The stable girl was busy in the stables as usual. Up since dawn, she was not yet tired, though she knew that a drowse would creep up on her as the day progressed. She did not sleep much anyway; her dreams were dark and unrestful. It was still early, early enough that most of the Lords and Ladies were still in bed with no thoughts of riding. She busied herself with the horses' comfort, changing blankets, filling water troughs and hay baskets. Horses did not mock, nor look from the corners of their eyes and smirk. Horses made no distinction between the golden-haired and the dark. She was happy at her work.
The stable girl blinked. She was watched, she sensed it. She continued with her tasks, but a colour was rising on her cheeks and her heart was beating faster. Might it be him? So dangerous and yet so exciting... No, it was not likely, he had visited her stables twice lately in as many days. Most of the Nobility of Rohan was in and out of the stables constantly, but the Lord Grima was not a keen rider, yet another thing which set him apart from the people of Rohan. She could but hope...
Footfalls behind her. She turned and was face to face with him. She blushed deeper. "Good morning, my Lord. Would you like me to prepare your horse?" She blinked under his gaze, but still he did not answer. She swallowed. It was something else, then.
"Stable maiden...I-" he began. His normal veneer of self-assurance and power seemed cracked somehow.
"Ina." she interrupted him.
He stopped, a little perplexed. "Ina." she said again. "It is my name."
"Ina." He repeated. "Ina, I have come to ask you...this night past, when I came to you and asked you..." He could not look at her. He seemed much altered, and yet still carried his air of sensual danger.
Ina's heart beat faster. He was faltering over his words, and his pale face was flushed pink around his delicate cheekbones. He looked so sad and so beautiful that her eyes filmed over with tears. She blinked to clear them.
"Why, though I asked you of delicate things, why then did you not laugh? Why did not you run, or scream? Why..?" he looked at her beseechingly. He could not find the words. Ina's heart broke. At that moment she had an inkling of the Lord Grima's sadness, of his mean, empty, pinched life, and she knew of his pain. One so unloved could not love, could not conceive of love or good-feeling coming to him.
"Why should I laugh at you, my Lord?" she replied softly. His eyes darted about, his hands made vague motions in the air.
"Why, because I am a figure of ridicule!" he said mockingly. "I am the Wormtongue, I am weak, I am not to be trusted!" his voice rose as he derided himself. The words flowed easy from his mouth. This hateful self-flagellation sounded wrong to Ina's ears, but worse was the obvious practice and aid he had had over time in finding such descriptions of himself. She opened her mouth to speak, but he was no longer looking at her and she had to reach out and take his arm to make him stop. He flinched away from her touch, looking affronted. She spoke to him softly, for he looked angry. His power seemed to be returning, and Ina fought an urge to fall silent, to simply look away. She said: "I do not find you so. When I look at you I see a Lord of Edoras, a nobleman, however unhappy."
She stepped closer to him, her heart aspiring to break her chest, and looked him in the eye. There was a scent of cold, damp rooms, of old books and stiff cloth.
All of Edoras suspected of the treachery of 'Wormtongue', and Ina was no exception. She was not so naive. She knew all that was said, of deals with sorcery and evil, of whispered words in an aged ear. But as Grima leaned forward to kiss her, none of it seemed to matter.
He pulled her closer to him and she was wrapped in the folds of his cloaks. Swathes of black cloth enfolded her and she felt safe in his embrace. A knife hilt bumped against her hipbone and she felt that thrill of danger he always carried with him. She broke their kiss and he rested his lips on her neck, sliding slowly down with the tip of his tongue to her collarbone. Her eyes were closed; her breaths came deep as he kissed her again. She stepped back, taking him with her and she rested her back against the stall partition. She opened her eyes and they broke off once more. She looked into his pale eyes at the blue ice that seemed to be imprisoned deep within them. He smiled almost cruelly and seemed about to speak, but was silenced by the sound of loud footsteps at the stable door.
It was a strange sight that greeted Pered the feed-boy as he entered the stables carrying two bags of oats - Grima Wormtongue pressed up against a horse stall with the mistress of the stables! He dropped his oats on the straw littered floor and stepped forward. "Mistress Ina?" he asked.
With one last, long, heart-melting look Grima took his leave of Ina. He strode swiftly through the horse-doors and out, along the path to Meduseld. The feed-boy said again "Mistress Ina..?" and she turned to him. She tried to re-arrange her hair and skirts but they were in disarray.
"The oats, Pered?" she asked. The boy nodded.
"Mistress, is all right with you? Was Wormtongue...taking advantage?" His expression irritated her sorely. His naive and no doubt false concern seemed intolerably stupid, and she said brusquely "No, no Pered. All is well, leave the oats where they lie and attend to you duties elsewhere!"
Pered's look of bewilderment slowly changed into a sneer. "I see it, Mistress Ina, you have found the other of your kind here in Edoras!"
The anger and humiliation were too much for Ina. All the servants hall would know of this by noon-meal! For a moment she felt as a child again, again she heard that shrill girlish voice which seemed to pierce her very flesh. "We don't want you to play with us, Ina-Horse-Hair! Do you not hear me? Was your father a Southron, Ina-Horse-Hair? Take yourself away, Dunlending, we don't want to have to see that bird's nest of yours any longer!" The other children had agreed.
"Get out of my stables, Pered! Take your nose out of my business and go back to you duties!" she half-shouted at the boy. She advanced on him and he stumbled backwards, then turned and ran.
As the stumbling boy left the stables, Ina wandered to the horse-door as if in a daze. Leaning on the doorpost, she gazed out upon the grassy slopes of Edoras. The grey clouds that had been drifting from the South since the daybreak finally delivered on their promise, and it began to rain.
The stable girl blinked. She was watched, she sensed it. She continued with her tasks, but a colour was rising on her cheeks and her heart was beating faster. Might it be him? So dangerous and yet so exciting... No, it was not likely, he had visited her stables twice lately in as many days. Most of the Nobility of Rohan was in and out of the stables constantly, but the Lord Grima was not a keen rider, yet another thing which set him apart from the people of Rohan. She could but hope...
Footfalls behind her. She turned and was face to face with him. She blushed deeper. "Good morning, my Lord. Would you like me to prepare your horse?" She blinked under his gaze, but still he did not answer. She swallowed. It was something else, then.
"Stable maiden...I-" he began. His normal veneer of self-assurance and power seemed cracked somehow.
"Ina." she interrupted him.
He stopped, a little perplexed. "Ina." she said again. "It is my name."
"Ina." He repeated. "Ina, I have come to ask you...this night past, when I came to you and asked you..." He could not look at her. He seemed much altered, and yet still carried his air of sensual danger.
Ina's heart beat faster. He was faltering over his words, and his pale face was flushed pink around his delicate cheekbones. He looked so sad and so beautiful that her eyes filmed over with tears. She blinked to clear them.
"Why, though I asked you of delicate things, why then did you not laugh? Why did not you run, or scream? Why..?" he looked at her beseechingly. He could not find the words. Ina's heart broke. At that moment she had an inkling of the Lord Grima's sadness, of his mean, empty, pinched life, and she knew of his pain. One so unloved could not love, could not conceive of love or good-feeling coming to him.
"Why should I laugh at you, my Lord?" she replied softly. His eyes darted about, his hands made vague motions in the air.
"Why, because I am a figure of ridicule!" he said mockingly. "I am the Wormtongue, I am weak, I am not to be trusted!" his voice rose as he derided himself. The words flowed easy from his mouth. This hateful self-flagellation sounded wrong to Ina's ears, but worse was the obvious practice and aid he had had over time in finding such descriptions of himself. She opened her mouth to speak, but he was no longer looking at her and she had to reach out and take his arm to make him stop. He flinched away from her touch, looking affronted. She spoke to him softly, for he looked angry. His power seemed to be returning, and Ina fought an urge to fall silent, to simply look away. She said: "I do not find you so. When I look at you I see a Lord of Edoras, a nobleman, however unhappy."
She stepped closer to him, her heart aspiring to break her chest, and looked him in the eye. There was a scent of cold, damp rooms, of old books and stiff cloth.
All of Edoras suspected of the treachery of 'Wormtongue', and Ina was no exception. She was not so naive. She knew all that was said, of deals with sorcery and evil, of whispered words in an aged ear. But as Grima leaned forward to kiss her, none of it seemed to matter.
He pulled her closer to him and she was wrapped in the folds of his cloaks. Swathes of black cloth enfolded her and she felt safe in his embrace. A knife hilt bumped against her hipbone and she felt that thrill of danger he always carried with him. She broke their kiss and he rested his lips on her neck, sliding slowly down with the tip of his tongue to her collarbone. Her eyes were closed; her breaths came deep as he kissed her again. She stepped back, taking him with her and she rested her back against the stall partition. She opened her eyes and they broke off once more. She looked into his pale eyes at the blue ice that seemed to be imprisoned deep within them. He smiled almost cruelly and seemed about to speak, but was silenced by the sound of loud footsteps at the stable door.
It was a strange sight that greeted Pered the feed-boy as he entered the stables carrying two bags of oats - Grima Wormtongue pressed up against a horse stall with the mistress of the stables! He dropped his oats on the straw littered floor and stepped forward. "Mistress Ina?" he asked.
With one last, long, heart-melting look Grima took his leave of Ina. He strode swiftly through the horse-doors and out, along the path to Meduseld. The feed-boy said again "Mistress Ina..?" and she turned to him. She tried to re-arrange her hair and skirts but they were in disarray.
"The oats, Pered?" she asked. The boy nodded.
"Mistress, is all right with you? Was Wormtongue...taking advantage?" His expression irritated her sorely. His naive and no doubt false concern seemed intolerably stupid, and she said brusquely "No, no Pered. All is well, leave the oats where they lie and attend to you duties elsewhere!"
Pered's look of bewilderment slowly changed into a sneer. "I see it, Mistress Ina, you have found the other of your kind here in Edoras!"
The anger and humiliation were too much for Ina. All the servants hall would know of this by noon-meal! For a moment she felt as a child again, again she heard that shrill girlish voice which seemed to pierce her very flesh. "We don't want you to play with us, Ina-Horse-Hair! Do you not hear me? Was your father a Southron, Ina-Horse-Hair? Take yourself away, Dunlending, we don't want to have to see that bird's nest of yours any longer!" The other children had agreed.
"Get out of my stables, Pered! Take your nose out of my business and go back to you duties!" she half-shouted at the boy. She advanced on him and he stumbled backwards, then turned and ran.
As the stumbling boy left the stables, Ina wandered to the horse-door as if in a daze. Leaning on the doorpost, she gazed out upon the grassy slopes of Edoras. The grey clouds that had been drifting from the South since the daybreak finally delivered on their promise, and it began to rain.