The Snake and the Hawk
by Juliet Norrington
*ducks rotten tomatoes* Yeah, yeah, this is an Éowyn/Gríma fanfic... so sue me... *grumbles about no one understanding her obsession with minor characters* Anyway. 'Tis set in movie/bookverse right after Gandalf comes and shoos him away XD Éowyn's PoV, obviously. Heh heh heh...
-------------------------------------o.O;;
Once, long ago, I stood at a window, crying like the weak seven year old I was, when Gríma, then only a scribe, came upon me. He had asked why I was crying, and I went off into a long explanation of how mother and father liked Éomer better, and how they let him do anything he wanted but made me stay home and knit. He had smiled at me, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. Look at the stars, he had said, They are more beautiful than any building. Choose a star of your own, and it can be the place you go to whenever anything's troubling you. You can go there anytime you want, and no one will ever be able to find you. I liked the idea, so I smiled and looked out at the night sky. I pointed to a bright pretty one just to the right of the moon, and stubbornly named it Éowyn's Star. I then asked if he had a star, and he had nodded and pointed to a little one just to the right of the moon. I later found that my star was in the Hawk constellation, and his was in the Snake constellation.
Now, fifteen years later, I stood at my window and looked up at our two stars. One on the right of the moon, and one on the left. One visible by day, as I found my star was, and one visible only by night. Two completely different worlds, and yet so similar. He and I are like that, visibly. I am fair, with gold hair, blue-gray eyes, and skin that shows I spend most of my time outdoors. Some have called me the Star of the Court. He is dark, with stringy black hair, dark, purpley-black eyes, and all too pale skin. He has been dubbed Wormtongue. And yet he understands me, and it makes it all that harder to hate him as I desperately wish I could. I turned and automatically put on my robe, barely conscious of what I was doing; it had become such a habit.
I wandered down the beautifully decorated corridors and down to the window where I had found my star. I leaned against the side of the window and sighed. "Star," I said in a low voice, "Why am born in such a time that I am to be caged always, like a bird inside a gilded cage? To always sing songs of love and sweet victory for my father, brother, and uncle as they look in at me and smile. 'What a beautiful little bird,' they say, and then leave to go right the wars that should be rightfully mine. Why am I always left alone to cry, in my beautiful cage?" I asked.
"Because they don't understand you." Came a soft answer from somewhere in the shadows. I gasped, and turned sharply. There, in the shadows behind me, stood Gríma Wormtongue. I thought he had already ridden for Isengard.
"What are you still doing here, snake?" I asked, forcing harshness into my voice.
He shrugged, "I suppose you will not settle for a, 'I just couldn't sleep?'" he asked.
"You will be found." I turned back to the stars, "You should have made your presence known."
"Did I not just do that?" he asked, walking up to stand next to me. "And my answer is true, those of who you spoke do not understand you. They see you as that delicate bird that must be kept in a gilded cage, because otherwise you may be hurt by some dangerous animal."
"Perhaps there is some truth in that." I challenged, turning to face him.
He shook his head, "Nay, milady. You are a hunter, a hawk that can take care of herself and would die if caged and taken by force. I know this. The only way you could be taken is if you allow yourself to be." He said, his eyes conveying all that his lips did not say.
A tear rolled down my cheek, "You see much, Lord Gríma," I whispered.
He reached out and brushed my tear away, his hand slowly moved to caress my cheek and neck. I closed my eyes against the violent struggle in my body. My heart, yearning to be with this man who understood me so well, and my mind, screaming out that he was a traitor, and I would be too. In the end, as he slowly ran his fingers over my lips, my heart won out.
"What would happen, if the hawk gave herself to the snake?" I asked slowly, quietly. His dark eyes shone, and he kissed me. Softly, sweetly, just like his words. Slowly, stumbling, we made our way to my chambers. Collapsing on my bed, we pulled at each other's clothes with quiet, hurried movements, as though we were afraid that every second the other would pull away. In the dark, in the unclean and sneaking, lying, in the low, and in the brilliant deep blue sky of silver and white, I became free.
by Juliet Norrington
*ducks rotten tomatoes* Yeah, yeah, this is an Éowyn/Gríma fanfic... so sue me... *grumbles about no one understanding her obsession with minor characters* Anyway. 'Tis set in movie/bookverse right after Gandalf comes and shoos him away XD Éowyn's PoV, obviously. Heh heh heh...
-------------------------------------o.O;;
Once, long ago, I stood at a window, crying like the weak seven year old I was, when Gríma, then only a scribe, came upon me. He had asked why I was crying, and I went off into a long explanation of how mother and father liked Éomer better, and how they let him do anything he wanted but made me stay home and knit. He had smiled at me, and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. Look at the stars, he had said, They are more beautiful than any building. Choose a star of your own, and it can be the place you go to whenever anything's troubling you. You can go there anytime you want, and no one will ever be able to find you. I liked the idea, so I smiled and looked out at the night sky. I pointed to a bright pretty one just to the right of the moon, and stubbornly named it Éowyn's Star. I then asked if he had a star, and he had nodded and pointed to a little one just to the right of the moon. I later found that my star was in the Hawk constellation, and his was in the Snake constellation.
Now, fifteen years later, I stood at my window and looked up at our two stars. One on the right of the moon, and one on the left. One visible by day, as I found my star was, and one visible only by night. Two completely different worlds, and yet so similar. He and I are like that, visibly. I am fair, with gold hair, blue-gray eyes, and skin that shows I spend most of my time outdoors. Some have called me the Star of the Court. He is dark, with stringy black hair, dark, purpley-black eyes, and all too pale skin. He has been dubbed Wormtongue. And yet he understands me, and it makes it all that harder to hate him as I desperately wish I could. I turned and automatically put on my robe, barely conscious of what I was doing; it had become such a habit.
I wandered down the beautifully decorated corridors and down to the window where I had found my star. I leaned against the side of the window and sighed. "Star," I said in a low voice, "Why am born in such a time that I am to be caged always, like a bird inside a gilded cage? To always sing songs of love and sweet victory for my father, brother, and uncle as they look in at me and smile. 'What a beautiful little bird,' they say, and then leave to go right the wars that should be rightfully mine. Why am I always left alone to cry, in my beautiful cage?" I asked.
"Because they don't understand you." Came a soft answer from somewhere in the shadows. I gasped, and turned sharply. There, in the shadows behind me, stood Gríma Wormtongue. I thought he had already ridden for Isengard.
"What are you still doing here, snake?" I asked, forcing harshness into my voice.
He shrugged, "I suppose you will not settle for a, 'I just couldn't sleep?'" he asked.
"You will be found." I turned back to the stars, "You should have made your presence known."
"Did I not just do that?" he asked, walking up to stand next to me. "And my answer is true, those of who you spoke do not understand you. They see you as that delicate bird that must be kept in a gilded cage, because otherwise you may be hurt by some dangerous animal."
"Perhaps there is some truth in that." I challenged, turning to face him.
He shook his head, "Nay, milady. You are a hunter, a hawk that can take care of herself and would die if caged and taken by force. I know this. The only way you could be taken is if you allow yourself to be." He said, his eyes conveying all that his lips did not say.
A tear rolled down my cheek, "You see much, Lord Gríma," I whispered.
He reached out and brushed my tear away, his hand slowly moved to caress my cheek and neck. I closed my eyes against the violent struggle in my body. My heart, yearning to be with this man who understood me so well, and my mind, screaming out that he was a traitor, and I would be too. In the end, as he slowly ran his fingers over my lips, my heart won out.
"What would happen, if the hawk gave herself to the snake?" I asked slowly, quietly. His dark eyes shone, and he kissed me. Softly, sweetly, just like his words. Slowly, stumbling, we made our way to my chambers. Collapsing on my bed, we pulled at each other's clothes with quiet, hurried movements, as though we were afraid that every second the other would pull away. In the dark, in the unclean and sneaking, lying, in the low, and in the brilliant deep blue sky of silver and white, I became free.