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This story could be considered a fill-in piece of prose for my on-going novella of the same nature, "A Morning of Pale Spring" (available on both Fanfiction.net and Braddourif.net). Dedication: This vignette is dedicated to all those who – for whatever reason - adore the character of Grima Wormtongue (both in the books and the film/s) and to my fellow Grima Girlies (in particular Vereena, DJ Caligula, Dwells in Shadow, Sus and Cobalt_Goddess) without whom this story would not be possible ^_^ Summary: Temptation… desire… obsession - for him there can be no greater passion, no greater aspiration, than to be afforded that of the reciprocal affection of his beloved, to be able to quench himself on that final aphrodisiac… Rating: PG-13 for mild sensuality contained herein…
Resolute even in the diminishing half light of day, the White Lady of Rohan brooks no refusal... And I would not have her refused... Soundlessly she drifts by, passing each black-clad doorway in her turn, almost like an elegant, unearthly spectre from years long past; the billowing white linen of her nightdress falling in shallow ivory pools about her slender ankles, even as her soft, corn-coloured curls cascade like some magnificent, willowy waterfall across the graceful curve of her shoulders, the lily white flesh at the base of her collarbone. Enshrouded within the shadows, I too prowl silently within the darkened halls; a shameless, unabashed voyeur, half-feral in my longing, I gaze with ill-concealed ardour at my fair princess... tormented though she is by her tortured dreams... her dark yearnings... How often have I seen her thus? Hopelessly driven into the deepest depths of despair by an unknown, fiery abandon; possessed, those familiar stormy eyes are dimmed dark with thinly veiled desire, her regal posture taunt with a leashed tension - an inherent power - that emanates out from her lithe, feminine form an inarticulate plea... and such lips, so lush and red - maddeningly tempting -, forming an unspoken invitation, a soul destroying request... The walls are whispering Eowyn can you not hear them? They speak of the shadow and the dark and the flame; of the fire - the passion - which burns so indignantly within your breast, consumes your very soul with all the workings of a floodtide... Isolated and alone, trapped within the prison of yourself, you wish only to close your mind against such whispers, to purge you memory of the black imaginings which plague your nightly hours, intrude upon your enforced solitude and command slavish obedience to an ethereal master... Oh yes, she is indeed wise... but I am far the wiser... I know what it is that haunts you my Eowyn... I know the true cause of your dreamless wanderings, your fitful sleeps and anguished cries when night falls in a thick, black pall over Edoras... deaf to all save one. She hides it well does she not? Concealing such habitual wants and desires beneath a cool veneer of relentless, flowing propriety, an impregnable sense of duty. Indeed it seems that she has an exceptional talent for - how shall we put it? - twisting the realistic perception of the outside world so that even her dear brother is shielded from the glaring truth of her reality; blinding him to circumstances that have rapidly spiralled out of all control... I see now that in her I have created far too good an actress; I fear that I have unwittingly made her almost as wicked as myself... Wordlessly I fall into perfect, silent step beside her, cloaked within the inky blackness; an invisible shade, I mimic her footsteps in a cruel harmony of my own; my arms ache to hold her, even as my heated gaze devours her every movement - tracing myriad patterns along the contours of her skin with deep, unfathomable eyes... If she would but see me - truly see me - with her heart instead of those eyes, for once abandon all reason, all sense of logic, and come to me willingly if only for a single instant... then perhaps I would dare to bridge this gaping chasm between us... An ice maiden, unconscious of her splendour even in this, her most unguarded of moments, my proud warrior suffers for an unattainable absolution... As ever she is completely and utterly unaware of my presence, staring sightlessly into the distance - a woman child entranced, - her delicate features a mask of cold passivity. Misery... despair... apathy such qualities ill become her yet render her a magnificent, frozen beauty, cold and captivating like mid-winter's biting chill. But it was not always so... When my beautiful lady had been but a girl, on the very brink of womanhood, she had been radiant and warm and as dazzling as the sun. No darkness had touched her life then; neither horror nor fear had encroached upon her guileless innocence, she had simply been free; free to roam the vast, rolling green plains of her homeland, free to explore the hills, the rivers and streams; she had been free to be able to choose her own destiny... before the shadow came and the abject despair that seeped unbidden into the mists of her heart, staining her soul with a poison bittersweet, forcing her to succumb to her melancholy as an untrained bird slowly comes to accept an airless, broken captivity within a cage. And how she loathes her cage, the bejewelled prison that has claimed her fierce liberty and shackled her within glided, golden chains, restrained her soaring spirit and sent her hurtling back down to earth a fallen angel... She is surrounded by mindless, babbling idiots none of whom realise the true beauty of her soul, the extent of her passions; inane dolts, they fail to see their lady's withering spirit, her boundless misery, content to have her wallow in what will become her tomb, lest they drag her from her stupor and free her from her bonds... No man, nor woman for that matter, can ever hope to understand her soul as I do; I know what pains her, what her darkest fears are... I understand like no other creature the cruelty she has suffered at the hands of fate. The tragedy that touches my beloved touches me in its turn... She pauses mid-step, an emotion kindled with the dark green depths of her emerald eyes the likes of which I have never - in all my long years at court - even glimpsed to such an extent; there is a naked yearning reflected within those iridescent irises, an inexplicable desire, that is mirrored within my own eyes of chipped ice... but there also, lies a hint of tredemption, of fear... Poor child, she is as afraid of her own actions - her own demons - as she is of the blackness that envelops her like a storm; I cannot help but offer her my pity such as it is and grieve with her, whether she is desirous of it or no. What must it be like, I wonder, to be imprisoned within the loveliest of all bodies, the envy of so many, and yet be permitted to feel nothing? To sacrifice spirit and lust for life in order to gain some small shred of duty, rank or title? Beauteous as she is, she is forbidden to such experience emotions that every other human creature on this earth takes for granted; by rights, by all that is just and equal, she should feel no more emotion towards me than any other of her sex, should not have a thought in her pretty head but the next sumptuous new gown, the next suitor whose hand she wishes to seek... but all is not just and equal, all is unfair, harsh and riddled with inequality and my dear, sweet princess is as vulnerable to it's deceptions as I am as susceptible to it's charms. She turns her head slightly in my direction, towards my shadowy form and for one moment I am left speechless; has she heard me in my stupor? Has she guessed that which all others could not? That I love and adore her with every fibre of my being; that I would pass even the greatest barriers of time and space in order to feel but the touch of her hand upon my cheek, to hear her joyous laughter echo throughout the Meduseld once more... In exchange for but one kind word from her, I would offer up the whole world, my very soul; I would gladly suffer the weight of a thousand miseries upon my chest if I thought that she would reward me with the sweetest of all human contact, one kiss to take comfort in during the dark times and shelter in within my sorrow. One kiss to heal the wounds inflicted within us both... Was this what my master meant when he spoke of danger? This loss of control...? He promised I could have her, her and no other, until the ending of my time upon this earth; at the very precipice of the world I had stood and willingly placed myself beyond the pale... I wanted her in every sense of the word - body, heart and soul, and the White Wizard of Isengard was all too eager to grant my heartfelt request... for a price... In return for my betrayal of all that was familiar to me he would give her to me without any sort coercion involved; she would remain an untamed spirit, an unspoiled flower, whose love for me would flourish beneath the warm regard I held for her, but only if I sought to bring ruin to Rohan, it's people and it's aged King. Then, if I could do so without complication, Eowyn would be mine - my wife - and I at last be granted my long denied happiness... Treachery is an ugly word at best, even more so when it is ultimately the deception of all that I have ever known... but I cannot shoulder regrets, I have made my choice and I will not go back on it; she is all that I have ever wanted and if I cannot have her then I will gladly die without knowing the love of a good woman... I can feel her breath, warm and laboured, against the skin of my cheek. and the blood rushes to my head... so close... so unbearably close... Oh Eowyn, you afford me with such exquisite torture yet I am forever barred from the soft comfort of your flesh; you are a child of light and sunshine, with skin like the Simbelmyne amidst the morning dew... whereas I am but a creature of darkness and despair, with skin as pale and bloodless as an ermine's belly, far too repulsive to behold... She is oblivious to me; outside of this darkness nothing seems to exist but her, she is quite unaware of the effect this dizzying sensation has upon me... and I know now that I must do everything - anything - within my power to make her aware of it... Reaching out with a painful swiftness, a fluidity that leaves me breathless, my tapered fingers, trembling with an unashamed delight, curl inexorably about her thin wrist, glide effortlessly across the linen of her nightdress to mark an invisible fretwork along the length of her arm... In stark terror she whirls around to face the darkness, gasping short, sharp breaths, her horrified gaze flitting madly from left to right, erratic and frightened like some wild beast concerned without any possible means of escape; trapped within a hunter's snare... "You..." The dawning realisation within her voice is as cold and as unyielding as a stone wall, but she neither cries out nor draws back from me, and my fingers linger wistfully upon her supple skin. Even in this darkness her eyes are unmistakable; narrow, hostile slits that sparkle with a fire that is both unerring and deadly in equal measures. But beneath that self-assured, almost smug, veil of aloof tranquillity I sense another emotion, a feeling that runs deeper than that of her innate fear, a feeling that ignites the passion beneath her skin and warms her blood to a fervent temperature. What is it that frightens you so my lady? What is it that causes your hands to shake so badly under mine? "You are trembling..." I murmur in a low voice, dropping my eyes to her hands, and the air about us ripples, taunt as a bowstring. Quicker than all the lightening, she jerks her hand from my grasp as if her flesh has been irrevocably branded by some unholy demon... perhaps it has... Silently I raise my questing eyes to hers, locking our duel gazes within an wordless impasse, only to find liquid fire therein; a smouldering glare that burns deeper than a thousand unspoken words... "Speak not to me," She hisses through clenched teeth, each word punctuated by venom the likes of which is not unknown to me; piercing her heart as keenly as it penetrates my own, "for it will avail you naught... I wish only to be alone." Ah my princess, do not think to evade me with your feigned anger, for it is as transparent as your well kempt fa?ade of subtle indifference. "My lady," I soothe in hushed, mellifluous tones, attempting to abet her anger as one would calm a trying child, "something troubles you?" She is the first to let crumble her resolution, to break the tumultuous gaze with which each holds the other captivated in their turn; a prisoner bound tightly to my will and mine alone, she shyly averts her eyes, dropping them demurely to focus on the hewn stone floor beneath our feet. "No... please..." She says in a broken voice, words strained and heavy with unshed tears, no longer laced with that sudden anger, "I crave but a moment's solitude... an hour's peace... you will not deny me that at least..." Quite of its own accord my hand steals towards the warmth of her cheek, and I can almost sense beneath that proud, ignoble exterior the violent tremors that rack her slight form from head to toe, radiating a heated aura of pure, unbridled passion, as my fingers near her chin; a sickly sweet combination of both the utmost revulsion and anticipation. Gently, they reach out and grasp her chin, forcing her eyes to meet my own, forcing her to look upon the face of her fear; she is no longer a child - a girl - but a woman, a woman who I yearn to possess above all things, a woman who should be mine... "There is nothing I could ever deny you my princess..." I whisper hypnotically, stepping closer to her warm body in order to close what little distance there is left between us, "But I am anxious to know as to what has disturbed my lady so for her to relentlessly patrol these hallways... and at so late an hour..." Her eyes are half closed with pleasure, almost as if she is on the verge of swooning, her fury at my abrupt intrusion on her hastily forgotten and dragged far below the sea of conscious reality. "I cannot escape this confinement that has been set upon me, this constant passive state that I am forced to endure..." She confesses somewhat dreamily, "When I am near the others... they give me no space to breathe, to-to think..." She pauses, unwilling to continue, and for the first time in a long while I am witness to the change in her lovely features, in her stiff-backed demeanour, and alert to the pain and distress that lurk behind those eyes of emerald green. We are identical, she and I, two souls lost to a world in which neither belonged; she imprisoned by her gender, her form, and I imprisoned by the capacity of my mind, my unusual appearance... "They do not understand the true worth, nor beauty, of your soul... they seek to imprison you within the shell that is your form, seek to trap you within a glided cage until all your life becomes a meaningless, blank existence... little more than an empty void on the face of the world whose suffering cannot be relieved." Deftly, my fingers slide lower, tracing an invisible path of incandescent fire from the line of her jaw to the base of her swan-like neck, skimming light touches over her skin and fluttering about the hollow of her throat, "You suffer even as I speak because of those who would condemn you to life of misery and hardship... it does you credit, but is needless... you know as well as I that your pain could be erased, your sorrow alleviated, if you would but consent to it..." My hand at last stills its fiery descent, resting just above the criss- crossed ties of her simple linen nightgown, feeling her breath come hard and fast -in time with my own- and her pulse quicken like the beat of butterfly wings beneath my encroaching fingertips. "What...what are you doing to me...?" Her voice is barely audible, painfully soft, her admission to the thoughts and feelings roused by my hands, my words, no more than the loftiest whisper on the lilting breeze. "Do you not long for a solace from the pretext of pain my lady, a respite from the endless barrage of darkness and despair that consumes you from within...?" Absently, I begin to stroke each fingertip, one by one, across her smooth flesh - which I now hold pinioned beneath the outstretched fingers of my hand - and am rewarded by her sharp intake of breath, the shaky exhale of air. "Please..." Her lips move to form the words, but no sound emerges forth, it is as if she has entirely lost the ability to form coherent speech. I remove my hand to forgo the temptation of her sweet flesh lest I come completely undone and forget myself, forget who - or rather what - I am, letting it drift once more down the length of her arm to encircle her wrist; in one swift movement I pull her against me, close enough for her to feel the warm caress of my breath upon her face, close enough to have my lips hover inches over her own. Her eyes snap open with undisguised surprise, caught off guard, and she struggles wildly against my restraining arms; she is the stronger of the two of us, I believe that even in this semi-passive state, she is acutely aware of that. If she so wished it, she could crush my very skull between her beautiful, alabaster hands as easily as one would split a ripe melon in two... Physically I know that I am of no match to her, but emotionally, mentally, I am her equal - perhaps even more so - in every way; she has her weaknesses just as I do, the same flaws and short comings that every female of her kind does... and temptation is a difficult mistress to master ... "But then..." I purr softly, contemplating her reaction to my next words, "perhaps such darkness is the true reason that you do not recoil with disgust at my presence by your side; that your gaze never strays far from shadows... and that you neither scream nor weep nor wail when you anticipate that I will touch you thus..." Slowly and with an unhurried grace that seems to surpass both time and consequence, I tenderly lower my mouth to hers, encompassing within the meeting of our lips all the passion and adoration that I have always held so close to my heart amidst my love for her. She is unresponsive, pliant and lifeless within the tight circle of my arms, palms resting stubbornly against my chest in an effort to push me away, but showing little sign of any resistance, acceding the invitation of my kiss... For but one fleeting moment she allows herself to forgo all memory; allows herself to breathe and live and love; allows herself to quell her imagined horrors and with them the web of my various deceptions in order to become neither princess, nor Shieldmaiden nor warrior... but to become Eowyn the woman; the Eowyn whom suffers beyond all mortal measure and yearns only to be valued, only to be loved. In response to her silent plea, my own hands snake around the back of her head to entwine themselves within the burnished golden waves of her hair, holding her lips steadfast to mine. She makes a small sound - almost a whimper - at the back of her throat, whether from pain or from pleasure I cannot say... all I am aware of, all I comprehend, is sensation... the meeting of two souls, of equals, fusing each other with a hope, a light, that flourishes undimmed by darkness... What delicious bliss! What indescribable euphoria! Breathless and shivering, she is the first to break the kiss, extinguishing the contact between us as calmly and as neatly as one would snuff out a lone candle; dousing the flames of passion in one smooth stroke. She lowers her eyes hastily and backs away from me, averting her gaze to the floor. Only then do I realise what a grave mistake I have made, what form of terrible wrath I have wrought in my madness! "Forgive me," She murmurs softly, words no more than a whisper and voice heavy with unshed tears, "I cannot have you pay this price any more than I would will myself to bear this burden..." In an instant she is gone, an apparition of the night more spectre than man; abruptly turning upon her heel, as ever a graceful a dancer as I have seen in the very mists of war, to flee the hallway in a voluminous flurry of lace and linen, sun shone tresses sent flyaway to shield pallid cheeks embellished with tears. "Eowyn..." I whisper wretchedly, utterly dejected and left alone once more in the dark and the shadow; yet even so, her scent still clings like a keening lover to the air about me, the familiar fragrance of willowy curls and perfume of her skin; flee from me my lady, do what you will but think not that will allow this one, fleeting chance of happiness to slip through my fingers, after all, patience is a virtue is it not? And slowly, oh ever so slowly now, I will watch, watch and wait, until the day comes when all her resistance is spent and her determination crushed beneath the weight of her sorrow; waiting without plea or protest, to be claimed in a silent redemption by her darkness, her Angel of the Night. For passion you see, passion is a powerful aphrodisiac. *** © Rachel Gardner 2003. All rights reserved. *** I hope you all liked it, that took an incrediable amount of time to
write LOL :-) |