Second Half of Scissors

by Vereena

Here is a Snake for you, people. Charming personality of Grima, son of Galmod, himself.

Disclaimer: this is JRRT's LOTR fanfic, and it is here until the day copyright owners come and bid it banished under the pain of death.

Gratitudes: these HUGE ones go to wonderful Gaslight (author of great story, "Passages"), who did so much work beta-reading this (fairly long) story, struggling through my horrible non-native grammar, and offering priceless vocabulary suggestions and plot notices. If the language is better here than it was in my first story, "Talking to Darkness", it all thanks to her. However, all mistakes are still mine, because I did the final check. Bad Dobby, bad!

Author's note: this story contains references to my other one, "Talking to Darkness". Go read it first, it is important for understanding the idea (yeah, there is an idea here. Surprised at that? Me too, actually.)

Chronicles are written by winners only; the Book of Life is not.
Berossus

Chapter 1. Son of Darkness and Bringer of Light.

The hall of the small inn was overcrowded. A snowstorm had befallen the pass of Nardol, a usually safe road, driving all passing folk together under the roof of "The Dead Ranger". So here they were, shepherds from highland meadows, smelling of sheep, hunters in wolf fur-coats, a group of foreign-looking traders and another of what looked to be local highwaymen.

An entire tree trunk was burning in the enormous hearth and the innkeeper, undoubtedly pleased at the unusual popularity of his place, was giving orders and pouring wine with a slightly unnatural expression of hospitality.

I sat on the floor in the corner closest to the hearth, listening to the humming of voices around me and the moans of wind past the safely closed shutters and door. A true hurricane was raging outside. I had only 5 coins left, so my mind was occupied with a question: should I buy myself dinner now, or breakfast tomorrow? At the moment I was hungry, but I knew that my scarce funds would not allow me to buy anything to keep me sated until tomorrow morning; and tomorrow morning, I had a long way before me. So I opted for sleeping, hoping that slumber would drive away hunger. I closed my eyes. The noise of the inn was annoying, but I concentrated on imagining snowflakes falling down - first slowly, gently, then faster and faster, until they were dancing a mad reel to the howling music of the storm.

I was almost asleep when angry shouting and loud swearing stirred me. I looked towards the source of disorder; not unexpectedly for me (and for the innkeeper, too, judging from the expression of his face), it was the group of bandits of 10, which occupied the biggest and the best table. From what I could distinguish of the drunken roar, one of the good men had discovered the vanishing of his purse, insisting that "T'was here juz moment b'fore". As he and his comrades had been enjoying their wine for quite some time now, the disagreement promised to grow up to wild fight very soon. The innkeeper looked at the rampant bandits in despair; their conflict threatened to bring huge damage to his property, and he was obviously not very fond of the idea of asking such a noble company for reimbursement.

I stood up and approached him. "Looks like quite a destruction, isn't it?" I whispered to the man. He looked at me angrily and was about to say something rude, when I added, "How much will you pay me if I help you to prevent it?"

Just when the brigands had exhausted their extensive supply of curses, and took out their knives and swords, the innkeeper appeared from the back room, carrying a big half-empty leather sack, embroidered with elven runes and ornaments. He approached the disturbed group and said loudly, his voice almost not trembling:
"Noble lords! Shall you…"

The highwaymen, however outraged they were, were flattered with being addressed to as "noble lords". The biggest and most sinister looking of them lifted his hand and shouted, "Quiet!!" His subordinates calmed themselves down a little, and then the leader addressed the pale innkeeper, leaning in threateningly:
"What?"

The keeper drew deep breath.
"Noble lords," he began again, showing the sack to the chief, "would you allow me to suggest a resolution to your… err… disagreement?"

"What'za?" the bandit eyed him suspiciously.

'This is a magical sack, my lord, given to me by one elven sorcerer… for involuntarily damaging the ceiling with his spell." The innkeeper pointed to the ceiling, where a big black spot was visible. Observing the scene from my corner, I smiled inwardly. The innkeeper appeared to be quite an actor. Meanwhile, he continued with his tale:

"This sack was specially designed for indicating people who took something not belonging to them. It is filled with magical substance. When touched by the left hand of a thief, this substance shouts so wildly, that the thief cannot stand its cry and dies immediately.

It was interesting to watch the effect this tale was having on the bandits. Huge armed men, only a few minutes ago resembling savage beasts, were looking upon the sack with the avid interest of children. And not only them - all other folk present came nearer to look at the object of elven magic.

The leader of bandits scratched his bushy head.
"L'rite," he said, "than all peepl here haf to tuch it, and we'll get the shitgut?"

The innkeeper nodded, and the trial began.

Everybody gathered around the innkeeper, who was holding the sack. One by one, men came to it and shoved their hands in the bag. Some of them did it calmly, some - carefully, as if afraid; I, too, came nearer and dipped my hand in the "magical substance" - cinder from the kitchen stove.
After me, a thin young man - a mere child- approached the sack. I spotted him sitting at the table with the bandits. He shoved his hand in the bag, and after couple of seconds retrieved it; I registered the look of relief in his uneasy eyes, when the innkeeper called to him:
"Would you please show us your left hand, my lord?"

The young thief blushed. His chief rushed to him and grabbed him by the hand rudely; looking at his clean white palm and comparing it to his own, black with cinder, he made the conclusion unexpectedly quickly for the dunderhead he seemed to be.
"Yo, son ov a bitch!" he roared.

The other bandits understood, too, and got to their feet. They circled the trembling boy, whose eyes were filled with tears, his lips forming something incoherent. The leader came to the door and opened it; in the moment, the room was filled with a chilly wind, but it was not long before the highwaymen escorted their former companion outside and closed the door behind them. They returned only some time after, and the boy was not with them. The leader looked quite distracted. I guessed that late young man must have been his "apprentice". As if respecting their chief, the other bandits were behaving a little more quietly now, too.

***

My dinner arrived. The innkeeper, grateful beyond measure for preventing the damage of his property, paid me well, offered me the best room upstairs, and ordered to serve me the best of his kitchen and wine cellar. Seated at a small table, I was eating hot soup and enjoying myself, when suddenly it appeared that I was no longer alone. In front of me, on the other side of table, there sat a stranger. His face was hidden under the hood of a luxurious white cloak with golden embroidery, but, judging from the long silvery beard and staff gripped in his hand, he must have been rather old. I looked around - there was no other table free. Well then… I returned to my meal, when the stranger said:
"You knew what they would do to the boy for stealing, didn't you?"

The man's voice was low and mellifluous. I refrained from asking why he watched me, and simply answered:
"If not this time, it would have been another. The lad was rotten from the inside."

"So you were simply the tool of justice in the hand of Fate?"

I shrugged. With each passing minute, I liked this man less and less.

"Do you believe in Fate, Grima, son of Galmod?"

This was getting interesting. My eyes searched the man's clothes for a black serpent on a red field, while my hand searched for the dagger on my belt.
The stranger threw back his hood. His face was unfamiliar to me. It was impossible to tell if he was man or elf, but he certainly was of nobility.

"No need to search for your weapon," he observed, "for I am here not for arresting you."
With these words, he smiled a little indignant smile.
"Why do you think I am afraid of being arrested?" I asked nonchalantly.

"I know many things about you, Grima," the man bent slightly forward and looked me straight in the eye, "maybe even more that you yourself know. And that is why I am here."

I looked back in his deep black eyes, and remained silent. Let the one who spoke first speak forth.

The man leant back in his chair and laced his fingers on his chest. Still scrutinizing me, he proceeded:

"A wizard once asked the winds, where could he find a servant, who would be smart and resourceful… cunning and brave… ambitious, but loyal… And the winds told the wizard about a man of no heritage, who traveled a lot, who had been a spy for some and advisor to others… a man of mind so flexible, like branches of a bending willow… not a warrior, but a survivor, a man of will, who managed to escape the Chamber of Pit and Pendulum. And once this wizard knew about this man, he thought to himself, "It is he I am seeking."

The wizard (for it was my guess they were one and the same) paused. He was now waiting for my reaction, and I asked:
"And the price will be...?"

The wizard quirked his eyebrow.
"What a strange haste is this, or greed, asking the price before asking of job?"
"I am sure, my lord, that one wizard would not offer that man anything unsuitable…"
"And if one wizard would think the man unsuitable for his task?"
"But the wizard had enough time to watch this man, and if he thought the man unsuitable, he wouldn't be talking to him now."

These words gained a benevolent smile from my counterpart.
"The price," he said solemnly, "the reward… shall be great."

For some time, we watched each other. I felt the power emanating from the man in front of me; his voice seemed to be still ringing in my head. He did not feel dangerous. And this was bad.

"The reward," he continued at last, "shall be the wish of your heart. The One Wish."

"Any wish?"
It was beginning to dawn on me that this man must be not very sane. Thinking himself omnipotent…

"You are too fast in your conclusions," the wizard was looking at me even more intently now, "for I am not mad… but I like the swiftness of your thought. Let me show you something." With these words, he rose up and motioned me to follow him.

Intrigued, I did. The heavy bolts of the door were unfastened, and we stepped outside. The storm had calmed, but the sky was cloudy, and it was pitch dark around us. I heard my companion muttering something, and suddenly a light flared on the end of his staff. He pointed it at some place in the darkness, and the ray caught out the fragment of what seemed to be feathering of a huge bird. Some more words were spoken quietly, and the light grew stronger. Then I saw it - indeed, a giant bird, an eagle, sitting on the nearby cliff. The light seemed to wake it, for it rose from its place and in two wide swift movements of wings, landed before us. Now I saw that the bird was not only unusual in size; its feathers were made of blued steel.

"Interesting, isn't it?" The wizard was obviously enjoying the effect. "It's my own invention. The creation of my own powerful magic. It is fast as wind, and can make the distance of a day's gallop in 2 hours. If you are not afraid, I can take you with me, to my tower, and there we shall continue our conversation. So?.."

I was afraid. In such a situation, only one totally deprived of imagination would not be. But on the other hand, at the moment I had no definite target or purpose in my travels. This may be a good chance. Why not give it a try?
I bowed to the wizard.
"I am following you, my lord."

***

If I hate anything worse than swimming, it is flying. The flight on the back of a giant steel eagle in the cold night is one of my worst remembrances, second only to the Chamber of Pit and Pendulum in the palace of certain Harad king. After escaping that interesting place, I swore to myself never to show my true skills and abilities to those whom I served. And during the flight, freezing to the cold metallic surface, trying not to look down, I took an oath to never feign bravery again, unless it was a matter of life or death.

Happily, the terrible journey ended before I finished cursing my own adventurism for a third dozen times. As I was about to call myself another portion of names, the death machine began lowering, and finally landed on the top of a high tower. My companion stepped down graciously, and I just fell down in a heap, not caring about the impression I gave. Scowling, I got up and looked at the wizard, to see his amused expression.

"I see, you are not a very enduring traveler," he said, "and the air is definitely not your element."

He pointed his staff at me, and in a moment I was warm. Before I started thanking him, he motioned me to follow, and proceeded downstairs.

We passed many twisted corridors and several chambers before entering a small hall, scarcely lit with few torches. Trembling flames obliterated fragments of reliefs on the walls and massive statues in the corners. Shadows played upon solemn faces and folds of long garments. All statues had hands clasped and pressed to their chests, which reminded me of Rhun gods.

In the middle of the room, there stood a column of black basalt, half the height of a human. And on the top of the column, there lay a semi-transparent globe, pulsing from inside with a faint orange light.

The wizard approached the column, and gestured me to come closer, to stand opposite him. When I did, he said:
"You have dared to question my power, Grima, son of Galmod - maybe only in your thoughts, but still you doubted me. Now the time has come for you to know who I am. I am Saruman the White, the great wizard and Head of the White Council. My skills are countless, my knowledge is immense, and my power is huge. There is only one wizard in the whole world, who is equal to me, and he is the Lord of Mordor, my ally. Together, we are planning the great battle against those who rule this world now; and when the day of battle comes, those who are wise would do well to be on our side, for, joined together, our forces shall be invincible."

"You wondered if I am omnipotent, Grima, son of Galmod. Now, I am not; but I am very close to it. Even now, my powers are more than enough to give you the things that I know you have always desired. Wealth. Authority. Independence from those who were put above you by the injustice of Fate. Opportunity to rule, not to serve."

"As only one minor proof of my words, here I show you my Palantir, ancient stone of wizardry under my control. It can give you an understanding of things you always desired to know. Now you have a chance. Step forth and look into it!"

In the end of the wizard's speech, I felt entranced. Was it the power of his voice, or his piercing gaze - I knew not, but as he spoke, I almost felt his thoughts flowing freely through mine. Spellbound, I watched his face - the one of a noble old man - but now it seemed to me only a guise, masking him who must be a demon - or deity.
"Formidable master you are about to choose, indeed, Grima, son of Galmod," I said to myself, coming timidly closer to the indicated object.

The orange light inside the globe was moving and shifting, and as I gazed into it, my vision started shifting and blurring, as well. Something that emanated from the stone together with light, entered my mind and twined through it, bringing up old memories, long buried. I saw myself as a child in the manor of my Grandfather in the Westfold - the proud and luxurious house that I never could call home. A feeble and weak child, orphan of the lord's youngest daughter, I was looked down upon with scorn by the men of the household, and, with a sort of humiliating pity - by women. There was no one to love me, and nobody to protect me from other children's assaults, which were many. When I cried, they scolded me for unmanly weakness; when I learnt how to take revenge, they accused me of being evil. I had no company at all, for horses - sacred horses! - never interested me, and neither did games and other primitive occupations of children. My only passion and consolation were books - many of them that lay in heaps in the attic, untouched for generations. I never knew how the books came to be in that house, but my hands were the first in many years to shake off the dust from the ancient folios of chronicles and legends, written in Westron. I learned to read by myself, and devoured stories about kings and rulers. For the most part, they reminded me of my Grandfather - proud, stern and unforgiving, and totally hostile to those who were not of their own kind. No wonder that these others were ones to gain my sympathy. Those who rebelled against the majority, those who strove for better, those who, like myself, were called evil, became my heroes.

The books gave me inspiration and hope to change my life one day; but none of them could answer the question - why was I so hated in this house?

There was a flash of orange before my sight - outer or inner, I couldn't tell, - and the picture changed slightly. Again, there was the house of my Grandfather, but instead of myself, I was now watching a young girl of maybe twenty, thin and delicate, with fair skin and a heavy mass of golden hair running loosely over her shoulders. The girl was pacing nervously on the balcony, looking at the sky. The girl's anxiety seemed to double whenever she spotted the distant specks of birds flying high; at last, one of the tiny shapes neared and turned out to be a falcon. The bird swiftly landed on the girl's outstretched gloved hand. The girl hastily untied a small note, attached to the bird's leg, and petted the falcon on its neck. With the bird still sitting on her hand, she opened the note and read through it quickly; then, smiling happily, she hurried away.

The next image I saw was of the same girl, riding towards the nearby forest with a skill somehow unexpected for her slight frame.

After she reached the forest, she proceeded under the trees for some time, looking around and obviously searching for something. Suddenly she stopped abruptly and turned back, startled - only to smile again beautifully at the sight of a man who stepped out from the shadows. The man approached her, and she bent down and encircled his neck with her arms; the man embraced the girl's slim waist with one hand and helped her down. They stood there for some time, holding and looking into each other's eyes, like lovers after a long separation usually do. The man was not very tall, and rather thin. His dark skin and black hair betrayed his Dunland origin. The girl ran her fingers through his unkempt raven tresses lovingly, and for a moment there was a mark of the brand visible on the man's high forehead. That betrayed his career. The man cupped the girl's face in his hands, and kissed her passionately. Then in a seamless motion, he scooped her up and carried somewhere out of view.

The picture changed again, once more showing the manor. It was dark now, though, late evening or maybe night. The main hall was full of people. My Grandfather, looking even more severe and forbidding than usual, was sitting on his high chair, like a king on his throne. Before him stood the girl I had already seen. Her head was lowered, and her hands pressed against her visibly rounded waist. I saw her face; her eyes were red and swollen with tears, but she was not crying now. The Head of the House was asking her questions, to which the girl answered only by shaking her head in silent denial. The eyes of her interrogator burned in cold fury. He shouted something, and two men of the household came forth. One of them carried a sack, which he handed to his lord with a bow. The lord rose up from his seat, and approached the girl, unfastening the sack slowly and shoving his hand inside. He retrieved something round and dark, and threw it before the girl. For the next moment, I beheld them exchanging glances of equal hatred, before she knelt down and picked the bloodstained head of her lover from the floor.

The next vision was of a dark dungeon. My mother was sitting on the bare ground floor of her prison, embracing her knees and slowly rocking back and forth. She was still pregnant, but I knew that soon she will give birth to a feeble and ugly baby. She will die, only giving him the name - "Grima", or "Secret", and the boy will live and grow up bearing the hatred and repulsion of the surrounding world.

* * *

The vision slowly dispersed in smoky dim light, and for some time, my mind was shrouded. But in a few moments the cloud was gone, and I was back to this reality, feeling only a little dizzy. I looked at the man who called himself Saruman; he was standing there, immobile, his lips only slightly curved in a shadowy smile. Seeing that I have returned, he spoke:
"Now, Grima, son of Galmod, have you seen the answer to your question?"

I nodded silently.

"And now, do you see that I am indeed in a position to fulfill my part of our future deal - if we indeed have one?"

"Yes, my lord."

"And are you sure you are able and willing to comply with my orders?"

"I shall, my lord."

Again, Saruman's black eyes studied me for some time, as a housewife studies a set of pots before finally deciding on buying them or not. At last, the wizard said:
"Very well, then," and, lighting his staff, he proceeded to the far corner of the hall. Following him, I saw that in this corner, there was a statue of a man in long robes, falling down magnificently from his broad shoulders. The statue was turned to the wall, so the face was not visible; but its hairdo was of the strangest design - two long plaits of hair, snaking down statue's back. The odd pose, and, especially, these seemingly feminine plaits, gave the statue an unusually sinister look.
As Saruman advanced to the statue, he ran his hand down the carven plaits, and, with a deep stony sound, it shifted aside, exposing a small arched portal and a stairway leading down. Saruman went first, and I followed; after me, there was again the sound of shifting stone. They won't even find the body here, Grima, dear fellow. Besides, who cares?

The stairway ended soon. We appeared to be in a small round room, lit by greenish flame, dancing up from a vessel of shiny black stone. The vessel was placed upon a tripod of white metal, which occupied the center of the room. Saruman pointed his staff at the fire, and it grew bigger and rushed up with a threatening energy. Now I noticed something like a small altar near the wall. Saruman motioned me to approach it, and came nearer himself. The surface of the altar was vacant except for a dagger with a wide triangular blade. Saruman broke the silence:

"Now, Grima, son of Galmod, listen to me carefully. I shall take this dagger, and you give me your right hand; I shall cut it so the blood starts flowing, and with your blood, you shall write your name on this altar. Thus you shall offer me your service. Once you do, I shall touch the altar with my staff, accepting it. Your signature will disappear, and the single word will protrude. Read that word and memorize it, and never forget it, for this will be the Word that you shall say to me after 9 years of service. Only then shall I fulfill your Heart's Desire."

"Have you understood me well, Grima, son of Galmod? Are you ready now? Are you prepared?"

"Yes, my lord." I said, and stretched out my hand.

And so it happened that I became a servant of Saruman the White.

***

The market square of Edoras was boiling with life, air brimming with hundreds of voices and the neighing of horses. It was the day when horse breeders from all over the Mark came to the capital, bringing the best of their breed with them; it was the day when trading people from neighboring and distant lands came here, to look, compare, evaluate, bargain, and make deals. Also, it was the day when the King of Rohan was coming among them, to listen to complaints from his people regarding especially tricky court matters, and grant them his wisest decision.

I made my way through the dense crowd to the center of the square, where the King's throne already stood on a dais; the King was about to arrive, and I wanted to be there to listen to him and observe, and, if possible, act.

The spot was already full of people, too, but this didn't prevent me from making my way to the front. I saw the King, ascending the steps of the dais, followed by his bodyguards and marshals.

King Theoden was not a young man, but obviously of blossoming health. He looked just like the King should look like - noble in stature and handsome in countenance. To my disappointment, his face didn't show traces of good friendship with wine, or of any other similar human weakness. His surrounding was appropriate - tall men, all strongly built, of fair complexion and with faces that, I would say, were not disfigured with intellect. If the King had no other advisors than these noble warriors, then my task here would be a relatively easy one.

While I made these observations to myself, the first case was brought before the King. Three men stepped forward, and told their story. They were three brothers from a town in the Eastfold, who lost their father some time ago. Before his death, this man told his sons about the cask full of gold he had hidden in a certain secret place. But when the three brothers went there the morning after the funeral, they found the hiding place ravished and empty. Their father told them they were the only ones who knew about the treasure, and before his death, he was sane and conscious. The brothers already had brought this matter to their town's court, but a local investigation brought no results; that was why they came before the King.
Upon listening to this story, the King was silent for some time. He frowned and rubbed his chin, obviously engrossed in thought. His face read, "And how do they expect me to solve the case, without seeing the spot itself, or listening to other witnesses?" Then he addressed his advisors quietly, but they only bowed to him deeply and shook their heads. The King then spoke aloud, saying:
"Indeed, this is unusual case. Does anyone of you, my people, standing here, have good advice for these three brothers?"

For some time, the square hummed half-voiced guesses, but nobody dared to come forth. Then I emerged.

Bowing before the King, I asked:
"O mighty King, shall you allow your humble servant to speak up?"

The King looked down at me and answered:
"Yes, I shall, if only you have something clever to say; if you don't, you better not waste our time."

I bowed again, and then turned to the brothers.
"My good men, let me tell you a story I once heard; it resembles your case very closely."

The three brothers exchanged glances, and then one of them, who looked to be the eldest, spoke:
"Please do so, sir, and if your story will help us, we will be greatly indebted to you."

So I began:

"Once there were two young ones, a boy and a girl, who loved each other since their childhood days. But the girl's father promised her to another man, and she was to marry him soon. Before the day of her wedding, she came to her woebegone sweetheart, and, crying, swore to him, that though she would be married to another, she would spend her first night with her beloved, no matter the cost to her.

The next day she was married and brought to her husband's home. But when it was time for her to ascend his bed, she fell down on her knees before him and cried and told her husband everything about the man she loved, and about her vow to him. Her husband, being a noble man, lifted her from her knees and told her: "Go and fulfill your promise, and then come back to me." The girl thanked her husband and departed for her lover's home. But it was night, and there was a long way to go. No wonder that a robber happened across her. He first wanted to take her jewels, but then, noticing how beautiful his victim was, he changed his mind. But before he did what he wanted, the girl, sobbing in her tears, told him her sad story. The robber was so impressed with the generosity of her husband, that he told the girl: "Indeed, I can not abuse the wife of such a noble man! Let me escort you to the house of your beloved, my lady, so you can fulfill your promise and return back safely to your husband." And so the rest of her way was passed in safety.

When she came to her sweetheart, he kissed her and saw she'd been crying. So he asked her to tell him the reason, and the girl did. She told him how generous her husband was to let her go to he who she loved, and how the noble robber she had met on her way didn't hurt her, but offered aid. And her lover was so impressed with the nobility of these two men, that he immediately released his beloved of her vow, and she returned to her husband safely."

I finished the story, and asked the three brothers:
"And now, my good sirs, whom of these three noble men you think to be the noblest?"

The brothers looked at me in bewilderment, but then the eldest spoke:
"I think, that the noblest was the husband of this girl. He did not take what belonged him by law, but showed kindness towards his young wife."

Then second brother said:
"To my mind, the noblest was the girl's beloved. He didn't take the woman he desired so much, to express his gratitude to her husband and his noble deed."

And the youngest of three brothers said:
"Methinks that the noblest one was the robber, who had released his victim, and even helped her."

I smiled and turned to the youngest of the brothers.
"Would you, my lord, tell your brothers where have you hidden the cask?"

Young man flushed furiously, but spoke up:
"How dare you, sir, to accuse me before so many people without any proof?"

His brothers frowned at me, too, but I responded calmly:
"You have just betrothed yourself, my lord, by admitting that a thief was the noblest of three noble men. Just like an honest man will always defend another honest man, and the lover will always do the same for another one in love, so a thief will always be speaking for a robber."

The youngest brother lowered his head. His siblings, still frowning, bowed to the King and then to me, and, taking their youngest by the arms, disappeared into the crowd.
The square was humming again with excitement. I was willing to wager that my story would become a champion among the town folklore for the week. I turned to the King and bowed, waiting for his reaction. He motioned me to come closer, and, once I stood before him, he said:

"I see you are a wise man. Where are you from?"

"I am originally from the Westfold, my lord, but for many years I have been living in Harad and Rhun, and to-day my path comes from the land of Tadmor in Far Harad, where I served at the court. Alas, times changed," I said, lowering my head, "and now there is no place for honest people there."

The King nodded, understanding.
"I have heard that many lands of Harad have fallen to the Dark Power," he said. "What is you name?"

"Grima, son of Galmod, at your service, my lord," - I said with a bow.
"Then, Grima, son of Galmod, will you accept if I offer you to be the advisor of my court?"

So this is it. How very uninteresting.

My bow deepened.
"It will be the highest honor for your humble servant, my King, to be at your side."

"Good," the King answered, "then stay here, and assist me with the next case."

Chapter 2. Falling Up.

When my lord Saruman sent me to Rohan, his instructions were clear, but not overly detailed.

"My final purpose is control over this land," he said on the eve of my departure, sitting at the head of a massive table in one of the innumerable chambers of the tower of Orthanc. The dark polished surface of the table reflected contours of the upper part of Saruman's magnificent figure. The wizard's elbows rested on the arms of his chair; his fingertips he held joined together gracefully. He was looking at me, as I stood at the other end of table, but at the same time his gaze was fixed on some distant point in the future, where his full and undeniable authority over the land of Rohan held sway.

"I know enough about this country already, to realize that it would be fairly easy to overtake it. But I need details. A lot of details about the trade, the taxes, the budget… all the screws and bolts of a complicated mechanism called "Rohan society" should be known to me before I can put my servant or my puppet on the throne in Edoras."

"You have seen much, master Grima, and you have skill of politician. Go to Edoras, and get as close as possible to its King. Theoden is in constant need of someone else's advice, so he shall find your experience handy. When at the King's side, act as if you are loyal to him, and your sole purpose is the prosperity of Rohan and the glory of its King. Under pain of death I forbid you to pursue any personal interests there," here Saruman made a pregnant pause, as if reminding me where such pursuits had led me before. "Your hands should remain clean, and your head clear, under any circumstances. Once you plant your roots firmly, and feel that you are in control of the situation, you let me know. Maybe I shall give you a chance to show more of your skills and abilities then… But before that time, remember - you are only a servant to your master."

The word "servant" Saruman pronounced with doubled stressing. I bowed deeply, showing the best of my servile attitude and bidding myself to remember doing so as often as possible, for Saruman, undoubtedly, would have his eye on me whenever I went.

Saruman observed me keenly for a while, and finally shook his head.
"You are a good liar, Grima, son of Galmod," I heard his words in my head, and flinched, "but remember - I see through you."

I suddenly felt sick and unable to breath. Saruman's reflection on the table stretched forward, and I felt its hands gripping my neck painfully. This lasted only for a few moments, but it was impressive. When the grip was gone, I gulped and whispered, "yes, my lord," - with a fear that was most genuine.

A benevolent smile passed Saruman's lips.
"Very well, then," he said, and added, "I hope your memory fails you not, master Grima." He rose up, and with him, his shadow shot up and filled the vaulted ceiling of the chamber. The great wizard now looked down at me, and I realized how small and humble I was before him. "Think well of your mission. Beware of betraying your true master!"

Saruman was speaking quietly, but his every word now thundered in my head. I was speechless, only nodding my head in asset, like a trained dog.

"You shall receive my instructions of how to keep contact with me later; until that time, don't try to do it in any way."

Another series of nodding. Will I ever be able to stand up to this oppression?

"Enough for now, I think." Saruman sat back in his armchair, but his shadow still loomed for some time. "You can go and get prepared for your journey. Tomorrow before sunrise, you shall leave."

"Yes, my lord," I managed at last, and backed to the door.

When I left at the pale dawn, I still had the feeling of Saruman's shadow behind me.

***

Saruman's prediction, and my own intuition regarding the beginning of my career at Edoras, both appeared to be most precise. Theoden King was in desperate need of a good advisor. Energetic by nature, he wanted his people to remember him for deeds greater or at least different from those of his ancestors (this striving, I supposed, he inherited from his father). He was clever and rather educated, but somehow lacking imagination. And in Meduseld, new things and ways never met warm welcome. Whenever the King turned to his advisors, they could suggest him nothing different from what their predecessors would have suggested to his father or grandfather or Eorl the Young himself.
I was so different from the people of Edoras, that any other ruler, less inclined to changemaking, would have never ever let me close. But Saruman had spotted this weakness of the King, and it was this weakness where I could exercise my influence. I gave the King fresh ideas, and he absorbed my advice eagerly.

On the evening of my first day in Edoras, I appeared before the King, upon his bidding, to tell him more about the foreign countries I had visited. For quite a lengthy time, I entertained the King with my stories about Harad and Rhun, about their climate and nature, plants and beasts, peoples and their traditions, kings and rulers, wars and all other interesting things. Theoden listened with curiosity, and his court, especially the younger, they sat open-mouthed, like children listening to their granny's tales.

"And east from Tadmor and south from Arrap'ha, my lord, there lie the lands of the mighty kingdom of Ki-Uri. Ki-Uri, my lord, exceeds all other kingdoms I told you about in territory and importance. I lived there for several years, and I must say that this land is most harsh and hard to tame, but in spite of this, I have never seen a richer kingdom. Ki-Uri, my lord, is, like Rohan, mostly a plain, with a few hills; to the north, there is a small mountain range - a natural border between this land and its northern neighbors; the southern border of the land lies against a great sea; what lies over that sea, nobody knows. Ki-Uri itself, my lord, lies between two great rivers - Idiglat and Burannu. The water of Burannu is sweet, like a first kiss, and the water of Idiglat is bitter, like tears of sorrow. The earth between the rivers is salty, like blood, and for all year round, hot arid winds blow over it. Sometimes these winds bring black disease from the swamps that infest the majority of the south. Snakes and scorpions are found aplenty in the plains of Ki-Uri; the great rivers, though, are extremely rich with fish. It is fish that serves as the main food to the people of this land. These people, my lord, wherever they live, do miracles of turning their severe and unwelcoming land into a blossoming garden. They gather wonderful crops of wheat and barley, and they tend to extensive gardens of small funny trees called "gishimmaru". This kind of tree, my lord, is probably the only one that grows in this land. People of the land - "black-headed", they call themselves, for their hair is dark, like that of Dunlendings, - manage to get many uses out of that small tree. They use its fibres for covering roofs of their houses and for making ropes; and the fruits- small and sweet - they use for food, and also for making a kind of beer, called "sikera".

Ki-Uri has many cities - even the name of the country itself, my lord, means "Land of Cities". Most of the cities earn their livelihood from trade. They sell their barley, oil, cloth, and fine jewelry of silver and blue stone. With this coin they buy building wood and metals. They have a strong army, but - can you believe it, my lord? - know no horses.

Here I paused, giving my listeners a chance to express their surprise. So they did.

"No horses!" the crown prince exclaimed, obviously very astonished at the idea. "Of all things you have told us, master Grima, this is the most unusual. I cannot imagine people knowing no horses, can you, father?"

Theoden granted his son fatherly, but somehow sad smile. Was it only my impression, or the King really was not particularly fond of his heir's thinking abilities?

I bowed slightly to the prince.
"There are many things unimaginable in this world, my lord," I said, "but should I proceed with the story?"

"Aye," the prince nodded, "now tell us, if they know no horses, how do they ride?"

It was late in the night before the King dismissed me. Retiring to the chamber that was provided for me - I still was hesitant to call it "my chamber" - I was deadly tired, but very satisfied. In the end of the evening, the King and his men looked at me with respect; obviously, my storytelling manner was to their liking. I smiled to myself. "Let us see what stories you shall be telling me tomorrow, noble Rohirrim," - I thought, before falling asleep.

Next morning the King sent for me again, and I continued to ramble about the oddities and perversities of non-Rohan lands. This time I intentionally built my story so that it showed more of the longing I was supposed to feel for my long-left motherland, and how I missed it in these strange surroundings. The King was nodding approvingly at my efforts. In the end, he said:
"Now I see, Grima, son of Galmod, that even leaving Rohan in the years young and full of hopes, looking for adventures, and living for so long in lands as far and strange as Harad, you still have the heart of a man of Rohan. Rejoice now, for here shall be your home from now on, and here you shall find the family you said you never had."

"Thank you, my lord," I said, making my face a mask of inexpressible happiness, "oh, thank you so much!" And with those words, I stepped forward and bent one knee before the throne. My head was bowed now, eyes lowered, so the King could see neither grin nor flickering light of laughter, when he stretched his hand for me to kiss it reverently. So I did, and then rose up and said, trying to make my voice tremble slightly:

"Oh, but for so long a time I have been so far from Rohan. . . my home. No news reached me in those far-away lands, and now all that has happened here in the past twenty years is a mystery to my mind…"

Thus I was giving them a chance to direct me to the archives, where I planned to spend some time in peace. But - alas! - I had forgotten one important detail…

For the next three hours, I was listening to the palace singers perform their best ballads, retelling the events of past years. My grave face matched that of the King's and his court as they listened to their history. I cursed my bad memory - how could I have forgotten that the Rohirrim had no written chronicles! - and doing my best not to yawn. Those ballads were not only extremely boring - they were silly to the bone, because their main subject was orc hunting, retold in many different, but equally stupid ways. The only new information I managed to retrieve from this crap, was that the King must have dearly loved his late sister, who died 8 years ago or so, and even now, he still mourned her. Stanzas speaking of her death were the only one worth listening; behind the plain words, they carried so much inexpressible sadness, that even I, stranger and cold-hearted person, could feel it.

They say the realm of Creator
Is place of eternal light -
So why had He taken my one and only from me?
He must had been missing those eyes of angel,
And your faithful heart.
Aye, He knows, He does comprehend,
How I shall be missing thee.

I wondered who was the author of these rather informal verses - until I glanced at the King's face. Oh. So he is quite a poet. How unexpectedly.

In the end of third hour, I had an idea.

The next day I appeared before the King with parchment and writing set, and, bowing, asked his permission to write these songs down in common speech.

"They are so beautiful," I lied, "and they tell about deeds so magnificent, that it would be a sore pity if other people, who know not the language of Rohan, would be deprived of such treasures of poetry."

The King frowned slightly. Obviously, the idea of listening to his bards for two days in a row didn't appeal too much to him.

"Anyone who is interested in songs of Rohan, may ask any of the Rohirrim, and his request would not be declined," he said.

"Oh yes, my King," I was bowing deeply again, "forgive me this, but would you think of people in the lands that are far away from here? Written word, my King, can be a messenger, too, conveying the words of glory to those who otherwise will never have a chance to hear it…"

The King fell deep in thought. I could almost feel the wheels of his traditional mind creak as they were turning, and was preparing myself for long hours of explaining obvious things. But I had underestimated Theoden; after no more than five minutes of thinking, he declared:
"There is something rational in your words, Grima, son of Galmod, but this logic is certainly not in writing down songs. Songs cannot be written down, but the stories of years past can. So I shall summon singers, and old men who remember the ancient legends, and you shall undertake the task of writing them down on that parchment of yours."

"Yes, my lord," I said eagerly, bowing, "thank you for entrusting this important matter to your humble servant."

This is how the tradition of The Chronicles of the Riddermark was started.

(For the sake of historical accuracy, we must note here that, though we don't have material proof to these words, as of today we don't have a single example of such chronicles at hand, we could find references to these group of sources in chronicles and documents that come from other lands. - See Chronicles of Ithlien, I-IV.)

***

On another evening I was summoned to the King, I found him in the otherwise empty hall in the company of a small fat man, whom I knew as the Keeper of the Keys in Meduseld. His name was Hama, and he now stood before the throne uneasily, holding in his hands a considerable pile of wooden tablets. The King was frowning, and Hama was thumbing through the tablets nervously, as if trying to find something between them.

The King motioned me to come closer, and said:
"Now, Grima, as you are a scholarly man and knowledgeable in writing, we need your assistance here. Hama, as you know, is in charge of the counting of all goods coming into the palace, and so he will explain the matter to you."

Hama bowed, and turned to me. Gulping, he said:
"King Theoden wishes to know, how many black horses were born in his stables in this year. We know how many there are now," - he gulped again, - "and if we extract from this number the number of horses we had in last year, we shall have it."

I listened, with some surprise, as this elderly man updated me with his deep knowledge of arithmetic. If not for the King's frowning brow and the Keeper's trembling hands, I would have suspected that the Rohirrim had suddenly started developing a weird sense of humor.
"You speak justly, master Hama," I said cautiously, "so, are there any complications in this matter?"

"You see, master Grima, there are, because I, the most unworthy servant of my King, have forgotten the number of black horses we had last year."

And here Hama started crying.

Slightly puzzled, I took the tablets out of his shaking hands, to prevent them from falling on the floor. It appeared that the tablets were covered with wax, and inscribed with unreadable signs, some of them I recognized as letters of Westron, and others reminded me of miniscule pictures… of something.

Hama was howling quietly, holding his head in his hands and swaying from side to side. I felt a sudden urge to copy his gesture of frustration, when I realized that these tablets must be the very own cadastres of Meduseld. Well, this was logical - if the Rohirrim were illiterate, it was no surprise they had no accounting, either. With fair nostalgia I remembered the palace economies of Harad kingdoms: armies of scribes and throngs of documents, all organized in perfect order, and tracking every single grain in palace granaries. And here, indeed… Great trust must had been held by the kings of Meduseld for the men in their service to allow such loose control (if this could be called control at all) over palace goods. I recalled Saruman's words regarding "personal interests", and smirked inwardly. So he knew this, wise old man. Well then…

I spent that evening, calming both Hama and the King, who seemed to be greatly displeasured at Hama's forgetfulness. I admired Hama's excellent memory, which managed to keep so much data at a time, and Hama personally, doing such a huge task all by himself. I admired the Rohirric system of accounting, so complicated and yet so… well, it was a great tradition, anyway. I admired the King's own nobility and his trust in his people (at these words, I noticed how Hama glanced at me with fear). At last, when everyone was soothed, I promised the King to help Hama in bringing about some minor, but useful changes to the way the records of palace goods were kept.

It took me quite awhile to fulfill this promise of mine. For many evenings, returning to my chamber, tired and angry, I cursed Rohirric stubbornness and narrow-mindedness, their death grip on traditions and their inability to think and learn. But all-in-all, the day came when I at last felt that new system was brought to work, and from now on, it would be working the way all normal palace economies did.
After this case, there were others. I had the same trouble with law codification, taxation rates, and other things that were never much tended to by noble sovereigns of Rohan. I was lucky that Theoden was a little more open to suggestion than the authorities of his court, but sometimes it took all my powers of persuasion to make the King understand things that were obvious and logical to any civilized person. And these people called the Haradrim barbarians!

So my task at Edoras appeared to be not as easy as it first appeared. Indeed, I did a lot of work - but, on the other hand, the influence it brought me was far more considerable than I had ever hoped to acquire. In the end, the situation was such that the King could not imagine his days without me by his side, and, before taking any action, he used to turn to me for counsel. I was no longer one of many advisors; I became the Counsellor.

***

Theoden's fondness for his Counsellor could not have passed unnoticed by the rest of the court. Despite my efforts to make as few enemies as possible, their number multiplied daily, and in the end I gave up trying. I was still cautious in words and actions, but those who tried to insult me now, paid dearly for it. The King held me too high in his respect, and any attack directed at me, he took as personal offense. No wonder I had no friends or confidantes at the court (though I had enough servants and agents of my own), and this prompted me to remain vigilant all the time, relying only upon myself.

The King once said that in Meduseld I would find my home and family. Indeed, I got used to the Golden Hall. In the same way cat gets used to the house where it lives. As to the family… This never happened, for sure, and it was my fault as well as the others'. After all, I was too different from the Rohirrim to be liked by them.
Things they held dear were strange to me. Their obsessive love for horses I could never share. For them, horses were deities and the essence of life; for me, they were only beasts used for transportation. Riding horses for hours, and then grooming them for another several, was a favorite occupation here. I rode only when I needed to get from one point to another, and never stayed in the stable longer than it was necessary for mounting a horse. The Rohirrim invented fancy names for their horses. For me, it was difficult to distinguish two horses of the same color from one another, not to mention giving them names.

Men of the Mark - and often women, too, - were very fond of physical exercises. I hated that. I didn't like fencing, throwing spears, shooting, swimming (and flying, too), and never would practice any of them without extreme urgency.

The Rohirrim were fond of singing songs and listening to them. I couldn't carry a tune, and preferred silence.

The Rohirrim were ruled by strange logic (the absence of writing proved that). They were absolutely faithful to their ruling dynasty, the Eorlingas, and never would one rider of the Mark question the orders of his king. Their loyalty knew no doubts.

They were so totally different from myself, and I couldn't say it was an intriguing or interesting difference. The Rohirrim were plain like their land and straightforward like their spears, but still I had to watch them and observe them, and analyze their words and actions, and study them in their private and social life.

And the more I studied them, the more I realized that the Rohirrim were not that plain at all, and neither was their land.

Maybe it was just the influence of Rohirric irrational romanticism, as I called it, but as time progressed I began to feel something dark and anxious, lying hidden, but not deeply so, under the cover of the primitive serenity of this land. Guarded by severe mountains from the south, and by the forbidding Fangorn forest from the north, the land of Rohan seemed to be harboring something evil in it, something that required guards so austere to keep it undisturbed. The more I thought and guessed of what It might be, the more acutely I felt Its presence, but the farther I was from understanding Its nature and origin.

It seemed that of all the people of Rohan felt it somehow, too. And it was reflected in the souls of the sons and daughters of this land - that Something that distorted the otherwise perfect harmony of their simple world, some twitch that was present in every faithful heart, a doubt that bugged every ingenuous mind. These people struggled constantly with this It that lay dormant under their green plains and fair hills - and dreamed uneasy dreams together with It.

What it was, I never knew. Even after many years, this mystery remained unsolved for me - one of the two riddles of Riddermark that I never could figure out. The second one was Eowyn.

***

When I first met the princess Eowyn, she was very young - a mere child, thin and pale, with an unusually serious and grave face. For most of the time, she was silent and watchful. The air of vigilance she wore contrasted very much with the childish carelessness of her brother, Eomer, who was several years her elder. Her solemn countenance would have better suited crown prince Theodred in his late twenties. Many times I watched those three, riding, or practicing shooting, or fencing. Theodred was mentoring his younger cousins, and they both indeed showed great abilities. During their outdoor exercises, Eowyn looked less serious; she even laughed and joked; but when she practiced with her sword, her delicate face became distorted with hatred. She seemed to be fighting with the same invisible enemy each time, and her movements were full of true battle berserker rage. It was interesting to watch Little Lady, as I called her in my thoughts, when I felt like observing. She was far more complicated than her companions, or even her Uncle, or anybody in Meduseld. The inner battle she fought was fiercer than anyone's, and obviously it had been lasting for a long time. I was curious to know what demons she struggled with during her sleepless watches of the night, when she was haunting the empty halls. I remember how her appearance startled me for the first time - a little figure in a white gown, passing through the dark corridor I was about to enter. She looked exactly like a ghost, and it was no less than five heartbeats before I recognized the princess and set after her. No matter how soundless my steps were, her keen ear registered my presence very soon, and she turned around. I stepped forward from the shadow and bowed to her.

"Good night, my lady."

She stood there, straight and still, and in the uncertain gleaming of the torch on the wall I looked in her eyes for the first time. They were crystal emerald pools, lit from the inside. And in these pools of light, I saw the reflection of my own darkness. The girl nodded at me briefly, and then hastened away. But I already knew that it had taken this girl only one glance to see what most of Meduseld had not yet realized; and I knew that it was only the beginning.

We had been watching each other since that time, year after year; watching silently and discreetly, following each other steps when one thought that the other was oblivious to a strange lingering around. It resembled a queer game with rules that none of us knew - the game in which each of us was cheating in the most unholy way.

The game was - not looking at each other directly, but watching each other's reflections in mirrors or glasses or polished surfaces; never meeting glances anywhere but in those reflections. The game was - never talking to each other directly, but answering the questions addressed to strangers with the very words the other Player wanted to hear. The game was - hiding from each other in the dark corridors of the night, with the sole purpose of being discovered. The game was - trying to read each other's minds and foretell motions. The game was - keeping distance between us, like a sacred treasure.

It was a long time before I realized one day that in this game, we both had trespassed; the invisible barrier, that was there to keep us safe, was damaged. My Little Lady grew up; the girl I used to know turned into a woman of exceptional beauty, shining soft light of tender morning sun in the mist. The air of constant vigilance she wore was still there, and her smile was still a flower that rarely bloomed. She looked so fragile, and yet so dangerous, like lethal misericord. And with each next day, I was more and more tempted to close the distance between us and feel this thin sting buried into my heart.

Eowyn, too, caught new tunes in the familiar melody. She took to the habit of hiding her gaze under the veil of luxuriant eyelashes. I noticed she was starting slightly each time she saw me watching her. I felt something change in her; I felt the fear that was haunting her from inside. But she had been playing hide-and-seek with Darkness for too long now, and was too passionate a player already to quit. So was I.

***

Returning to the palace from town one day, I saw a familiar figure in a white dress on the top of the tower. She was alone there; for a while, I struggled with the desire to join her, but then surrendered. Ascending the tower, I stood in a doorway, watching her straight back, covered with the veil of that beautiful golden hair, slightly wavy and tempting to be touched. It was a windy day, but Eowyn never wore neither shawls nor cloaks; I noticed she was trembling slightly. I imagined myself approaching her from behind and throwing my own cloak around her shoulders; Eowyn turning around, encircled in my arms; her soft palms pressed against my chest; emerald eyes, shining their light on me…

Raving madman. I stepped out from my shelter and advanced towards Eowyn, trying to look as casual as possible.

"What a charming view, my lady," I observed. "Indeed, the land of Rohan is one of the most beautiful in the world." Voicing these banalities, I immediately felt the urge to hit myself in the face. What an idiot you are, my lord.

"Yes, it is," she answered, "though I have nothing to compare it with."

Here is one for you, Grima. Worthy prize for your stupidity, indeed. Now what?

"Oh, you can believe my word here. I have traveled quite a lot." Will you stop this, won't you?

I paused to congratulate myself with the silliest beginning of conversation I have ever devised. Eowyn kept silent, and I just stood beside her, looking at the land that stretched into the distance, but miraculously seeing only small white hands, lying still on the crude stones of the parapet.

"Have you ever dreamed about leaving Rohan, my lady?" For goodness sake! What kind of question was that?
But she answered:
"Yes, I did. I would love to see other lands."

"Why? Do you think there is anything of interest there?" Well then. Silly beginning - silly proceeding.

"Well, it must be. I cannot imagine any land that is completely uninteresting."

This made me chuckle, and wonder, if her words arose from lack of imagination, or from the ability to find interest even in things plain… or ugly?

"Oh, there are many things unimaginable in this world, my lady. But here you are right. The grace of the Creator can be seen in every piece of land, but some places are blessed with it more than others. Just like people."

With these last words I turned to her and Eowyn looked at me. I could almost read in her eyes, "does he care about his ugliness?" If I were you, Eowyn, I would have voiced this question.

But she only said gravely:
"It is not a beautiful appearance that makes a person beautiful; only a beautiful soul does."

Now, this was getting interesting.
"Do you think so, my lady?" I asked her. "But how can a beautiful soul develop in an ugly body?"

"And why not? If a person is smart, and kind, and…"

Hilarious, isn't it? On the other hand, how could she know anything about this? Well, she will soon…

Frowning, Eowyn looked even more adorable. I had to clash my hands behind my back not to capture her immediately into a wild embrace.

"Have I said something funny?" …and kiss this lovely maddening lips…

"Oh, forgive me, my lady," …for wanting to make love to you then and there… "but I cannot agree with you. An ugly person may be clever - because wit is best developed in the struggle for living; but kindness is not. An ugly child will always be beaten before he can show his inner qualities - just because he is ugly. And no matter how kind he is by nature - he will always grow up evil."

"So you say that all ugly people are evil?"

"Well, mostly. There always must be a couple of exceptions out there. But I personally never had a chance to meet the one."

But Eowyn obviously was not giving me a chance to return to my normal state of mind.
"Wait, there is something wrong here. People don't choose the appearance they are born with. And according to you, if a person is born ugly, he or she is doomed to serve Evil? If we continue such reflections, we might then come to conclusion that all ugly children should be killed at once."

As she spoke, I imagined how pleasurable it would be to touch the marble smooth skin of her cheek and neck below her delicate ears, the mass of silken hair brushing the back of my hand…

What have you said, princess? Kill them at once as they emerge from the womb? If you only knew how right this suggestion was…

"They say there are tribes that have such a practice, and I can not say they are very wrong," I said, and then I could not stop myself. I took her hand and kissed it, and in the same moment I knew… It was magic.

She gasped, and I let go of her hand immediately. I glanced at her face, fearing to see disgust - but the expression I saw was far from it. She stared at me with shining eyes, her marble cheeks flushing, and her lips half-opened… This was too much.

"It was a pleasure talking to you, my lady," I said, before losing any last remnants of decency. "I beg your pardon for interrupting your solitude."

And fled.

***

The intoxication this encounter gave me lasted for several days. It required all my strength to compose myself and set my mind on less romantic matters. But my fancy here and there tried its best to break the chains of reason I had put around it, and roam away to some distant spot on earth, where the woman with emerald eyes waited for me and dreamed of my touch. It blessed me with many sleepless nights, but didn't prevent me from noticing that Eowyn was looking disturbed and acting strangely towards me. It seemed as if something about me scared her, and a couple of times I was ready to ask if she had seen a pair of blood-dripping fangs protruding from my mouth. Sometimes it looked like she wanted to speak to me; but she never did.

This matter demanded contemplation, so one night I went down to the dungeons of the castle, to a small niche with a stone cup of tiny fountain gushing up. This place was my secret sanctuary. For many times I sat there on the stone bench, carved from the wall, listening to the quiet murmur of water and concentrated on the riddles that were especially tough to solve. It always helped.

And this time, leaning against the cold moist wall, I let myself think about the subject that I had forbidden myself to dwell upon before.

From the sealed compartments of my memory, I took out the records of our old game. Every movement, every glance, every word spoken aside, but meant for, and understood by, only the other one engaged. Our little secret, kept for years, - meaningless, to be true, or maybe just unresolved - but it still had managed to weave a link between the two of us. And it appeared now that this link was full of quite disturbing a meaning.

Eowyn liked me. This was an interesting and flattering thing to know. On the other hand, this liking was not something she was willing to recognize. I would be very surprised if she was; no matter how strange this sounded, I must have been the first man who attracted her in a way that was completely new to her.

I didn't much care why my, to put it mildly, unpleasant countenance didn't scare Eowyn away. She was not the first woman who seemed to find my ugliness attractive; I have always attributed this phenomenon to maternal instinct that ugly and unhappy people usually evoke in strong women.

The only thing I knew was that I liked Eowyn, too, and wanted her to be mine, and mine alone. This appeared to be a fine challenge, indeed…

No matter the attraction she felt to me, Eowyn was a fighter. She was not one to fall prey to her desires, oh, no. So we will need some time to wait. And we will need some action to secure the attraction and make it grow stronger… Until there will be no way back And then… Ah. But I have completely forgotten one thing. Namely, Eowyn's rank - and my own… There was quite a gap between us. Despite the fact that I was the King's Counsellor, the nobility of Meduseld would never approve mixing royal blood with one who carried not a drop in his veins… On the other hand, why should we bother ourselves with their disdain? Once Saruman's army has come, they all will most certainly be exterminated. And what of an heir? As long as I had known the Rohirrim, they would never peacefully accept anyone but an Eorling on the throne. Certainly, military oppression was an option here, but why should we waste our powers, if we could provide that Eorling… Eowyn, Queen of Rohan… and me at her side, her Counsellor - and her husband.

Her husband. Rightfully sharing her company in the daytime - and her bed at night. Fathering her child… Thinking of children, Grima? How strange. I don't remember you ever doing this ever before. Indeed, what a quick thinker you are…

I shook my head. Irony aside, this was a purpose to live for, and end worth the means. Speaking of which… I will need to remove Theoden, Theodred, and Eomer from my way.

I left the blessed cavern and ascended to my chamber. I've got a piece of parchment I received from Saruman, and a bottle of ink mixed with my blood. Sitting down at the table, I thought for a while before taking up the quill and writing a letter to my master, informing him that the time we had been waiting for was imminent. I described my strong position at the court, and said that the King trusted in me like in no one else (which was true). I confirmed my ability to take further control over the matters of Rohan, and supposed that now it was possible to proceed to the next stage of the plan - bringing down the House of Eorl.

My report finished, I returned to the dungeons and my niche. Igniting the letter with a nearby torch, I waited until it has gone to ashes, and then dropped it into the water-filled cup. This way I was sure it would arrive at the right person quickly and directly.

Saruman was waiting for this signal from me. Very soon King Theoden got unexpectedly ill. At first it looked like a temporary disease, but, as time passed, it became obvious that this was a kind of illness that will pass away only along with life: age. It all looked fairly natural, for the King was not a young man already, but a keen eye could have registered that each night Theoden was aging not even by days, but by months.

There was such a keen eye in Meduseld, and it was not that of the palace healer. Eowyn - what a wonderful woman! - almost immediately recognized my handiwork. At times I was about to think she could read my thoughts, which was an amusing idea, taking into account what kind of thoughts usually dwelled in my head in her presence. But despite her acute mind, Eowyn was helpless against me - especially now that I had concentrated almost all state powers in my hands. The Marshals of the Mark were eager to lay their hands on my throat for this, but their respect for Meduseld's royal sacredness was too high, and I was careful not to leave its walls without escort.

And while the crown prince and his cousin were silently cursing the day my spirit left the inferno for the sake of earth, I ruled the country in the name of Theoden King. An interesting turn of events, I found the tasks of statesmanship not too difficult, but very time consuming. My purpose was to ruin the security of our borders, but not bring destruction to the country's trade and agriculture. If my plan succeeded, and I was fairly certain it would, war would not come to the Mark. Saruman's army would simply march straight to Edoras to aid the old King against a coup led by his son and nephew; during the palace turmoil, the King would die of a heart attack when he recognized the traitors; the traitors would be… put in prison for the rest of their lives instead of meeting the executioner's ax (which will serve nicely for Saruman's image in the eyes of the Rohirrim). The last remaining offspring of the Eorlingas, Eowyn, would be proclaimed Queen… and be happily married to the late King's loyal Counsellor. Me.

This was a beautifully crafted plan, and I worked on its realization with zeal and diligence. There was only one important detail in it that bothered me.

I wanted Eowyn to want me for who I was. I knew that even for her sake, I would not be able, and would not even desire, to change myself. I was evil, selfish, power-thirsty, not very selective in my methods, and arrogant - but I was only a man, and I needed to be loved.

On the other hand, I didn't want Eowyn to change and become like myself. I needed her as she was, body and soul, with all her inner battles, attracted by Darkness, but still bright light herself. Deception I will not be able to use here, for she will see me through. And the idea of forcing Eowyn into marriage I abhorred; I held too much self-esteem for that.

Yet on the other hand, if Eowyn was able to withstand the temptation of my charming personality, would she be able to refuse the power offered to her? Eowyn always wanted to play the leading role, but she was never allowed to. In spite of all the affection her uncle had for her, he deemed her too young to entrust anything serious to her. The world of Rohan was a world of men, and not one of them would have ever recognized a woman as equal. Eowyn had no chances in open struggle for political influence - because no one would struggle with her. A passive watcher, a palace decoration - that was what they wanted her to be. But she was not. She watched and observed, as I did; using her feminine charms and the air of naivete she wore before her uncle, she intrigued and supported one group against another - maybe in matters less important, but still… And her influence over her brother, the Third Marshal of the Mark, was immense - even if he himself never ever would have admitted it to himself.

So Eowyn was of a certain political authority in Meduseld, but this authority was far smaller than she wanted it to be. She wanted to be important to the country; she wanted to do something - undoubtedly very good - for the sake of her people. In the end, she wanted power.

And once such power was offered to her by the man she liked and hated in the same time - would it be enough to make her surrender? Would she be able to compromise, and to take the role of collaborator for the sake of keeping her House on the throne? To become a traitor in the eyes of many - and hero, or even martyr, in the eyes of the rest?

Thus far, I had no answers to these questions. Eowyn was confirming my apprehensions, for she was avoiding my presence more than ever now, and whenever she had to bear it, she seemed to be trembling with anger. It was amusing to see how Eowyn's hands started searching for something heavy to throw at me each time she caught my eyes fixed on her. Yes, this was amusing. And at the same time, it hurt me.

I am a rather patient man; in fact, one of the reasons they called me a cold-blooded snake was that I controlled my tempers well enough not to let them show themselves from time to time (that is, daily). But even my endurance had its limits; after one of Eowyn's outbursts (resulting in a tablecloth stained with wine), I took action and with rather, I must admit, undue familiarity invited her to speak with me in private (by dragging her out into the corridor and shoving her down onto the bench there). In that moment I was no less annoyed than she… But it was enough for me to see her sweet face at close quarters - cheeks flushing beautifully, and eyes radiant with unleashed emotions - to forget everything but desire to hold this fair creature in my arms, and kiss those maddening lips, curved with anger.

In spite of such heated dreams, my voice sounded calm and quiet when I asked Eowyn:
"Is there something troubling you, my lady?"

"You!" was her immediate answer. "You and your vile presence, poisoning the very air in this castle! I wish someone could purge this place of you, evil Snake!"

These were words of hatred; but there was no hatred behind them. I had faced hatred too often and too close not to recognize it… or to confuse it with something else.

I smirked.
"You saw my essence correctly, my lady. Now what? What will you be doing, my fair warrior, to purge this place of my vile presence? Kill me, crumble my skull with that goblet?"

From these hands, even death I shall gratefully accept.

"How?.."

Don't you know, my princess, that I've been watching you long enough now to read such simple signs? Can't you yourself read me now? Don't you feel how much I want to touch you now, to calm down your shivering? Don't you know that I know its true reason?

"Oh, it was very obvious. Or, maybe you will bestow this pleasant responsibility upon your cousin? Or your mindless brother?"

"How dare you!"

Ohh. Thank you, Eowyn, for this outburst, for this chance to hold your hands, to encircle your delicate wrists with my fingers, to feel the coolness of your skin against my own heated palms. Thank you, Eowyn, for not shrinking back from me, but leaning towards…

"Behave, my lady!" …or I will have no chance against my dark desires anymore. "Such attitude disgraces your royal blood!"

Who is speaking about manners here? Leave her this instant and fly, you fool!

My head was spinning slightly when I stood up. Eowyn's face expressed such disappointment that it nearly made me laugh. My, my… And who would have thought… I struggled the urge to caress her cheek and say something nice to her. Instead, I bit my lip and said the words that I would never ever forgive myself speaking:
"If you are so attracted by evil, my lady, that it makes your hands shake and your self-control slip its tether, here is a valuable piece of advice for you. Look at Light. Not to risk losing yourself to an ugly Snake, give yourself to the fair Prince. He will like it."

And then I left her.

***

Too much self-confidence will kill me one day. This time, too, I paid dearly for my idiotic intention to continue the game, or, rather, to add a new challenge to it. I wanted to make sure that Eowyn would want no other man, and… Truly, Grima, you should be looking in the mirror more often. Because if you had been doing so, it would have prevented these unspeakable delusions from getting into your ever-not-so-healthy mind. Willfully pushing your desired woman into other man's arms - this is truly an unusual idea. Accepting congratulations on that?

I enjoyed flagellating myself thusly for quite a long time. If I thought I knew what angst was before, I was wrong. When I saw Eowyn together with the crown prince - this was Angst, and this was the blackest despair. If anyone else had done this to me, I would have insured that he dies in the most atrocious way. But what punishment should I have imposed on myself? Was there anything in the whole wide world worse than this pain? If there was, I would have gladly taken it; but there was none.

My spirit was set a-rushing. Thought I stayed as far away from Eowyn as possible, my thoughts were shackled to her, day and night. I seemed to lose my ability for logical reflection, and I was losing my very mind, too, due to the jealousy and insomnia. I couldn't sleep for weeks in a row.

But the hand that measures out human misery is most precise. It will never portion to anyone more than one can take. The substance of suffering must be too precious to waste even a single drop of it - or maybe it's just being spent too quickly?

I spent another sleepless night in my secret dungeon sanctuary. Listening to the tender murmur of the small fountain, I thought about cool dark surface of water - maybe just in the stone cup nearby, or maybe in some sleepy forest lake far away from here. I imagined the pond overgrown with yellow water lilies and sedge, surrounded by black willows. As the wind blew, the willows caressed the glade with their long thin tentacles. As a dim sun shone from high above, the dark water glistened with a silver sheen.

I looked into the pool - but instead of my reflection, I saw Eowyn's sad face. I reached out to her, but didn't dare touch. From the other side, Eowyn pressed her palm against the water that seemed to be solid; then I did the same. I felt the cold surface growing warm, then hot; then small red streams began snaking from under my hand, quickly becoming bigger and bigger, until the whole lake went scarlet. I tried to pull my hand out - but the water thickened, swirling and spiraling, until there was no water, only a massive hourglass that I grasped in my palm. I looked around; there was no more forest, only a dark closed space - maybe a chamber, maybe a hall, for walls were not visible, but I sensed their presence. I appeared to be sitting at a table of black marble, the cool dark glassy surface strangely resembling the lake of the past vision. I put the hourglass on the table upside down, and the black sand inside started moving. Suddenly the hourglass itself was in motion; it was curving and crooking violently, like a person in pain, until it has transformed into a set of scales. The scales were massive, too, and their cups glittered silver in the dark. In the middle of the stand, there was a plate with an inscription. I bent forward to read it - and woke up.

What a strange dream it was. I took some water from the fountain and threw it into my face, trying to understand the meaning. Was it a sign? An omen for me to stay away from Eowyn? A warning? Or… a hint?..

My mind shook off the numbness of past weeks and regained its usual swiftness of thought. The scales must have been the symbol of choice, the symbol of chance. On one cup, there was my desire for Eowyn; on the other, the life of Theodred was lying. Let us see what is more important in the eyes of Fate…

As King's Counsellor, I was privy to plans of all raids and routes (at least I hoped so). The next day Theodred's unit left for one such raid - to the Crossing of Isen; the way forth contained only one possible route, but the way back held two choices, roads nearly equal in length. I took care to make this choice a matter of Theodred's life or death.

And Fate made its choice, too. The raiding party was ambushed, and the crown prince mortally wounded in battle. All turned out very well, and would have turned out even better, if Saruman had given his Uruk-Hai some little ability to think and not parade that unmistakable emblem - the White Hand - on their armor. Yet if they had not bore it, Eomer would not have had a chance to demonstrate his foolishness in front of the King's throne. When he took me by the throat, it was interesting to observe the shades of his hatred, every one directed at me - as being cleverer, as having more political importance, and as the one who had certain intentions for his sister. In all other matters Eomer's mind may have been straight and simple like the shaft of his spear, but in regard to his sister's personal affairs he had shown otherwise unusual astuteness.

The encounter with Eomer gave me several unpleasant moments, but its results were highly beneficial. My purpose was close. Soon, very soon, Eowyn would be named heiress to the throne of Eorl. And she would have me as her Counsellor, for she was clever, and she knew the value of good advice… And I would do anything to make Eowyn want me as her husband, too.

How could she reject me, when I had seen the yearning in her marvelous eyes - the same yearning that scourged me, too - the morning Theodred was dead? When she reached out for my caress so longingly? We had been already bound together. And who would have known that this link, unreal as it was, would be stronger and more unbreakable, than all elaborated plans and verified chances were?

***

There were four of them, who entered the Hall for a meeting with the King, but only one of them I feared. Not the man, or elf, or dwarf, but the wizard, Gandalf the Grey. He had been here before, this wandering conjurer, and I already had experienced his suppressing, sickening presence. Even then his gaze was enough to make my will shrink and my body weaken. And now he grew stronger; his power not pressing slowly anymore - it was hitting and throwing down.

Do you know how it feels, entering the battle that you know is already lost? Well, I had to, though I wished I could have just taken my leave quietly, for it would have saved me many unpleasant moments. And it was not the matter of being discovered as a spy. This was of no news to me, and to this I was always inwardly prepared. It was the matter of having no chances against your opponent, because you are - mortal, and he is a demon. Words meant little for the one who had the power of a demi-god; what he said carried no sense. If he was mortal, I would have laughed at his words and easily put him down. But he was no man, and he had the power to throw me down, and step over my throat - the latter not literally, but that's how it felt.

Do you know how it feels when a strange force breaks into your life and crashes and crumbles it, and you are helpless against it, can do nothing, because you are only a man?

Through the pain and sickness, I watched how Gandalf released Theoden from Saruman's spell - to place him under his own. If I could, I would have pitied the King - another poor mortal, who was doomed forever to submit to the will of superior beings. Yet he seemed to be happy at this. Gandalf's power suited him better, because it was power of his own color. Just like Saruman's will felt not so painful over me. The difference was that I never submitted eagerly. Or… haven't I?

Hama the Door Warden, son of the late Hama the Keeper of Keys, brought in King's sword. "It was found in his chest, my lord," he said, motioning his head at me, "together with many other things, which men have missed."

What an interesting type of gratitude, my good Hama. And I protected your father before the King's wrath when I could have had him beheaded for that which you are accusing me of now.

Anyway, it mattered not. My life at Edoras was over; such a good part of my life, but now concluding so… how shall I phrase it? Unfavorably?

I still struggled. I tried to warn Theoden against Gandalf's charms - knowing all too well that it will have no result at all. I tried to convince the King to leave me in his service - just for the sake of opposition, just so I could say later - "I struggled."

Surely, I looked ridiculous with all my frantic begging. But these pleas managed to enrage Gandalf - and it gave me some consolation to see how the Great Good Wizard lost his temper and shouted at me, "Down, snake!" - as if I was still standing. I was down, already, lying in debris, and it was so easy for Gandalf to look through me and seize the one thing I held dear and sacred, and throw it before the others for mockery.

"What was your promised prize? When all the men are dead, you were to take the woman you desire? Too long have you watched her under your eyelids and haunted her steps…"

How very worthy of you, Gandalf the Good Wizard.
If you only knew… But I shall not let you.

Oh, but they say it's time for me to go? Shall we, indeed…

Rising from the floor, I looked around. The walls that once were my home and hope, cursed me. Men that were happy to have a chance to hate me openly now did so. The King, injured in his best feelings, found quick consolation under his new master's guiding hand. And I, a man who had managed to climb so high, and fell so down now, pitiful. That's the allegory of Man's Free Will.

A loathsome view. I couldn't help but spitting upon it before darting out of the hall, and fleeing down the stars of the Golden Hall.

Chapter 3. Conveying Vessels

Saruman, my master, was very displeased at my return - though much less so than I had expected he would be. When I appeared before him, still panting after many hours of gallop, he frowned and just said abruptly:
"You should have stayed with them."

I only bowed deeply in return, still unable to speak. Saruman continued scolding me, but without much fury.

"If you had stayed, it would have soothed their suspicions, and you would have been able to continue your mission. But that would be an option for a brave man, not a coward like you."

"But my lord," I managed at last, "Gandalf Stormcrow was there. And he saw through my mind."

"Oh, did he?" Saruman seemed to be interested, "so he is back?"

"Yes, my lord. And he has grown stronger."

Saruman only shrugged slightly.
"Indeed," his tone was casual, "so Gandalf the Good received his long-expected promotion then. How sweet. Should I send him a note of greeting? "After so many years of flawless service, you, my friend, at last received the greatness you are most deserving of. Now you can enjoy some knowledge of things that were long known to me centuries before."

Saruman stopped his mocking monologue, and turned to me.
"Speaking of excellent service… Now, Grima, as you have lost your mission, what should I do with you?"

I shivered under his heavy gaze. When he chose, Saruman could be truly intimidating. Instantly, I remembered his shadow following me as I left Orthanc for Edoras. Long time since, but in presence of my master that supernatural fear, never fully forgotten, ensnared me again.

"But, but, my lord," I said, stammering, "the mission is not lost, not at all… I have returned to you, my lord, for I have been uncovered, - it was not my fault, lord, I swear, - but I have left behind me someone who could be my eyes and ears… someone who will listen to me."

"What have you just said, Grima?" Saruman allowed himself to express some surprise. "You said you have your man at the king's court?"

"No, my lord. Not exactly man…"

"A woman, then?" Saruman's smile was both amused and disdainful. "And who is she, this lucky one? One-hundred-years-old kitchen-servant, ugly as mumak?

"No, my lord… It is Eowyn, the King's niece."

Saruman issued a sober chuckle.
"Positively, today is a day of interesting news. Have I heard you right, my faithful servant, that you said you can control Eowyn of Rohan?"

I wish I could be so sure in my own words, my lord.

"It is not absolutely so, my lord," I said cautiously, "I wouldn't say I could control Eowyn… but I have some influence on her."

"That is indeed impressive," Saruman smirked, "unless it is only your delirious fancy talking. Let us make sure…" and with these words, he retrieved somewhere out of the depth of his robes a small round mirror.

"Now," he said, "look into it and tell me what do you see?"

I peered into the glass, and was surprised to see not my own ugly physiognomy, but, after a few moments of unsure glistening and silvery trembling, Eowyn's beautiful face. This reminded me of the dream I once had, except for now Eowyn was not sad. She smiled, and her eyes were shining, as she patted the neck of her horse. She was dressed in a simple grey woolen dress - looked like she was preparing to leave Edoras. She was talking to someone whom I couldn't see. I could not hear her words; I just watched, entranced, how her lips were moving, and thought of these same lips so close to my own only two days ago.

"Assuming that it is highly unlikely that my good Grima suddenly found mirth in watching his unconventional countenance," Saruman's ironic voice was very helpful in terms of bringing me back to reality, "we must admit that his latter words regarding his - should we say, relationship? - with Lady Eowyn must be true… no matter how incredibly this sounds. Very well, then," Saruman waved his hand in royal gesture, "you can keep that thing for your own enjoyment. Once I need your service, you will be summoned. Now, begone."

I bowed down deeply again, and left.

***

The mirror Saruman gave me, as I later discovered it in the library, was a rather primitive artifact called Kheledmil, or Lovers' Mirror. If you looked in the mirror, you could see your loved one - but only if your love was mutual. When I first read of this, I felt slightly dumbfounded. For never before had I enough courage to admit that the feeling between Eowyn and me could be called love. I never tried to explain, or name, this strange, twisted, perverted, but in the same time - utterly natural attraction between us. I thought of it as of alchemy, as of magic, as of game. And now it felt even painful somehow to admit that it was indeed one simple feeling… No, it wasn't. Stupid book.

Compared to the days (and sometimes even nights) in Edoras, full of troubles and action, I suffered of having too much free time now. For hours, I wandered around Orthanc. I tried reading more, but vainly. With the years, books seemed to have lost their power over me. Maybe I was just too old now?

Strangely enough, but I was. Since the day (nay, night, to be precise) I left the burning house of my Grandfather behind me, my life was too busy for me to think about such things as passing years. Time was of no importance to me; only its content was. And now, looking over my past life, I realized that some periods of it I remembered by days, some - by months, and some - by years. The days of my troubled and stormy youth, so full of hardships and peril; the days of being hating and hated, of doing harm to others at every opportunity - in revenge and in advance; strange enough how I survived those days. Those days ended in the Chamber of Pit and Pendulum. After that, there was a calmer period, when I got tired of constant wandering (which I used to call "freedom" in my childish folly), and chose a profession that fitted me best. I advised to one and spied for others. From time to time, I was revealed for who I was, but always escaped before being hanged. I learnt to be extremely careful, never letting things I truly felt or facts I really knew shine through the mask of humbleness and scholarly thoughtfulness I wore. This skill appeared to be of great assistance in the years of my service to Saruman - or should I say, Theoden? - for none of my masters knew me to my full extent. Edoras thought of me as a quiet wise little man; Isengard knew I was experienced, as well. But I never let my masters see me as anything other than a servant; my ability to act on my own free will, I kept hidden deep down, locked and chained with humble demeanor and smooth speech. I fooled the world, and I enjoyed it. Only one person through all these years was allowed to see my true face - though she never asked any permission, she just had the key. But whom had she seen?

Who I was now, in the age of past forty, when the rebellious youth was dead, and the man who came after him wore the mask of another for so long, that it seemed to adhere not only to his face, but to his very heart? In Orthanc I interrogated myself for the first time - shall I ever stop crouching down in the attempt to look smaller and less notable? Shall I ever be able to live without being in service? Shall I ever be able to act freely, when I already beheld the true worth and limits of mortal's will?

Each man in his forties, I guess, asks himself similar questions, especially if his life plans went astray, as mine did. And, surely, these are the kind of questions that are not asked for the sake of answers.

In the meanwhile, Isengard was boiling with final preparations for a long-expected open war. Uruk-Hai were created, armed, and trained, and Saruman spent much time in his laboratory, mixing up some intricate and definitely destructive concoctions and experimenting with offensive spells. Sometimes, I was allowed to watch these ministrations. Saruman looked absolutely regal and very impressive, surrounded with boiling cauldrons and crystal conveying vessels, filled with mysterious liquids and steams. This was his domain, his element - experimenting, and creating, and developing. During the hours in the laboratory, the wizard's face lost its usual haughtiness, and his eyes - their coldness. It may sound strange, but he looked almost human - or, should we say, almost… alive?

***

The army was ready and prepared, marching before Saruman's balcony before leaving for battle. Columns and columns, arranged and organized, and trained - a living flood of death, flowing forth and filling up the vast space around the tower. Some of them were carrying torches, and as they took their places in general formation, the flames formed a fiery Hand of Saruman - and indeed, it glowed White in the darkness that surrounded Orthanc. I looked down, and realized - even before hearing Saruman's voice, speaking the same words - that no one shall live.

No one. This army would crush Theoden's very minor forces, and Rohan would finally fall to Saruman. They would kill all the men - and would any one at all be spared?

Why did I care for that? Who were the Rohirrim to me but those who hated me and expelled me, when I was young, and whom I hated and fooled in my own turn? Who were they, but people with whom I had nothing, no single trace, in common? Stubborn, narrow-minded, irrational and illiterate folk, ruled by their horse deity - why should I be interested in their fate?

Because I had lived among them for nine years, and those years, I had to confess, were not the worse in my life. Because I observed them closely for so long, and practically ruled them for four years myself. Because they were part of my own life now - and this part was about to be smashed in the grip of this White Hand.
When did you get so sentimental, Grima? Oh, I see. The age.

***

After 5 days, it was all over. Saruman's army lost the battle of Helm Deep (for reasons I will never understand; but, on the other hand - I always knew the Rohirrim were irrational and illogical, didn't I?)

And Isengard received its stab in the back - quite literally - from the ents of Fangorn. And who would have thought, that these overgrown chunks of firewood would be able to take an action? Not Saruman, certainly.

Now the White Wizard was locked in his own tower, surrounded by the waters of Isen, in the company of his loyal servant. There was a moment, when Saruman understood that Orthanc is lost, and deemed the time right to use his steel bird for escape. But it appeared that the bird was out of order. Orcs in charge of "grooming" the complicated mechanism appeared to be most neglectful of their duties, and the bird wouldn't fly. Simply not working.

Listening to Saruman at this discovery was most entertaining. The wizard demonstrated his great knowledge in specific lexicon of Westron, Rohirric, orcish, and several elvish languages, from what I could understand. He promised the most awful of deaths to the slovens, and he would have most certainly fulfilled his promises, if the guilty orcs were not already dead.

In the days we were held captive in the tower, I watched Saruman - and could not but admire the power of his will. No mortal man in a similar situation would have carried himself with such dignity. He lost his armies, accumulated for years, in a few days - but he still was not defeated. He spent most of his time in the library, reading ancient scrolls, counting down something, and playing a strange game with glass beads; it was my guess that this game was the way of telling the future. He was preparing for taking further steps.

I myself was possessed by the apathy. I watched things passively, but had neither the will nor desire to analyze them. And the reason was not our current situation. It all began when I left Edoras. All these doubts that gnawed at me, strange ideas that somehow found their way into my mind, indifference to what was about to happen to me - and at the same time, a yearning so penetrating that sometimes it almost made me scream. How very unmanly.

I yearned for what I had lost, and for what I was about to lose. I was no seer, but I already knew that the best period of my life was over. I didn't lose hope for better days, though - I simply did not have it.

And I yearned for Eowyn. Never before had I suspected that living without her - her mere presence somewhere near - would be so unbearably hard. Though I knew now that she loved me, and though I knew she was thinking of me, I, for the first time, began to question myself - should I be striving to rejoin with her?

In fact, what was between us? A few conversations, a few touches, and a lot of fantasizing. Years of something that, under no scope, could be called a normal human relationship. A mystic link, that verily existed in a certain out-of-this-world dimension, but could not be explained in terms of human logic, or even language.

I used to think I knew Eowyn well. And I thought she knew me, too. But now it came over me that it may be not at all so. We were so different. In fact, there was nothing in common between us. So what was it, then, that drew us together? Fancies and delusions.

I thought about leaving her alone, as she once asked me. It should not be so hard, or so painful. We already were separated by distance. Let some more time flow its still waters between us - and the link would be broken and gone. And each of us shall be free from another. Eowyn shall congratulate herself on winning her biggest battle. And I would be back to where I belong. And all would be right. The children grew up and got old; the game had to be ended.

***

With surprising calmness, I watched from the window of the main hall as Saruman conversed with the company that came on visit. Gandalf the Good was performing very well, indeed. I could almost feel his will hovering over Theoden. Well, that was nothing new for him. He had been living under someone else's will for the past nine years - and with little discomfort for his own petty one.

My master was struggling well, too. But he must have felt - as even I did - that Gandalf was not acting on his own; behind him, there was a power that wasn't his. He didn't come here on his own. He had an assignment, and the importance of this assignment made him proud and shining. He resembled a young guard who was arresting his first important criminal.

Down there, Saruman's future, and my own, was about to be decided - nay, declared upon us. And would you believe me, if I say - at that moment, it was the last and lowest of my concerns?

I was cold. Orthanc had grown bleak in past days. It occurred to me that the tower must be dead, already, and soon, very soon, it would decompose. I turned around and looked at the column, where the Stone of Orthanc, the Palantir, stood. It was still now, like a heart unbeating. I came closer to it. Indeed, there was no light inside. I took the globe in my hands. It was heavy, but not so heavy as I imagined it to be. And it was cold, icy-cold.

With the stone in my hands, I returned to the window - to beheld how, by Gandalf's bidding, Saruman's staff cracks broken. And in the same moment, the Palantir flared up, and burnt hot - I looked in it - and saw there…

I started, and that was enough - my hands let go of the smooth surface of the globe, and it fell down on the windowsill - and rolled out.

There were excited cries below, the splashing of water, and Stormcrow's voice. But I didn't listen to them. Blood rushed to my head, and, giddy, I grasped the sill. The hall spun around me. After a few moments, I collapsed on the floor.

Conscience retuned to me suddenly - right in time to feel being kicked in the ribs slightly. I opened my eyes to see Saruman standing above me.

"Get up now," he dropped, "we are leaving."

I rose up, still feeling sick and dizzy. Saruman turned to the column where the Palantir had previously rested - and then issued a wild shriek. Grasping me by the throat, he rushed to the window, dragging me with him.
"You," he shouted, "how dare you!"

It seemed certain that I would follow the Palantir out of the window. But, strangely enough, Saruman let go of me. He calmed down quickly and muttered:
"And I had greatly hoped that this last detail could be omitted," before leaving the hall. I followed him, in spite of dizziness trying to guess the meaning of his saying. Was he able to foresee it?.. Interesting.

***

Gandalf left the tower of Orthanc guarded by ents, but Saruman was resolved to leave the tower now, and once he was, no one could have stopped him. The days of planning and plotting for him were finished; now it was time to act. Summoning me to him, Saruman went to the room warded by the statue with snakish plaits - the same room where our deal was made long ago.

The room seemed unchanged. The green flame was still dancing merrily in the black shining vessel. Saruman approached it, and motioned me to stand opposite. He snapped his fingers, and at once the fire roared up, and the room was ablaze in green light. I beheld Saruman's shadow, growing in size and stretching itself, as if after a long sleep. With surprise I watched as my own crouched shadow grew and straightened, too. With another snap of Saruman's fingers, both shadows stepped down from the walls, and slithered towards the fire. There they stood, one in front of each other, and, slowly, became more solid and gained color until they were exact copies of their masters. The fire slipped back into vessel. Saruman examined the creatures with a critical eye; under his gaze, my shadow trembled and bent down. Obviously pleased with his work, Saruman smiled and nodded, and waved his hand at the shadows. Immediately, they disappeared.

"Let our dear wooden friends entertain themselves watching these fine men," Saruman chuckled, "hoom, hoom, Saruman is held captive in Orthanc, and he is but a pale shadow of himself now. Shall I free him, Gandalf, for now he is safe from doing more harm? Hoom, hoom…" Throwing back his head, Saruman laughed, and I could not refrain from smiling, too. He is a demon, he is.

Saruman stopped laughing. He took a torch, lit it, and handed it to me. Then, he clapped his hands, and the fire in the vessel was gone. I heard the sound of stones cracking and turning, and saw a tripod move aside, together with the flagstone on which it stood. Under the flagstone, a dark hole gaped, and, when I looked closer, I saw a narrow staircase leading down. Saruman motioned to me with his head, and I began descending into the underground pass. The wizard went after me. The sound of shifting stone signaled the flagstone taking its place.

"The chamber of secrets is closed now," I heard Saruman mutter.

The subterranean pass led us out of the tower, surrounded by a vast lake of turbid water, and ended under the small hill. We got out, and for some time walked eastward. Saruman was silent, and so was I. Around noon we found ourselves in the narrow valley at the last spurs of Hithaeglir, and there Saruman stopped. He sat down on the ground, not caring about his robes, and motioned me to do so, too. I noticed that the wizard carried nothing but an oblong parcel - which, undoubtedly, hid the remnants of his staff.

Saruman looked at me intensely, and said:
"Now, Grima, my good servant, what do you think about this situation you are in?"

I shrugged. If Saruman had expected another answer, he didn't show it. In fact, he seemed quite pleased with my shrug.

"You must be reproaching yourself for being on losing side?"

I shook my head in denial.

"Oh, but what happened to your silver tongue, my good Grima?," he pressed. "Have you lost your ability of speech?"

"No, my lord."

"No, my lord? Is that all you can deliver?"

"For now, yes, my lord."

He smirked.
"Very well, then. So not only the master has lost his former power, but his servant has lost his skill, too. All we possessed is gone now, and the future lies plain and clean before us, like a blank slate. Nothing links us to the past… or does it?"

Saruman's eyes blazed demonically.

"Speaking of links to the past, it reminds me that nine years ago, day-in-day, one wizard made a deal with a certain man. And today is the time for that man to claim his reward. But before the matter is closed, we need to make sure that the man served his master well… and was obedient… and planned nothing against his master's will."

From Saruman's tone, it was impossible to tell - was he merely contemplative, or knew something.

"Now, let us see… Grima, son of Galmod, for these past years, was a good servant. He did much that he was told. His mission was successful - well, almost, - and if it failed in the end, it was not his fault. He controlled Theoden's will, and ruled the Riddermark in a way advantageous to his master. He did even more, for the King was not the only one who surrendered to his charms… Beautiful Eowyn, the King's sister-daughter, so young, so innocent - and so fond of our good man Grima to even let him in her dreams…"

Damn you, Saruman. And I thought my experiments with that spell would go unnoticed.

"How very interesting. If it was another time, I would have said that you have real talent for the art of magic, master Grima. And in that other time, I would have taken you as my apprentice. But alas! - now there is no time for learning. But it is time to ask you, my good servant, why have you told the lady Eowyn, that your master will never learn of the location of her hiding from you?"

There was a small pause before I answered:
"Because, my lord, I knew it not, and know not it now, either." It's your greatest fortune that you are such a cold-blooded bastard, Grima.

There was a tense silence. Very well I could feel how my master's will penetrates my mind. He was seeking my thoughts for the proof of my treason. Finding none, he let go.

The tension condensed, and my brow glistened with perspiration. Saruman closed his eyes, and remained thus for a while, deciding on something. At last he spoke, his lids still lowered:
"You proved to be a good and loyal servant, Grima, son of Galmod. Now, say the Word to unseal the power of my will and my bidding that it held for all these years - and your Heart's Desire will come true. And no need to look at my staff," he said sharply, noticing the direction of my glance, "I told you, all the necessary power is already there. You just have to unleash it. So?"

For a moment, I hesitated. And then stood up and spoke the Word.

Nothing happened. No lighting, thunder, storm, or skies turning black. Just me, standing there and feeling like an idiot - and Saruman, sitting on the ground, calm and relaxed, looking at me with a slight smile and something that was suspiciously like disdain in his eyes.

Oh, well. To be fooled by such a great wizard is even… prestigious.

Saruman rose to his feet and adjusted his robes. Then, he touched the wrist of his left hand - I had long noticed something like a silver bracelet there - and almost instantly, I heard the sound of hooves. I turned around to see a pair of horses galloping towards us.

They stopped upon reaching us. Both were stallions of extremely mighty stature, and, I could bet, of extremely wild tempers, too. One of the horses was stormy grey, and the other - pitch black. Both horses were fully geared.

Saruman advanced to the grey horse and took it by the reins. The beast looked at him, and lowered its head. Saruman led it to me and handed over the reins.

"This is Sul," he said, "and he will bring you to Dunharrow. Eowyn is there," he smiled a superior smile, "in case you haven't guessed yet. Sul is fast, and you shall be in Dunharrow by midnight. No one will see or hear you but Eowyn. You are free to stay there till sunrise, when the spell shall end. If you decide to return to my service," Saruman was speaking matter-of-factly, as if it didn't bother him at all, "Sul shall bring you to the place he knows, and there I shall be waiting. Go now, and fulfill your… Heart's Desire."

My desire, obviously, was of great disappointment to my master. I could bet he was now questioning my sanity and asking himself how could he have overestimated me so much. But I didn't care. I mounted the horse, and took my leave.

***

Sul, indeed, was worth his name, "the wind". By the time of midnight, he brought me to the small fortress I recognized from Eowyn's dreams. Unseen, unheard, I passed the guarded gates, and proceeded up a narrow road to the stronghold. I left Sul tethered, and, still unnoticed, entered the slumbering building. Guided by invisible hand, as if I was dreaming, I ascended the steps and entered the corridor, leading to Eowyn's room. The corridor was dimly lit, but even if it had been absolutely dark, I would have found the door I needed.

She woke as I entered the room, and immediately, she recognized me. I needed not to search her face for that, because I felt it. The recognition, the fear, and the longing - all was revealed to me even before her voice came.

"How…"

But I didn't let her finish the question. I was already at her side, and heard how she dropped something metallic - a dagger - on the floor. I smiled and took her hand. This was a gross mistake, but she didn't even try to take it away… and I began kissing it.

"Is it a dream again?" I heard her asking, but couldn't stop; my lips were feasting upon her soft sweet palm, cool, but getting warmer very quickly.

Eowyn whimpered softly, and drew her hand away. The room was moonlit, and I could see her face very well. Her eyes were glinting suspiciously when she murmured,
"What spell have you cast on me?"

Well, I could ask you the same, my Eowyn. But to that question, the answer is obvious - as obvious as the contours of your beautiful body under the linen of nightgown are…
Steady yourself, Grima. Remember why you are here.

I retreated to the window.
"Spell?" I mimicked her question. "What spell are you talking about, my lady? Should we call it a spell to treat you like a woman, and not like a little warrior? Looking at you with affection? Talking to you in a courtly manner? Not practicing weaponry with you, but touching you with tenderness? Do you think all this to be a kind of magic?"

"You broke into my dreams…"

Yes, Eowyn, I did. How could I not?
"Ah. I must confess it was a simple spell, indeed, but I didn't force my way in. I entered your dreams. Because you called me."

"Called you? How could you tell?"

"The spell wouldn't have worked if you were not thinking of me." I had found this spell in one of Saruman's books. Actually the same book where I read about Kheledmil. The incantation seemed so simple, and I couldn't resist the temptation of trying it. The same way as now I couldn't resist the urge to draw up behind her and touch the golden silk of her hair. Strangely enough, I registered, that she was not plaiting them for the night. My hands traveled down her head to her shoulders, but Eowyn shrunk away from me. She was still struggling. What a woman!

I returned to the window. Eowyn's frustration followed me. My dear girl, if you only knew how much I want to take it away from you, grab all those pains and doubts and impossible questions I gave you, and run away with them - far-far away, so even my shadow would never again find the way to your thoughts.

If I had been a better man, I would have left then. But I was a Snake, so I just stayed were I was, and mocked.
"And they called me a liar," I said, "but at least with myself I was always honest. And never had I attempted to call things anything but their true names. When they put the choice before me, I admitted my real master and left, instead of staying with Theoden's court as a spy. When you said that my feeling for you was mere lust, I didn't deny it, though it was not, and is not, that "mere". But you, my fair lady - liar I call you, because even to yourself you can't admit the true nature of your feelings for me. Such cowardice from a noble Rohirrim princess I would never expect."

"So you made a long and perilous journey from your master's side only to offend me?" Eowyn sounded angry, and it made me smile. "And you think I will defend myself against your absurd accusations? Never would I expect such folly from a wise man like you."

"Love makes wise men fools, my princess." Indeed. "But no, the purpose of my visit lies somewhere else. I came here to free you."

There it was. I said it, and the words could not be taken back. I dared not to look at her before hearing her ask:
"Free me?" Her voice was blank. This was impossible. I needed to see her eyes.

"Yes. Free you from my claims." Sitting by her side, I took her hands in mine, drew a deep breath, and continued:

"I wanted to make you queen of the Golden Hall, my lady, and dreamed of our son becoming king of Rohan one day, but alas. On the second night after our army was defeated at the Helm Deep, Isengard was destroyed. Now my master is an outcast, and so am I. I have nothing to offer you. I came to say farewell to you, my lady. I won't be breaking into your dreams anymore. At least before I regain power." The last sentence escaped my lips past my will, and I immediately gave myself mental slap. Idiot.

So everything was said. I had to go. I needed to go. I urged myself to stand up, walk to the door, open it and get out. I thought of Sul standing down there - that good fast beast, which would carry me away, into the night, into the blessed darkness where I would forever dwell from now on. But my eyes were locked with those of my woman, my fair queen, and her hands were still placed in mine so fondly, so trustingly…

I felt her gaze penetrating my soul… She always saw me through, hadn't she? And now I flinched inwardly, when I thought of what that soul looked like before her eyes. Darkness, full of monsters of evil thoughts and deceits. She would see it all, and she would never wish to be with me. She would shrink back from me, one last, final time, and I would get up and leave.

My love was looking at me - through me, - and saw none of my many deceits, but only that thing that was true. Perhaps because only that one thing was important?

After the minutes of silence that seemed endless, Eowyn lifted her hand very slowly, and touched the clasp of my cloak. Her finger traced its contours contemplatively when she asked:
"So, you no longer desire me?"

"But how dare I?"

"Oh, please." Was she mocking me now? "I know you are brave enough and daring enough. But if you do not love me, just voice it - and go."

So easy. So trifling a task for an experienced liar like you, is it not, Grima? Just one little lie, for a good cause, for a noble cause…

"I cannot lie to my lady."

The tiny sound of a clasp being undone, followed by the soft muffled whisper of cloth falling on the floor. "Then I cannot let you go, my lord." Her voice, and her fingers, undoing my shirt and sliding beneath it.

What mortal man could push away Happiness, when she is throwing her lily-white hands around him? Can you imagine anyone turning away, when his Dream brings him her most precious offerings in open palms? There are many things unimaginable in this world… But I am no such man.

Eowyn looked me in the eye, her hands stilled upon my chest. I took them in mine and reached out for her, more than sure that this was only a dream, and even if it was not, the sky would fall, or earth would open and swallow us before our lips could meet. And it all happened, but not before - after.

The kiss was timid and tender at first, but very quickly it grew deeper and wilder. We were holding each other as close as it was possible, and the sensation of this closeness was maddening. To feel her body under the thin linen of her nightgown was enough to leave me breathless; but to feel her hands on me - it was… bliss. I tried to tell myself there was no hurry - but in vain; we had waited for too long, and now our hands were in haste - stripping down cloth, and uncovering bare sensitive skin, and touching, touching… When we parted from our first kiss, we both were panting heavily; Eowyn looked at me and chuckled, and I whispered into her ear. "Now, wouldn't it be a fine thing if we both died of suffocation?" and without giving her pause, kissed her neck as she laughed softly. She pulled me down, and I landed on the pillows beside her. I was half-dressed yet, but that didn't matter. What mattered, was lacing her fingers with mine, and kissing her again… and again… and again…

She was Perfection, lying there in her glorious moonlit nakedness. When I first took full view of her, for a moment I was - scared, because it was impossible, that such heavenly beauty could give herself to a mere mortal, and not burn him to ashes. But madman I was already, to reach out through this silvery flame and touch her, to trace a line from her collarbone to her breast and down her navel, and see how she closed her eyes in pleasure.

Caressing her, I was torn between desire to possess her fully - and fear that this dream would end instantly if I did something wrong. But Eowyn matched my touches with her own tender strokes, and was drawing me even closer, so willingly, and so eagerly… We were kissing when it appeared to me that this was her first time, and I might hurt her - but it was already… too late. I broke the kiss and looked at her face. Her eyes were shining.

"I love you, Eowyn."

She smiled happily and pulled me back into kiss.

***

"Eowyn?"

"M-mm?"

"I thought you were sleeping."

"How can I? I don't want to lose a moment of this night."

"Can I ask you of something?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have a comb?"

"A comb? Why, certainly. Do you need a comb?"

I nodded, and watched her going to the table and back. A breathtaking view.

"Here, my lord…"

"Thank you so much, my lady… Now, sit back…"

"Ohh… You want to comb my hair?"

"Do not laugh at a poor lost soul, my lady. If you knew how many times I dreamed of it. How many times I was deadly tempted to touch this golden silk… my… precious…"

"You… are… mad…"

"Yess… I am."

"And I am mad, too… and happy. I never knew such happiness is possible…a wonderful gift it is. . .

It is no gift, my Eowyn. We will be paying for it, and soon.

I had no time to think about the end of miracle, when it already was there. It was dawning, and thus time for me to take leave. I didn't think about the possibilities of staying, because there were none. I had to be back at my master's side, and continue my service. He fulfilled his part of deal, despite what Stormcrow said, and returning to him now was not only the matter of trust; it was my only chance to regain authority and influence, and come back to Eowyn not as an outcast, but as a man of power. The parting was sad; but I knew that we would meet again one day… or night, for the invisible link between us was there, stronger than ever.

Unseen as before, I left Dunharrow. Before the sun rose fully, I left the mountains and spurred Sul to the East.

***

It was only before sunset when I allowed myself rest. Passing a valley between Snowbourn and Entwash, I noticed a small lake and decided to stop for a while. Dismounting, I let Sul wander freely around, and came to the water. The lake had a stony bottom, and was crystal clear. Scooping up some water, I tasted it; it was cold and slightly salty. I walked back and forth by the lake, and then sat down on the ground and retrieved the Kheledmil. I didn't look in it at once, but hid it in my palms and closed my eyes. For a few blissful minutes, I was lost in the wild and vivid remembrances of past night, and then peered into the mirror. Almost immediately, I beheld Eowyn. She was talking to someone before her, but the expression on her eyes betrayed that her thoughts were very far from the person she was talking to. This made me smile; how I wished I could talk to her then! Eowyn bowed to her invisible companion, who must have been leaving. I saw her moving towards the source of light; she was standing by a window now. As if unconsciously, she touched her neck and caressed it - just the same way I did it. Oh, Eowyn, if you only knew what you were doing to me…

She turned around abruptly, interrupted in her solitude. I saw her marble brow frowning at someone, and her soft lip curving evilly, obviously forming words that were by no means usual for my Eowyn before. This was strange; in a moment Eowyn's face was peaceful again; the intruder must have left, and she returned to the window, leaning her shoulder against the wall, eyes closed and lips smiling. But my mind was already disturbed. I stood up and started pacing the bank of lake. I remembered the words she said to me this morning, "I could be your redemption", and my own reply - "I could be your fall". And then another image leaked out of my memory. Saruman's laboratory, and two glass vessels joined with a tube. "Conveying vessels".

The day when Saruman's enormous army was leaving for Helm's Deep. Ashy wind that nearly brought tears into my eyes. Or was it wind?

And today. A dark cloud hooding my beloved - for a split second, but this is only the beginning.

Attracted to each other beyond our own wills. Joined together by a hinge of Fate. Filling each other with our light - or darkness. Conveying vessels. That's who we were.

Days ahead, I will be watching her in the mirror. Nights, when she will be talking to me and touching me in her dreams. What will become of us two?

I stopped pacing and tried to imagine myself being changed by her Light - and shrunk. The mere idea of something strange touching my soul, mingling with it, changing it from inside, - no matter what this extract was, - was almost physically sickening. How interesting, don't you think - a man like you, and so worried about his inner self? Indeed, it is. But only he who is a mask from outside, can truly understand, what it is like to hold his soul intact.

And Eowyn… My heart sunk as I thought of what my influence could do to Eowyn. Slowly corrupting her. Making her lose control more and more often - and thus lose the respect and love of her people. Reaction of those dear to her - her brother and uncle to her changed self. The pain it would bring her…

The golden evening turned into the blackest of nights for me. How could I be so foolish not to realize this before? Notice not my own changing personality? What had darkened my mind this bad to approach Eowyn again, once I decided, in Orthanc, to leave her be?

I composed myself before finally drowning in self-loathing. This was of no use. I had to think what could be done. Now, after everything that happened…

Even the merest thought about it was enough to make my blood rush to my head. For a brief moment, I almost could feel her lips on mine. I saw my love alone, in Dunharrow, waiting for me to come to her in the night. Looking hopefully on the same sunset that was before me. To leave her now was to wound her heart. But to stay with her, was to kill her.

I glanced at the mirror, still grasped in my hand. Drawing a deep breath, I came closer to the water - and threw Kheledmil into the lake. In the rays of the setting sun, it glittered beautifully before sinking. Then I knelt down, took a handful of icy cold water, and buried my face in it.

Chapter 4. Star Axis

For the rest of the day my way lay through the lowlands north of Entwash. It was after dark when Sul brought me to a swampy hollow, overgrown with filbert and black osiers. The evening mist that had followed us for hours, gradually changed into fog so thick, that it seemed there was no air here - only this cool dense substance, gleaming deadly whitish. If I didn't know it was night, it would be impossible to tell, because day and night seemed to be merging into each other in this strange place. As I rode, no other sound was audible except for the moist chomping from Sul's hooves; the horse no longer galloped, but trod slowly and carefully. The profound stillness of the hollow was of no surprise; no living creature would ever want to dwell here, even the wind. Just as I thought about it, my eyes caught the glimpse of two figures to the side; I pulled on the reins to halt Sul in his tracks, and saw two young girls standing near the trunk of a dead tree. I noticed their white dresses and pale faces, but before I could discern any more details, they were gone in the wink of an eye.

As I continued on my way, the apparition repeated itself; this time I didn't stop, but passed by it, only registering that one of the girls was taller, and had light green eyes. For some time, I tried to guess what was the meaning of it; were ghosts trying to lure me into the bog? Was it an omen, or just another picturesque detail of this blood-freezing landscape?

Arriving at a small glade, enclosed within wry willows, my horse stopped. I saw Saruman standing ten paces before me; I noticed that his robes now looked exactly like the silvery fog around us, and his staff was whole again in his hand. I dismounted and advanced to my master, bowed deeply and said:
"I am back at your service, my Lord."

Saruman's lips curved evilly when he observed:
"As if you had been given a choice."

I almost opened my mouth to say that it was my own free will to return to him, but something stopped me; I looked back at Saruman in bewilderment, which made him add with a sneer: "There was one more point in our little contract, didn't you know? After I fulfill your heart's desire and get back my Word, your soul is mine."

Before I fully understood the meaning of his words, I bowed instinctively and said:
"My soul was always yours, master."

This made the wizard laugh aloud, a trembling echo in its wake. His laughter ended abruptly when he snapped: "You should had left your miserable hypocrisy to that impotent fool back in Meduseld… and long ago you should had learnt, Grima, that before my eyes, your deceits are more visible than a black cat on white snow. I know too well what lies beneath your mask of faithful servant. Your actions may be as you describe them, but your true motives you had never revealed to me."

He paused, giving me chance to start protesting and justifying myself, but I remained silent. Seeing this, Saruman added, more calmly now:
"On the other hand, I have never expected you to be faithful. You are too smart for that. All humans are either faithful or smart; that is why I don't like human servants."

"But with the same spell you have used on me, my Lord…" I dared saying, hoping to learn more about it.

Saruman quirked his eyebrow disdainfully.
"Do you think it was some kind of village trick? For your information, this "spell", as you called it, was created by Maelkor Morgoth himself, and it is so dangerous that even Sauron never dared to use it! He invented his rings instead… But I dared, and, as you can see, succeeded."

"Yes, my Lord," I mumbled, lowering my head.

I felt Saruman's piercing gaze, felt it penetrate my soul and suppress my will. I didn't struggle, but just banished all thoughts from my mind and didn't allow my spirit stir. So a man, hunted down by a lion, falls to the ground and doesn't move, pretending to be dead. And the lion, upon approaching, sniffs the body, touches it with heavy paw - and then leaves.

Saruman's pressure ceased gradually and finally was gone. I counted to ten and back before sighing inwardly. Lifting my head slowly, I looked at Saruman with the eyes of a whipped dog (at least I hoped so). The wizard smiled back at me triumphantly, and then waved his hand. Immediately, the black horse appeared before him, beating its hoof and snorting. Saruman mounted, and I followed his example and pulled myself onto Sul's back. Before starting, Saruman turned back his head slightly and ordered: "Follow me."

So I did.

***

We rode for two days, and I was still oblivious as to what our purpose was. The only thing I was sure of was our eastward direction; Saruman rarely spoke, and I remained silent, too, pondering over the situation I had fallen into.

In spite of what Saruman had said, I still couldn't believe he had captured my soul as fully as he had boasted. My ability to think about it was the primary proof. On the other hand, I knew he had more power over me now than before; so far, I couldn't tell how far it stretched, and, sincerely speaking, wasn't sure I should try and see. I didn't think about running away yet; until I knew what Saruman's plans were, there was no sense in trying.
In the evening of the second day, I decided it was time to show some curiosity. However enslaved Saruman thought me to be, it would be quite unnatural if I was not interested in my future at all. So when we had stopped for a brief rest, I approached Saruman and addressed him as humbly as possible, "Master?"

He glanced at me and, satisfied with my humiliated look, said:
"What is it that you want?"

I bowed and mumbled:
"I was just wondering if my Lord would tell his servant what lies at the end of our road…"

"And why do you need to know?"

"I was… just curious."

Saruman obviously enjoyed the look of fear I wore.
"Planning escape already, aren't you?" he asked silkily. "Do you think you can deceive me by turning from viper into meek sheep - in two days? Do you think I cannot feel that you are not broken… yet?"

Now he was provoking me. What reaction he expected, I didn't know, so I remained still, prepared for another onslaught.

"Look me in the eye," Saruman ordered, and I returned his glare with stare as mindless as possible. I broke eye contact first, burying my face in my hands, and slowly lowered myself on the ground. Saruman shook his head.

"You are either much stronger than I thought you to be, or a little weaker," he said. "In any case, I shall grant your enquiry my reply."

"I want to reach the shore of the Sea of Rhun, which lies far to the east from here. There I shall find an ancient artifact called the Star Axis. It is actually an axis around which the spiral of time spins, and, if one moves it counter-clockwise, he turns back time. From the beginning of this world's life, there were few who could have done it, but nobody dared. I shall be the first one; I have knowledge, and I have power. It may be difficult, though… So I may require… your assistance."

"Your assistance" was pronounced after a tiny pause, and I instantly knew what kind of "assistance" it might be.

"After I turn back time," Saruman continued dreamily, "I shall re-play my campaign so that victory shall be mine… I shall turn Fangorn into the hugest piece of burnt land ever seen… And I shall find the way to demolish Theoden and his army… and then I shall turn northwest and conquer the lands there…"

I saw Saruman's gaze cloud at the sweetness of these anticipations. How interesting it is that this political castrate still lusts for power, don't you think? I almost smiled at this thought, but contained myself and said with some aspiration in my voice:

"And when my Lord is victorious, will he remember about his faithful servant?"

Saruman leered at me, obviously very displeased with such an intrusion into his dreams, but after a moment granted me a syrupy smile.
"Oh yes, I most certainly shall," he purred.

***

Now, that I knew what Saruman's intentions were, I was further than ever from the idea of leaving him. My attitude towards him changed, though. I always had respect for him as a wizard and powerful ruler, but now I saw I had overestimated him - as well as he did himself. His control over me was definitely much weaker than he fancied it to be; obviously, such control required too much of his powers to support it for a long time; maybe if he hadn't been preparing for a much more important task, and pressed harder on me, my will would have been broken. But as of now, it was very much intact.

Speaking of his grand plans, I could only keep wondering how such raving madness had entered the wizard's mind. Even for me it was obvious that Time was nothing to be toyed with. The only probable result of such actions was destruction of the world; and I doubted that even the Lord of the Rings himself ever thought about it. It was hardly Saruman's purpose, either; he was just too self-confident to consider such a possibility.

But it was real. I thought about it and tried to imagine, what it might look like. When there is no more world, what will be left? When the story is over, what stays? Will it be emptiness, and silence, or will something still remain? And why should I even care about it? This was never my world.

Well, I had plenty of time for thinking, so that was why. I doubted it was in my power to influence it in any way, but still, I couldn't help wondering - if it was, would I try to prevent it? Was I interested in this world's existence, when, most likely, it held no future for me? If Saruman succeeded, he would, most likely, get rid of me. Now I have some place in his plans, but it is clear that these plans lie no further than the shore of the Rhun Sea. If Saruman succeeds not… the result is the same. Why should I bother myself with action?

Ah. But I can understand you, Grima. You've seen the futility of man's actions and aspirations already, haven't you? Mortal you are, and how could you be in a position to change anything, when you are not even the master of your own life?

Damn you, Imp of the Perverse.

***

After many long days of traveling eastwards, through the Brown Lands - travel that seemed to be deprived of target and destination, for Saruman never checked our way with any signs or directions, - the wizard seemed to start looking for something. We were still among the wastelands, where the earth was the color of parched blood; the landscape was somehow lacking variety, but Saruman took to the habit of standing in his stirrups and surveying the land with his piercing gaze. At last, he seemed to find what he sought, and it appeared to be a group of three small hills, that stood in the midst of a plain, like gates to nowhere. We found them in the evening, when the red sun was setting, and, on the other side of heaven, the moon was rising, matching in scarlet shade to the land and the sun. The red light cast everything around in its unnerving hue, and it was scary.

We dismounted, and Saruman motioned the horses away with a wave of his hand. I looked after Sul and Saruman's stallion, Rauko, as they melted into the crimson darkness swiftly.

"We will need them no more," I heard my master saying, "for our goal is close, and the rest of our way we should tread afoot. But before that, I shall get pass from the wardens of the gates."

"The gates, my lord?" I asked timidly.

"Aye, the gates," Saruman waved his hand at the group of three hills, "the Gates of the Dead these are, and only through these Gates can one pass, if he wants to get to the Star Axis. Tonight, I shall be speaking with the wardens," he turned to me, "and you shall hide behind the hill. Lie there still, if you do not wish to die in the most painful and horrible way."

"Y-yes, my lord," I whispered, and crawled behind the indicated hill quickly.

There I hid myself, but lay so that part of the spot among the hills was visible to me. I saw Saruman going and sitting under the hill I hid behind. Two other hills were facing it, and between them, there were the Gates themselves. I heard Saruman beginning the incantation. He chanted lowly, then louder and louder, until his voice spread its broad wings over the plain, and was sounding of thunder. And to this sound, the two hills opened themselves, and their dark insides let out four tall figures of men. Peeking from my hiding cautiously, I took full view of the comers, and shuddered, for they were of the folk that laugh, but never smile. Their eyes were wide-open, and their gazes were straight. One of the men had an arrow in his forehead; the second one boasted a wide wound across his throat - and I could tell that his head was attached to his body with no more that a few inches of skin. The third man had the blade of a sword protruding from the left side of his chest; and the last of the wardens carried a spear in his belly.

The four wardens sat down in a stately manner, and Saruman finished his incantation. Profound silence befell. If there was some kind of negotiations going between the wizard and the wardens, no mortal ear could hear it.

Suddenly, I realized something was behind me, and its presence was - chill and terror. Slowly, I turned my head - and saw the two young girls. The ghosts of two girls, to be precise. I recognized them instantly - they were the same ones I had seen in the misty hollow before rejoining Saruman.

I stood up, my knees shaking slightly. The girls' eyes followed my movements. One of the girls - the elder - waved her hand in the direction behind me.

"Go there," I heard the low hissing voice, "go there, kill him."

I stared back at them blankly.

"Go there," the girl insisted, "he is not here now, conversing with the dead. His spirit is in our world now. Go, let his body join his spirit!"

I shook my head in disbelief. This is all due to the red light, and I am going mad.

The younger girl joined in her voice; it was low, too, and trembling. She sounded pleading.
"Go there, kill the evil man. He murdered my sister and me to compose his staff again. Our bodies still rot in the swamps of Sleepy Hollow, and we were so young! Go there, take revenge for us."

Continuing the madness, I addressed the girls in whisper:
"So, you say, he is not here now?"

Both girls nodded eagerly.
"And for how long he will be?"

"There is plenty of time," the elder said, "go, go!"

I peeked around the side of the hill again. Saruman was sitting there, eyes closed. Clearly, the ghosts told me the truth. The temptation was great. But, on the other hand… If I kill Saruman, what would I do with the wardens?..

I never held any trust for the living; nor for dead.

I retreated to my hiding place. The ghosts looked at me disapprovingly, but I cared for them not.

Panting, I retrieved a kerchief and pressed it to my brow, in the same time feeling cold sweat streaming down my back. I was scared, and drowning in the red light.

That's right. You are no hero, Grima. Why should you be changing your habits so suddenly? After all, there may be another chance…

Damn it all.

I stepped out of hiding, and, cautiously, drew near the group. The dead guards of the gates and the wizard, conversing with them, paid me no heed as I bent down and took Saruman's staff, lying on the ground. Taking it with me, I returned behind the hill, and retrieved the knife.

The ghosts of girls looked at me with grudging favor, but clearly they had expected more.

"Sorry," I said, "but this is all what I am doing for now. But one day, I will avenge you, I promise."

And they were gone.

***

In the morning of the fourth day, we saw the sea, lying asleep in the cradle of its stony shores. And there it was, a huge wheel of grey porous stone, standing on a thick pedestal of the same material with four crudely cut steps on the front side. In the center of the wheel, embedded into a cross of four thick flat "spokes", there was a red stone, pulsating with a living power. Immediately I thought of the eye of Mordor on the tower of Orthanc; but this "eye" was even more soul piercing. Sauron's gaze brimmed with evil and made one's spirit shrink; Star Axis looked at us dispassionately, but its stare made me shudder to the very core. And there was no way one could hide from It; I suddenly realized that, even being a hundred leagues away from here, I would feel this disrupting ray following me everywhere, even into my dreams and below. And the next realization that descended upon me, was that I would never leave this place. Alive.

I turned to Saruman. Evidently, the presence of Star Axis was having a greater effect on the wizard than on myself (though it seemed hardly possible). He spread his hands, his eyes closed, and he swayed slightly from side to side, like an ancient column of grayish marble, ready to fall down. His throat was twitching, as if he was swallowing hard. His lips were moving; the wizard was voicelessly chanting, and I almost felt how the web of mighty spells was being woven around.

Strange apathy befell me. My instinct of survival, which had saved my piteous life so many times before, was now silent. Languidly I thought about running away from here, the possible routs of escape. The real prospect of nearing death didn't scare me at all. It was nothing to worry about it.

Saruman finished his silent incantations and looked at me. More in my head, than in my ears, his order rang:
"Ascend the steps. Ascend them now. Now!"

I obeyed; unconsciously, my eyes registered the details of my surroundings as I neared the wheel. The ground beneath my feet was bare and dry, and it looked withered, like aged flesh. Here and there, sharp edges of stones protruded through it, resembling broken bones sticking out. These last steps I now took were the essence of my whole life, dark and naked of joy, just like this earth was naked of any vegetation.

But when I was about to put my foot on the first step of the pedestal, my eye caught a glimpse of yellow color below. In between the first and second steps, seemingly on the stone surface, there was a single dandelion growing. The flower turned its golden head to me and winked. I started back and nearly fell down, but righted myself and turned to face Saruman.

His intense gaze darkened. The voice in my head cried sharply, "Go!", and its master pointed his staff at me. I saw its end flashing with light, and instinctively threw myself aside, but nothing happened. Nothing, except for the head of the staff cracking and falling down. For a moment, Saruman was staring at his once again damaged staff in bewilderment - and the next second he turned to me, realization visible upon his face.

"You," the wizard hissed, "how dare you lay your filthy hands upon it!!"

I didn't reply, for this was not a question. If I was not so deadly tired, I would have mentally applauded myself for being so far-sighted as to write my initial, "g", with my own blood on my master's staff, that red-lit night at the Gates of Dead. From that day, this staff could do me no harm. At least by magic, for his master still could have used it on me in a much less sophisticated way, and now the moment felt exactly like it.

But Saruman had chosen another way. He threw the staff away, and raised his hands. Immediately, streams of green fire shot from his fingertips, and I was smitten by them and lifted up, hurled towards the stone wheel, my back sealed against its surface. My hands and feet were spread wide and shackled to its spokes. The sacrifice was now ready.

Saruman seemed to be in a great hurry, for he didn't allow himself to stop and scoff at me, as he would certainly have done any other time. He stood right in front of the center of Star Axis, his hands clasped before his chest, and recited clearly and loudly in a language that sounded of Eternity.

The Ocean of Time was breathing and sighing, and arising its disturbed waters, and stretching its mighty hands up to the Heavens of Nowhere. Waves of Ages washed over the Star Axis, and it started to move counter-clockwise, first slowly, and then faster and faster, until it was spinning at the pitch of infernal speed. And every spin brought me hundreds of lives and deaths, letting me experience each of them. I lived the lives of elves and ents, dwarves and orcs, trolls and humans; I was transformed into animals, birds, fishes, and insects. I wove the web of Ungolianth. I grew grass and blossomed flowers, and dreamed the dreams of trees. I was set on fire and drawn in the water, was strangled and buried alive. I was loved and tortured. I looked through the eyes of unborn children, and lay among my thrown down enemies and brothers-in-arms in the midst of Death Marches.

Then the Axis stopped, and I saw.

The battlefield was covered with the bodies of Rohirrim. Wolves and crows were feasting on them. I saw King Theoden, his eyeless face turned to the sky, and a big furry wolf, sniffing his corpse doubtfully, as if deciding on dessert.

I saw Dunharrow attacked and won over by orcs. I heard cries of women and children being slaughtered. I saw Eowyn, wounded, bleeding, and shielded from an orc captain by a lean figure in black. I saw their heads parted from their bodies by an orc's axe.

And I saw a tall man in white, looking into the depth of a transparent pulsing globe, his eyes and lips smiling triumphantly - but then he was falling to the floor, smitten by the explosion of black fire, spreading instantly all over the chamber, and tower, and devouring it together with its inhabitant.

The air smelled of ash. Or was it? There was no air anymore, but a dense mixture of dust, blood, fear, horror, and utter death, when the wheel started rotating again, now clockwise. But this time I felt nothing; my senses were burnt to the ground, together with my soul.

Chapter 5. Rambler in the Dark

The moon shines and sings. Its voice is clear, and song is heard everywhere, and that's why I can't sleep. I stand up and address the moon, asking it to sing more quietly, or better yet, go away from here. But it only laughs at me nastily, and I threaten it with my fist. It is not the first time that insufferable star has robbed me of my sleep. But I know what to do. I search around and find a small pit, filled with water. It had rained earlier in the evening. I smile at the moon invitingly and bow to it courteously, asking it to come closer. The silly moon does, and gets entrapped into the pit. I step over it, and the moonlight goes dim. Clouds cover the sky, and now it's my turn. I laugh loudly and mock at the moon, imprisoned under my foot.

Stirring comes from behind. A tall old man, whom I seem to know somehow, rises from the ground, where he was lying asleep. I must have woken him up, so I smile at him and mutter my apologies. But he doesn't seem to notice this. He sits on the ground and kindles the fire with his firestone. And then he begins to talk to himself. The old chap is positively mad.

"As if leaving me powerless was not enough punishment for my dare… Manwe, why did you impose this human refuse on me? It would be better if I could kill him right there, on the steps of Star Axis. But I can't!!" - he shouts at me, obviously enraged with something, - "Hear this, you miserable groundworm? I can't kill you! I can't! I ca-an't!" His cries now sound more like howling. "It's all your fault! If you hadn't besmeared my staff with your muddy blood, I wouldn't have to spend so much of my power on you! I would have left enough of it to stir the Axis for the second time. And now… I am… powerless. Powerless! Because of you!! Arrrghh…"

It is not the first time that the old man is thusly delirious. I don't understand at all what he is talking about. I shrug and step further aside. This man is not only crazy, he is violent, as well. Several times he has tried to attack me, and each time I have barely escaped. It is better to stay away from him now. But why don't I leave him? I don't know. I simply can't.

We travel the roads of brown lands, among the wastelands, grown with heather, and inhabited by snakes. I learn the language of serpents, as they tell me strange endless stories about the man who once ruled a country, supped with the devil, and was loved by the best woman in the world. I try to ask them, why do they keep telling me such disturbing tales, but they only laugh at me and go on with their ramblings. Have you ever heard snake's laughter? It ripples, like a brook of quicksilver, and scatters around with hundreds of tiny eggs, and inside each of these eggs there is a little serpent sleeping and dreaming someone's life. Didn't you know that any human life - yours, too, and mine, - is just a serpent's dreaming? But somebody has woken my snake up, and now it is laughing at me.

One evening I notice two dark men joining us. One is considerably taller than the other, and he follows the old man persistently - as the smaller one follows me. I try to talk to our new companions, but they won't answer. I even can't see their faces well, for they seem to dwell in perpetual darkness. At last I stop paying them heed. I have other things to tend to.

Another day we meet a group of riders. They talk to the old man, and they look friendly. One of them - an old, noble-looking man, - notices my tattered looks and reproaches my old man for being so rude with me. He seems kind, this white-clad old man, and I tell him everything, every detail about how dangerous it is, traveling all the time in company of violent madman.

"So leave him," he advises, looking at me with pity.

I wish I could do that, my good sir. But I cannot.

***

We arrive at the land of small people. I once knew they were called hobbits. I didn't seem to notice when a large group of bandits joined us. The old man, my companion, speaks with them, but I don't. I have another, more important thing to do, because I have spotted the Fairy of Dark Despair, following my steps here, and there, and everywhere.

Oh, this Fairy! She looks like an overgrown dragonfly, black in color, inevitable, like death, and like death, merciless. However well I hide myself, each morning I wake up with her sleeping on my shoulder. And there is no way I can get rid of her.

Her presence becomes more and more excruciating with each passing day. She chases my soul on the roads of this land, and wherever she treads, everything changes, grows darker. I need to find a way to destroy the foul creature.

She feels my intention to kill her, and invents another devilish trick. Now she hides herself in the bodies of other people, extracting their souls and devouring them alive. But she can't deceive me. I can spot her presence under any guise, and I once I do, I am ruthless.

But alas - each time I destroy the guise, the nasty imp finds some way to escape, and after some time she challenges me again, in another form. But now I am the hunter, and I am after my prey.

* * *

One day a band of armed little men come and talk to the old man. I see them through the hole in the wall of the barrack, where I have dwelt for two days, trying to track down the Fairy of Dark Despair. She must be somewhere near, I know this well.
The old man calls for me to follow him, and reluctantly, I step out of my shelter. It would be a pity to lose such a chance to capture the Fairy, but I know she will be following us anyway. So I prepare to leave, when one of the small men tells me I can stay if I want. Certainly I do. I don't want to follow the old lunatic anymore, and, besides, I need to hunt down the Fairy. But the old man gets delirious again; he states that I have killed some Lotho. I open my mouth to tell the little men that these charges are just the ravings of a madman, when the old man turns his back to me, and there she is! The Fairy herself, with the lower part of her insect body buried between the old man's shoulder-blades, and the upper one teasing me and taunting. In a split second I am after her, knife in my hand, and I see fear in her huge ugly eyes as she tries to hide from me. But I grab her head and jerk it back, and cut her throat.

But what is it? She is not dead! She rises, rampant, and grows in her size until she is as big as a troll. I scream and run away, knowing already that it is in vain - for the Fairy overtakes me very quickly, and thrusts her razor-sharp fangs in my back. And then I fall face down.

I lie there, and feel my conscience emerging. And when it is almost gone, my eyes notice the yellow head of a small dandelion, growing right before my face. And then I realize that I myself was the man from the snakes' stories - and whisper the name.

***

I am in the middle of the Nowhere. I see a lean body in a tattered black cloak, lying face down, and I know it is my own. I turn it up and look into my own glassy eyes, seeing stilled madness reflecting at me. I know that, after being crucified on Star Axis by Saruman, my master, who failed to turn the time back, I survived somehow, but lost my mind. And Saruman lost the power of the Istari. Well, it is something. I realize that I killed him with my own hands, and three other people, too. Two of Saruman's goons and one hobbit. I oversee my whole life, and it doesn't look nice. I sold my soul to the White Wizard, but served Darkness. Most certainly I don't deserve forgiveness - and I know there is none for me. But I still look in the eyes of the Creator, and ask him for one thing.

And the Creator lowers his heavy eyelids in consent.

***

I see Eowyn again, and my spirit rejoices. Nothing matters at this moment, when we are together. Despite the fact that it is only a dream, a final meeting and parting. But, hidden in the shadows, invisible to her eyes, I see her face. She is changed; she is even more beautiful now, no matter how unbelievable it sounds. Her skin is marble white and smooth, just like I remember it. Her lips are maddening, as always. Her eyes are still pools of crystal green water, lit from inside. But I can see yearning nestled somewhere beneath those luxuriant eyelashes. And I know it is my fault.

My spirit follows Eowyn to her dream, and our path leads us to the Palace of Meduseld. We are alone in one of its chambers. I want to talk to Eowyn, but abhor the idea of her seeing what had become of the man she once loved. So I stand behind her in shadow, like I used to do so many times before.

And like before, Eowyn registers my presence instantly. She stirs and is about to turn, but I am compelled to warn her off.
"Please don't, my lady," I say.

She cries and whirls around, but I am swifter. She calls out for me, and her voice is anguished. I am already sorry for my selfish wish. What a thoughtless idiot I was, to bring the woman I love even more pain than I already have done!

"I am dead, my lady," I say, expecting her to shrink back from me in disgust, but she doesn't.

"Dead? I don't believe you. Come forth!" she cries, and though her voice brims with despair, it makes me laugh with joy, for my beloved still belongs to me.

"You are not dead. The dead cannot laugh like that!.. Oh, do you think I loved you for your beauty?" She challenges me again and again, and I cannot resist coming closer and touching her.

Her cheek is wet with tears, and a fresh pain stabs me. How can I be so cruel to her?

"You are already trembling, and I am cold now," I say and try to step away, but she catches my hand and kisses it feverishly, neglecting its coldness.

"Why have you abandoned me?" she asks.

What can I say, my Eowyn? Should I tell you what would have happened to you, to me, to both of us, if I hadn't?

"Do you think living in our dreams was a good idea for both of us?"

"N-no…" her voice stumbles, "but I missed you… Oh I missed you so much…"

I take her in my arms and hold her close. Feeling the silkiness of her lush hair with my cheek, I whisper:
"I missed you too, my Eowyn."

And we are silent. Maybe I should be asking her about her life - but what question can a dead man ask his beloved, when he is about to leave her forever? And maybe I should be telling her about myself - but what stories a madman and murderer, for I had been both, could tell? We have lived away our past, worn it out to rags; and for us, there is no future.

I just hold her and listen to her breathing, and serenity of the moment wraps us, like a warm satin blanket.

"Where shall you go now?" she murmurs.

"I don't know. I just know that it will be soon." I loathe myself now more than ever.

"…So this is all? This is how it ends for us? No time and no place for our love anymore? There's no chance?.."

I knew she would ask these questions. And I am telling her useless words about fate and fatality, at the same time not believing in them myself. Helplessness is the most awful feeling in the world, and this feeling will follow me to eternity, as will the tears she cried for us both.

"Eowyn… Close your eyes… And don't look up, please," I say, coming in front of her, as she does so. I cup her sweet face in my hands, and cover it with kisses. Her hands are around me, touching my wounds without fear. And her touches are far better than the salvation I know I will never receive. But this moment I also know - when…

The End.

Special thanks to (or, those guilty in awakening my perverted inspiration):
JRRT books
PJ's movies
Miranda Otto, Brad Dourif, Christopher Lee
Crimean-Tatars tales
Edgar Allan Poe's poetry and novels
"Harry Potter" books
"Sleepy Hollow" movie
Queen's "Who Wants to Live Forever"
Metallica's "Unforgiven"s
"Heroes of Might and Magic" computer game
Oriental studies
World of Brian Froud (www.worldoffroud.com)
RPG "Professor S. Snape's Seminar":

Illustration to the story (Photoshop manipulation):