Grima's mind was finally blank. There was only the feel of soft skin upon his; the radiance of hair, both black and auburn, blinding him. His sinewy muscles were like liquid, and for once, he was at ease. Fara whispered to him, and he immediately opened his eyes.

"My Lord," she murmured, her voice like velvet, "are you enjoying our company?"

He managed a reply through his coarse lips, "Oh-yes. . ."

Elise placed her hand upon his face, turning him to face her. She brought her lips to his, and he groaned into her. Fara backed away slowly, her damp nightgown dragging along the stones. Grima didn't notice, for Elise deepened the kiss, working her tongue into his. She ran a hand across his chest, then pulled back. He opened his eyes, disbelief rushed into him as she reached into her nightgown. She retrieved a long, jagged shard of glass. Springing upon him with a snarl, she held him at bay.

Eowyn came upon the city of Edoras late in the night. She stormed into the throne room, called desperately for her brother. She found him, and his face was tearstained.

"Eowyn? Can it be you?" He asked her. She went to him, and they embraced. After a long explanation, Eomer gathered some of his men. Eowyn would show them the way, and they would free the girls. "Did he harm you, sister?" Eomer's eyes were filled with pain.

Eowyn thought a moment, "No. But he is a twisted man with a twisted soul. He didn't realize he was doing wrong." Eomer nodded. They rode on together, gently, through the night.

"What?" Grima stuttered. He splashed out of the tub, throwing his robes on. Elise sneered at him, held the weapon out in front of her defensively. Not wanting to risk a cut, Grima stayed away. He heard a clatter of wooden doors, the stomp of boots. He knew it was over.

Eomer threw open the door to the baths. Grima huddled to the floor, Elise standing over him. She dropped the glass to the stone and ran to Eowyn. Fara and Alia crowded around, and they left the room, not wanting to see what would become of the pale Grima.

He panted, eyed the glass. Eomer kicked him in the face, swelling his eyes shut. He bound his wrists, dragged him by the hair out the door. Blindfolding him, Eomer tied him to his black steed, and sent the traitor on his way. . .

The horse knew the way better than any animal. He traveled to Isengard in one night, the battered Grima upon his back. Saruman smiled eerily to himself, his yellow teeth visible. He untied the worm, and lifted him off the horse.

"I see," he said, "you just can't handle the life of a nobleman." Grima frowned. From his swollen, purple eyes, tears fell like rain. He had lost, again. He would never have Eowyn now; he had failed.

Slinking down the halls of Isengard, he had almost healed. There were still bruises on his face, colored his skin. He was cold, so cold, like death had brushed him. It had brushed him. Holding the light before him, he stepped cautiously through a corridor. There, in the moonlight that seeped in through the window, a young, fair- haired girl stood. She gazed out the window, admiring the moon's soft glow. He stepped back, and she turned, startled. Deep blue eyes looked at him questioningly. She was strong and fair, very lovely. Grima felt his heart grow warmer. Maybe Isengard wasn't such a bad place, and maybe he hadn't failed after all. . .