Chapter XII

I didn't like him from the start. He smelled of wet horses (a very unpleasant smell) and rotten meat. His face was ashen and sickly, like it had never seen sunlight, and when he looked at me, I felt like I was naked. His hair could be called greasy at best, and it stuck to his head; he was clothed in black fur, which made him look like one of those girls in Edoras who were obsessed with death, or "Morbids" as Éowyn and the general populace call them. He claimed to be trained by Saruman the Wizard, which apparently would make him an excellent advisor, like having Saruman himself here to advise the king. I didn't trust wizards and thankfully I had managed to avoid that grey wizard that had come to Edoras occasionally before.

As I stood next to Éowyn off to the side, he stood before Théoden talking. The way he spoke was another thing I added to my list of things I hated about this man. It was like his hair, greasy and raspy at the same time, if that is possible. And the words he said were awful. I did not think he would ever get through the things like "Oh, what a fine palace you have here," and the "Oh what swift horses graze on your plains," and my personal favorite: "the sun smiles graciously down upon your beautiful kingdom."

I didn't like the look on Théoden's face either. He seemed very flattered with all the compliments and praises that this man showered down onto him. But the look on his face looked like he thought that this man actually meant most of the adulations, that Éowyn and I could most certainly see were false.

And then his name. To crown off this negative attributes was the name Gríma Wormtongue. The name Wormtongue made me suspect him of something sinister all along.

His mouth moved poison once more, and Théoden nodded in thanks, smiling. He made me sick to my stomach.

"How did you find that man from Isengard? Gríma Wormtongue, I think his name was."

"With all due respect toward himself, rather disgusting," I replied to Éowyn.

Éowyn laughed, "You need not bother with those little affections about men when they are not present. We are women, and they care little for what we have to say anyway."

So I had noticed.

"But even so: he reeked of wet horses," but I added quickly, "And though horses are wonderful creatures, I do not care for the smell of them wet."

"Perhaps the smell of a wet dog?"

"Yes. Possibly that is a better description."

"I do not care for him much either, Ardeas. I find him a bit too vile for my tastes. Did you notice how he did not look at my face when we were introduced, but rather at my chest?"

"That is positively lewd!"

"I should say so. And remember how he kept beating Uncle with compliments about himself, myself, Meduseld, Edoras, and Rohan in general?"

"I did find the one about the sun smiling down amusing."

Éowyn smiled as the evening light in the library crossed her face. "Yes, though it was a bit unnerving."

"Quite."

We started at that voice. It was Mortelia, looking very smugly at us.

"Well, well, well! What have here? Two women criticizing the ambassador of the White Wizard?"

I drew myself, and replied as haughtily as I dared without giggling, "We were merely discussing our opinions on this esteemed gentleman of Isengard." I raised my nose a bit higher for good measure and saw Éowyn out of the corner of my try to stifle a smile.

"Merely," Mortelia said smiling contemptuously. "A rather intelligent word coming from a whore's bastard."

I wanted to rip her throat out, but the constant verbal abuse had left me used to it, and it didn't hurt quite as badly as it had in the previous years of my stay here.

"You are not so bad yourself. And at least I do not find it necessary to flaunt every piece of luggage I have got so that I look more like a prostitute rather than a lady of noble birth. But it is a wonder that you do hold any appeal in the masculine gender considering how you do throw yourself at the nearest man with a rank equal to or higher than yours. My mother may have been in your terms, a whore, but that was only with one man. You, on the other hand, have many famous interludes. I think the correct term for yourself, based upon your classification of my mother, would be a dirty demimondaine. A wretched harlot who's sold herself so many times that she has enough money saved to buy a Mearas. You, Mortelia, are a glorified slut!"

I took a deep breath as my little speech and/or tirade ended. She was giving me the look as if she had just been trampled by wild horses or what have you. Éowyn's mouth was in a wide "o" of horror, as if she expected Mortelia to spontaneously combust.

Mortelia's eyes narrowed. Her next words would be poison, and one way or another, I would dearly pay for what I had said. And the best thing about that was that I did not give a damn one way or another. She could throw a fit and dance around in a livid rage, and I would not care. She wielded no power over me, no threat that she hung in front of my eyes while she made taunting remarks. I hated her to the point where she no longer could take away my time.

"Ladies! Ladies!" Éowyn interjected, stepping in between us. "There are better places and better times for such trivial disagreements, and might I remind both of you that the King would Not Be Pleased should he hear of this sort of name calling."

Now that was a threat to be heeded, though I knew Éowyn would never talk. Already I had been unfortunate enough to come under Théoden'sdisappointment glare which was nothing short of deathly, and still not his worst glare.

Mortelia sent me her Glare of Death, which was not in the least as fatal as Théoden's and rather amusing at the same time, and stalked off to find her little friends.

Éowyn glanced at me, and before we even knew it, we were both laughing.

The news came as a shock, naturally. Nobody had expected this. Wormtongue, or my more affectionate term for him, "Wormy," was now Théoden's chief advisor, as well as chief of staff, which meant that he wielded control over me. I hoped I would remain unnoticed and invisible in his sight.

There was no special ceremony at all. Théoden just gathered everyone into the hall, and announced it with Wormy before him, looking too smug to be naturally happy, but no one dared inform the King of that little revelation. We just stood there like idiots when he announced it, smiling politely and all of us wishing he would have chosen someone else (me), wishing that he would just get on with it and dismiss us (the staff), or wishing that he would just keep talking because it provided something for us to do (Mortelia and her friends).

The announcement lasted for a good fifteen minutes. Théoden gave a little speech about what a fine man Wormy was (if you really could describe him as a virile man), even though he really did not have to give any reasons for his choice at all (he was the King, of course). And everyone smiled and people cheered, but I could tell who really was excited with Wormy's promotion from Nothing to Chief Counsellor/Advisor/What-Have-You, and who wasn't.

Krane's face was neutral: I could not tell what he was thinking. Mortelia was positively simpering at Gríma, giving him some very suggestive winks which I am sure followed Mortelia usual path of Flirt, to the Bed, to the Fake Promises of Love, to Many Gifts, to Power. Mortelia really was a conniving little slut, always trying to sleep with Théodred, though he had some sense to stay away from her, I noticed. Éowyn and I smiled happily, though our smiles had never been sincere. And throughout all this, Gríma's smug face was beaming like the sun. Did I mention that he looked like he was sweating, only intensifying the stickiness of his black locks of hair?

Théoden finally dismissed the court and the staff, and began to order runners to spread the news all over Rohan. Bloody terrific.

I prayed that Théoden would forget all about me so I would not have to meet this man face to face, but though my luck held out through most of the afternoon, and faded like the cloud passing over the moon an hour before dinner.

I was confronted by the pair while in the library with Krane going over my written Westron. Just like in those sappy romantic books that Éowyn was always lending me, I was copying when two shadows came over from behind me. I turned to see, not a fabulously muscled/handsome/titled/wealthy man (as would occur in the novels), but rather the King himself and Wormy in tow. I stood and inclined my head respectfully toward them, as etiquette required.

"My dear, I wish that you would meet my new Chief Advisor, Lord Gríma Wormtongue." Théoden smiled expectantly at me afterr his statement. He knows that he doesn't need my approval. Why does he want it?

Ah, so he got the title of 'Lord' too with this sudden promotion.

"It is an honor and a pleasure to meet such an esteemed Lord face to face," I said, even though I was keeping my eyes lowered respectfully. Flattery will get you everywhere, and hopefully my flattery would make him forget me and ignore me.

"It is my privilege to meet such a beautiful young lady as yourself, Lady Ardeas." I thought it so funny when people argued over whose pleasure the meeting was. I glanced quickly up at him. Nope. He was not looking at my face, but rather almost leering at my chest. He probably thinks he is such a wooer of the ladies, whereas you need charm and looks to be a ladies man, and even then, only Mortelia's bunch are easily swayed by those guiles.

"Thank you, my Lord."

"I hope I shall see you again soon, Lady. Perhaps not under such formal circumstances where we are bound by the rules of decorum."

Well that was a pretty forward statement, but it was cleverly disguised, I noticed. 'Not under such formal circumstances' my rump.

I plastered a smile on my face, "Perhaps."

Krane, I noticed, had been studiously avoiding the pair over by the windows, behind a new bookshelf that had been installed two months ago. Dirty stinker. I really should have called him out from behind the shelf.

The King smiled and led Wormy off to introduce to another group of people, possibly the simpering Mortelia and her group. What a whore.

He stepped out from behind the bookshelf, a faint smile on his face. "You should return to your copying."

I grinned, "You should scold them. They interrupted me."

He shook his head, keeping back light laughter. I knew now that he did not care much for Théoden's decision over Wormy. That thought made me feel a bit better, at least, better than before.

Dinner was torture chamber.

If I ever have to sit next to that pig headed flirt who is so disgusting you can hardly breathe without smelling something awful, I think I will run away to Gondor.

Wormy sat between Éowyn and I that night, rather than taking Éomer's spot next to the King. He reeked, and I mustered every single ounce of my willpower not to pull another vomit-at-dinner night. My only safety was Éomer who squeezed my hand comfortingly under the table once in a while when I looked particularly ready to give Wormy a talking to. Éomer and Théodred pretended to ignore the fact that Gríma spent half of all his words at that table as flirts (the other half were praises to the King and the proposing of toasts to the King, who, sadly, was totally oblivious to any wrongdoing on the part of Gríma). I could almost see Éomer and Théodred bristle with not a little rage at the first foward comment Gríma made, which was unfortunately toward Éowyn. Éowyn responded to the very forward compliment and said, "Do you think so?" and said something inane about her mother not agreeing.

Food made me sick with all the flirting, and Théoden pointedly asked several times if I did not feel well. One time, Gríma answered for me, as if I wasn't there. Of all the cheek! He earned himself a Death Glare of mine, even if Éomer kept squeezing my hand to keep me from saying anything bold.

And by golly, when he was not talking and/or flirting, which was rare, he just happened to keep bumping into me and Éowyn. I ended up spending most of the evening sitting precariously close to Éomer, giving Wormy a wide berth and forcing him to look more conspicuous when he tried to oh-so-accidentally bump into us. What an old fart. Men should never try to be flirty if they have pasty skin, no eyebrows, and smell like old urine and wet horses. Blech. I hope that Wormy becomes too full of himself and consequently refuses to join us lowly commoners to dinner.

I have known very few people who have no positive attributes, but this man, if you can call him that, has certainly joined my list of people with whom I would rather be dead than be associated. Wormy grinned suggestively at me as I prepared to rush back to the safe haven that was my room. I wanted to kill him.

I can safely say that Wormy's coming was a great success, for him at least. The only ones who liked him and were not trying to use him were usually too ignorant to really count in the grand scheme of things, though they did sadly have the advantage in numbers. The king was really the exception: he had a formal education, yet he was still fallible to the obvious lies of Wormy. It does not make a great deal of sense, but that is the way it is.

I spent a great deal of time beneath my blue velvet coverlet in my room staring at the ceiling as the firelight flashed across it like an intricate dance. I closed my eyes and slept.

Author's Note:

Because I could not find anything on Gríma Wormtongue's origins, I have chosen not to say (for fear of finding it somewhere later in an obscure piece of information), and merely surmised from the books that he was trained by Saruman, who was still then respected and heeded.

I've tentatively decided on a completion date, and by God I will finish this story by then. (I plan on adding the final chapter on the first anniversary of the first chapter). I'm really sorry writing has been so slow, but school has been bogging me down, but once examinations are done, I will write like crazy. I have a good idea on the ending of the story and how it is going, though still no official outline. And definitely after finishing this fanfiction, I will be revising it for the rest of July, if I can, and I hope to have my new multi-chaptered fanfiction out by then (I refuse to post it before this one is finished). Between now and then, I will occasionally write short vignettes, like I have. I am also writing a historical fiction which I may post at my fictionpress account, but probably not for a while. Please, check out my things, as I am very depressed/annoyed that no one has reviewed any of my stuff at all. I almost wish someone would flame me. Almost.

In closing, REVIEW, goshdarnit.