The caves were vast, dark, and dismal, to both the renegade counsellor and his fair warrior princess - he because the aura of terror and the heavy weight of widows' tears on the glittering stone was so thick about him he could feel it pressing him down, and she because she had no desire to be trapped below when she so longed to do battle alongside the men. Gamling seemed not to observe his lady's despair, and after bowing in homage to her and spitting at Gríma's feet, he turned and abandoned them.

Gríma looked about him and noticed many women glaring icily in his direction - most likely questioning why he had returned, and why he would be permitted to remain safely below while their husbands were dying above their very heads. He felt a small measure of pity for them and their children, many of whom might soon become fatherless. It was clear that none of these victims felt any such pity for him. Gríma stepped closer to Éowyn as though to seek protection from their hatred in her. She turned her frigid eyes to him as she felt him near. "These women's husbands may soon be dead - the cause of your wicked treachery. And will you still claim that you made such a bargain out of love for me? Am I such a prize that you would destroy the lives of all your countrymen to have me?"

Gríma met her gaze evenly. "I do not claim it to be just or kind, my Lady," he said softly. "But I would die, I would kill, I would do anything asked of me if I would have your love for but an instant."

If Gríma had expected these words to soften his princess' heart, he had sorely misjudged her. Her green eyes flashed with anger and her hands clenched into fists. "I suppose you find such words romantic, snake," she hissed. "But I believe you would find your purpose better served by more loving actions than death." Furiously she turned away and went to speak with a group of the other women.

One of them nodded towards Gríma as Éowyn approached. "Why has he come back?" she demanded spitefully.

"He came to warn us for Saruman's army's approach," Éowyn told them, finding a pile of rusty swords beside them. She lifted one and swung it a few times, testing it.

"More likely that he returned to take you," another of the women said, nodding disgustedly towards him. "See how he stares at you wherever you go. His eyes follow your body's every move."

Éowyn spun with the sword and pointed it in Gríma's direction. He smiled and held up his hands in mock surrender. She frowned at this gesture and turned away. "He will never claim me," she told her companions. "He is a treacherous snake. I will not allow him to touch me."

"I doubt very much that your permission makes a difference to such as he," a younger woman said wryly. "He hardly seems the type of man who accepts rejection. He comes to open the caves to Saruman's army, and once all the Rohirrim are crushed and destroyed, he will have his way with you."

Éowyn did her best not to shudder at this thought. "Saruman's army may be strong, but we will be the stronger," she said. "We are the Horse Lords. We will fight unto death."

"Then death awaits us all," the young women said bitterly, and a desperate, unhappy silence fell upon the circle.

- - - - - - - - -

Gríma paced impatiently beside the glittering stone wall where Éowyn had left him. She was disobeying her uncle's orders, he though angrily - but he doubted that she cared much. His death would mean little to the fair Lady Éowyn, if it were to come; but it would not. Saruman's army would crush this fortress like a rock crushes a spider, and he and his prize would be the only survivors left to tell the tale.

Gríma smiled rather self-deprecatingly. That is a lie, the greatest lie that's ever been told you, you cowardly bastard, he thought. Saruman has no need of you any longer, and he will not reward you for failed work. Your death is all that awaits you here, no matter what claim the wizard makes. He could feel the rage swelling inside him, and he tried to swallow it painfully, tried to hide his fury at his own cowardice and weakness.

"My Lord?"

Gríma turned, startled, and saw a young girl standing behind him. Apparently, she had no idea who he was. "Yes?" he asked cautiously.

The girl tilted her head slightly to the side, studying him curiously. "You are Gríma Wormtongue, are you not?"

So she did know. Gríma sighed heavily and looked away from her. "Yes," he said. "I am that same miserable traitor."

The girl looked surprised. "You don't sound very pleased about it," she said.

Gríma chuckled mirthlessly. "It hardly brings me any pleasure to be hated by all my countrymen," he told her.

The girl shrugged. "My mother believes there is good in everyone," she stated.

"Your mother is a very generous women," Gríma said dryly. "Few would say that of me."

"She told me that you were a great healer," the girl said, shifting from foot to foot.

Gríma looked at her once more, stunned. "I am accomplished enough," he concurred. "But I was not well known for my healing skill."

"My mother knew your mother when you were smaller," the girl told him, twisting a piece of blonde hair around her finger. "She heard you were here, anyway, and sent me to fetch you. She says there's a woman who is in desperate need of your aid, if you are willing to offer it."

"Willing enough," Gríma said, although he felt the sting at the knowledge that he was not expected to offer assistance to anyone but himself any longer. "What is the trouble?"

The girl shrugged. "I know not," she said. "But you should come with me. My mother said it was urgent."

"You should not have wasted all this time," Gríma said sternly. "Take me to her."

The girl nodded and led him obediently away.

- - - - - - - - -

Éowyn was startled and horrified when she noticed Gríma had disappeared. She did not want to admit to herself that this was largely her fault, and that if he allowed Saruman's orcs into the caves, the deaths of these women would be on her head. She ran about the caves, seeking him frantically, praying for his reappearance. She dared not ask any of the other women if they had seen him, for then they too would know of what she had done.

You worthless, stupid girl! she chided herself furiously as tears stung her eyes. You should never have let the horrible wretched traitorous son of a dog out of your sight! These people depended on you! Your Uncle depended on you to guard him and keep him away from Saruman's forces, and look what you've done out of your own selfish pride!

She was still searching a frantic hour later when she heard the heavy clomping sounds above her head. She looked up as the ground shuddered and guessed that Saruman's army had arrived. "No!" she whispered in horror, as the women around her looked up.

"Oh, my Lady!" one women whimpered in terror. "What do we do?"

Éowyn shook her head and fled from that cavern, unable to give an answer. She did not know what to do. She had to find Gríma, she had to keep him away from the door and protect her people-

"I think if my princess were to turn around, she might find what she is so desperately seeking."

Éowyn spun to face Gríma, relief and fury written across her features. "You wretched little bastard!" she swore. "How dare you disappear like that? I cannot trust you alone - " She stopped when she saw what he was doing. "What…?" she questioned.

Gríma was kneeling on the stony ground with a circle of women and girls. In the center of the ring was a hugely pregnant woman, who was weeping in pain. Gríma looked up at Éowyn and said quietly, "The stress and fear of this situation has caused her to deliver too early, I think. Her niece was sent after me to assist in the birth. If you want to be of some use, you can find me some water and clean rags."

Éowyn nodded, still surprised, and then turned and ran in search of Gríma's requested items. Fortunately, these were hardly difficult to find, especially with the aid of other women. She returned after a brief period with several other women, heated water, and rags that had been washed in the warm water.

Éowyn knelt beside Gríma, squeezing her way into the already tight circle. She was pressed rather tightly against Gríma, and silently realized that she'd never been so close to him before. She glanced at his face to see how her close proximity was affecting him, but he was too focused upon his charge to notice - or, at least, to show that he noticed.

"How else may I help?" she asked softly.

He turned his icy blue eyes to hers and said, "Hold her hand, if you would. Birth is a rather painful process, as I have come to understand it; and it helps to physically feel that there is more support than the healer's present."

Éowyn nodded and held the woman's hand. The woman gripped it tightly and squeezed it as she gave another cry of pain - a cry that came simultaneously with the sound of several crashes from up above. Éowyn looked up and murmured fearfully, "Ladders?"

Gríma turned briefly back to her. "Éowyn, focus your attention," he said sharply. "If you do not feel capable of this than I have no further use for you and you may go."

Éowyn glared at him in startled anger. He had never spoken to her that way before! "I will stay," she said, her cold eyes daring him to object.

He did not. "Good," he said shortly, and turned back to the woman before him.

Éowyn watched him with growing interest and respect as the weary hours dragged on. The sounds of battle were loud above them, and where all the women looked and whispered in fear, Gríma was focused and calm with his patient, whispering soothingly with that hypnotic voice that had enchanted the ears of the King and helping to ease the birth along. Éowyn wondered why so few had known of this aspect of Gríma's abilities - and why he would have been so loath to use them during his time at Edoras. She supposed, rather bitterly, that he had stopped feeling the pain of the rest of his people when Saruman's hold was strong with him, and therefore had stopped aiding all but himself.

Finally, after hours of miserable waiting and fearing, the baby was born - a boy. Several of the women took him away to be cleaned up and to find a cleaner blanket to place him, while Gríma slumped back against the stone behind him, exhausted. "I should like some water, if we still have any," he said, and Éowyn rushed to give him some. He smiled at her over the brim of a dipper as he sipped and said, "Why, my Lady, I've hardly seen you so anxious to serve me. What brings this sudden change of heart?"

Éowyn narrowed her eyes and turned away. "You worked hard," she said coldly. "I brought you water because you asked for it. Unlike you I give readily to those in need."

"It seems to me that Lord Counsellor is more ready to give than any of the Rohirrim have given him credit for," a woman still seated by them said, raising a single eyebrow. "I am Dagorwyn. Gríma's mother and I were friends, before his father murdered her."

Éowyn drew in a sharp breath and stared at Gríma. "Your father murdered your mother?"

"Oh, yes," Gríma said coldly. "I was fifteen at the time. She finally decided to protect the only child she'd birthed that lived, and my father killed her for it." He shrugged slightly and said, "But no one trusted my word. I was the great Gálmód's bastard son, who made trouble simply because I could. No, no, in Edoras' official records you will find that my mother died of a sudden illness. Not uncommon in Rohan, and a rather easy excuse to hide something much more unpleasant."

Éowyn stared at him in horror. "Why didn't you stop him?" she whispered.

Gríma looked as though he might erupt with his own rage. Fortunately, Dagorwyn laid her hand on Gríma's arm and said, "He tried to, Éowyn, but he was unarmed and his father was not. There was not much to be done about it."

Éowyn shook her head in disbelief. "Surely my Uncle would have listened to you?"

Gríma shook his head. "No one listened to me then," he said. "And no one would listen to me now. Not that it matters. My father was killed in a battle with the orcs years ago."

Éowyn shivered, still unable to understand how this injustice could have been done. "I'm sorry," she said softly, laying her hand on Gríma's arm.

He looked at her, startled, and he stared at her in seeming disbelief, as though he did not dare trust that Éowyn was truly touching him of her own accord. She smiled slightly and glanced down at the ground, drawing her hand away. "You must be tired," she said to him, rising to her feet. "I'll find you some blankets, and then you may rest. You had a long journey and now you've assisted with a birth. After the battle you must help us with the wounded as well."

"I will do what I may, my Lady," Gríma said, his hand now clutching the spot on his opposite arm where Éowyn's fingers had touched him. "But… I will not deny that I am weary…"

Éowyn nodded and went in search of blankets. When she returned, he was already asleep.