After Isenguard - Grimá's story
Dates are in Shire Reckoning, beginning in the winter of 1419
Chapter One.
The escape took time, what with the drooling, sadistic orcs - one who haunted me and hurt me constantly it seemed - and Saruman's rages. Eventually, incredibly sore after another night's torment, I rode out of Isenguard. I did not dare look back.
Many days and nights were spent hiding in the forest, until I found an abandoned house to shelter. Finding what food I could. Burning what windfall I found.
The terror of those first nights was hard to re-visit. The War of the Ring took place in the winter, a bitter one that seeped into my bones adding to an already chilled heart. I would huddle over a meagre fire and cringe from the sounds of the forest, hide from the sounds of marching, for no side would want me. Eowyn's words of rejection gnawed at me; I had banished Eomer from the kingdom. Had he and his riders perished? Theoden-King had spoken of leechcraft; how would he receive his former advisor? Saruman's promises had me betray everything and everyone I had known.
Oh, but I was weak! Had I known of the truce between Gondor and Rohan - and the Elves, which surprised me, they being so superior to Menfolk and insular by nature - would I have followed Saruman's entreaties?
If I had resisted him, I could still have been at Theoden's side. Eomer would have joined against Mordor - I still remembered the pain on his face as my henchmen dragged him away - what had possessed me to do that? Through my own stupidity ( and here I had prided my self on being so intelligent, superior to the horse riding herd) I had lost everything.
I grew weaker and faint as the days passed, seeing ghostly pale faces at the cracked windows and visitors from my past. Once Theoden came, standing in bloodied armour, looking at me with such pity, I cowered at his feet before he faded before me.
Weeks passed and the sounds of battle that had carried through the forest had stopped. Once fine robes were now torn and sullied from the dirt and I used the black robe to drag food back to my home. It was on one of these expeditions that the Rohirrim Riders found me, coming upon me as I washed my hands and face in the Isen. A sword blade touched the back of my neck and a hand gripped me to raise me.
"King Eomer has business with you, I think,"
Eomer-King? But I barely had time to ponder this before being strapped to a horse and taken to Rohan; a few days ride. The guard seemed surprised at my appetite when I received small portions of bread from them. I was still weak when we arrived at Edoras - still as windy as I remember - the Golden Hall of a new King.
I was dragged up the stone stairway, reflecting that I had last travelled down a sight quicker. I was dropped before a pair of boots whose owner remarked that I would need to be cleaned up before being brought before the King.
A tub was filled in the servant's chamber and my remaining clothes were burnt as I sat in the water. Bruised coloured every limb and my torso was scarred from the orc's claws when... I shuddered.
"The water should be warm enough - get clean!" And a rag was thrown at me as the guard left the room.
I dried and dressed in simpler robes before being taken to see the King. A mere precursor to execution, I thought. The bath was a nice touch, though; I would die cleansed of my crime. My steps faltered and I shook.
We entered the great hall. More braziers burnt, shedding more light than Theoden had known in his stygian gloom. I saw Eomer's feet as they placed me before him. I dared not look up.
Eomer exhaled slowly. He stood a little time, less impatient than before.
"My men caught you some way from Isenguard. Why were you so far away from Saruman?"
My mouth trembled but I could not speak. Shades of grey clouded my vision and I seemed to strain to stand.
"Let us try another question; what am I to do with you?"
"Your uncle would have me hung." I manage to mumble.
"My uncle does not rule though. He died on Pelonnor Fields, slain by the forces of Mordor." I glance and see the fury in his eyes though his expression changes when he sees mine.
"Eowyn fought alongside him. She fought bravely, as good as any man. She is not here either Grimá. Do you wish to know why?"
I dread his answer and my head bows lower as he stands and walks about me.
"She is married to Faramir, second son of the Steward of Gondor." I glance at him at that and his face has a pleasant enquiring expression hiding his glee at my pain, no doubt.
"So, my question remains; what am I do with you Grimá?" The guards draw forward and his hand bades them stay. His throne doubles in my vision and I stagger. A firm hand grips my elbow.
"When did you last have something to eat?" he asks me, a mingled expression of revulsion and pity on his face.
"I cannot...cannot," and I am led to a chair and long table. Soup and a hunk of bread are placed before me and I manage to eat some, keeping my sight trained on the table.
Eomer.
They did not tell me he looked like this, a wasted frame and a face haunted by several scenes of hell. My words of my uncle and sister strike him to the core and it is this reaction which compels me to spare his life. Before Saruman's influence, he had been an able advisor, a trusted teacher who had sat indulgently smiling at Theodred's games, my antics, Eowyn's songs. Eowyn had read more than us and he had encouraged her; now the mere mention of her name makes his face pale and he can barely stand. My jealousy flares for a moment at his reaction; this is a hellish meeting.
I grab his arm; thin as a bird's wing it shakes in my palm.
"When did you last have something to eat?" I ask him and he can barely stand, yet alone answer. I lead him to the table and someone brings him soup and bread. His hands are still shaking and I have to pass him the spoon.
He is right; the law states execution for treason. Yet I had never known it used and I doubt my uncle did either. Would there be argument if I spared him his life? Would my conscience rest easy if it were carried out? Would I be doing the right thing by pardoning him?
And now that I see him again, even in this state, my ancient feelings stir and yet again I suppress them. Reason must guide my actions, not some unfulfilled crush on my old tutor and guide. I had forgiven the pain when he sent me away; he was bewitched, unknowing. Can I count on my people to forgive him his past now?
He still stares at the wood; very well. My fingers lift his head so that our eyes meet. There is a gash above the paler eye, it needs seeing to.
"You have your quarters next to mine," Reason, Eomer, reason... "so that I may know your whereabouts at all times. There is a Grand Council to convene between Rohan and Gondor, I wish to have a decent scribe who can note down all discussions and help with plans. Other duties will arise as I repair and restore Rohan."
I remove my hand and none is more surprised at my decision than the man before me.
"You were a good advisor before Saruman," I state loudly for everyone's benefit, "and you will be again."
I stand. "Enjoy your meal, counsellor." And I leave the room.
Dates are in Shire Reckoning, beginning in the winter of 1419
Chapter One.
The escape took time, what with the drooling, sadistic orcs - one who haunted me and hurt me constantly it seemed - and Saruman's rages. Eventually, incredibly sore after another night's torment, I rode out of Isenguard. I did not dare look back.
Many days and nights were spent hiding in the forest, until I found an abandoned house to shelter. Finding what food I could. Burning what windfall I found.
The terror of those first nights was hard to re-visit. The War of the Ring took place in the winter, a bitter one that seeped into my bones adding to an already chilled heart. I would huddle over a meagre fire and cringe from the sounds of the forest, hide from the sounds of marching, for no side would want me. Eowyn's words of rejection gnawed at me; I had banished Eomer from the kingdom. Had he and his riders perished? Theoden-King had spoken of leechcraft; how would he receive his former advisor? Saruman's promises had me betray everything and everyone I had known.
Oh, but I was weak! Had I known of the truce between Gondor and Rohan - and the Elves, which surprised me, they being so superior to Menfolk and insular by nature - would I have followed Saruman's entreaties?
If I had resisted him, I could still have been at Theoden's side. Eomer would have joined against Mordor - I still remembered the pain on his face as my henchmen dragged him away - what had possessed me to do that? Through my own stupidity ( and here I had prided my self on being so intelligent, superior to the horse riding herd) I had lost everything.
I grew weaker and faint as the days passed, seeing ghostly pale faces at the cracked windows and visitors from my past. Once Theoden came, standing in bloodied armour, looking at me with such pity, I cowered at his feet before he faded before me.
Weeks passed and the sounds of battle that had carried through the forest had stopped. Once fine robes were now torn and sullied from the dirt and I used the black robe to drag food back to my home. It was on one of these expeditions that the Rohirrim Riders found me, coming upon me as I washed my hands and face in the Isen. A sword blade touched the back of my neck and a hand gripped me to raise me.
"King Eomer has business with you, I think,"
Eomer-King? But I barely had time to ponder this before being strapped to a horse and taken to Rohan; a few days ride. The guard seemed surprised at my appetite when I received small portions of bread from them. I was still weak when we arrived at Edoras - still as windy as I remember - the Golden Hall of a new King.
I was dragged up the stone stairway, reflecting that I had last travelled down a sight quicker. I was dropped before a pair of boots whose owner remarked that I would need to be cleaned up before being brought before the King.
A tub was filled in the servant's chamber and my remaining clothes were burnt as I sat in the water. Bruised coloured every limb and my torso was scarred from the orc's claws when... I shuddered.
"The water should be warm enough - get clean!" And a rag was thrown at me as the guard left the room.
I dried and dressed in simpler robes before being taken to see the King. A mere precursor to execution, I thought. The bath was a nice touch, though; I would die cleansed of my crime. My steps faltered and I shook.
We entered the great hall. More braziers burnt, shedding more light than Theoden had known in his stygian gloom. I saw Eomer's feet as they placed me before him. I dared not look up.
Eomer exhaled slowly. He stood a little time, less impatient than before.
"My men caught you some way from Isenguard. Why were you so far away from Saruman?"
My mouth trembled but I could not speak. Shades of grey clouded my vision and I seemed to strain to stand.
"Let us try another question; what am I to do with you?"
"Your uncle would have me hung." I manage to mumble.
"My uncle does not rule though. He died on Pelonnor Fields, slain by the forces of Mordor." I glance and see the fury in his eyes though his expression changes when he sees mine.
"Eowyn fought alongside him. She fought bravely, as good as any man. She is not here either Grimá. Do you wish to know why?"
I dread his answer and my head bows lower as he stands and walks about me.
"She is married to Faramir, second son of the Steward of Gondor." I glance at him at that and his face has a pleasant enquiring expression hiding his glee at my pain, no doubt.
"So, my question remains; what am I do with you Grimá?" The guards draw forward and his hand bades them stay. His throne doubles in my vision and I stagger. A firm hand grips my elbow.
"When did you last have something to eat?" he asks me, a mingled expression of revulsion and pity on his face.
"I cannot...cannot," and I am led to a chair and long table. Soup and a hunk of bread are placed before me and I manage to eat some, keeping my sight trained on the table.
Eomer.
They did not tell me he looked like this, a wasted frame and a face haunted by several scenes of hell. My words of my uncle and sister strike him to the core and it is this reaction which compels me to spare his life. Before Saruman's influence, he had been an able advisor, a trusted teacher who had sat indulgently smiling at Theodred's games, my antics, Eowyn's songs. Eowyn had read more than us and he had encouraged her; now the mere mention of her name makes his face pale and he can barely stand. My jealousy flares for a moment at his reaction; this is a hellish meeting.
I grab his arm; thin as a bird's wing it shakes in my palm.
"When did you last have something to eat?" I ask him and he can barely stand, yet alone answer. I lead him to the table and someone brings him soup and bread. His hands are still shaking and I have to pass him the spoon.
He is right; the law states execution for treason. Yet I had never known it used and I doubt my uncle did either. Would there be argument if I spared him his life? Would my conscience rest easy if it were carried out? Would I be doing the right thing by pardoning him?
And now that I see him again, even in this state, my ancient feelings stir and yet again I suppress them. Reason must guide my actions, not some unfulfilled crush on my old tutor and guide. I had forgiven the pain when he sent me away; he was bewitched, unknowing. Can I count on my people to forgive him his past now?
He still stares at the wood; very well. My fingers lift his head so that our eyes meet. There is a gash above the paler eye, it needs seeing to.
"You have your quarters next to mine," Reason, Eomer, reason... "so that I may know your whereabouts at all times. There is a Grand Council to convene between Rohan and Gondor, I wish to have a decent scribe who can note down all discussions and help with plans. Other duties will arise as I repair and restore Rohan."
I remove my hand and none is more surprised at my decision than the man before me.
"You were a good advisor before Saruman," I state loudly for everyone's benefit, "and you will be again."
I stand. "Enjoy your meal, counsellor." And I leave the room.
