings. I dunno. I have the same problems with beginnings. I just have this thing with starting in the middle and writing the middle and not stopping or beginning or anything. looks at screen Wow, that was a tangent if I ever saw one. Seriously now. Tell me what you thought! I'd really like to know.