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"Calm down, would you? Don't give me the additional trouble of
binding and gagging." "You won't dare!" she spat out. "Be most sure I will." He pushed her back abruptly, and she landed on the bed behind her, gasping. He held her hating gaze for a while, and then exited, locking the door securely behind him. She was jailed. She searched for escape, but her prison offered no hope for it. Upon
closer look, Eowyn discovered that she was confined within stony walls
of something that resembled tall tower, hollow inside, with small barred
windows high above, and ceiling that was barely visible even higher.
The room was empty safe for the enormous four-poster bed she dreaded
to look at; no any other single object was to be found. There was no
even bed linen she could try to make ropes of; the bed was covered with
furs, which could be used in no other way but keeping her warm, for
the room was filled with profound chill. Her jailer, as Eowyn discovered with mixed anger and disdain, even
ridded her of some of her possessions; he didn't left her any single
piece of metal, and any piece of cloth he deemed superfluous. She was
now wearing only her dress - the same one she wore on the day of her
abduction. As to the purpose of her being here, she was more certain, though,
and it gave her shivers of disgust even to think of it. Every moment
she expected him to return and claim her. She was ready to fight; Grima's
intentions were long since as of no news to her. In her nightmares,
she felt his loathsome touch for too many times - and too often she
woke up, trembling, panting, and soothing herself with the thought that,
if he only tries to lay a finger upon her in reality, she would kick
his foul spirit out of that morbid form in one good blow. But now she was not so sure about that. Like a tigress, she paced around her cage, until the night befell,
bringing sheer darkness and more chill. Eowyn had no other choice but
getting in the bed; wrapping the furs tightly around herself, she lay
watchfully, listening intently to the sounds of tower. But there were
none; only waves and wind outside the walls. "Sh-sh-sh… sh-sh-sh… sh-sh-sh…" the waves
sighed, "shshall be here… sssoon." "Vooo… Woe… Foe…Very soon", the wind moaned,
"you shshall be hisss." "Never," she whispered to herself, "never. I better
die." As if awaken by her thought, the door cracked open and let the black
shadow in. Eowyn clutched her covers as he neared the bed; she saw his
pallid face emerging from the surrounding darkness; saw him curving
his lips in vicious smile as he bent to her… …and woke up. She jumped on the bed, looking around - but the
room was empty, and Eowyn fell back on the pillows with a sigh of momentary
relief. She tried to stay awake, but the touch of furs against her skin felt
annoyingly relaxing. Their soft caressing warmth eased the nervous tension,
slowed darting thoughts, enveloped her in treacherous pleasure. Her
eyelids were becoming heavy, and she almost lost it to the sleep - when
her eyes shot open in terror, as she felt other body next to hers. Grima lay beside her, his head propped on his elbow, his hand resting
possessively upon her so she could feel its weight through the layers
of furs. She wanted to scream, but couldn't utter a sound; she wanted
to rush away, but her body won't stir; and, to her further horror, Eowyn
had discovered that she was naked, while Grima seemed to be dressed
in something that looked like black nightgown. Their eyes met, and locked; entranced, Eowyn could do nothing as her
abductor slipped his hand under the covers, and laid it upon her belly.
Her heart sunk as his fingers rubbed slightly against her skin, and
then traveled higher to reach her breasts. Slowly, lazily, he explored
them, and then leaned forward and began kissing her throat, never interrupting
his former occupation. His other hand was buried in her hair, luxuriating
in the silken masses. And it felt awful. There was nothing to the humiliation of being in
someone's power so fully - let alone who exactly this one was. Tears
of shame and powerless rage flowed down her face, and Eowyn hated herself
for this girlish weakness. As she hated her body for being unable to resist those hands, roaming
around it. Unwelcome as they were, they appeared to be surprisingly
skilled and clever. They knew what they wanted, and they were getting
it: her body responded. Grima paused kissing her neck and lifted his head. He looked in the
face of his prey, and was obviously pleased with what he saw. Small
smile passed his lips - and it was enough for Eowyn's heart to writhe
in pain, for this smile carried too clear a message. Eowyn tried to
avert her face, but her tormentor held the back of her head, and won't
let her look away. His gaze bathed in the pools of despair her eyes
were, as his hand slithered down her body, tending now to its lower
parts. Eowyn held her knees tight together; she was almost ready to
beg him to suffice with the shame he already brought her, and leave
her alone. She opened her mouth in the attempt to voice her pleads-
and instantly his lips were on hers, his tongue darting between them,
tasting her, and making her taste him. In the whirl of terror, Eowyn
realized that she still could neither move nor make a sound, and her
conscience left her - but not before she felt Grima's fingers on her
womanhood… …and woke up. The room was filled with morning light. Eowyn sat up on her bed, shuttered, dizzy, in cold sweat - and aroused beyond any possible excuse.
The second day of her confinement passed uneventfully. The nightmare
left her shocked and petrified; she lay on the bed face down, and didn't
move to the sound of the door unlocked. Grima entered the room, carrying a tray with a food. He put it on the
floor near the bed, and then stood there for some time, watching his
beautiful captive, his face white unreadable mask. As she made no recognition
of his presence, he left, taking the tray back with him. The same repeated in the evening, and next morning. What haunted her
in the dark hours, Eowyn preferred not to remember; it was much worse
than the first night. When Grima was about to leave, still showing no
intention of touching her, or even speaking to her, she broke the silence
first. "Why I am here?" He turned around and eyed her with open sarcasm. "To play checkers with me during the spring nights. And you thought
…?" She made no reply.
On the fourth morning, she refused to eat again. She felt no hunger;
she felt nothing at all. Though Grima didn't attempt to hurt her in
any way, she felt already violated. She saw no escape from her present
situation, and this hopelessness was killing her much more effectively
than his abuses could have done it. And there were dreams, and dreams were the torment. She was afraid
to sleep - and still slept, and each vision was more painful, more shameful,
and more frustrating than previous. Eowyn knew how this would end. She felt that life dimmed within her; she knew it would be gone soon. This was the only passage open to her; she understood this well, but in the same time she realized that she didn't want to die. She was not afraid of death; but she pitied her life, that was about to end in the years so young, and bringing her so little joy - and none of the glory she dreamed of. She was to pass away here, in this strange place, with her hated archenemy the only one to be with her in her last hour. She was to be buried here, never knowing what happened to her people and her family. Not exactly the death she would have chosen if she had a choice; but she had none.
That evening Grima watched her for some time longer. She looked up
at him briefly to see if he understood - and he certainly did; but in
his eyes, there was neither mercy nor remorse. She startled with surprise
when he spoke, "You should eat something, unless you want to die." Her voice was barely audible as she replied, "I want to die." He shrugged slightly. "As you wish," was all he said before gathering the tray
and heading to the door. He was about to leave, but turned around and
added a single word. "Coward." No matter how weak she was, Eowyn rose up her head. "I am no coward," she whispered hoarsely. "Yes, you are," Grima returned to the bed and put down the
tray again. Flexing his fingers before his chest, he looked at the prisoner.
"You are coward," he repeated, "and a weak-willed coward,
I must say. I always knew that lack of fantasy is typical for Eorlingas,
but I at least thought they are better fighters. I am very disappointed…
Or will be very disappointed, unless you stop imitating fish out of
the water and voice your objections in intelligible words." Eowyn sat up on the bed. Rage supplied her with enough strength not
to fall back immediately, and even to speak. "Who are you," she hissed at the man before her, "who
do you think you are to say such things about the House of Eorl? You
are nothing but foul worm, sorry bastard whom my uncle gave place at
his court, and who paid him with the blackest ingratitude ever seen!
And your forked tongue has no right even to touch the name of Eorlingas
- especially now when your treachery was uncovered publicly!" At this tirade, Grima only smirked disdainfully and said, "I am very much flattered, my lady, with the attention you paid
to my humble person and the details of my biography, but I would like
to remind you that we are speaking not about my treachery, but about
your cowardice." "I am no coward, and this is no cowardice, but the matter of honor.
You never even heard such a word, I bet, that's why you would never
understand me!" "Why, never had I complained about the sharpness of my hearing,"
Grima seemed utterly unperturbed by her offensive words, "but I
indeed don't understand you. Wouldn't it be much better for the matter
of honor, if you escaped and avenged upon me?" "What a shameful excuse for a man you are, Wormtongue, to mock
the victim you brought to the threshold of death. Oh how I wish I had
my sword now…" "You won't be able even to lift it," he observed calmly,
"and speaking of shameful excuses, this is certainly the one for
your weakness and narrow-mindedness. You haven't even thought well about
all possible ways of escape before just deciding to lie down and starve
yourself to death." "With a pleasure, my lady. Way one: during the meal-time, divert
my attention, get a tray, strike me with it on the head, get keys, lock
the door from outside, run. Way two: pretend surrender, get me in your
bed, stifle with a pillow sometime during the prelude, get keys, run.
Way three: imitate love, spend a night together, gain my trust, be let
out, get horse, run…" As he spoke, Eowyn felt vexed; now it was clear to her that if she
had been thinking better, she would have been able to come up with some
of these solutions or other. To hide her irritation at herself, she
said, "Oh, but you would like nothing better than getting into this
bed, would you not? Very nice advice, thank you, Counsellor, but I think
I will refrain from following it." "It's you decision, my lady," he bowed to her with misplaced
courtesy, and then asked: "Now, will you eat something?" She sighed, and nodded her asset.
Was it due to the nourishment she had, or due to her rage that she
let out, at least partly, but that night she slept dreamless. The following morning Grima brought nothing with him safe black satin
strip. Eowyn was ready to comment on its suggestive usage, but he was
first. "No, my lady, I'm afraid I have to disappoint you. I like the
idea of little bondage-domination game, too, but I guess we'll have
to postpone that yet. And now I offer you to take a bath." "A bath?" "Yes, a bath. You know - hot water, soap, and those things you
women enjoy greasing yourself with…" "You seem suspiciously knowledgeable as to the ladies' bathing
rituals, my lord Grima. Do I to suggest…" "No," he cut her, "you don't suggest anything, just
say - would you take a bath now?" This was a temptation Eowyn couldn't withstand. "Yes. Definitely," she said. "Good," he came behind her and blindfolded her eyes. "Is this necessary?" "Yes. Definitely." "You don't want me to know where I am?" "That too." "And what else?" "I wanted to touch your hair." Before Eowyn found something equal in nastiness to answer, he took her by the hand and led out of the chamber.
Their way didn't take long. In a few minutes, Grima stopped and released
her hand. Eowyn heard the sound of keys, and then of the door being
opened, when Grima pushed her slightly forward; she stepped inside,
and he closed the door behind her. She took off the blindfold. This
looked like a small clay hut, with no windows, only a hole in the pointed
roof. It gave enough light, but there was a torch on the wall, too.
The room was furnished with a single stool, a vanity, and a tube of
yellowish marble. Presently the tube was filled with hot steamy water,
which smelled deliciously of herbs and spices. Eowyn pulled laces of
her dress, but something stopped her. She suspected Grima wouldn't be
missing his chance, peeping at the keyhole or something like that. She
came to the door and listened; there was no sound from the outside.
She bent and looked into the keyhole - but there was a key. Partly appeased,
she undressed and got into the tube. Never before had Eowyn suspected how little she needed for happiness.
A hot bath. Well, maybe this wasn't exactly the happiness, but almost.
It was so good to feel clean again - as if water and soap washed away
not only sweat and dirt, but the filth of her nightmares, too. As the water grew cold, Eowyn left the tube and wrapped herself in
a towel she found lying on the stool, together with the fresh gown.
The dress, as she noticed, was from her own wardrobe. The thought of
Grima digging in her belongings made her flinch. She added one more
point to the already very long list of accusations against her Uncle's
former Counsellor; one day she'll take her revenge, and for this, too.
She looked around in search of something she could take with her - anything
that may be of any use, when she'll come up with the plan of escaping.
There was a comb on the vanity; it was not so sharp as those she had
back in Meduseld, but, with some imagination, it could be used as a
substitute for weapon. Speaking of weapon - here was an excellent stool
she could use on Wormtongue's head, once he would come for her. Eowyn's
heart rejoiced, and she hurried to get dressed. But, alas, her joy was
preliminary - for just as she discarded the towel and reached out for
the dress, the door opened and let in the man she already thought she
had defeated. She quickly covered herself again with the towel and said haughtily,
"I haven't heard you knocking on the door before entering."
"Because I didn't knock." Grima stared at her openly, without
the slightest shade of confusion. His eyes traveled up and down her
body, and unpleasant gaze was accompanied by even less pleasant smile.
"A matter of security, my lady. It would be highly indiscreet
of me to leave you a chance of taking anything with you from here; and,
by the way, I hope you didn't deem me that silly as to wait until you
get prepared to crash that chair against my skull?" It looked like he had been reading her thoughts; but Eowyn refused
to give up. "You are an excellent jailer, Wormtongue," she said with
disgust, "was it Saruman himself who trained you? Or this is natural-born?"
Grima ignored her words. "Now, my lady," he said, "if you want to proceed to
the breakfast, I am obliged to ask you to dress. Unless you prefer returning
to you room in this towel." "I will not do it in your presence!" Eowyn fumed. "Get
out of here! If you want, you can have my word…" "I have no trust in words, my lady…" "With a liar like you, that's what to be expected." "Then why do you suggest something that you know will be declined?
Do you think that witnessing your beauty robbed me of my mind? Alas,
I must disappoint you - however I delight in what I see now, I am still
capable of thinking. If you don't want to dress before my eyes, I'll
turn away, but then I would be compelled to search you." "How. Dare. You!" she shouted, utterly unnerved with his
impudence. "You are the most dirty, ugly, evil, wretched, twisted,
lustful scoundrel of… of… of I-even-don't-know-whom! I wonder
how earth still bears you! I wonder how the sky haven't fallen down
on you yet for your many crimes! I…" Grima stood still as she poured over him this shower of dubious compliments
- hands folded, head cocked to the side, and if Eowyn wouldn't be so
enraged, she would have noticed that he was doing his best at holding
back laughter. "Don't tire yourself too much over the details, my lady,"
he intruded at last, "I get your point." Eowyn chocked back another portion of curses and stood before him,
breathing heavily. "Now, as we have achieved understanding at this very, undoubtedly,
important issue, I would like to return to the previous question. Come,
my lady, make your choice: which disgusts you less - my eyes, or my
hands?" And he showed her his open palms - clean white hands, soft, with long
fine fingers… in one word, unmanly. "Don't you dare to touch me!" she screamed, and threw away
the towel. She was naked before him for maybe a few seconds that took
her to put on the dress - but in these few seconds, he managed to absorb
all of her - head to toes - in his gaze. As Eowyn laced the dress, her hands were shaky with anger. Once she
finished, she shoved her feet in the shoes and turned to the source
of her rage. "You are splendid today, my lady," he commented, bowing before
her, "this dress is one of my favorite… err, I mean, it suits
you very much. Though without it, you look even better." He challenged her. He obviously enjoyed her anger. "No more fun
for you, then," she thought to herself, and said aloud, as calmly
as she could, "Can we go now?" "Not yet," he replied, approaching. "You have forgotten
to comb your hair." She snatched the comb from the vanity, and began to run it through
her long tresses quickly. She wanted to get out of this place as soon
as possible, and that's why she was somehow careless. Each time the
comb stumbled against the tangle, it made her flinch in pain. Grima watched this for a few moments, and then came even nearer and
caught her wrist. She gasped in surprise, but he simply took the comb
out of her fingers. Eowyn jerked away, but he won't let her; instead,
he pushed his victim to the chair, and made her sit. "Sh-sh-sh," he hissed, placing his hands on her shoulders,
"don't. I positively cannot see how you torment yourself with absolutely
no need for that. Let me…" Eowyn tried to jump up from the chair, but he held her - and then did
something that ridded her of strength to rush away. He touched some
spot on the back of her neck - and for an instant she felt as if the
lighting bolt hit her entire body. She started, and the man behind her
bent to her ear, whispering so she could feel his breathing on her cheek,
"I knew you would like it…" - and licked her earlobe.
Eowyn felt as if she was back in her nightmare. She was losing her
control; she tried to stir, and Grima immediately reacted by touching
her - now at the junction of her collarbones; and again, his blow was
sharp. "Sit still," she heard him whispering, "I only want
to comb you… Nothing else." And she subdued. He ran comb through her hair - slowly, carefully, fondly. Eowyn's mind
seemed full of thick fog; she couldn't think. She hardly could breath,
too. She was barely existent under his caresses - tender, sweet, excruciating
caresses she received from the hands of her foe. "This is a spell," sang in her head, "this is a spell…"
At last it had ended. Grima ran a comb for one last time, and discarded
it. Eowyn stood up, fearing that her feet may betray her; but, to her
luck, they had't. "Don't you want to look in the mirror, my lady?" Grima asked.
She looked back briefly in the vanity, to see familiar reflection -
and a black figure next to it. Their glances met in the mirror, and
then Grima procured a black strip, hidden in his sleeve, and blindfolded
her once more. He took her by the hand again - but before leading her out, squeezed
it slightly and said, "Thank you, my lady." Eowyn jerked her head in his direction. "What for?" she asked. "For letting me touch you. It was… a great privilege for
me… and a great pleasure." She wanted to say something very rude, but solemnity of his voice stopped
her. She just muttered, almost without grudge, "You are a bit of a pervert, don't you think so?" He laughed softly. "Oh yes, very much. I'm a pervert. Now what?"
Grima took Eowyn back to her room, and left her to return later with
a breakfast. As she ate, he watched her from under the half-closed lids,
but didn't come near. Eowyn's mind was in confusion after the morning
events; she didn't know how to act towards her jailer now. His presence
irritated her, but she needed it if she wanted to get out of here ever.
She needed to communicate with him if she wanted to receive information
that may help her. At this thought, Eowyn realized that she was completely oblivious to
what was happening in the outer world for the whole week. She decided
to ask Grima; looking up at him, she inquired, "Have you heard any news lately?" "No," he replied, "and, frankly, I am absolutely not
interested in any." "But how…" "I guess I got my share of dealing with huge amounts of information
at a time. Now I am interested only in crucial news; and those news
will find us themselves, for sure." "But your master was about to attack Rohan! Aren't you curious…"
"I understand your concern, my lady, but have to disappoint you.
I have no contact with Saruman - from my own side, at least. But if
Saruman wanted to convey anything to me - or to you, - he would have
done it, to be sure." Eowyn sighed inwardly. She was sure that victory over the Rohirrim
was definitely one of the things which Saruman would want to convey.
So now no news was good news. She looked back at Grima to meet his intense eyes. Echoing her earlier
thoughts, the man said, "Speaking of news, my lady, I would like to observe to you that
in forthcoming months, your contacts with the outer world will be limited
to our conversations. That is why I highly recommend you to consider
the possibility of establishing civilized relationship between us. No
more violence, no more attempts of suicide, no more ignoring my presence.
You can plan your escape at your will - this is your right, but until
the plan is crafted and ready for implementation, please refrain from
unnecessary fuss like yelling at me and impersonating wild cat. I, on
my side, promise to act equally civilly towards you. Is that agreed?"
Eowyn stared at him in disbelief. "Your dare, Grima Wormtongue, has truly no borders. How can you
even suggest that I will be listening…" "Let me remind you, my lady, that here I am in a position to suggest
anything, and not only suggest. If you don't agree with me and continue
to act like you did, I shall deem myself in the right to act forcefully,
too. Although I usually prefer persuasion, the methods of violence are
not unknown to me." Eowyn beheld in amazement the man who stood before her. She thought
she knew him well; but now it appeared that she missed something important
in him. Never before she noticed how truly powerful her Uncle's Counsellor
was. Cunning and treacherous, yes - but in the same time, he was smart
and understanding. For a moment, Eowyn thought that he discarded his
mask - or maybe just replaced it with another. And it was only now that she registered the change in his looks, too.
Grima disposed himself of the numerous layers of garments he used to
wear, and in a simple black clothes he appeared to be much thinner,
and even a little younger, than she thought him to be. He also quit
stooping, and the air of humbleness he wore, was gone now. Eowyn realized
why back in Edoras he was so feared by so many people. She used to see
him with the royalty like herself, and before the King's throne, he
was always a servant. But outside of Meduseld, he was formidable Lord
Counsellor. "Are you trying to intimidate me?" she asked him at last.
"No. I am just trying to prevent you from running mad here,"
was his reply. Grima took the tray from her hands, and prepared to withdraw.
"Think well of this, Eowyn," he said before leaving her,
"think very well if you want any more hatred. Your world is small
now, and the amount you already have is enough to overflow it. And living
in the world filled with hatred is no fun at all. You can believe me."
He left, but Eowyn already knew he was right.
Open war between them ended that day, and was succeeded by the armed truce. They both learned to react normally at each other's presence. Eowyn tethered her irritation and malice towards Grima; and Grima tamed his desire for her. In times, she found his company almost agreeable - unless he was mocking and teasing her mercilessly, and this was often. But soon she mastered some word fencing, too, and this surprised her. Back at Meduself, she never thought herself to be a capable conversationalist; she preferred listening to speaking. But with Grima, it was totally different. It seemed to Eowyn that never in her life she talked so much as she did now, in these days of her imprisonment. Maybe it was because she had almost nothing else to do, or maybe because Grima encouraged her talking. He asked her questions and listened to her with interest, as if what she thought on this or that subject was important to him. Sometimes he agreed with her; sometimes their conversations turned out into fierce arguments, with the premises of "civilized relationship" thrown aside, and tension between them threatening to explode; but in any case, she was never bored with him.
Day by day, time passed, and Eowyn still haven't decided on the plan
of her escape. It seemed that now she had more chances, as Grima spent
more time with her - and, consequently, the keys were within her reach
more often. But her unwanted companion was so ever watchful, so unnaturally
sharp, that sometimes it seemed to her he could read her thoughts. Once
she asked him openly if he had used any kind of magic on her. He didn't
reply directly, for sure, but cocked his head: "Why do you think so?" Eowyn bit her tongue. She didn't want to tell him of her nightmares;
in case it wasn't his hand, she would look awfully stupid before him.
"As if I am not looking stupid enough conversing with him on such
topics," she reprimanded herself. "Is there something troubling you?" Grima insisted, peering
into her face. She shook her head. "No. Nothing." He looked at her in fake disapproval. "My influence is bad on you," he observed, "you learned
to lie. Generally, I think it is a very helpful quality, but you still
have to learn how to use it. As of now, you are a very poor liar. There
is something that bothers you, and I even can guess what it is."
"Your dreams, my lady. All things you are afraid of, they are
all there. Sometimes you think you'll die in that darkness and despair,
but even death is not far enough to escape from them." "How… how do you know?" she stumbled. "Because I have my own demons. I, too, can feel fear and despair."
"What is that you fear most of all?" He was silent for some time. "Madness," he said at last. "I am afraid of losing my
mind. And you?.." Eowyn wanted to tell him that it was he whom she dreaded, but suddenly
realized that it was not so. The nightmare which visited her in his
disguise, had very little to do with the person before her. "I think I am afraid of losing my control," she said, "afraid
of being in someone's else power fully, and unable to resist."
"And you dream of me raping you?" Eowyn blushed so violently that there was no need for spoken words.
Grima sighed. "I am truly sorry to hear that, my lady. This is my fault, I know.
I induced this fear in you." "And is there any chance it could be cured?" "Aye," he replied, still looking very serious, "they
say you need to appear in similar situation in reality to drive it away
from your dreams. Ever dare to try?.." If he had said something like this to her in Meduseld, she would have
slapped him. But now she understood that he didn't mock her; he mocked
himself, trying to hide his pain behind the mask of irony. If her room had normal windows, Eowyn would have stood up now and go
to one of them. The moment felt like it; but windows were high above
her head, so she remained were she was. "Sometimes I think I can be sick no more of your mockery, Grima,"
she sighed. "But you always manage to overdo yourself in irritating
me. I'm afraid that on the day of my revenge I'll lack patience and
just kill you in one blow, instead of the long and painful death I planned
for you initially." Grima chuckled. "Well, I hope for the merciful heart of my lady.
Is there anything I can commute my future terrible sentence with?"
She looked at him contemplatively. "Maybe only if you take me outside… It'll probably save you
a torture or two." "And what exactly, if you allow me to ask?" "Er-rr… Tongue cutting, perhaps. Nay, though, I think I wouldn't
be able to resist that temptation." She was teasing him, and he laughed. But in the same time, his dark
eyes were unusually sad and tender now. "However interesting your bargain looks," he said very gravely,
"I have to decline it." "But why? If you can control me here…" "No, Eowyn." He rarely called her by the name, so this was
serious. "I cannot do it. It will be… against the orders of
my master. And I don't want to cross Saruman." Eowyn stared at him, wide-eyed. "And what are these orders?" she asked, almost hopeless for
answer. "The orders are many, but this specific one sounds like this:
"Do not let her out before you spend a night together." Eowyn's cheeks again blushed scarlet red, but she asked, nevertheless:
"And what is Saruman's interest in it?" Grima sighed heavily. "Eowyn," he said, looking intently into her eyes, "Why
do you think you were abducted?" "Because Saruman promised me to you as a prize," she said
in a small voice, puzzled. "And you are wrong. You are not my prize… to be precise,
not only my prize, but my… task, so to say, as well. My mission
in Riddermark failed, Eowyn, and, though it was not my fault, Saruman
would have had me killed for this… unless he needed me for his
next project. This project also involves you, Eowyn. I am not privy
into the details, but for some reason, Saruman needs our child."
Eowyn's stare grew even wider. This sounded like wild, unbelievable
madness. "Saruman needs our child? And you'll be able to give our child
to your master?" Grima bit his lip. "Well, I don't want to tire myself upon this problem yet; the
process prior to having a child worries me far worse. But, as I see,
you are not much averse to the very idea, are you?" "Certainly not!" Eowyn shouted, momentarily enraged. Grima
smirked, and she corrected herself, "I mean, yes, I am! Very, very
averse!" "As you wish," the man shrugged, "but the words "our
child" slipped from your lips so naturally that I thought…"
Eowyn clapped her hand over her mouth in despair, realizing that she,
indeed, said that. Grima moved closer to her and laid a hand upon her
shoulder. "Now, now, calm down," he said, "it was fairly obvious
even if you hadn't said that…" Eowyn sprang up. "Shut your mouth, Wormtongue!" she shouted, "and get
out of here! Immediately! Now! Or else…" He rose up his hands in mocking surrender, stood up and left, closing the door behind him. She heard him laughing softly as he locked her up.
It was some time before Eowyn started to talk with Grima again. Her
anger against him embered inside her, but didn't burn. She admitted
to herself, however unwillingly, that she got used to him. He didn't
try to attack her in any other way but during their word combats. If
he desired for her, he didn't show that off too much. Now when she learned
that she was not the prize Saruman gave Grima for good service, it somehow
made it easier to think about the latter without hatred. And sometimes
she thought of him as of a second prisoner, confined together with her
in this strange jail. The jail, as Grima once told her, was an old forsaken lighthouse. There
were several other buildings outside it, including the one Grima dwelled
in. Saruman supplied them with all the necessary, including abundant
sum of gold. From this Eowyn made that there should be some population
nearby, but Grima didn't want to develop this subject when she asked
him. He never left her longer than for a day. Every morning and every evening, but each time at different hours, the door let him in. He brought her food, distracted her with conversations, invented for her various occupations so she "didn't feel too depressed again," as he explained it. He taught her to read. Sometimes she thought - if it was not their past, and their present situation, and most likely, their future - maybe they even could have been friends?
One evening she asked him, why did he turn evil? Grima thought for
a while before answering, "The more I know of life, my lady, the more I think there is no
good and no evil. "Good" and "evil" were invented
by people, who needed to classify their actions somehow. These notions
bear no absolute value, that's why they are meaningless." Seeing
her bewilderment, he explained, "I mean, let's take an example. Rohirrim drove Dunlendings from
the planes to a much less fertile hills. This was good or evil?"
"It depends on who you are," Eowyn nodded, understanding
his point. "Exactly. That's why there is no good or evil. People just act…
how they deem it necessary, and that's it." "And you had no other choice but…?" "No. I had a choice. There is always a choice, methinks, but too
often it is a fake. Too often it is impossible to make right choice,
because there is none. You just do what you have to. Sometimes you are
sorry for that, sometimes not. Maybe I'll be sorry for pouring love
potion into your meal tonight. Maybe not." At first, she didn't get the meaning of his last words. "Excuse me?" "It is I who has to beg for pardon, Eowyn," Grima said, and
then kneeled before her. "I drugged you tonight, because I don't
want to wait anymore. I can't wait anymore. Can't take anymore of this
torture - staying so close to you, whom I desire so much, and still
keeping this distance. I want you, Eowyn, I want to feel you in my arms,
to make you my woman, my wife - and I won't be thinking now about Saruman
and his schemes. Let him burn in his bloody smithies. Don't cry, Eowyn,"
he encircled her waist with his arms, and laid his head upon her lap.
"Everything will be perfectly well, I promise you." "You betrayed me," she whispered, "you betrayed me once
more…" "Have I?" "If you only waited… waited a little more…" "But I couldn't," he said simply, standing up and making
her stand up, too. Cupping her face, he continued, "I am sorry,
Eowyn, but this is my choice." "But you left no choice for me," she sobbed, "Aye, I made your choice for you. So I owe you one choice now.
Don't forget about this, I know there will be a chance for you to take
it… This is much better," he said, seeing faint smile passing
her lips. And then he leaned forward, and caught that smile by the tail
with his lips. "You are trembling… I disgust you so much?" "N-no… I am… just scared." "Don't be. Now, you always told you are not afraid of pain. Don't
be afraid of pleasure, too." "I cannot resist…" "No, you cannot." "This is a spell." "Yes, this is a spell."
He wanted to be slow, very slow. Now that Eowyn was all his, defenseless
before his touch, melting to his caresses, Grima didn't allow himself
any haste. This was their first night, and he intended to imprint its
every minute into his desired bride's memory. Eowyn startled as he began unlacing her dress, and he left it. Instead,
he whispered into her ear, "I want you to undress me." He
noticed fear mixed with curiosity in her eyes as she reached out and
started to undo his shirt. She looked bewitched, spellbound, and her
hands trembled as she proceeded. At last unsteady fingers finished their
job, and Eowyn pulled his shirt off, brushing her palms lightly against
the pale skin of his shoulders and chest. Unwilling to break the contact
as he was, Grima still sat back on the bed to take off his boots, and
then stood up again to allow his lady to dispose his breeches. As he stood before her, Grima searched Eowyn's eyes for displeasure
at the sight of his unattractive nakedness; while he wasn't marked with
any kind of deformity, his body was still very far from canons of masculine
beauty, especially comparing to the powerful statures of the Riders
of Rohan. But Eowyn regarded his lean moon-white form with only a slight
anxiety; he understood that she was all too inexperienced, and overwhelmed
with what was happening to her at the moment, to dwell upon his imperfections.
Wave of tenderness washed over him as he thought of how frightened his
beloved must be now; and scared of herself, too, - of these curious
glances she threw at his member, of impudent thoughts flapping in her
head, of her own arousal that was building up so quickly he already
could smell it. He lay down on the bed and tapped his palm beside him. "Come here," he whispered invitingly, and, seeing her fear,
couldn't refrain from adding, "this won't hurt, I swear."
Eowyn took off her dress and slid under the furs. Grima's hands were
instantly around her, his body pressed against hers, and she had no
other choice but embrace him, too, and inhale his scent. His smell was not the smell of a man - at least not that of the man
of Rohan. Those smelled of sweat, metal, leather, wine, wind, and most
of all - horses. Grima smelled of salty air and some kind of sweet perfume.
His skin was soft and hairless; his body was thin, and he felt so small
in her arms, so frail… Like a child. She smiled against his shoulder, and he felt it. Pushing her slightly
back on the pillows, he bent over her, his dark eyes glistering in the
candlelight. His lingering gaze upon her felt as tempting and caressing
as his hands were, roaming around her body. And again, she felt profoundly
helpless before him. And then he was kissing her all over, and it felt like in her dreams
- only better. The potion he had served her tonight must had been very
potent, and it made her body more sensitive, more responsive, than Eowyn
ever imagined it to be. Her heart was beating fast, she whimpered and
arched to man's hands and his lips, she wanted to beg for release -
and in the same time, she needed this exquisite torture to last - and
her tormentor was taking her higher and higher up the ghostly spiraling
staircase, that led to the top of lighthouse. And when the peak was reached, she cried out - and felt as if she woke
up, because there it was, something she missed desperately and couldn't
get before, something that had broken the bounds of her helplessness,
and made her feel strong and powerful, and angry, and vengeful. She
issued another scream, and seized his shoulders, scratching and biting.
And when he only laughed at her in return, she became mad, throwing
him on his back, and pinning his thin body to the bed with her own one.
Holding his hands above his head, she muttered unintelligible curses
to him, and marked his throat and his shoulders with her teeth, enjoying
beforehand at the view of scarlet bruises on his pale flesh that she
would be seeing tomorrow. He tried to struggle, but to no avail - now
it was her time to release her anger at him. This was her revenge -
for each of his glances, that made her shiver, for his poisonous words,
robbing her of sleep; for abducting her, for holding her captive, and
for digging in her wardrobe, certainly; for scoffing at her, for teasing
her, and for teaching her to resist it; for being her worst nightmare
and for saving her from it. She wanted this man beneath her to beg for
mercy - and he did so, moaning, crying under her reckless caresses.
She made him cry, this dark man with a body small and boyish; this powerful
manipulator, who managed to bewitch and fool the Kingdom of Rohan; he
who haunted her steps; he who drugged her tonight - and now was helpless
in her arms, sobbing in pleasure under her touch, and she could do anything
to him. This was something she ever wanted - to dominate him, to make
this black viper her servant, as he mockingly claimed he always had
been. Now, indeed, Lord Consellor was hers; Eowyn knew her nightmare
would never return to haunt her sleep; and she felt victorious. This
realization was enough to send her over the edge again, and she collapsed
beside him, panting. Grima then whispered in her ear, "Haven't I told you that you would take your chance?" and, without giving her break, covered her mouth with a kiss hard and hot - and entered her, in one swift thrust. Eowyn didn't even had time to gasp when he started moving inside her, and she threw her arms around his shoulders - and then sea seemed to break through the walls of the old lighthouse, and take the two lovers, and lift them up on its mighty palms, to the bliss.
Next morning he took her out, and she saw the sea. It breathed and
sighed, like a huge sleepy living creature. The endless sky spread above
them its blue wings. And it didn't show even a slightest intention of
falling down, despite of what have happened in the night. She turned to him and asked, "And how much of that potion do you have?" Grima took her hands in his and looked at her slyly. "Enough," was all he said.
In the mid summer the tidings reached them that Sauron was defeated.
Grima claimed he was not interested in details, but Eowyn forced him
to saddle the horse and go to the nearest village. Reluctant to leave
as he was, Grima obeyed. He returned next day and brought more news.
From him, Eowyn learned about the glorious death of her uncle, Theoden,
on the battlefield of Pelennor; her brother Eomer was about to be the
King of the Golden Hall now. Grima also told her about the feat of the
girl from Rohan, who sneaked into the army in the disguise of a warrior,
and slain the Witch King. Unfortunately, she was mortally wounded by
the Ringwraith, too, and died there in the field, remaining nameless
to the history. For a moment, Eowyn's sight saddened. She thought about
the battlefield glory she was never to receive, but was quickly distracted
by the next portion of news. Saruman, as Grima narrated her, was powerless
now, and held captive in Orthanc, from what he have heard. The last piece seemed to stir Eowyn more than all other. She rose and
paced the kitchen nervously, until she stopped before her husband and
said, "I think, Grima, now you can stop giving me that potion."
"Really? And why, if I may ask?" She looked away. "Now, when I knew that your tricks against my family were futile
and brought them no harm… The burden fell from my shoulders, and…"
Grima laughed. "Do you know how they call it, Eowyn? It's hypocrisy, and it is
very, very ill of you to blame you foul passion for me on the spell…"
"Shut up and let me finish. Aye, I am aware that I am a very wretched
woman, who betrayed her family and homeland for the sake of a man -
and what kind of man is that, only to think! - But I have a justification
now. Guess what?" "This… this couldn't be…" he whispered, drawing
her closer to him, "this simply couldn't be… I don't deserve
this…" "Most certainly you don't, because you are such a wicked creature,"
she teased him, running her fingers through his hair. "I only wonder,"
she added with concern, "this draught of yours, which I drank during
the first month of pregnancy - it won't hurt the baby, will it?"
Grima pulled her on his lap. Looking in her eyes, he said, "And now, Eowyn, let me tell you a secret. Promise you won't tell
anybody?" She nodded, intrigued, and he continued, "There was no love potion. From the very beginning. Not even single
drop of anything like that. Sh-sh-sh… No need to worry this much…
I told you, I just couldn't wait anymore… Now, now, calm down…
hey, it hurts! Let go of my ear!" "Damn bloody cheater you are, Grima, son of Galmod, the king of liars and the high priest of Deceit, the worst of I-don't-know-whom! I wonder how the sky haven't fallen down on you yet…!"
For many years, King Eomer of Rohan searched desperately for his abducted
sister. His rangers scoured all of the Middle Earth, and even some lands
of Harad and Rhun, but vainly. No traces were found of fair princess
Eowyn, neither of the man who took her - dark and ugly Grima, called
Wormtongue. At last the King gave up and stopped seeking. He was oblivious, however, to the fact that one party of rangers neared
to a success much closer than all others. When they searched the West
Coast, fishermen of the small village in West Enedwaith directed them
to the old lighthouse. There lived a widowed lady, who was not of local,
and was fitting the description. When the rangers appeared near the lighthouse, they were greeted by
the cute dark-haired boy of six or so. They asked him to call for his
mother, and he ran away. He returned, accompanied by stately woman of
years neither young nor old. The woman was wearing man's outfit; her
bright golden hair was cut short, and bore a single silver strand. "Aye, I knew the lady you look for," she said, when they
asked her, "but she is no more here. She died, 5 years ago, together
with her husband. They are buried over there," and she waved her
hand in the direction of distant cliff. "Do you want to see the
place? Only it is a mere mound, with no signs or anything…"
The rangers exchanged glances, thanked the woman, and departed. The boy looked after them grudgingly. "I don't like these people, Mommy," he said. The woman folded her arms around boy's thin shoulders. "Care for them not, Azazel. Come, I've got a new and beautiful
shell for you…" The boy followed his mother, but stopped for a moment and looked after
the recessive group. "I still don't like these people," he murmured. That night the party was ambushed by wandering trolls. No one lived.
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