When he reached Theoden's chamber, Eomer was already there.
"Uncle, all our intelligence suggests that there is another orc party massing just inside the borders of Mordor. Do you recall when they came so close to Edoras itself that your own valet was caught on their long knives?"
His voice was low and intense, and Grima heard with some degree of pleasure the twisting frustration that punctuated every word. He inserted himself by Theoden's side, and laid a flat gaze across Eomer's face.
"Not to doubt the intelligence of your Rohirrim, Lord, but how can you be sure that they intend to attack Edoras itself, when you and I both know that they can stand no chance of ever breaching the walls?"
Eomer's jaw clenched, and he set angry eyes on an unflinching Grima.
"I was discussing a matter of state with the King, Wormtongue. I do not recall requesting your opinion."
Theoden stirred, gesturing vaguely at his tall nephew.
"Grima is knowledgeable about these things. Listen to his advice, Rider."
Eomer's left eye twitched as his uncle's unfocussed gaze skipped over his face and sought Grima's.
"Furthermore," Grima continued, "Mobilising a full defence of the city in the middle of winter will take up labour and resources that we can ill afford at present. Don't you agree, Theoden King?"
The aged and frail looking husk seated by the glowing brazier, formerly a powerful King of an influential nation, nodded, and closed rheumy eyes in an apparent doze.
***
Hama, Rade, Einal the ice cutter and a small group of spearbearers set out for Bakra's Cauldron the following day. From the terrace, Grima watched them depart, long legged ponies spraying great gouts of snow behind them as they left the city. If it were indeed the unfortunate Leah, frozen like a hibernating trout beneath the ice, it would have been almost worth the day's riding to see Rade's response. The men had no plans to excavate the corpse from the Cauldron unless it could be conclusively proven to be Leah. Spring's thaws would achieve that for them. No, their motivations for going were mixed, Grima suspected, and entirely personal. He shivered and withdrew further into his layers of clothing. He would stay with Theoden today, and perhaps gain a few moments with Eowyn. With one final glance across the frozen Mark at the rapidly retreating figures of the riders, he turned and entered the gloom of the Hall.
***
Ice. When he was a lad, Hama had spent a winter with an ice cutting team. It was then that he had gotten one of his most imposing scars, a rough edged gash running from the tip of his left thumb to half way up his forearm, curving gently with the shape of the muscles under the skin. He rubbed at his arm now, remembering the sensation of the ice axe sliding through his flesh, cold from the ice, the singular way that blood ran steaming across a frozen surface. Ice had a strange effect on bare flesh, painful but deadening. Deadening. He hoped she had been dead when the ice covered her flesh. Einal was using a fine pick with a startling delicacy to remove the ice, chip by chip, from the hand just below the surface. He had begun by boiling some snow in a kettle over a small fire and pouring it over the ice in the spot that he wanted to thin, before almost immediately brushing all the liquid aside with a small bristled brush to stop any refreeze. He repeated this several times until the ice had seemed to change colour, to darken, and the hand became more visible. Then he had slowly knelt, and begun to chisel and pick the ice away from the slender fingers. Rade had set the spearmen a short distance away, where they stood, vigilant, spears tipped outwards. Hama stood with Rade to one side of the Cauldron, beneath the skeletal trees, by the small fire. Neither man watched Einal as he worked. Hama bent and added a handful of dried herbs to the kettle, which was once again boiling.
"Cutters Tea, Rade. It warms the blood, and lends courage."
Rade looked askance at him and accepted a cup of the steaming tea. "Courage, Hama?"
The other man looked away, toward Einal's hunched figure.
"I requested that the cutter expose the hand for a reason," Hama said finally. Rade looked away and remained silent, waiting for the Doorwarden to continue.
"It is the left hand. A maid's left hand. Leah… had a scar across her palm, a long, deep scar. If there is a scar on this hand…"
"Perhaps this is another maiden, Hama. I do not believe it is Leah at all."
Hama looked at him. "And a small part of me hopes that it is," he said softly.
Rade nodded silently. On the ice, Einal rose and approached them.
"I need another kettle of water Sire, to finish. I've come as close as I dared, but, well, I don't wish to … damage the flesh." He dropped his gaze.
Hama lifted the kettle and took his first step onto the ice.
***
Grima spent the morning with Theoden. The old man spent much of his winter by his brazier in his rooms. Eowyn visited often, imploring him to leave his den, to put on his outer garments and walk through his city.
"Your people love you, My Lord, but they begin to believe that you –"
"He is King, Lady," Grima interrupted, " but also a man whose aging bones do not love the cold." He shrugged his own hands into his sleeves to illustrate his point. "Our people need a King who is well and fit, and able to lead -- not one who cannot walk over ice, or who coughs with constant pneumonia. Why do you wish your uncle so much ill will?"
"It is not my uncle for whom my wishes are ill," she replied, turning her cutting gaze on him. He did not flinch away. In his chair, the old man snored softly and a curl of smoke rose from the brazier. Eowyn sniffed suddenly, scenting the air like a hare might sniff for danger. She turned to the glowing brazier.
"What herbs do you burn in my uncle's rooms?"
Grima regarded her for a moment. "Why, the bundle your handmaid left for him yestereve, Lady," he replied smoothly. " Coltstail, bloodleaf and, I believe, a little scented mearthim as well."
"It is not the scent of mearthim in this room. There is something else…"
Grima shrugged eloquently. "I burn only what herbs I was given, Lady. Perhaps there was a fourth that I did not notice or recognise. I am not skilled in such matters." He shugged again, and creased his lips upward into the semblance of a smile.
She sniffed once more, then turned and left the room. Grima sniffed the air, and then produced a small shred of mearthim from his robe and dropped it on the coals. The sweet scent quickly covered the bitterness of the herbs that had been burning there before.
***
Across the Mark, the Doorwarden of the Meduseld wept reluctant tears that seemed to freeze on his face. The naked, discoloured hand protruding from the ice, fingers still curled, blurred into nothing as the ice cutter's hand descended to the larger man's shoulder.
"That's it then?" Einal asked. Hama nodded. A white line cut across the blotched skin on the palm from the base of the first finger to the opposite corner of the hand, above the wrist, ending half an inch above the surface of the ice.
"That's it." Hama's voice was rough. "What am I going to tell her mother?"
Above him, Einal turned to Rade and nodded. Rade looked away, and told his spearmen to prepare to return to Edoras.