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Chapter Two: Visions

Wormtongue was roused by a kick to his already sore ribs, and he jerked awake to see his Master towering over him. He squinted up at him dully, unaware of how long he might have slept, but a chill had crept into his bones that he felt would be long in going.

          "We are to leave before the sun rises," he said. "Wake yourself, Worm; your weakness will only serve to hinder us both. Ready yourself, and be quick!"

          He tossed a crust of bread upon the floor near Grima, who merely stared at it as though it might strike him, and turned his face from it up to his master.

          "Leave Isengard?" he asked in wonder. "How would they let us go so freely?"

          "They are fools," said Saruman. "Their pity is unfounded and foolish, but it is to our advantage, little Worm. We will set forth and be rid of them by day's light. Prepare to leave."

          He turned and left quickly, and Wormtongue could see he was in a black mood, and thus said no more about the bread which was sodden and dirty. Instead he struggled to his feet and crept after the wizard, his footsteps silent and his pale eyes always roving. They settled at last upon his master, and though Saruman's face was not turned to him Wormtongue could sense the despair and defeat that he radiated, though the wizard was hiding it to the best of his supreme abilities. It was this gift of insight long ago acquired by Grima, and was on occasion a curse, for upon noticing this he could not longer wander behind Saruman blithely, with hope of conquest and reward still in his breast. No, he reasoned, it would no longer come to that. The White Hand was defeated, yet still the more dangerous for it, namely for those who served him, for surely the blame will settle upon them as blame is wont to do. It is they that would incur that wrath, and poor Grima included. How fortunate the minion, he thought, to fall on the battlefields well away from his master's hand!

          Presently he came to himself again and obeyed Saruman's barked commands to follow, and during this long dark time he thought not once of hope.

          He would come to deeply regret leaving the bread.

Saruman had not spoken idly; before the first of the sun's rays had pierced the morning mists he and his servant were long from Isengard. The chill of the night caused them to wrap their cloaks about them tightly, and Saruman would kick Grima for pleasure from time to time, smiling inwardly at seeing the creature cringe away at his very glance. Doglike Wormtongue followed him, always at his heels, and whimpering softly to himself, clutching his ribs, for he could not reach the wound Saruman had given him with the broken staff.

          "Stop now," said Saruman at the end of that first day. "Your rest will not be long, Worm, so make the best of it."

          Grima collapsed onto the hard earth as though his joints had been clipped, and lay in the dirt with his pale eyes misted, muttering dark things to himself. Saruman wondered briefly if he was going mad, but did not concern himself, for ever was he in control of the cringing creature. Perhaps it would be amusing at any rate, to watch him writhe in the throes of delicious madness, as it is always a balm for those who witness insanity and are assured thereafter to be themselves free of it.

          Take comfort, Saruman, he thought, for no madness would try to invade you with easier prey at your heels. Let him suffer!

          And so he kicked Wormtongue into rising after just moments of rest, and set off with him again into the hills, and as he walked he smiled to himself.

          Night came suddenly, as though it stalked the travelers, and as it pounced Grima looked to the sky with fear.

          "Perhaps it would be wise to camp, my Lord," he whispered.

          Saruman turned, and his eyes were dark. "That might be the wish of a lazy, impudent servant," he hissed, "but I say we press on and gather more distance between us and the fools who might be on our trail. I would hope that you would not be so bold as to suggest this is less than wise, Worm."

          "No, Lord," groveled Grima from the ground, "I merely suggested it, but you are far wiser than I. I do not question, Lord."

          "No," said Saruman slowly, and then he kicked Grima hard. "Rise, then; crawl not like a dog, Worm, for it steals time! I shall not wait for you to grovel your way across these hills; I will kill you first."

          "Mercy, Saruman!" cried Grima. "I will follow!"

          "Then follow!" said Saruman, and turning went faster than before. Grima stumbled after him, keeping his eyes to the ground in an effort to forget the expanse before him that must be traveled. His thoughts drifted strangely until he could hardly feel the pain of his journey; it felt as though it were a wholly other being, apart and far away, and he was distantly aware of it.

          During this time he thought of many things, and remembered much that he had forgotten since he fell under the command of Saruman.

          You were once a man of Rohan, said a voice inside him. Remember the pride instilled in your heart at the thundering of your horses' hooves, and the calling of your people returned home from battle. Remember the fair girl of your youth, lost now in the shadow of death and with no marker of remembrance. Forget not poor Tellath… You have betrayed her, Grima. You have betrayed them all, and have no power to show for it, only pain and weakness. You deserve no more or less.

          Wormtongue nearly cried aloud as a vision of a small girl with long, pale hair swept across his fevered vision; she lay the same as he had seen her so long ago, on a heap of earth sodden with her own blood. An orc sword had quenched its bloodthirst in her belly. And not far from where she lay, his mother, Shellana, spilled similarly upon the ground.

          "Tellath…sister…" he moaned softly to himself, and clutched at his temples, teeth bared in agony.

          You have betrayed her, Grima…

          "No, Father," he gasped, and it was then that Saruman turned and looked at him with a strange light in his eye, and Grima came to himself.

          "Of what do you speak?" inquired Saruman, and his voice was not so harsh as before, but curious.

          "Nothing, Lord," whispered Grima, his pale eyes misted with tears that he tried desperately to hide.

          "Nothing?" A dark brow lifted.

          "Merely a passing vision, my Lord… I am very weary. Very weary."

          Saruman watched him for a while longer; Grima fell to his knees on the ground and groveled before his master, and the wizard began to fell his own tiredness aching.

          "Very well," he said, "we shall rest here for the night. Before dawn's first light we shall set out again, and go west."

          "Yes Lord," said Grima, and sat down upon the ground with his head in his hands. Beside him Saruman lay down and drifted to sleep, confident that he would find no dagger in his back come morning.

          Exhausted as he was Wormtongue could not sleep, for his terrible visions had upset him so that he could do little more but sit upon the ground and fret. He saw himself plunging his dagger into Saruman who lay asleep near him, but even as he thought of it a terrible fear gripped him, and he jerked his hand from the handle of his weapon as though it burned him.

          He remained in this state for hours, though how many he knew not, and just as he thought sleep might claim him a rustle in the nearby bushes startled him into alertness. Beside him he sensed that Saruman too stirred, and in the dim he could see him rise slightly. Yet before either of them could move they each felt a lance point in their backs, and therein came a dark voice which hissed:

          "Move, intruders, and your blood will paint the rocks."