Author's Note: I hope this chapter is better than the last one. I'm thinking of rewriting or taking Ch. 6 out entirely, since it has basically no point. If anyone has thoughts on that, I'm willing to listen. Anyway, like I said before, I'm playing a little with the plot, so reviews right now are extra important! Thanks for sticking with me!

The oppressive thought of Èowyn's death had been driving Gríma mad for hours, but he had been unable to force himself to find some small ounce of courage in his body to save her.

Damn you, you worthless coward! Damn your weakness! You can't even bring yourself to save the woman that you claim to love more than your own life! What kind of man are you? You are a worm!

Angrily, Gríma kicked at the wall. He was not all that surprised to find that it harmed his foot more than the wall itself, but it made him angry nonetheless, and he swore profanely in several different languages.

"I see you've learned a few new things from the books in my library," Saruman's voice said dryly.

Gríma whirled to face his master and bowed guiltily. "What can your servant do for you, my Lord?"

"You are truly a coward, Gríma," Saruman said in a bored tone. "For a while I really thought you were going to ride off and rescue your fair princess. Quite charming, really. But of course courage and nobility are simply too foreign to your nature for you to do such a thing."

Gríma's face flushed, and he hung his head, glaring at the ground as though it had been the one to accuse him. "I - I would never betray you, my Lord," he whispered softly. "I would not -"

"You were planning to leave, Gríma," Saruman said flatly, and with these words he threw a bag forcefully at Gríma's feet. A map and some small provisions tumbled out onto the floor. A passage was marked in ink. It lead towards Helm's Deep.

Gríma swallowed the panic quickly rising inside of him. "My master," he whimpered, still unable to look at Saruman.

"Did you really think you could simply ride off and save Èowyn's life without facing some punishment?" Saruman's voice was louder now, angry. Gríma cowered back against the wall, finally raising his eyes to meet Saruman's gaze. Saruman was snarling at him, his glare so cold it might have frozen fire. Gríma's terror clearly showed in his eyes.

"Saruman, please!" he gasped, shrinking into the shadows in a futile attempt to hide. "I don't want her to die! I have - have to do something - please don't hurt me!" He held his hands in front of his face, waiting for some kind of spell, or a sound hit with the heavy black staff.

All he received was silence.

He waited for what seemed eons, and then at last Saruman spoke. "You expect me to reward you for failing to prevent Gandalf from ruining our plans and then trying to slink off and betray me?" he said icily.

"No!" Gríma cried, lowering his hands cautiously. "I just… I want Èowyn to live."

Saruman studied him carefully, more with interest now than with anger. "What would you do if I spared her?"

"Anything!" Gríma gasped, throwing himself at Saruman's feet. "Please, anything you ask…"

"Then kill Théoden."

Gríma looked up, startled. "My Lord?"

Saruman glared down at him, and then pulled him roughly to his feet. "Go to Helm's Deep. You'll arrive before my army does. Théoden and his men have escaped from my Wargs and have undoubtedly made it to Helm's Deep already. You will meet them there. Tell them you were terribly abused by me and that you had to return to aid them because you desired to bring me down."

Gríma swallowed hard. "They may not believe…" he started to say, but Saruman smacked him across the face with the staff. Gríma could hardly believe the sharp pain that slashed across his entire skull.

"You have the most extraordinary oral abilities I have seen in the race of Men," Saruman told him in a deadly soft tone. "Use them. If they attempt to kill you, I will not help you. And if you betray me, your punishment will be much worse than a slap on the face."

Gríma flinched. "How will this save Èowyn?" he demanded.

Saruman eyed him dangerously. "You must trust me," he said in his smooth, velvety voice. Without another word, he departed and slammed Gríma's door.

Gríma stared at the closed door and then spat at the floor. "Trust you? Never," he growled. He glanced at the bag lying on the floor. "But I will go to Helm's Deep."

His mind made up, he began to finish packing.