"Grima"
Part 3
by Beryll
The mental shriek of his master echoed through his mind, ringing in his ears, making his eyes water with the pain Gríma was not able to block out. He clutched his head, fighting to regain control of his senses that had suddenly been drawn into the whirling madness that was his master's mind these days. Whatever had just happened, it had hurt the wizard badly, pushing a white-hot spear of pain into his consciousness.
"What is it, snake?" An icy voice broke through the red haze glimmering before his eyes, jerking him back to the present. "Does your conscience pain you?"
Gríma blinked at lady Éowyn through tears of pain, for once grateful for her cold spite. Nothing better to ground a man than this stony gaze.
She was sitting opposite of him at the small table next to the fireplace in his room, a mug of steaming tea in her elegant hand, looking at him with the curiosity awarded an especially ugly insect.
Spread on the table before them were the remains of their breakfast.
What had started as a necessity to assure the servants that they did actually sleep together had turned into a useful habit. Their breakfasts were the time when they could discuss their appointments of the day and the future of Rohan.
No matter how much they may hate each other’s guts, they now both knew they had to work together to put the shattered pieces of Rohan together again. And Éowyn had grudgingly admitted that this truly was Gríma’s purpose, no matter what her personal thoughts on him may be.
Gríma had been more than surprised when she had kept quiet about their 'wedding night'. She had neither complained about him nor told anybody that her husband had not touched her. Gríma still suspected that she was just waiting for the right opportunity to reveal it, but he was grateful for the time he had been granted.
He was sore from sleeping in the armchair but it was better than getting important parts bitten off by a lady as poisonous as any viper.
And he did feel respect for her, for she was working as hard as he was and at least on a professional basis they were getting along remarkably well, her keen mind and in depth knowledge of the people they were dealing with invaluable. He had wondered more than once why Théoden had never made use of her intelligence and strong hand in his governing. But then again - he had been an old fool. How else could Gríma have corrupted him that easily?
"Well?" Éowyn interrupted his thoughts and Gríma could have sworn there was a tiny bit of worry in her voice.
Gríma rubbed his watering eyes. "Just... nothing... I'll be fine." he tried to explain, fumbling for his own mug of tea to get the taste of bile and acrid smoke out of his mouth that had come with the touch of Saruman's mind. Something had gone wrong. Really, majorly wrong. He was sure of it.
He was surprised yet again when Éowyn leaned forward to put the mug into his searching hand. Slowly he raised the mug in his trembling hands, drinking the hot spicy liquid and swirling it in his mouth to cleanse away the taste of decay.
When his vision had cleared enough to look at his 'wife' she had leaned back in her armchair, her mug resting in her hands in her lap, gazing at him, her eyes full of questions she knew he wouldn't answer. The hatred had receded, giving way to her intense intellect seeking to satisfy her curiosity. Still she didn't ask and that almost compelled Gríma to tell her what he had felt from the wizard.
But in the end he kept his quiet, silently vowing to find out more before he burdened her with what might mean more trouble for all of Rohan or might mean trouble only for himself.
--
Two days later a winged messenger arrived from Orthanc. Gríma wondered what had taken it so long. He had pretty much expected to receive notice the same day. Either Saruman had been hit harder than Gríma had guessed or he had been so preoccupied that he simply had not bothered to send the information on to his groveling minion.
Gríma eyed the large black bird with the same distrust that he saw shining in the red eyes of the creature. It was a thing of evil. Gríma had watched how the wizard made them from ordinary birds and the vile concoctions he brewed in his cauldrons.
He was careful when he took the small message vessel from the bird's leg and was not disappointed when it hacked at his fingers, missing them by a hair's breadth.
His fingers were trembling when he opened the carriage, still glaring at the monstrous bird that was still sitting on his window sill, trained to fly again only when it had received Grima's reply.
The message was written in the tense, clipped script of the wizard. But were Gríma was used to structure here the words tumbled over each other.
He read the message twice, then slowly sat down in the chair at his desk, trying to comprehend the enormity of what had transpired in Mordor and Gondor. What Saruman had believed entirely impossible had come to pass.
Leaning his head back against the chair, Gríma closed his eyes with a deep sigh. To his own surprise the only thing he felt was immense relief. It was over.
The war was over and against all odds good had triumphed over the darkness of Mordor. While Saruman had hedged his little plans for world dominion, the real story had slipped by him, thwarting all his plans in an effort that still was not entirely clear to the wizard. At least it seemed so to Gríma from his jumbled words.
Essentially the message was an order for Gríma to send all Uruk-Hai remaining in Edoras to Isengard and to prepare his Southron forces for battle.
Gondor was coming to Rohan, to honor old alliances, to free their neighbors from the rule of evil as well.
And they were bringing all their wondrous heroes that had fought and prevailed against Mordor. The new steward of Gondor, Boromir, his younger brother Faramir, who was said to have faced a Nazgûl all on his own, the wizard Gandalf, whom Saruman had thought defeated by the darkness of Mordor. And the king. Gondor bathed in the shining light of King Elessar and his elven allies and there was no doubt whatsoever in Grima's mind that they would brush aside all forces Saruman might be able to muster.
Very soon his own rule over Rohan would be over and he could not help but feel grateful. An end to the hatred and fear. An end to the suffering he himself had caused just as much as Saruman had. And last but certainly not least, an end to his servitude to Saruman.
Gríma did not intend to wait till war came to Rohan. He would be well away, when defeat came calling in Isengard. He was a professional traitor after all. How could Saruman expect him to stay?
There were just a couple of things he wanted to take care of before he left, before he slipped into darkness and anonymity again, a few loose ends to tie.
He crumpled the message in his hand, then held it to the flame of the candle on his desk. Next he wrote a short note for his master on a slip of paper, then tied it to the bird’s leg and sent it off again. 'Uruk-Hai on their way.' was all it said.
--
It was the same evening that he went down to the dungeons one last time. He had sent the Uruk-Hai to Isengard, just as his master had demanded. Apart from that he had not taken any preparations for defense. He did not want to make the retaking of Edoras more difficult than absolutely necessary. He knew there were rumors flying already, but nothing definite enough to cause real worry among the Southrons. That would change once he had disappeared.
The cell lay as quiet as ever, the two guards slipping away when Gríma walked in.
He had stayed away for almost two weeks after the night of the wedding. Then his longing had drawn him back.
Éomer had not spoken again. Sometimes he did not acknowledge Gríma was there, simply remaining in his corner unmoving. Sometimes he would look at Gríma through the soiled curtain of his golden hair, his eyes glittering in the fire of the torch.
More than once Gríma had wished he were able to explain, but his tongue had always been heavy as if made of lead. How was he to tell this man what was in his heart?
But tonight his will was firm. Before he left for good he would for once speak the truth. His hands were trembling at the thought and they clenched in his cloak involuntarily, as he stepped closer to the bars. His heart was fluttering like a wounded bird. Still he bit his lip hard till he felt the coppery taste of blood, gathering all the courage a snake may have.
Éomer must have sensed there was some difference in him tonight, for he raised his head higher than he normally did, his eyes reflecting fire.
"I... I have come to tell you the news..." Gríma began before his last bits of self-control could flee him. His voice was shaking, showing his emotional turmoil clearly. Strange that now that he wished it to be smooth and deceiving, it reflected his heart more truly than it had ever before.
"I have come to tell you that your time of imprisonment will soon be over. Gondor has defeated Mordor. Troops are on their way to Rohan to free it. It is a matter of weeks, maybe even days, till they will be here. They will defeat Saruman. The wizard Mithrandir is with them."
He did not give the man in the cell time to truly comprehend what he had just said but just continued with haste. "You have asked me, why you have been kept alive and I have come to answer your question before I flee Rohan and betray Saruman just as I have betrayed Théoden."
He swallowed, drawing up as straight as he could, trying to not hide in the dark or his cloak like every fiber of his being called to do. "I have kept you alive because it was never your sister I desired. My eyes have ever been on you and I was willing to pay any price to see you alive and well. As well as possible."
Shrinking in on himself again, he drew his robes closer, tears prickling in his eyes for he knew full well that his feelings would never be returned.
"If I could not have your love, I was willing to settle for your burning hatred instead. Anything at all as long as I could see you live."
He turned away from the cell. "Now I will lose even that for I am not willing anymore to watch you suffer. You will be freed soon. And never will I lay eyes on you again. I would beg forgiveness for all the harm done to you and your kin but there can be none, so I will slither away like the snake I am. Farewell, Éomer."
Then he hurried outside, not willing to listen to any reply Éomer might have.
---
The next morning was quiet and peaceful. No howling Uruk-Hai outside of Edoras to wake them in the earliest hours of morning for the first time since they had come back here.
So it was not very surprising that Gríma slept longer than he had intended to. He was awakened by his loving wife who prodded him with her delicate little foot.
"Wake up, snake, the sun is up already, breakfast is waiting and so is work. And I will not deal with it on my own."
Gríma opened his eyes with a groan. He had wandered the dark corridors of Meduseld for many hours, contemplating his unfortunate fate, before he had finally retired to his quarters close to morning. He felt like he had been dragged behind a horse and the prospect that this had been the last night under a roof that he would enjoy for a long time did nothing to cheer him.
He blinked up at Éowyn, who was standing next to the armchair, frowning down at him.
"You look terrible.," she said without pity. "But then, you always do, so I shouldn't worry."
She sat down opposite him and poured both of them tea. Somebody had brought in their breakfast and not even that had managed to wake him. He was growing lax in his watchfulness. He would have to improve once he was on the road again.
Gríma watched as Éowyn ate some bread and cold meat. He felt his own stomach grumble but it was more a lingering sickness than hunger. When he made no move to touch the food, Éowyn handed him a piece of bread and cut some cheese, putting it on his plate.
"Eat." she ordered. "You will not starve yourself to death and leave me with this mess. Where did the monsters go?"
Nibbling on the bread Gríma eyed her distrustfully. Did she suspect anything? It did not matter anyway. He intended to tell her. After breakfast. He rubbed his brow. Maybe better now. The sooner he got this over with the sooner he would be away from this place that had brought him nothing but heartache and grief.
"They have gone back to Isengard.," he answered.
"Preparing for war?" Éowyn asked, probably thinking of the attack on Gondor, that Saruman had been planning in minute detail.
"No," Gríma said, his voice reflecting all the malice he felt at the fact that his master faced defeat, "preparing to die. Gondor has won the war against Mordor, the dark tower lies in ruins. And very soon the new king will come knocking on Orthanc's door. Saruman wants to be prepared for that. He does not stand a chance of course."
Éowyn just stared at him, a piece of bread hanging in her hand before her open mouth forgotten.
"What?" she finally managed to utter, her eyes round and unbelieving.
"You think I am joking? Why should I? Very soon you will be free of my wretched presence." Gríma tiredly rubbed his brow. "In fact I plan to leave after I have forced down this piece of bread. Rohan will be yours, dear lady. Your traitorous husband sneaks away to save his miserable life."
"But... but don't you want to serve your master? Don't you want to help Saruman?" she asked, putting down the bread, her hands slightly trembling.
"What has the evil wizard of Isengard ever done to deserve my loyalty?" Gríma asked back, huddling deeper into his robes. "And how can you expect any loyalty from one like me? No, he can fend for himself and lose all on his own. I want nothing to do with his looming doom though I certainly deserve it as much as he does."
A strange emotion was glittering in Éowyn’s eyes that he could not quite identify. She just stared at him quietly.
Gríma sighed, putting down his own bread. "I think I am not hungry, milady. There is one more thing I need to tell you before I depart and you will only see my head again on a Rohirrim spear, should they manage to catch me."
He drew a deep breath and did not look at her when he continued. "Your brother lives. He is imprisoned in the dungeons beneath the hall. In one of the cells furthest back. There are two Southrons guarding him, but I am sure they will be no match to your fury. You should free him and leave as quickly as possible to join the approaching forces of Gondor. I am sure they will bid you welcome."
He reached under his robes and took out the key he had been wearing ever since Éomer had been locked up. "This key will open the cell as well as the chains on your brother." He put the chain with the key on the table between their two plates.
Then he finally looked up at her, recoiling from the tears he saw swimming in her eyes. Tears and an emotion that was so alien to him he just refused to recognize it.
"Take good care of your brother.," he said at last. "For he is the only thing close to my heart. The one thing that might have changed me."
He stood up abruptly. "If you will excuse me now, I have to run away. I wish you the best of luck."
He did not get away quickly enough this time.
"Gríma, wait." Éowyn spoke behind him, her voice choked with tears.
Gríma shook his head without turning, taking another step.
"Gríma, please. I..."
"Don't, milady. Whatever pleasant thing you want to say now will quickly flee your tongue once you remember all the hurt I have caused you. The only boon I ask is that you give me a head start."
Then he was at the door and left before she could say more.
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