A/N: Thank you for the comments. They're encouraging!
It wasn't a safe place to halt, but Grima couldn't tear himself away from the splendor of Edoras. Maenor stood there for quite some time before Grima finally realized that he was in clear view of any scouts who might have been on the lookout. And in this troubled time he was sure there would be many.
He cooed something to the horse, and it resumed a steady pace, though this time they headed south of Edoras. There was a tiny village that he knew of, not much more than a few houses and a tavern, where he could stop and rest. Perhaps people would not recognize him.
It was true; Grima had changed, both physically and mentally. Since he'd been freed from Saruman's power, he had felt the change more clearly than if he'd have looked in any mirror. His mind was not crowded with thoughts of power and desire, choking him so that he couldn't breathe. Instead, he savored the things around him, just as he had done when he was a boy. Things didn't seem so dreary, his life wasn't filled with clouds of hate and envy. And as he rode toward the little village, Grima took note that he felt stronger than he had in many years; he wasn't the feeble man he had become working under Saruman. His breathing came easier, he could see more clearly, and he managed to stand upright when he walked; the pain in his back had almost disappeared completely. Grima could actually feel the blood pulsing through his veins.
Maenor trotted along. Needing to feel the wind rushing past him, Grima slapped the reigns, sending the horse bolting across the plains of Rohan. What a feeling! Exhilarating, almost forbidden to someone like him; someone who'd done so much wrong.
I will make it up, Grima promised, I will undo my wrongs.
The pair rushed past the road that led to the gates of Edoras, opting instead for a weather-beaten path that forked from it. They followed this path until nightfall, where they stopped for a rest and something to eat. Grima reached for one of two satchels. He grabbed the one that contained his food supply, some money, and some items of Saruman's that he could barter. The second was filled with some clothing that he'd stolen as a disguise. Many people would recognize his robes, so he had brought some roughly-hewn peasant wear. Perhaps he could pass as a Haradrim, come from the south seeking new trade. Perhaps...
He awoke to the nudge of Maenor. It wasn't yet day break, but Grima knew that he had to prepare for the last few miles of his journey. A bit of skill was required in order to not bring too much attention to himself. That would be the challenge.
Dressing in the peasant clothing, he also tied his long, inky hair at the nape of his neck with some leather. There was a stream not far from where he and his horse had rested, so he filled his pouch with water, and splashed some onto his face. A little pool collected near the edge of the stream. Curious, Grima crouched by the still water, and peered at his reflection. The man he saw before him was so different than the man he'd been for many years. In place of a tired, pallid face, was a face that was filled with new hope. There were no dark circles under his eyes. His eyes! Deep blue eyes, the both of them, ones that had given him trouble since his service to Saruman. Blind, had he been, because of that wizard. Seeing this reflection, Grima smiled, something he hadn't done for a long time.
It wasn't a safe place to halt, but Grima couldn't tear himself away from the splendor of Edoras. Maenor stood there for quite some time before Grima finally realized that he was in clear view of any scouts who might have been on the lookout. And in this troubled time he was sure there would be many.
He cooed something to the horse, and it resumed a steady pace, though this time they headed south of Edoras. There was a tiny village that he knew of, not much more than a few houses and a tavern, where he could stop and rest. Perhaps people would not recognize him.
It was true; Grima had changed, both physically and mentally. Since he'd been freed from Saruman's power, he had felt the change more clearly than if he'd have looked in any mirror. His mind was not crowded with thoughts of power and desire, choking him so that he couldn't breathe. Instead, he savored the things around him, just as he had done when he was a boy. Things didn't seem so dreary, his life wasn't filled with clouds of hate and envy. And as he rode toward the little village, Grima took note that he felt stronger than he had in many years; he wasn't the feeble man he had become working under Saruman. His breathing came easier, he could see more clearly, and he managed to stand upright when he walked; the pain in his back had almost disappeared completely. Grima could actually feel the blood pulsing through his veins.
Maenor trotted along. Needing to feel the wind rushing past him, Grima slapped the reigns, sending the horse bolting across the plains of Rohan. What a feeling! Exhilarating, almost forbidden to someone like him; someone who'd done so much wrong.
I will make it up, Grima promised, I will undo my wrongs.
The pair rushed past the road that led to the gates of Edoras, opting instead for a weather-beaten path that forked from it. They followed this path until nightfall, where they stopped for a rest and something to eat. Grima reached for one of two satchels. He grabbed the one that contained his food supply, some money, and some items of Saruman's that he could barter. The second was filled with some clothing that he'd stolen as a disguise. Many people would recognize his robes, so he had brought some roughly-hewn peasant wear. Perhaps he could pass as a Haradrim, come from the south seeking new trade. Perhaps...
He awoke to the nudge of Maenor. It wasn't yet day break, but Grima knew that he had to prepare for the last few miles of his journey. A bit of skill was required in order to not bring too much attention to himself. That would be the challenge.
Dressing in the peasant clothing, he also tied his long, inky hair at the nape of his neck with some leather. There was a stream not far from where he and his horse had rested, so he filled his pouch with water, and splashed some onto his face. A little pool collected near the edge of the stream. Curious, Grima crouched by the still water, and peered at his reflection. The man he saw before him was so different than the man he'd been for many years. In place of a tired, pallid face, was a face that was filled with new hope. There were no dark circles under his eyes. His eyes! Deep blue eyes, the both of them, ones that had given him trouble since his service to Saruman. Blind, had he been, because of that wizard. Seeing this reflection, Grima smiled, something he hadn't done for a long time.