"Grima"
Part 1
by Beryll
The quiet of the cell was deafening. The thick iron door closing behind him had blocked out all the clamor and howling of the celebrating Uruk-Hai as suddenly as if a candle had been snuffed out.
In the light of the one torch burning and hissing on a wall the small cell appeared drenched in red fire, the dankness and grime adding to the image of a little piece of hell.
Iron shackles bound the wrists of the single occupant of the cell, connecting to a chain coming down from the ceiling, drawn so taunt that the young man had to stand on tiptoe. He was stripped of his weapons, signs of rank, armor and most of his clothing, only thin breeches remaining.
Dirt and blood streaked the muscular body and the tangled mane of blonde hair. Most of it black and orcish but some human red and his own. The cut running down his shoulder over his chest was not bone deep but it would fester and could quite possibly kill, if not tended to in the near future.
Still his eyes were clear of the haze of pain or fever, only hatred made them burn with such unholy light.
He stared at his visitor with unabashed rage, not noticing the tiny flinch, the recoil from so much hatred. All he saw was the despicable creature he blamed for everything that had gone wrong in the last couple of years. Everything that had led to the downfall and defeat of his people. The deaths of countless friends and comrades.
Gríma did not enter more then a single pace into the cell, stopping in the shadow of the doorframe, hiding from view as he had always done. His eyes drawn to Éomer, former third marshal of the Riddermark, sister son of the slain king of Rohan, now a prisoner in the quickly renamed "Lair of Bones" - as the Uruk-Hai fondly called the Hornburg.
How much he yearned to step out of the dark, to touch the beaten body of the man he had desired ever since he had come to Rohan. How much he wished to sooth the pain, to offer comfort for all the anguish he saw glimmering behind all that rage.
But he knew that the best he could expect was a kick in the face for his troubles. The fight was far from gone from the proud Rohirrim and though it meant he would never receive the one thing he wished for most, Gríma would make sure it would remain.
Reaping his reward after the victory of Saruman's forces had not been a difficult task. The wizard had been in a splendid mood, his razor sharp mind already turning away from Rohan and to Gondor, looking for new ways to please his master. He had only listened with half an ear to the pleas of his faithful snake, making him regent over Rohan with an offhandedness that showed clearly that this had been his intent from the start.
With sly amusement he had congratulated Gríma on the fact that he would now finally be able to wed and bed his adored Éowyn.
It still filled Gríma with slight disbelief that even wise Saruman had never guessed, that it was not the sister he dreamed about at night.
He would marry her as it would make his rule much easier having the White Lady of Rohan displayed at his side. But his heart and soul longed for the touch of this man, who had never shown him anything but contempt and scorn.
Truly I am a snake, Gríma thought grimly, crawling on my belly, begging for more punishment from this man, who hates me. Why do I hurt myself like this?
Still the fact remained that he had begged Saruman for Éomer when he learned that the leader of Rohan's forces had been captured alive. Saruman had been reluctant to give him up, as he had planned to give him to the leaders of the Uruk-Hai to sate their thirst for cruelty and to publicly kill him at their leisure.
Gríma had argued rightly that the beasts would enjoy this game much more if the wizard gave them a couple of the precious few elves that had been taken alive. Saruman wanted to keep them for further study, but Gríma had managed to sway him, explaining in minute detail, how much Éomer had tormented him in his time at court and how he desired revenge.
In the end the wizard had agreed that Gríma deserved some fun as well and had granted him ownership over the human, who in his eyes was no more than a pawn, a slave.
Looking at Éomer now Gríma realized again that he would never be able to see a slave in the warrior. The Rohirrim was everything Gríma had ever wished to be in the dark nights when his conscience stirred. There was no way it would ever happen. Too much blood had been on Gríma’s hands, even when he had first laid eyes on Éomer. But still he dreamt.
He must have been standing there for a long time already, staring at the prisoner, as Éomer shifted uncomfortably, flinching slightly from the pain in his shoulder but unwilling to show it.
"What do you want, Wormtongue?" he spat, putting all his contempt into the one word. "Gloating over me? Come a little closer and I will show you I am not defeated yet."
Gríma sighed softly in pleasure. Yes. He was not defeated at all his courage and anger still burned just as bright. He would not drown in darkness as long as he kept Éomer alive to light his existence.
He wrapped his cloak closer around him, shivering despite the stifling heat in the cell. From excitement as much as from fear. If Éomer ever broke free of his chains, Gríma would be a very dead snake.
"I came to tell you the news.," he said softly, his slightly nasal voice coming out as a hiss. "Your sister lives. I thought you would like to know that."
His words had not the effect he had hoped for. Éomer looked like he had been slapped, not like he was happy about the fact that his sister had escaped the death that ruled supreme in Helm's Deep these days.
For the first time his eyes turned away from Gríma, turning his head to the side, hiding inside the cocoon of his tangled hair for a moment. Gríma saw his body tense up and wondered why this news trouble the young man so much.
Realization dawned as Éomer looked back at him, his eyes cold now.
"I will kill you, snake." Éomer whispered, the hatred in his eyes having reached a new high. "I swear by my ancestors, if you lay a finger on her I will break free somehow and break every single bone in your worthless body before I kill you."
Despite his desire for the young man Gríma felt anger rise in himself. A rare thing indeed. It seemed that these days only Éomer could inspire any emotion in him, be it good or bad.
He drew up a little as he answered: "It would seem to me, that you, as well as your sister, are at my mercy. You would do better to beg than to threaten me."
He cursed himself for his foolish pride as Éomer roared in fury and yanked on his chains violently to get at him, lost his precarious footing and then screamed in pain, as his wound was ripped open as he hung on his wrists by his full weight.
Blood oozed down his chest and cold sweat ran down his brow, while he bit his lip to stifle another noise of pain, trying to get back on his feet.
Gríma watched in silence as Éomer managed to stand again, closing his eyes for a brief moment, probably fighting nausea.
"Your sister remains safe from the clawed paws of the Uruk-Hai." Gríma said, trying to put some measure of gentleness in his voice. It came out sounding like sarcastic glee. "She will not be harmed." Even that didn't sound sincere even though Gríma truly meant it.
Éomer just looked at him with quiet fury, unable to vent his rage and equally unable to let it go.
"I will find somebody to care for your wounds." Gríma announced and even that came out sounding like a threat. Silently Gríma cursed his voice that somehow never sounded like he wanted it to.
A slight shiver ran through Éomer’s body and Gríma could easily imagine what he was thinking. To have an Uruk-Hai tend his wounds was even less desirable then to die of them. Gríma made a mental note to find a human to see to the task.
He desired nothing more than to stay, to watch the warrior before him some more, to look his fill. But there was pressing business to attend to and staying would only aggravate Éomer more, if that were still possible.
So he turned and knocked on the heavy door, the orc guard outside opening swiftly, bowing to the wizard's favorite servant with fervor, hoping for some tiny reward.
"See that the prisoner is not disturbed by anybody unless I expressly order it." Gríma told the orc loud enough for Éomer to hear. At least he could maybe give him some sense of security like that. However small it might be.
---
The day had been long and arduous. Gríma’s throat felt sore from yelling at Uruk-Hai and his neck hurt from constantly glaring up at them. He was quickly developing a serious dislike to the dirty, violent creatures. He just couldn't see how Saruman could prefer them to the company of humans.
But then Saruman was a wizard teetering on the edge of madness, serving absolute evil. Of course their tastes would differ.
With a sigh Gríma rearranged his robes, renewing his promise to himself that once things had quieted down a little, he would get himself human guards. At least for the halls of Meduseld. The thought of having the filthy creatures ruining the place made him gag.
Maybe he could employ more Southrons. They were pretty reliable as long as you had some of them tortured regularly to show them misbehavior would not be tolerated. At least they didn't eat their fellows.
Shuffling his feet nervously he tried to ease the kinks out of his neck, postponing the inevitable. The wooden door in front of him was still there and he couldn't put off the visit to the person locked up behind it any longer. It would just make matters worse to keep her waiting till the next day. Being kept in the dark about her future fate would certainly not improve her mood.
At least he had made sure she was searched thoroughly. The last thing he needed now was a hidden dagger cutting open his belly. She would be furious. There had been nobody but some leering Southrons available to do the search. It was so difficult to get good personnel these days.
Mentally he added 'find a human maid for Éowyn' to his list of tasks for the next day. She was a lady after all and would soon be queen of Rohan. She needed suitable servants, who were intelligent enough to spy on her and not bright enough to try to betray Gríma. The pains he went through to serve his crazy master...
Rearranging his robes yet again he nodded to the Southron guarding the door. The smirk on the man's face was simply insolent. He was probably thinking it funny that Gríma had been standing in front of the door for almost five minutes, trying to gather his courage.
In his mind Gríma marked him as one of next week’s torture candidates. Then he turned his attention to the opening door, wondering if Éowyn would hide next to the door to whack him with a chair or another improvised weapon. He entered cautiously.
He was almost disappointed when he found Éowyn close to the window in a high backed chair, staring outside at the fire filled night. Gríma was still working on getting the concept of not putting things on fire for fun across to the Uruk-Hai. If they continued at this rate very soon nothing but scorched stones would remain of the Hornburg. Or whatever the Uruk-Hai wanted to call it.
He had decided that he would give the whole blasted thing to them as a lair and depart with his prisoners soon. He needed to get back to Edoras to put some kind of order into the affairs he had so carefully muddled as Théoden’s adviser.
And he needed to make sure every single Rohirrim warrior was hunted down and either forced to submit or killed. Rebellion had to be rooted out as quickly as possible. Saruman would take the main host of his Uruk-Hai to Gondor soon. Gríma would have to work quickly to use them as long as they remained in numbers.
At least Saruman had promised to make new and improved ones as soon as he had studied the elves and figured out how to incorporate them into his breeding program. Maybe that would make less stinking Uruk-Hai.
The door was closed behind Gríma and still Éowyn had not moved. Gríma had made sure to have her imprisoned in a room where she could not throw herself from the much too small window. But sudden fear stirred in him that she might have found another way of killing herself and that he was looking at a corpse.
"My lady?" he said questioningly, moving closer slowly.
She did not turn but her hands clenched in her lap, reassuring Gríma. Her dress was dirty and a little ripped, showing skin where it was not decent, some bloody scratches as well. Nothing major though. Apart from her pride she was unhurt.
"I apologize for the lack of comfort." Gríma tried to make a pleasant opening to the conversation but it came out sounding like pure malice.
This time Éowyn did turn to glare at him, her eyes reminding Gríma very much of those of her brother who had looked at him with equal hatred. In her anger she was a very beautiful woman.
She did not deign to speak though and Gríma nervously stroked the soft cloth of his cloak, trying to glance at her sideways to avoid her glare.
"We will return to Edoras soon." he tried to reassure her and this time even the hiss in his voice didn't manage to make it sound unpleasant.
With sudden dread Gríma realized, that he would not be able to take Éomer with him right away. He did not want Éowyn to know her brother was still alive, that would just lead to more bad blood. He would have to have Éomer brought to Edoras at a later date and lock him up in the dungeons without his sister knowing he was there.
Now he just had to hope that the Uruk-Hai he had to charge with guarding his precious Rohirrim would not take any liberties that would damage Éomer permanently.
He rubbed his brow tiredly wondering why he couldn't just be in love with Éowyn like everybody thought he was. That would make matters so much easier.
He returned his attention to Éowyn, who was still glaring at him. Better to make this as quick and painless as possible.
"My lady, as you have probably guessed I intend to wed you as soon as it can be arranged." Her face grew even stormier at this announcement but still she remained seated. Gríma wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. He just continued.
"The people of Rohan will be greatly reassured by the fact that their white lady is still alive. To see you rule by my side will help them settle into the new order of things."
Finally Éowyn spoke and her voice was dripping with acid contempt. "And what makes you think I will consent to this, snake?" Her eyes where glittering dangerously and Gríma didn't think it beyond her to attack him with her hands and teeth so he withdrew a few paces.
What madman could fall in love with such a violent woman, he wondered? One could just as well have loved a wild beast.
"My lady, you should reconsider your abundant hatred.," he said, his own voice dripping with unintended sarcasm. "You must realize that your gentle hand is all that will protect the human population of Rohan from their new neighbors, the Uruk-Hai. Don't you want to keep your people safe?"
She snorted in disgust. "I should have known you would resort to blackmail, Wormtongue. What do you expect of me? To be a loving wife to the man who has murdered all my kin?"
Gríma stared at her quietly, considering a hundred spiteful replies. Finally he just sighed deeply. "No, milady," he answered, "I expect you to act reasonable despite all the bad blood between us and act for the good of Rohan, disregarding your own feelings. Think on your options well."
He drew his robes closer around himself, chilled by her icy glare. "We will speak more of this once we are wed and you have had time to realize your situation."
He turned to leave but was stopped by her next words. "You will not escape my revenge, snake. It may take years but you will die from my very hands, paying in kind for all the blood on your hands. This I swear by my honor and that of my ancestors."
For a long moment Gríma stood frozen, the words seeping into his heart and settling there beside all the other oaths of the same kind he had heard in his life. Yet another icy thorn in his side.
No matter, as long as he had Éomer’s fury to keep him warm he would endure the cold hatred of the sister as well.
Without answering her threat he left, his mind already turning to other matters, gladly fleeing her presence.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Beryll
go to PART 2