Grima shuffled out onto the stage. "I've been entrusted to deliver a disclaimer. But, being sneaky and bent on undermining authority, I'm not going to!" he laughed.
ElvenPirate41 joined him in a tizzy. "Come on, Grima, you have to. If you don't I'll take away your 'Shieldmaidens Gone Wild' magazine."
Grima hurried to get the disclaimer done. "Right, so she doesn't own any of this stuff. Except Heruthain. She owns him, the little bastard."
"Don't worry; he's being punished for his wrongful deeds against you," EP41 said, rubbing her palms together rather evilly. "Go on."
"She owns some DVDs and some books, but not Middle-earth," Grima continued. "Or the Metallica lyrics on which this chapter is based. Or me."
"Of course I own you! You're my muse!" EP41 cackled, returning to Grima his Eowyn centerfold.

Right! So without further ado, Chapter 2, based on Metallica's "The Unforgiven."

-------------------------

II. The Unforgiven

New blood joins this earth
And quickly he's subdued
Through constant pain disgrace
The young boy learns their rules

I didn't ask to be born the way I was. Do you honestly believe that I enjoy my state of being? I know that I am nothing short of repulsive, and have always been. Unfortunately, children are the cruelest of creatures, and they knew it too. I suppose it was simply for my bodily weakness that they singled me out from the start. All the people of Rohan are strong, tall, and full of health and vitality – save myself. Perhaps they simply could not resist the chance to make unbearable the life of an outsider.

Whispers behind hands became purposely more audible as I grew older. I never made a very valiant attempt to befriend anyone, but then again, I hardly consider myself the brave or charismatic type. I was not bitter or hateful then, simply indifferent. I knew that I was not like the others, but I felt that I didn't need them. I imagine they only interpreted this as snobbery and therefore made it their mission to make me as miserable as possible.

With time the child draws in
This whipping boy done wrong
Deprived of all his thoughts
The young man struggles on and on

As I came to realize that I was completely unwanted everywhere but in my own home, I became quite withdrawn. On the rare occasion that I was healthy enough to go outside, I kept my head down and my eyes averted. Worm, they came to call me, because I crawled, because I avoided the light.

A boy would say as I hurried through the streets with books in tow, "D'you think he'll ever make it back home with all those?"

His friend would shake his head. "Ten to one he drops them all. What a bookworm."

"Naw, he's just a worm, plain and simple."

What? Do you not find the pun amusing? They certainly did.

How clever, how strong they thought themselves. If strength is tormenting someone weaker than oneself, if cleverness is being able to shatter someone's views of life, then I suppose they were right in their thinking.

After some time, teasing ceased to be a problem. I acquired the ability to ignore it and let the words run off me, but like the worst poison, they tainted all they touched nonetheless. It is true, what they say, and I have proven it time and time again here in Edoras: words hurt far more than any wound, and fester all the longer.

Physically, I was more or less left alone. Often I was sick, and no one wanted to come near me out of sheer disgust. Sometimes, though, the older boys would put aside all apprehensions and push me around, perhaps shove me so I fell and dropped whatever parchments and tomes I happened to be carrying.

One time I fought back.

I was around thirteen, if I remember correctly, and I had come to know what it meant when they began following me as I made my way back home. I had with me that day an inkwell, new and filled to its corked top. Ink was precious, and few in Edoras even needed it, save the kings' scribes and bookkeepers.

I was surrounded in the usual circle formation. I mustn't get angry, I told myself. It shows that I'm stronger. I recited the first few Tengwar in my head, like a mantra.

Tinco, parma, calma, quessë.

"What have you got there, Wormy?" their leader said. Oh, how I hated that boy. Heruthain was his name. He was sixteen at the time and all the girls simply adored him. I cursed every breath he drew.

"Nothing that would be of any use or interest to you," I said, unable to resist a small insult.

"Well, let's see. Let's have a look, shall we?" he said, extending his hand.

I tried to stuff the inkwell in my pocket. "You wouldn't want it." He grabbed my arm and plucked the inkwell from my hand.

"What's this for? Writing something epic, are we?" I snatched for it and grabbed only air.

"It's just ink, give it back!" I said.

Tinco, parma, calma, quessë.

"Why's it so important to you, Wormy?" Heruthain taunted. "You should be learning to ride a horse, not skulking and scribbling all the time."

"Yeah, my five-year-old sister can ride already, why can't you?" one of the others joined in.

"I can ride a bloody horse," I insisted angrily as I continued on my quest to retrieve my inkwell.

"Watch your tongue," Heruthain chastised. "Wouldn't want mummy to yell at you."

"Shut up," I growled.

Tinco, parma, calma, quessë.

"You know, Wormy, something's been preying on my mind," he said in mock contemplation, as if a single intelligent thought had ever graced his brain. "Why is it that you don't look like the rest of us? Your mother and father both look pretty normal, unless of course your father isn't really your father, which would make your mother—"

At that instant I lunged at him, delivering a punch to his eye that made him stagger back in shock. The inkwell fell to the ground and smashed.

Heruthain touched his eye and glared at me. I was prepared to fight him, fool that I was. He moved towards me, and I raised my arms to block him, but in an instant I was seeing stars and the whole world was spinning. I looked up from the ground to see him standing over me.

He kicked me sharply in the side, and I gasped in pain. "Don't ever touch me, you freak," he said, and he and his miscreants all stalked off.

He's known
A vow unto his own
That never from this day
His will they'll take away

I would not allow him to insult my sweet mother, my sole friend, and yet live. As I picked myself up and left the shards of glass in the dust, I swore to myself that someday I would make him regret that he had done. Never would I allow them to rule me.

Someday they would all in vain curse the name Gríma, and I would laugh.

What I've felt
What I've known
Never shined through in what I've shown
Never be
Never see
Won't see what might have been

What I've felt
What I've known
Never shined through in what I've shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub thee unforgiven

All of them, unforgiven. I remembered the name and face of each of my tormenters; I went out of my way to learn who they were.

I do not blame them entirely for my present state, and yet I wonder if I would have turned out differently had I only been left alone. I certainly never would have had the motivation to rise to the position of councilor. It was not about power, but revenge. A dish best served cold, I believe the saying goes.

They dedicate their lives
To running all of his
He tries to please them all
This bitter man he is

A few years after my mother died, I became a scribe for the king. I held one of the least necessary positions in all of Meduseld, but it gave me plenty of time to learn the ropes of the place, its comings and goings and its little secrets. It was a low job, and even then I suffered the insults of the guards and doorwardens. They fancied me a servant or errand- runner rather than one in service of the king of Rohan. Always beneath them.

I strove to change that.

It took all my willpower, because it meant weathering everything they gave me. It meant simpering and bowing and doing their bidding. But it was all worth it, because my loyalty caught the king's eye. Théoden advanced me to chief record-keeper, and I spent hours with him writing notes pertaining to supplies, weaponry, crop yields, and legal matters.

What good is a king who can barely do anything more than sign his own name? A king should be shrewd and clever, not a mere leader in battle. Do not mistake me – I have no desire to be king, nor have I ever desired it. It strikes me as a bit ridiculous, though, that the leader of an entire country is practically illiterate.

My skill was not unnoticed by Théoden; within a year he named me one of his councilors.

Throughout his life the same
He's battled constantly
This fight he cannot win
A tired man they see no longer cares
The old man then prepares
To die regretfully
That old man here is me

They thought they had me beaten. They thought I would never win. But, it was at that time Saruman first came to me and promised me all I could ever want – safety, the ability to exact my revenge, and most importantly, Éowyn. It was impossible to say no.

He helped me affect Théoden's mind so that I quickly became chief councilor. He was not indisposed in those days as he is now, but my words were silver to him. It was only a matter of time before I was getting my revenge on those who had made my childhood torture. Some of them were sent on hopeless Orc-hunts and never returned. Others simply had to answer to me, and that was enough.

As for Heruthain, I made sure that he suffered. I was able to convince Théoden that he was a traitor and a reputed coward and deserter in battle, and Théoden had him exiled. I have heard that he was waylaid and killed by Orcs somewhere in the Westfold.

I have grown old before my time. I am barely five and thirty, but I am as twisted and vile as the eldest of any mortal man. My existence is somewhat pitiful, yes, but I am no longer the defenseless worm I once was. The only thing sweeter than revenge is Éowyn, and for now the former is the more attainable.

What I've felt
What I've known
Never shined through in what I've shown
Never be
Never see
Won't see what might have been

What I've felt
What I've known
Never shined through in what I've shown
Never free
Never me
So I dub thee unforgiven

You labeled me
I'll label you
So I dub thee unforgiven

------------------------------

Want to review? I worked reaaaaally hard on this one!

Review Responses:

Lady Baelish-- Little Grima's really cute, isn't he? Lol. Thanks for another kind review, you rock! The first person POV is ever so fun to write. I write most of my stories in advance and then post, but that's just because I only recently learned how to upload my fics. However, Grima just keeps insisting on being written, and he won't shut up. So, you can probably expect lots of fun fics revolving around him in the future!