"Of Loyalty and Valor"
Rated: PG-13 (Violence and Suggestive Themes)
Summary: After the final confrontation with Saruman, Grima does not die.
Instead, he seeks redemption the only way he knows how; by fighting in the
Battle of Pelennor Fields.
Author's Notes: This fanfic is extremely AU. I felt that Grima deserved
another chance. His story just wasn't finished...
Sunlight. It had been so long since he'd seen the sun. Orthanc had been a cruel, desolate place; so full of despair and horrid memories. The stones had been stained black by the treachery of all who resided within the tower.
The road from Isengard was a welcome relief. Since his arrival at the tower he'd wanted nothing more than to escape. He remembered a time when Orthanc was surrounded by the great Fangorn Forest, its gleaming white pillar stretching into the sky. But the forests slowly gave way to Saruman's "fires of industry." It burned, and with each felled tree, the tower became darker, until nothing remained but charred rocks and malice.
Grima straightened. He'd been riding Maenor, his black steed, for many miles. All of his joints ached from the long journey; yet there was still so far to go. It had been quite a departure for him. He'd had to slip past the guards; two orcs, nasty creatures. It was important for him to make a stealthy escape; he had left much ruin in his wake. But those thoughts were not welcome in his head. Grima wanted only to think of the bright sunlight that cascaded down upon him, the beauty of the rolling plains and moss-covered boulders; the country he'd grown up in. It was also a country in which he was not welcome.
Though the day was cool, the rider was warm under his night-black clothing. He was layered in worn velvets, his long black cloak billowed behind him. Pale hands gripped the reigns of the steed. Grima wasn't a skilled horseman, despite being raised in Rohan. The majestic animal slowed to a trot as it crested a hill. Not far in the distance was Edoras, the Golden Hall perched at the very top, overlooking all the land. He inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet air of his homeland.
Homeland? He scoffed to himself. I have betrayed this place. I have forsaken my people. The horse seemed to sense his unrest, and halted at the top of the hill. As Grima looked on, the Great Bell at the center of the proud city gave three booming tolls. A second war had come to the people of Edoras, and Grima knew that this one would far surpass the battle at Helm's Deep; the battle he'd had a hand in...causing the tidal wave that would aid the downfall of all of mankind.
Sunlight. It had been so long since he'd seen the sun. Orthanc had been a cruel, desolate place; so full of despair and horrid memories. The stones had been stained black by the treachery of all who resided within the tower.
The road from Isengard was a welcome relief. Since his arrival at the tower he'd wanted nothing more than to escape. He remembered a time when Orthanc was surrounded by the great Fangorn Forest, its gleaming white pillar stretching into the sky. But the forests slowly gave way to Saruman's "fires of industry." It burned, and with each felled tree, the tower became darker, until nothing remained but charred rocks and malice.
Grima straightened. He'd been riding Maenor, his black steed, for many miles. All of his joints ached from the long journey; yet there was still so far to go. It had been quite a departure for him. He'd had to slip past the guards; two orcs, nasty creatures. It was important for him to make a stealthy escape; he had left much ruin in his wake. But those thoughts were not welcome in his head. Grima wanted only to think of the bright sunlight that cascaded down upon him, the beauty of the rolling plains and moss-covered boulders; the country he'd grown up in. It was also a country in which he was not welcome.
Though the day was cool, the rider was warm under his night-black clothing. He was layered in worn velvets, his long black cloak billowed behind him. Pale hands gripped the reigns of the steed. Grima wasn't a skilled horseman, despite being raised in Rohan. The majestic animal slowed to a trot as it crested a hill. Not far in the distance was Edoras, the Golden Hall perched at the very top, overlooking all the land. He inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet air of his homeland.
Homeland? He scoffed to himself. I have betrayed this place. I have forsaken my people. The horse seemed to sense his unrest, and halted at the top of the hill. As Grima looked on, the Great Bell at the center of the proud city gave three booming tolls. A second war had come to the people of Edoras, and Grima knew that this one would far surpass the battle at Helm's Deep; the battle he'd had a hand in...causing the tidal wave that would aid the downfall of all of mankind.