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Theoden: Who am I, Gamling?

Gamling: You are our king, sire.

Theoden: And do you trust your king? -- Because he didn't.

Gamling: Your men, my Lord, will follow you to whatever end.

Theoden: My men? Yes, that was what I had hoped. To whatever end...was what I so foolishly had hoped.

Theoden: Where is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?

They have passed like rain on the mountain, like wind in the meadow.

The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.

How did it come to this?

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Isengard has fallen; The Ents had won. Gandalf, Theoden and Aragon, followed by their friends, as well as a large cavalry of Rohirrim. The confrontation of the mad wizard had finally come. 

The white wizard's fate was already desided by the king, but Gandalf was willing to forgive if only Saruman would abandon his dastardly plans. There was still time to reclaim his place in the light, there was still a common enemy out there.

Hooves splashed through the murky water. The water level had dropped enough that the horses dared to approach the ominous tower. Though, poor Arod had been startled when something darted under his hoof, before it disappearing back into the dark water; surely just a big fish.

Treebeard: Young master Gandalf, I'm glad you've come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master, but there's a Wizard to manage here, locked in his tower."

To those arriving, the tower looked as empty and dead as the valley that once so lush and green surrounded it. The fellowship looked uneasily around at what only a day ago had been a roaring fortress of smoke and iron.

Aragorn shifted an intense gaze up towards the dark walls, it was almost close to impossible to define any windows or openings in the black rock.

Aragorn: Come forth. Show yourself. He whisperet.

Gandalf: Take heed. Even a defeated Saruman is dangerous.

Gimli: Let's just chop off his head and call it a day.

Gandalf: No. We need him alive. We need information.

Suddenly, a gentle voice broke the thick atmosphere that hung heavily in the air. It loosened the nervous knot among various riders who heard it. All but Eomer who shuddered in disgust.

Saruman: You have fought many wars, and cut down many men, King Theoden. And afterwards you made peace.

Flowed the deep voice heard high above them, and on an overhang stood Saruman. Wearily, he leaned on his staff as he looked at his guests with a subdued and humble expression.

Saruman: Can we not take consult as We once did my old friend? Can't we not have peace, You and I?

Theoden: Ooh, We shall have peace.

Théoden answered gently at first; still alert. But quickly became more confident. Caused by the superiority he felt at seeing the wizard brought to his lowest.

Theoden: We shall have peace when you have answered for the burning of Vestfold, and the children who lie dead there. We shall have peace when the lives of the soldiers, whose bodies were cut down even as they lay dead against the Hornburg gates, have been avenged!

The sorcerer's face contorted in anger at the king's words, not least at the confidence that sounded in them. -- How dare the old dullard utter such haughty foolishness to him! Especially now; his hard work was laid in ruins, and now that feeble puppet king stood beneath him, threatening him in his defeat. Growled the malevolent voice behind his skull.

Theoden: When you hang from a gibbit for the sport of your own crows...! We shall have peace. 

Saruman : Gibbits and crows! DOTARD!...What do "you" want, Gandalf Greyhame? Let me guess. The key of Orthanc? Or perhaps the keys of Barad-Dur itself? Along with the crowns of the seven kings and the rods of the five wizards?

Pure unreasonableness was what Gandalf heard from the balcony where one of Middle-earth's brightest heads now stood trying to save his own skin and save face.

Gandalf: Your treachery has already cost many lives. Thousands more are now at risk, but you could save them Saruman. You were deep in the enemy's council.

Saruman smiled wryly at what he heard and his eyes shone with renewed fervor but not for the opportunity that was laid at his feet. But because He now had something to bargain with.

Saruman: So you have come here for information, and so you shall have.

From his cloak, Saruman held out the glowing Palantír and gazes raptly into it.

Saruman: Something festers in the heart of Middle-Earth. Something that you have failed to see. But the Great Eye has seen it. Even now he presses his advantage. His attack will come soon. You would all die.

Saruman: But you know this don't you, Gandalf?

Saruman continued as he saw Gandalf step back, with a darkened, and  rattled expression on his face. And deciding to rub more salt into the open wound, snarling angrily as he turned his gaze toward Aragorn.

Saruman: "You cannot believe that this Ranger will ever sit upon the throne of Gondor. This exile, crept from the shadows, will never be crowned king.

Saruman: Gandalf does not hesitate to sacrifice those closest to him. Those he professes to love. So tell me.. what comforting words did you give the halfling before you sent him to his doom? 

Aragorn: That's enough!

Saruman: The path You have sent him on can only lead to death.

Gimli: I have heard enough. Legolas shoot him! Stick an arrow in his gob.

Legolas reached for his quiver but was stopped by Gandalf's booming voice.

Gandalf: No! Saruman come down, and your life would be spared.

Saruman: Spare your pity, and your mercy. I have no use of it!

Saruman turned away, and disappear back into Orthanc. Leaving the fellowship to their own device. Which of now remembered that they still was two hobbits short of what they intended to leave with.

Aragorn: Gandalf, where is Merry, and Pippin?

Gandalf tore his gaze from the balcony to the ranger. His once stoic facade had given way to worry. Shifting his gaze to the old ent.

Treebeard: Hhuuuoooomm?. Treebeard reaches up into his crown in search of his missing passengers.

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Inside Orthanc, Saruman had other plans, none of which involved him surrendering, or receiving anyone's forgiveness, or for that matter any explanation to a pack of uncivilized dogs, and under any circumstances leaving his tower.

Pippin sat alone in one of the cold nooks where Saruman had thrown him, and under the shivering observation of a deeply affected Wormtongue. He's gaze was transfixed, but it was no longer the unwavering stare that froze his victims to the spot.

Grima: What does my Lord want done with the halfling?

Saruman: Just watch him until I come back. Do you think you can handle that, snake?!

Deeply shaken, Wormtongue stepped back and let his lord pass him. Without moving a muscle until Saruman was on the stairs, and not until the wizard was out of sight did he manage to catch his breath. His eyes were wide open as he followed the snippet of the white robe, finally disappearing into the darkness; finally safe.

His staggered breath got caught in his throat as he leaned against the wall, and the cold cut through the thin wool, chilling his wet skin.  The sudden chill set off an itch, and he ran his long fingers over a small flaking spot on his scalp. Gathering his nerve, he remembered his lord's order, and turned to face the hobbit. His telltale wet eyes peering between heavy lids; fear and pain shone from them. This wet gasping mess had briefly alarmed young Pippin, the man looked like he couldn't stand being in his own skin, and threatened to fall apart by the slightest gust of wind.

Safe to say, not the best watchman for a hobbit. But playing his cards safe, Pippin slowly pulled further away, a shiver ran down his spine, but not from the cold stone walls. He could feel how the hawk-like eyes followed his slightest movement, like a trapped mouse. He bit down hard on his cheek when he accidentally he slammed his arm against the wall and a pain shot through his arm.

During the attack, Pippin had fallen from Treebeard's branches and had injured his arm. Fortunately he haden't heard any sickening crunch back then. And in all the confusion, one of the great Uruk-hai had grabbed him and pulled him towards Orthanc's stairs. Merry had noticed and had run after them to save him. The orc had turned on Merry, and swung a gruesome ax at his cousin, but had been saved at the last moment when a huge stone block  crashed down in front of him; crushing the orc where it stood. They had huddled close together by the gate when it suddenly opened. And a hooked hand, with long white nails had grasped his robe. He let out a cry and Merry had grabbed onto him before he too was dragged into the dark tower.

He remembered nothing after that, until he was disrupted from his sleep, by the feeling of being watched. And without Merry by his side he awoke to a pale face; staring unblinkingly down at him.

Chapter Text

Grima was startled to see the wizard's agitated demeanor, a side of him he had rarely seen, apart from his angry growling of in-between failures, but not to such a severity. He cowered as he heard his lord's angry voice boom from above him. 

The itch was back, in all fairness it hadn't eased from the last time, and it was starting to wear on his already fragile nerves. And the cool shadow did nothing to ease the sting that flared up after repeatedly clawing the sore area, until he lowered his arm, and a cold swaet ran over him.  

A long blank look glaced over his pale face as he saw blood under his fingernails. He quickly dried his fingers before pulling a dirty handkerchief from his robes, and proceeded to hold it against his scalp. What he saw draind the last bit of warmth from his cheeks. 
Frightened yes, but not enough to not seek answers; at least not yet. So he left the hobbit to himself. 

He sees Saruman clutching the Orthanc stone in his gaunt hand as he scurried around his workshop. Broken glass, and scrolls lay in a jumble on tables and on the floor.

Wormtongue had heard Gandalf's order to have them open the gates, and surrender. And he immediately believes that his lord intended to accept mercy. But to his confusion and wonder he noticed that Saruman had not been heading down towards Orthanc's entrance, but rather further up. -Does he intend to escape? But how? he thought. The question didn't matter, he wasn't about to be left here alone, and hurried after the wizard. 

Breathlessly, he stalked after him to the next floor of the tower, the light from the few windows cutting into his eyes, they had arrived at the library, where Saruman kept all of his maps.

Grima: My lord what shall we do? Where are you going? I-is there anything I can do something for you?

Saruman ignored his skittering servant, and pushed down old books as he dug through a dusty bookcase. Whatever he was looking for it's importance was very much above the ancient texts. 

And he found it; he held out a small glass vial. Something he has kept hidden for a time of which he never had thought would come to forwishen.
But being the cunning, and resourceful sorcerer that he was. He had reconsidered its usefulness. But neither had he imagined that it's purpose was to serve as his own personal prison.

Grima struggled to catch his breath, his master finally stopped when he had reached Orthanc's middle floor; the hall of the akymists, and the birthplace of Isengard's fire. The room where he had mixed the strange powder. Its smell was unpleasant, it made his eyes itch, and had tickled his nose incessantly. But it had been a time he felt he was useful.

Grima: My Lord! I beg you wait. W-what's going on?

Saruman: Silence!

Startled, he cowered back at his lord's tone. But his curiosity piqued when Saruman took the flagon from his white robes, and held it out in front of his pale, gaunt face. "Here, drink it."

Grima: What is it?

Saruman: This will be your last task, and you will get what you deserve for your service. Drink This, and no one would be able to touch you. All you have to do is just swallow it.

Saruman voiced these words with such invulnerability that it brightened Grima's self-assurance. Exactly what the man needed to hear; no one would be able to touch him.     --Soon all this would be over. His entire reason for approaching his lord about his bleeding was forgotten.

And yet, there was still a little voice in his head that warned him that something wasn't right. He rised his arm, but slaped it bag under his robe, risisting the unrelenting itch in his bleeding scalp. How could the throne ever become his? And more importantly, how could his Eowyn accept him with all of Rohan, her uncle, and brother at her side? How could he possibly approach without being impaled in a storm of arrows?

Saruman: Sluggish beast! Why are you hesitating? Would you rather be trapped here?

Grima instantly obeyed, and with a trembling hand he gently took the glass from the wizard's cold fingers. The doubtful whims were gone, and with only two thoughts in mind.-- Rohan can still be mine. Eowyn would take me as her husband. He lifted the rim of the glass to his dry lips.

He almost immediately began to cough, choking on the bitter taste. Saruman scowled in displeasure at Wormtongue when only half the glass went down.

Grima leaned against the table; he felt terribly hot, and relieved himself of the heavy cloak. "Don't hesitate, drink it! "B-but my Lord, I'm not feeling so well" 

Before the wizard could press the vial to his servant's mouth a sobbing was heard. From behind an iron chest, half hidden away in the shadows crept the whimper." What do we have here? Saruman violently grabbed onto Pippin's arm. Paying no mind for the young hobbit's pained plead to let go.

Grima: I-I can feel something. My lord, where are you going?!

Without a glance or a word, Saruman continued upward with both the palantir, and the hobbit in tow. Ignoring the perturbed voice from the foot of the stairs as he, and the hobbit disappeared into the darkness. Leaving his servant alone for the horror to come.

Fearfully, Grima sat down against the cold wall where he tried to calm his nerves by repeatedly telling himself that everything was going to be fine. His lord's anger was understandable; everything was gone, years of work, everything devastated. 

He looked sadly down at the bottle, which was still half full. He would have liked to have emptied it if it would have satisfied Saruman, so he took it to his thin lips and forced a good gulp down.
Despite the small size, the foul taste only made it feel like he was trying to empty a full wineskin. 

And as tears rolled down his cheeks he remembered the days when Saruman had been different, even respectful towards him. How he missed the old Saruman who brought comfort when the darkness caught up to him.

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Memory

He had been on his first diplomatic visit to Isengard; the very first time he had met the mighty Saruman.

The white wizard had quickly figured out what past he had lived under, how he had escaped it, and how it still haunted him.

Saruman: How curious? To see a Dunlending in Rohan, and from Edoras of all places.

Grima: Half Dunlending, my lord.

Of course, it was no secret that he was different from the rest of his Rohirrim kinsmen, and that was just an understatement. He was of Dunlenings descent, from the harsh barren plains, and cold mountain area to the north. His physique was slender due to many brutal winters, and his lack of skill with the sword earned him no respect from his Rohirrim peers. But it did not overcome the deterrence that lay in his appearance alone.

Saruman: Hmm. No doubt from your mother's side?

His face grow ghostly pale. True; he had his mother's raven-black hair, greasy and thick as pond weed. Impossible to keep clean, no matter how much Lavender, or Soapwort she, or himself tried to wash it in. And though he had inherited his father's blue eyes, they only stood in a unsettling contrast to his pale-beaked appearance.

Saruman: Perhaps she was also the one who sent you?

Grima: I asked her...many a times. So did others. Life was not easy, my lord must understand.

Not fully sure why he suddenly wanted to share the fine details with a stranger, and a wizard of all people. No one in Rohan knew half as much as his name, and origins. But he did, he felt that he could trust this great wizard. So he had loosend his tongue knowing that his secret would be safe with the wise.  

Grima: But the day she finally told me I had never been so proud.

Saruman: It must have eased your self-esteem that you were...something more?

Grima: Not like that, my lord. Mom always said I was something..very special.

Saruman: Oh! In what way did she mean though?

Grima: I was her son, her only child.

Saruman: Is she still in Dunland?

Unsure of how to proceed. He was still stunned by the interest chowen to him by a man so great. Here he had a wizard who wanted to know him, where to begin? What to share first? He didn't want to offend Saruman, so without hesitation or much thought he took it back to the beginning; why he had gone to Rohan. 

Grima: I asked her why We didn't live with him. Rohan's houses must be warmer than having to endure the winter nights in the mountains.

Grima: I no longer remember what she said. But I remember the cold, and the anger. I said she was a fool for not to seek him out. We'll both freeze to death before we starve. And she wasn't well.

Grima: I...was so deeply ashamed. I just wanted to lean into her arms and ask for forgiveness. Keeping her warm for the night.

A grim silence fell over him as the memories occupied his mind.

Grima:..I was the only one who woke up.

Saruman: And you did right. A mother would always wish for her child what she herself could not have in life.

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At Saruman's departure Grima tried to use his silvertongue to self-soothe the turmoil in his belly; it was just an itch. But he had spoken too soon. It wasn't long before his arms itched so terribly as if they were covered in ants.

He tried to scratch his irritated skin, but the gold-edged sleeves didn't make it easy, and he didn't want to risk breaking any of the weaves. His back itch as if he had been lying on a bed of straw, and it is starting to spread over his rear end.

The itch had now broken out over his thigh, and one of his softer areas. He briefly thought about running after Saruman, explaining that his skin had a bad reaction to his potion. But his master wanted action, and for it to be carried out. Not regrets. And again, Saruman had blindly given it to him, fully trusting him to do his last task. 

His nausea had also started to go away on its own, so everything was probably as it should be. Saruman was his friend, and ally. He has always had faith in his abilities, was it really that big a deal to drink a small bottle?

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His past haunts his dreams that night, and Saruman was already at his side.

Saruman: Calm Galmod, you are safe here. They can't touch you here.

Grima: They're back..nightmares.

Saruman: What happened? Who tormented you?

Grima: All of them. They shout and scream at me. Kicking, and punching...They were scared.

Saruman: Now I am sure. I already sensed a powerful presence in Meduseld that day. Such abilities should not be found among such an ordinary folks. Until I saw you. Your loved ones words rang true.

Grima: NO! My lord did not see it. What I had done. Her face, her hair was...distorted! I did it..it was me..I killed her!

The white wizard didn't frown at the outburst, but just continured in a soft understanding voice. 

Saruman: No, Grima. Don't listen to them. She gave her life to you. It is a mother's responsibility to protect her child, to sacrifice everything for it to live on. She gave you the most precious thing she had.

Grima: I ran away. I couldn't stay. But- but I kept running until I saw- grass.

Saruman: And look. She would only be proud if she could see her son now.

End of the memories

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Grima was brought out of his thoughts when his chest and belly suddenly had been puffed outwards as air began to take up his middle. He groaned in discomfort, and tried to burp. 

It felt like he couldn't be in his own body, and worse. He could distinguish from under the black interweavings small elongated skin growths growing out of his swollen arm, and more was begining to spread up to his shoulder.

Grima: What's happening to me? My lord! Come back!

His heart was in his throat when the little white scales (for that's what they were) begun to spread over his legs, thighs and back. The sight of the white scales, or any other things growing out of his body was a living nightmare. However, they were not the only concern ; but the swelling that grew with them. To his horror, it wasn't only his arms, and belly but also other fleshy areas as well. Wherever scales grew, he grew with them.

His white skin filled out inside his sleeves til the skin popped through the finely woven rings. Before he knew it, full arms jumped from the net that encircled them, as well as the loop that sat around his middle finger snapped, and the six gold buttons jingled harmoniously between the sound of ripping clothes.

His pants got tighter and tighter until his belt became unbearable and he frantically tried to free himself from it. However, he didn't need to; the sound of the buckle popping from the leather finally giving way saved him the trouble.

Tears streamed down his cheeks completely caught off guard not just by fear, but also embarrassment. Whimpering at every stitch that popped as the seams on his pant legs split. He panted and moaned as his body struggled to deal with the rapid changes that were ravaging his body. And as his legs and arms grew weaker and weaker, his spine grew stronger.

What happened next, some might have seen as an improvement, as his sagging cheekbones popped out with a healthy layer of fat, and it definitely cross his overburdened mind that he had also gotten heavier.

He reached up to feel his puffy cheeks, only to be stopped by the sight of long claw-like nails growing from his fingers. "mother? Pure despair had consumed his mind -- He had to go to Saruman, he knew what he had to do, he could stop the madness!
He screamed up the stairwell for the wizard as the scales settled over his now plump cheeks, but the echo was as hollow as the staircase.

Grima: Saruman, help me! Don't leave!

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Pippin's eyes stung as he was ushered past tall rows of windows and his nose wrinkled as the scent of herbs tingled his nostrils. As well as the fearful cries that pierced his ears as he was draged after Saruman. Gradually they began to sound like low-pitched whining. But now they had stopped. 

--Foolish Took, indeed. Pippin thougt. He had hoped if he could just somehow get hold of the keys that he had seen Saruman put away in his robes, he and Merry could escape. But what fool takes after a wizard with an injured arm? To late now, Saruman had heard his gasp, and now he was in a real pain.

Pippin: Aarh! I think it's broken! Let it go! Please; let go of me!

Saruman: Be quiet, mangy gnome! Or would you rather give company to Worm?

Chapter Text

In his panic, Grima sees and feels nothing but white-hot pain as his entire body went through hell. Powered by the agony of his skin stretching, muscels lengthens, and tendons tearing, all while his heart furiously tries to keep up pumping blood through his broadening back as his spine started to elongates. He's desperate plead for it to stop falls silent, even to his own shrivelled ears.  

Cries became wails, but even that came to an end when the pain ceased his skull, his eye sight blacked in and out as his face shot forward in an elongated snout, his shrieking hiccuped by a large inhold of inner gas that inflated his throat, strong enough to pop-up his eyes. 

He couldn't run, his legs was long gone, and as his arm was being consumed by masses of flesh his massive head hit the floor hard. Finally knocking him out, and left numb to the agony of his spine that continues to grow ceaseless, tumbling down through Orthanc's stone steps, until finally a hefty tail slams up against the inside of the gate where it barely misses the unconscious hobbit. 

.........

Merry awoke as the floor shook beneath him. At first confused when he looked around the cold stone hall, then startled as he suddenly remembered the reason he was lying here. He lifted his hand to his bleeding temple, he recalled the wizard had hammered his black staff against his ear before all went dark. 

Merry: Pippin!? I'm coming! Huh--?

Pippin was in the grip of the evil wizard. And with this single thought in mind, Merry had jumped up, and tore his sword from its scabbard. But was abruptly stopped when he ran into what he at first thought was a wall.

Merry mumbled angrily, clutching his curly hair. But when he looked up to see what it was that had stopped him he crawled backwards in fear; a dragon! A huge elongated mass which filled almost the entire stone staircase; wall to wall. And to his horror, Merry also realised that he would have to climb several times over that thing to get to Pippin. 

This journey was gradually becoming too much of an adventure for Merry, who by now longed more then ever for the safety of home. But not without Pippin at his side. Clinging to the cold stones, Merry side-stepped for as long as possible along the rock wall until he had to crawl over the tail. Bilbo will be furious when I tell him about this, Merry thought.

At first he had imagined it would be like stepping on treebark, or perhaps clutching a pine cone. But to his amazement the animal's skin was smooth and cold, but strangely also soft. Not what you would expect when you foolishly reached out to touch a dragon. Grabbing one of the thick locks of hair, Merry swung his leg over a mane of faded black-grey. And for a moment it didn't feel so different from mounting a horse; a very cold horse.

Merry slid down. His feet made a thump as he landed on the other side of the animal. He felt pleased with himself that he had ventured something so dangerous. He had effortlessly climbed, and sat on a dragon for heaven's sake! But after only five steps up the stairs, his lofty grin disappeared as reality knocked on his still sore head. After all, he would have to repeat his heroic deed at least 20 more times.

Merry: Bilbo. I'll kill you.

The trail was dark, and narrow, and it seemed like the beast only got wider the further up he went. His first easy won climb up and down soon became endless ups, and downs, ups, and down again. Creeping between rock, and soft hide, crossing the second floor of many. And now after 108 times Merry had to stop. He dried his nose before resting his cheek on the warm skin. Atleast it was warmer up here then on the freezing hall floor. 

His arms was becoming numb, and his leg felt like it was about to drop off, and had found himself slipping and dangling from the thick tufts of hair several times, but he would always find his way back up on the beast.

At length Merry thought he had swung his leg for the last time, he realized that the stairwell's doorway was almost completely blocked except for a narrow passage. And worse he had yet to see what was at the other end of this tail, what monstrosity would await him? 

Something, any wiser heads would surely have used a deeper consideration on before taking another step. But Merry didn't care. He pushed his way through and past the scaly body until he had reached the first floor. The light gave him new courage, and he rose from his knees and sprang towards one of the windows.

.........

Gandalf: You fool.

Gandalf stared stiffly up at where Saruman had been standing, and disappearing only a few minutes ago. He didn't doubt the other wizard's words, or the disgust in his voice. He had no intention of leaving his precious tower.

Eomer: My king, the men are growing restless. Everyone asks what we are waiting for.

Theoden: Neither do I.

Gandalf: There are reasons. Some more important than others. Saruman has someone very close to us.

Aragorn: As much as he still has one of yours, my lord.

Theoden glanced towards Aragorn, however his face remained unaffected, and impervious to what the ranger might have hinted at. He tightened his grip on Snowmane's reins, and in a stoic voice the king simply replied.

Theoden: He'd had his chance.

Gandalf descended from Shadowfax and took the first steps towards the ominous building. Many of the riders were understandably impatient, and many were angry. Everyone had expected a deadly counterattack from Orthanc. All had waited, bracing themselves for the possibility of being felled by one of these beasts Saruman called the Uruk-hai. And after Saruman's refusal of surrender all the riders were on their toes. Most of them wanted nothing more then to just go back to Rohan, and leave this desolate place behind. 

But they did not understand the danger that Saruman still possessed as long as he had his staff. And more pressing had been the news of the fellowship, and their futile hunt for a pack of orcs across the plains with Merry, and Pippin in tow. And only Saruman know where their friends were now being kept, which to everyone's astonishment were right before their eyes waving happily down at them.

Merry: Gandalf! Up here! It's me Merry!

From one of the tower's few windows, the hobbit's curly blond head pokes out, waving both of his arms, and grinning from ear to ear. All in one piece. Gimli and Legolas was beaming with relief and joy.

Gimli: "You little rascal! A fine goose chase you've led us on, and now we find you here-- Ouh! Hum!- What the hell are you doing up there!

Aragon smiled and waved questionly back. It was obvious that his only thought was how to get their hobbits back. Gandalf nodded, and proceeded to tip his hat kindly, but was then reminded that he no longer had it, and that its unknown fate weighed on him if not a little.

Merry could hardly believe what he saw; Gandalf was alive. He had truly returned to them, it was not an apparition they had encountered in Fangorn. Just wait until Pippin hears this--. It was like having a stone in his stomach when he remembered that Pippin wasn't here, and just the thought of what Saruman was doing to him right now-- or had already done. Merry hammered his fist down on the stone sill. "Don't think like that! He scolded himself.

Merry: He's got Pippin! Saruman has taken him! And he is hurt.

Legolas goes to Aragorn's side, more concerned for Merry's own safety when he sees the half of his face covered in red.

Legolas: His head is bleeding.

Aragon: Merry, you are injured! Do you have any way out?!

Merry: I'm fine! But Pippin is worse off. We fell from Treebeard's branches, and his arm got hurt in the fall.

Gemli: Don't worry lads. No gates can keep me when my friends are in danger. Nor can the dark tower keep me from cleaving it in half like an orc's head. We'll get you out!

Gimli was the first, and only dwarf to climb the stairs, but it was Legolas who first reached the Orthanc's gates. He went for the handle, but there was absolutely nothing to grab hold on, the gates were sleek iron. Legolas gritted his teeth and instead tried hard to break open the gates with his white fighting daggers, but even the 15 3/4 inch swords did nothing.

The deep heavy snorts had finally reached the threshold. Gimli was out of breath as he took his place by Legolas. No words were wasted, at once the dwarf hammered his mighty battle ax against the iron gate. Gimli thought his heart was about to give out, and his beard quivered with anger. Because the result, or rather the lack of a result, reminded him all too much of that accursed piece of gold; who still made fun of him.

Gimli: Curse it!

Merry: It's no use! It has its tail leaning against the gate!

The fellowship turned confused and curious eyes towards Merry.

Aragon: What has it's tail up against the gate?

Merry: Aragorn: What has it's tail up against the gate?

Merry: You won't believe me. But there is a huge dragon laying in the way from the hall, and all the way up here, and it only seems to getting longer and thicker.

Gimli: A drag-!?

Eomer: A dragon? He has a dragon in there?!!

Merry: And that is only the tail!

Theoden's stoic expression broke into one of horror, and one of dismay fell upon the elf. Silence fell upon the fellowship, and it spread like wildfire across the Rohirrim. Alarmed, Theoden looked to Gandalf for advice. But even the wizard seems at a loss.

 Gandalf: Merry stay where You are! I'm coming to you!

The white staff echoed in the broken ring as if the water hadn't been there. The horses  immediately backed away while Aragorn, Theoden, and Eomer shielded their eyes as a soft white light enveloped the wizard. When they could see clearly again, Gandalf was gone.

Theoden: Now where did he disappear off to?!

Eomer and Firefoot trudged around the place in search of the said wizard. The surprised and uneasy mutterings among the riders could be heard from behind them. Some of them even shouted coward and deserter.

Aragorn closed his ears to them but his attention was called when his hair was caught by light wing strokes. He looked up and saw a large silver-beige night swarmer. The moth bumped against his forehead before fluttering up to Orthanc.

And so it was Gandalf who became the first to crawl between the gates, and thus was the next to see Saruman's latest work.

Gandalf: Oh, Saruman what have you done?

Chapter Text

Grima: That's not true. I am dreaming. Sar-Saruman can mend this.  He can men- Yes, he can help me. 

His tone was that of ignorant bliss, but the tremoring dread that lurked in it hid a man who was just about to give up the ghost. As he looked at his scaly stomach, and the short stubby arms extended only by five long deadly  hooks that had once been neatly rounded nails, on smooth soft fingers but now scaly with five thick formation of armor-like plates. 

He sank into himself in horror, he didn't dare think about what his face might look like, if what sat at the end of his thick neck could even be called a face anymore. The only sight he had of it was a long pointed snout topped with a blunt bulge at the tip. He could not bear to see it. 

He reached up to cover his ugliness, but noted that his arms had become too short. Trying again, he bent his beefy neck which inevitably gave him a better look. That's when reality finally seemed to sink in as he looked down at the horror now more unappealing than what was there before.

Panicked, Grima looked to the chair where he had laid down his black cloak. He fished it up with a long claw and tried to hold it out in front of him. But the fragile hope crumbled on his undoubtedly ugly face; it was useless to him.

He held the once fine robe close to him as his attention had been called by a silent presence. Slowly, he looked to his left. The robe droped from his claws. For there in front of him was a little tiny guy. A child maybe? Who was watching him!

Grima: What are you doing here?

Merry stood frozen. His whole body quivering with fright as he watched the dragon in stark terror while his brain tried to come up with an explanation  for him standing here, and why in the world he didn't waited for Gandalf.

His sad excuse was that he just couldn't wait, and chosen to continuring up until he was engulfed in darkness. His legs had nearly given out when the faint source of light had lured him to push on, to escape the dark only for him to meet the owner of the tail. And the end of his foolhardy adventure. 

The dragon hadn't noticed him right away, but that didn't matter, he would soon find his new home in the monster's gut. And with the dragon's head suddenly so close, his tongue slipped.

Grima: Who are you?

Merry: MeRRyBrAnDyBuCkPlEaSeDoN'TeAtMe!!

Grima: Excuse me?

Calming himself as well as one can do when sharing breathing space with a fire breathing beast.

Merry: B-bra..Brandybuck,..sir?

Grima: My pleasure. He answered calmly

Merry certainly hadn't expected instead of eating him that it would start introducing itself, least of all in such a human-like way. Like it was a damn person. And more surprising, it seemed like that it wasn't only him who had been alarmed.

He started to gather that it was him who caused the unease on the scaly mug, and had perhaps chosen to see his own fearsome reaktion as awe. Because instead of gulping him up on the spot the beast began to boast.

Grima: Grima son of Galmod. Advisor, and a dear friend of king Theoden. I have been sent with important news from the King of Rohan to Saruman the white.

Merry: Well, excuse me?!?!

Grima: No one else dared to travel through the open land infested with those vile orcs. So I was sent.

Merry caught on to how Grima's gaze shifted to the side as if he was trying to avoid a direct gaze.

Already being skeptical that the beast could actually talk, and not just that, but that it talked too much. But because the whole explanation he had been served sounded like pure fabrication. The whole picture that appeared in his head was alone ridiculous, and put this Grima in a skeptical light; since when did the great kings send out their pet dragons with messages to mad wizards? It was clear that this "man" was trying to turn black into white, and was failing miserable at it.

And now that he thought about it, he remembered something that Treebeard had told them. From the borders of Rohan, a puny man riding a black horse had been paying one to many visits to Isengard since Saruman began to spread his smoke and fire over the Fangorn forest. In other words; a snake in the grass.

Merry: You're that guy,Wormtongue! 

The great dragon, which wasn't a dragon at all now that Merry had gotten a full look at him. But a huge snake that recoiled at the very name. "Ay, I know who you are. So I know exactly as much about you as I need.

Merry bit his tongue, staggered but didn't budge when the worm stuck his scaly snout into his. His cold gaze quivered in pure ire. But Merry challenged him, staring directly into those glowing yellow eyes. Grima hissed as venom spurted from between his black-liped gape.

Grima: Very well. Then get out of here! Hole-builder.

Merry: No, thank you Worma.

.........

The climb up the stairs was arduous, and felt much longer than his last. He had had to struggle up along the wall, and with his staff he tried to keep a safe distance between himself and this living wall when it came too close. He had tried to tug at some of the long dark mane on the tail, but there was no reaction. 

If Saruman intended to barricade himself to keep Rohan out, it worked. Had it come to that, King Theoden's riders would only have been able to squeeze in one at a time. But whatever the creature was, it did not necessarily create an impenetrable barrier, but rather was more of a brake block between himself and Saruman.

Gandalf entered the first floor where he had argued, and fought with Saruman. The room was bathed in semi-darkness, the only light coming in was from the balcony. But even from the wide opening barely any light was being let in. The place was empty, and wrapped in a shroud of loneliness. From the cold, hot steam floated from his mouth as the air chilled his face. The old wizard growled, Merry was nowhere to be found.

He continued up the stairs in search of the wayward hobbit. The wizard frothed behind his white beard as he hurried up the swirling stairs. The corridor was dark, but in the light of one of the last wall torches he could finally make out the outline of the entrance to the second floor. But he stopped when he got a full view of the entire entrance. It was blocked.

Heat spread over the wizard's face, he didn't much care for stairs, and he avoided them as often as possible. But he absolutely loathed Orthanc's stone staircase. He cursed the darkness, and the coldness that enveloped each of the slippery steps in the coal-shrouded blackness. And now once again this overgrown, fake worm had gotten in his way! Gandalf was about to reach for one of the torches when he heard voices. An argument had broken out at the back of the blocked entrance. 

Merry: Liar! Spit it out! Where's Pippin!?

Grima: How-how dare you! Go away, mite! Leave me be!

As Gandalf walked closer, he caught a faint light peeking out from the doorway, and the voices became clearer. It was Merry, and quite as he had expected, the vile Wormtongue. There was no mistaking that hoarse voice.

The opening was just big enough for a hobbit to slip through, but for a wizard it was a big deal in a tight fit. Gandalf clenched his staff as the shouting and cursing increased.

Merry: I know who you are! I was told that you would probably slink around in here! Sneaker! Oi, where do you think you are going!

Grima: Tha-That's a lie! Put those books down!

Gandalf knew that the corrupt advisor was a coward, and would rather choose flight than fight, and it certainly sounded like Merry had the worm on the torture bench.

Grima: My lord will know of this, just wait- Ouch!

Merry: Your lordship took my cousin! Run and get your master. If you think you can sneak out of this tight spot! You deceitful, wretched, greedy, insensitive, sadistic, depraved devil!

Grima: Why wouldn't you just go away!?

At the sound of heavy glass getting smashed, and the shrill scream that cut through the masonry, Gandalf warned that now it had gone too far. The possibility of both hobbits being disarmed by the orcs was too great, and Gandalf did not dare it. Immediately the wizard began hammering his staff against the pale belly scales.

Gandalf: Shut up you fools! And get your scaly corpus out of the way Wormtongue!

His blood froze at the mention of that cursed name. His lord had never used that name before, but in the last days he had chosen a name much worse, and more hurtful. However the hard blows given to his soft flank quickly snapped him out of his shock. The staff had also been Saruman's other constant companion, and as he had painfully found out, the wizard was not afraid to use it.

Grima pulled himself as far against the stone wall as his body mass would allow him, constantly weaving excuses and babbling regrets.

Grima: Ouuh, forgive me my lord! You must forgive me. I was merely preventing the little vandal from destroying you're possessions.

Gandalf: And you have clearly failed in that too, old worm.

.........

Bewildered as he was, he had completely forgotten that Saruman had continued upward. Even if it had been Saruman it wouldn't have eased Wormtongue's galloping heartbeat. But just the sight of Gandalf Stormcrow pushing through his left flank only brought him into a near cardiac arrest.

Grima: You!

Gandalf, however, had a completely different view of this unusual situation.

Gandalf: Fortunate for you..Ooh?

Grima hissed as the wizard lightly poked at the loose folds of skin that made up his long flank. Taking no heed of the stubby, and well out of reach arms striking out at him.

The Wormtongue's long body lay parallel to the stone wall, filling Orthanc's entire circumference. His elongated head and crooked neck was halfway above the floor as he snarled down at them. The top of his head was flanked by a broad lower jaw, which unfortunately made his head look even thicker.

Gandalf: Certainly not what I expected. Saruman has never been the type to keep pets. Had this only been under different circumstances, I would have taken great pleasure in seeing him in company with a like-minded zealot. But in the end, a lying snake was all he settle with.

Merry: I knew it. He claimed he knew no Peregrin Took. While he just lay hidden away in the dark, lying through his teeth.

Grima: Ooh, but it'll be worth it. Flapping his long pale tongue in their faces. Taunting them in another one of his dreaded hissy fit.

Grima: I would be handsomely rewarded for my service. I would be respected wherever I cast my shadow! Meduseld will be mine, the golden hall is mine!!

Gandalf: And what about Théoden? The man who trusted you blindly? The man who elected you to his council? Dressed you in that fine robe? And left a place open so that he could always have his most devoted man by his side?

Merry: Oh. Just let it be, Gandalf. Why would a noble king put his trust in a..person called Wormtongue? He has no doubt indulged himself, and filled the man's ears with sugary words, softening problems with an appealing smile.

Gandalf didn't know why he bothered, maybe he was just hoping to witness some regrets from the old worm. He patiently folds his hands over his white staff, his gaze didn't waver from the beast.

Gandalf: What did you expect? That maybe Saruman had become merciful? That he'll let you and your ill-fated skin slip away unnoticed?

Grima: He promised nothing would happen to me. I was promised security!

Gandalf: Naive. A promise is only as good as the person who makes it. To think that such blue-eyedness should come from a creature as untrustworthy as Grima Wormtongue? Saruman would never keep his promise to a lumpy dog. He finds it beneath his dignity.

Grima: But he promised-

Gandalf: Arrh, it is hopeless. Waste of time!

An angry snarling head followed the wizard and the hobbit as they left the room. Gnashing, and clenching his frobbing jaws as foam, and saliva began to flood from them. - Waste of time? No. This is the last time you dishonor my name, Stormcrow!

Without warning, Gandalf and Merry's departure was abruptly impeded as the massive curves blocked them from reaching Saruman. Try and they would be crushed.

Grima: You wanna reach him...You'll first have to pass...ME!

Gandalf's eyes widened at these ominous words, he recognized the threat and what was to come.

Gandalf: Merry watch out!

Gandalf grabbed Merry by his hood and threw him to the side. Too late, and Merry will have been remembered as red splashes on broken stone blocks.

Merry blinked incoherently. It only took a moment as his line of sight had been obscured by a white fringe of scales. And thick dust choked his throat, and glittering black stones got caught in his hair. The wall right in front of him had been destroyed, annihilated before his eyes; the snake had lunged at him.

Grima: You would never reach Saruman. He has a job to do before all this is over.

This time he lunged for Gandalf. Furiously he tried with his arms to knock the staff from the wizard's hands. Beyond frustrated by literally having knives at his fingertips only to be just out of reach, but only just. Gandalf blocked the sharp claws before they could rip his arm open, but it also sent him tumbling to the floor. A manic grin cracked across the long snout, finally seeing Gandalf in the same predicament as himself. -- "Oh revenge is sweet, with the bittersweet aftertaste of irony.

Gandalf: You have been blinded, Wormtongue.

Grima: LIES!

Gandalf: It is true. This was how you choose to show your own loyalty to your king; whisper lies, spreading doubt. Robbing him of life.

Gandalf was pressed flat against the obsidian floor, a dagger of a claw pressed mercilessly against his shoulder blades, not far from his heart.

Grima: You made a big mistake in coming here Láthspel! What a bad guest you have proven yourself to be.

The claw was in contact with skin, but Gandalf did not utter the pain that shot through him, he knew in that moment the poisonous claw drew blood he would be dead.

It never did. However, a shrill howl shook the room to its foundations, and the claw was pulled away. The wizard looked back in bewilderment to see Merry hanging on for dear life at the end of a short sword attached to the worm's soft flank just below the short forelimb.

But Merry was quickly swiped away as Grima managed to pull the blade from his flesh, but the hobbit never let go of his weapon. Merry had bravely found a vulnerable area but the blade had only gone so far to penetrate the layers of fat and cartilage. But it worked, he had struck fear into the very bones of the beast. Blood gushed from the stab wound, and the now stunned Grima hugged his bloody front in crippled anguish.

Grima: Aarrh! Wh-what happened? What's going on?

Merry rushed over to help Gandalf back to his feet. The short battle had been brought to an end, and just like back in Meduseld, the wizard was just as quick to closed the mouth of the now wounded Wormtongue.

Gandalf: Down snake! Down on your belly. Do not think that I did not see the glint of silver in the greasy blackness when you lay at the foot of Meduseld.

Grima retreated hastily, curling in around himself in fear. Trying to get as far away from the wizard as the tower could allow, until his neck was pressed so deeply against his body that it formed deep folds of skin around the tense cheekbones. His yellow eyes widen in abject terror at the sight of the white staff.

Merry: Do you hear that?! No longer so high, and mighty--

Gandalf: Not so fast, Meriadoc! What do you have there?

Gandalf caught the glass vial from Merry's hand before he could throw it. His blue eyes scowled from the bottle to the downed Wormtongue. Merry actually thought for a moment that Gandalf would have thrown it himself at the sloppy worm. 

But the wizard only mumbled, and loud enough for Merry to appreciate the word "idiot". The wizard pocketed the vial and even at a time like this gave himself to think.

__________________________________________________________________

~ This elixir exerts its influence by letting its devourer see the inner horror. 

--Saruman, yours sincerely.
__________________________________________________________________

Grima Wormtongue's own self-image was in the form of a giant long-worm. A terrible curse, but a fitting one. You reap what you sow.

He could of course have imagined that Grima would have asked many questions in a desperate situation. The man had been clever enough to destroy King Theoden's counsel with his trickery. There was no possible way Grima would drink it had he known what would happen. 

But again in a stressful position with his head on the line, and no wise words to make sure it stayed where it was, he probably wouldn't have had time to think, or ask what Saruman forced down his throat. Gandalf wondered again at the fruitless attempt to show his loyalty by defending the wizard who had turned him into a worm. It seemed to him very impressionable even for a man like Grima.

Saruman probably thought he had caught them by surprise, but this plan was not put together by the once sharp mind of the once white wizard. This was purely to torment his already crippled lackey. Saruman probably had no idea of ​​the outcome, and in the middle of it all Saruman had caught himself between a trapped snake and the empty winds in between.

.........

Eowyn: My king! Lord Aragorn!

Everyone turns in surprise at the voice, and the splash of galloping hooves of a light-footed gray mare. Theoden was momentarily paralyzed when he saw his niece burst forth from the horde. Eomer, on the other hand was at first stunned to see his sister here, but her warm smile roused his anger since the dangers they already had faced of which she so clearly disregarded. Even her own life.

Theoden: Eowyn?.. What are you doing here!?

Eowyn: I had to go with you.

Eomer: Had to!?

The fellowship would have supported that question, but as Eomer loudly voiced his disapproval, and Eowyn's disinterest at her brother's tone, it was quickly agreed that this was none of their business.

Eomer: Stupid, so stupid. Come with me. You shouldn't be here. Isengard has fallen, but the wargs still make the valley and the field dangerous.

Eowyn: No! My safety would still be at risk with "him" still prowling around. And I intend to put an end to that today.

Eomer: Under no circumstances. I would have Gamling take you home.

Aragorn stepped in and stopped Eomer before he could lift Eowyn onto the brown horse. 

Aragorn: Wait. Let her be. My lady. You saw his exile. He will never again trouble you. You are safe.

Hearing this, Her face had taken the impassive expression that had beset her in the dark days she was locked behind the walls of Meduseld, with the ever-lurking eyes locked at the back of her neck. Even in her dreams she could not escape his constant gaze. Her demeanor had changed so unexpectedly, so disturbed, and hurt that it silenced, and even frightened Aragorn.

Eowyn: That wormtongue, has made his last year of my life a hell. But not anymore. Now it has to stop.

Eowyn looked then to her uncle, her eyes full of dismay. Her stony, and wounded demeanor had whispered words of wrath in her ears since the king and the Rohirrim took from Edoras, and towards certain death. Which only dragged her deeper into the darkness. If her king wanted for her happiness he would have cut that worm down on the spot. However now he forced her to take care of it herself, but that also gave her the chance to prove to her family what she was willing to do. She was determined to end this torment. She could swing the blade and defend her home.

Eowyn: I beg you, Lord Aragorn. Let me stay. This is my war as well as yours.

.........

Grima: As if you knew anything-

Gandalf: Of whom you covet? Yes, of course. About how You would go about poisoning and corrupting a pure soul? Maybe. But I know your worn-out scales can no longer fool her from who, and what You really are.

Grima: How dare you? Don't talk-- Don't talk about her!

Merry: Careful, you'll end up biting off your own tongue.

Grima: Shut up, hole builder!

The Wormtongue lost now all patience, and once more thundered against the wizard and the hobbit. But this time Gandalf was ready, he holds up a bright mirror of light against the angry Grima, and like lightning he diverted from them, and crashes headfirst through a chamber door, to the sound of his head colliding violently with the stone wall. The uneasiness in Gandalf's cold eyes faded with the shimmering light as it faded in a flash of silver. And for a moment he seemed like he deflated. Briefly becoming despondent to what had just accrued.

Gandalf: It worked. It is done.

Merry: Is-Is he dead? He-he just crashed into the wall!

The silence was so thick that Merry was sure he could cut a piece of it; like a piece of Estella Bolger shortbread. He had yet again fallen prey to paralysing terror. At first he hadn't expected the rogue to attack while Gandalf was here, especially now that he was injured. Even before the wizard's arrival, he had still foolishly not expected any harm from the pathetic but still gigantic worm.

Gandalf: Stay behind me, Meriadoc.

From within the chamber pitiful cries broke out. Convinced that his plan had worked, and with a pensive gaze Gandalf walked towards the slain serpent.

Grima: Aaarh! What have I done! S-s-sorry my love. Please, forgive me.

From the beginning he had not given the cause a thought; why Meduseld had become inhospitable? And why the guards expected a hostile attitude from them? He had been unable to have any kind of compassion for the creature who would resort to crawl on its belly in anticipation for power. He was only set on on pushing the worm out of the way and free King Theoden.

But the sad sight that greeted him in the broken mess, and in how Galmod's reaction had played out had made Gandalf wonder if it initially had "only" been the power, and the conveniences the young shieldmaid could offer that had been the sole reason for his betrayal. If so it might not always have been so.

Not only that,  something else had aroused a wonder in the wizard. It was small, for some it was nothing but insignificant. But it was there. From the half-darkness, the poisonous yellow eyes did not stare back, instead he was greeted by dazed misty blue orbs flickering up at him.

Gandalf: Not quite. Not even close.

And now Gandalf had his answer to how they could get the white rat out of hiding.

Chapter Text

Merry: What do you want me to do?!
Gandalf: Mix the rest of the potion in that wineskin of youres.

The hobbit was hesitant but obeyed, and poured the violet liquid in. He didn't like spoiling Treebeard's gift.

Merry: Listen. I can hear that the poor thing is about to fall apart. But to waste it on a snake like him?
Gandalf: There's plenty of ale in Middle-earth.

Merry: Good word again; it never went well for anyone to drink their distress away, and certainly not in a brew as good as this..well, 
it was.

Gandalf: Mariadoc Brandybuck! You want to get Pippin back, don't you?
Merry: Of course I do!

Gandalf: So no more questions, and hand me your wineskin. Go to the window and tell everyone to make room at the gate and keep a safe distance.

---------

The wizard held the wineskin, and headed for the chamber as soon as he was sure the hobbit had left the room. True, the "entwine" could result in a completely different effect than the one he intended. But it was a chance that he gladly took.

And with Merry safe guarded behind the thick wall in the other room, the wizard was sure the hobbit was protected enough, just in case his plan caused the worm to explode. He didn't want anyone to suffer any unnecessary pain, he only hoped his trick would work. If not, then at least it would bring Saruman several floors down.

The chamber was narrow but enough for him to step over broken glass, and dried tufts of herbs. He did not try to drag Wormtongue from the chamber. Resistance or any  disagreement had to be avoided at all costs. Easier said than done when it came between those two. Grima could easily smash him against the shelves with his head. But right now he paid next to no attention to him, and just continued to wallow in his own misery, making no resistance when Gandalf pulled down the corner of his mouth.

Grima: What are you doing?

Gandalf: Drink. The wizard growled.

Grima: I-I'll not drink anything from any of you wizards!

Only a low whine came from the black lips as the sweet drink hit his tongue. And Grima quickly gave way as the liquid began to warm his mouth. Streams of tears ran down his scaly cheeks. He could feel it spreading down his throat, flowing through his aching chest, till finally hit his stomach, and onward to whatever came next.

Legolas: Aragorn! Merry is back!

Aragorn: Merry have you guys found a way out yet? Where is Gandalf?

Eomer: How did you get past the beast?

Merry: The snake knocked itself out, but Gandalf must have a plan, I think. He asked me to tell you all to stay away from the gates.

Legolas: Why must we withdraw mr. Hobbit?

The elf fixed his gaze on the stubborn dwarf. Gimli had already begun hacking his way through Orthanc's gate without so much as a scratch.

Theoden: Snake? Mr. holbytla, are you alo--

Eomer: How big is it little man?!

-Big? That word made the wheels work in his head, as if those words were actually important, and had weight to the whole situation Gandalf had set in motion. In other words; Merry only now got the suspicion that he probably should have told Gandalf that it really wasn't the concern about spilling good beer, and that it wasn't beer at all, but-

Merry: He is pretty big.

Suddenly, without warning the gates burst open, and to everyone's shock and horror a huge corpse-pale tail with tangled locks tumbled out of the darkness, sending the terrified dwarf running.

Gimli: By Balin's beard!

Legolas: Gimli! Jump aside! Don't run, slide!

Gimli: Slide?! I'm a dwarf!

Legolas came to Gimli's rescue, not stopping until his entire quiver of arrows had pierced the runaway tail. A loud shout from above caused the elf to hold his last arrow. Gandalf had appeared beside Merry and witnessed 11 arrows sticking out of the tail's flanks. The wizard and the befuddled Merry looked over towards the chamber where the Wormtongue lay, looking quite undisturbed. Completely unaware of the frenzy his poor tail had indured. Merry breathed a sigh of relief and Gandalf clenched, and loosening his grip around his staff.

Merry: That wine sure beats The Prancing Pony's humble brew every day of the week, huh?

Below, Theoden rode towards the stone steps to get a better look at "this" dragon. Beside him, Legolas helped the dazed Gimli to his feet. The hide was ashen pale, and coated across the top ran a long black mane. 

The king gave a few kicks to get Snowmane to take him closer, but the horse refused to venture any closer. The arrows pierced deep, but no blood gushed forth. The hide was thick. Theoden dismounted, and after ten long steps he stood in front of the animal.

Theoden: And now, what kind of peculiar beast are you?

One of his many predecessors; Fram son of Frumgar had defeated the dragon Scatha, and had described the beast in its many horrific details. But this creature had none of the characteristic features of any dragon the king had ever heard of before. 

The young Hobytla was right. There were no armored scales, only a strong and tight skin, coated with small grain-shaped scales. Not unlike a snake's skin that had been caught in the sun's rays. And dragons don't have hair. Theoden reached for one of the long black locks and examined it between his fingers. He let it slip from his grasp; his fingers were slick with grease.

When it finally hit the nail on the head, and as if he had been kicked in the head by a wild horse, Theoden was struck by a thought, or rather a memory. Something seemed so familiar. He had touched those locks before. This is not a dragon.This wasn't even an animal.

Theoden: Grima?

From the window, Gandalf watched the king, and he had caught Theoden's reaction of recognition, which the old king hardly dared to believe.

Gandalf: No. Your eyes are not deceiving you, Theoden King!

Theoden was mortified by Gandalf's insistence that this serpent monster indeed was Grima, his once trusted advisor.
The king calls out to Gandalf that he would gather his riders and enter.

Gandalf: An attack on Orthanc is useless. It would take hours to penetrate, time we do not have!

But despite the wizard's refusal that it was useless to send in reinforcements, the king ignored him.

Theoden: Forward Eorlingas!!

Eomer: Take up arms!!

Gandalf: Stop, you morons! Or are you willing to sacrifice your men in the recalcitrance?! If Saruman comes down, he will resist. He can, and will utilize any sorcery to witchcraft he has to hold his stronghold. And Pippin would eventually be caught in the crossfire. I'll take care of this myself.

Legolas: Gandalf! We thought we lost you to the Balrog-

Gimli: So don't you think we'll let you do something so crazy again. You cannot face Saruman alone!

Gandalf: I know the risk my dear friend. But I will not leave Orthanc until Saruman's staff is destroyed.

Alarmed, Legolas calls out to the old wizard, also asking him not to face Saruman alone. But Gandalf had made his choice. And the elf understood from here on that none of them could dissuade him from this task. He was determined to not put anymore of his companions in danger, in protest of Saruman's judgment in sending Frodo towards Mordor. This was between him and Saruman.

Realistically, Saruman was still the White, but after letting the cat out of the bag, Gandalf had set out to inherit that title from the corrupt wizard. But neither he nor Gimli were going to let their wizard take on the fight alone, and their first top priority, and the whole reason they'd had Isengard in their sights was to retrieve their hobbits.

Both he and Gimli burst through the remains of the gates and into the darkness ready to cut down any orc, dragon or mad wizard that stood in their way. But their first attack was from the darkness itself.

Legolas: Gimli, watch youre step.

Gimli: I am a dwarf. I've known the dark ever since I came out of my mother's- Ouch, my toe!

Legolas: Gimli! Don't move!!

Legolas's sharp vision had penetrated the darkness, and what he saw brought both fear, and a seriousness in his voice that made the dwarf freeze. It had taken a little longer for Gimli's eyes to adjust to the darkness, but that didn't seem to stop him until his boot bumped into something.

Gimli swallowed a lump and clutched his battle axe. A small yelp escaped him as a reassuring hand was placed on his shoulder, one of his elven friend. This simple gesture was enough to bring him to his senses; his legs became firm as tree roots. The fear was not his alone. The monster must have been gigantic after all, with a tail as huge as this.

Legolas: Be brave my friend. I don't think it knows we're here.

Gimli: Let's hope that doesn't change. With a bit of luck...I mean since Pippin isn't here to rattle old bones.

From behind them came Aragon and Eomer. The maskal's face was red with anger at the sight. The wormtongue had betrayed his uncle, banished Rohan's third Maskal from his own homeland, and turned his sister's daily life into something that filled him with dread, and now this.

Eomer: Impale it, skin it, pull, and spread its entrails over the floor!

Both the elf and the dwarf were in shock at the order, and the aversion in the man's voice. To start hacking through living flesh whether it was a creature of the dark, or a tied up hog this seemed even on Gimli's part as a bestial, and unnecessary act.

Legolas recovered first and he set about following the tail up the stone steps. What he saw troubled him. The entirety of the tail almost filled the port opening, and from there and above them ran the port heave. The elf jumped at the marshal, he had to stop him.

Legolas: Stop! He could crack and splinter the entrance!

Eomer did not listen, he had already drawn Gúthwinë from its scabbard, and prepared to impale, and split open the pale hide. But his action had been stopped when a hand gripped his shoulder. He turned, only to see his king.

Eomer was now the one left in shock, unable to understand why he had been held back by the man who should have wanted nothing less.

Theoden: Wait!

Eomer: He deserves nothing but to be run through the belly with cold steel.

To his confusion he saw there was a softness in his uncle's gaze. One that he couldn't identify, and for the moment he didn't care. He pulled away from Theoden, and retaliated against the traitor with his sword held high. Admittedly, the stomach was several floors up, but he couldn't wait any longer.
The sound of two blades meeting erupted in the hall, and Eomer was met with an unfamiliar blade, but the face of its enforcer was familiar.

Eomer: Eowyn?!

Eowyn: It is as the wizard said; our efforts would be in vain (alluding to the arrows which had failed to draw even a drop of blood) If there is anyone in this hall who has a claim to the viper's head, the honor should be mine when the time comes.

With these last words the shield maiden left the hall and stepped back into the light.

---------

So it was true, there was definitely something there. And with a little hope, it remained durable. Saruman had been cruel to the degree that he had exploited the most widespread of human vices; greed, as well as the lust that lived in every man's heart. And he had found it in one displaced soul among Theoden's council. 

Greed lay deep in man. With some, it only lurks on the surface, like a waiting worm inviting the blackbird closer. It can bring down even the kindest of us. And the lindworm carries that symbolism better than anyone else. With an appearance like his own, son of Galmod didn't have much to hope for, and not with the woman he had lay his lustful eyes on. No matter how much power or wealth Saruman had promised him.

This curse would only be worsen by Grima's own greed. But it might still be possible to break the spell. If the wormtongue felt less hated, and he himself could let the hatred go, a new beginning could be on the rise. Unless Rohan could find the cohesion to give their black sheep a second chance there might be reason for hope.

Saruman probably thought that he had once more outmaneuvered them all; by conjuring an unbreakable dark art over the man who would never be able to find forgiveness, and letting that knowledge destroy the man who was already on the brink of collapse.

Gandalf: Let your own snake choke on its own greed? Horrible Saruman. But you're forgetting something...

-Just some wise words our Radagast in his time gave me. "Hold a snake and it will bite you". Theoden had paid said price for holding it, and survived. You should have chosen your agent more carefully, my old friend. 

Because as long as you keep the reward dangling in front of it, it's only a matter of time before it strikes when the price isn't paid. And you may not be as lucky as the horse-master.

---------

Again Pippin had dashed to safety, stuck in a dark corner but at a safe distance from the aggressive warlock. Cold, and afraid, but free from his bony fingers. Saruman rushed around, pulling and flipping through books before tearing pages from it. 

The hobbit scouted the room, but the only way out had been blocked by the wizard. And he didn't dare try to run away. After being dragged up 30,000 steps if not more Pippin had lost all feeling in his feet. The place was terribly cold, they must be in one of the last rooms, very near the top of Orthanc. He so hoped for his poor frozen feet that this was the last room. 

But the Hobbit was seized with anxiety, his hopes was dashed. The tension that swirled in his head had longed for Merry, but had then been shaken and directed down at the torturous scream, that he had given no thought to what awaited him at the top; what did saruman have in mind? Even now, Pippin barely had the nerve to ask what had been going on down there, or what the wizard wanted with him.

Saruman: Idiots! So they think I would throw myself at their mercy?

The wizard tore mercilessly through the shelves; the books, and pages flew. Glass flagons and crystal decanters are smashed. But still his long bony fingers clutched around the black glass ball. Pippin tried to pull further away as it became obvious that Saruman wasn't really looking for anything, he was just destroying.

Pippin shuddered as his thoughts fell back on the ragged creature that had been set to watch him. Well, he hadn't really been guarding him, but had rather guarded himself. Not sure if he should find it silly, or just disturbing. It was as if he expected it to be him; a small hobbit with a sprained arm that could potentially do harm to him.

Saruman: The old ignoramus! Did he not think that I have sunk far enough. All gone, my fighting Uruk-hai washed away. And now he thinks he can come here and take everything I've worked for. H-he wants it all. Take it all for himself! He wants the Palentir. H-He wants you.

Pippin: Sire...?

Pippin couldn't understand why this...worm? Still ran errands for such a gruesome master. From what Pippin had heard from Treebeard, this man had been riding to and from Isengard for months. No doubt to dust up dirt for the wizard. He could have run away, the opportunity was there. They were a troublesome couple, and mr. Worm was clearly not treated well; he was a wreck. But still, like a shadow he ran at Saruman's heels. And more strangely, what use was a puny man like wormtongue to a powerful wizard like Saruman?

Pippin: What did you do to him? He screamed for you-

Pippin bit his tongue, Saruman towered before him, and in his right hand he held his black staff, it had a smooth, solid exterior; cold and threatening. A complete opposite of Gandalf's.

Saruman: I just made him more useful than he ever has been in his short miserable life. 

Chapter Text

Aragon: My king?

Théoden had remained motionless in the hall, silent and despondent. He didn't even seem to have heard him. The poor man was possibly still trying to fathom the impossible of what he saw before him; to recognize that it ” was ” indeed the lower half of his former chief consultant who was laying sprawled out in front of him.

Theoden: It was never my intention That you should hate me so. That your hatred should become so deeply felt to me.... I was brusque, and my words unloving. And I regretted them to this day. I knew of your fascination with her beauty, of your indulgent affection towards her. But I couldn't let you have her. She would never have let you…even her king's acceptance would never have made any difference.

The ranger silently approached the unguarded king. Knowing now that Theoden would rather have been left alone he remained respectful of the man’s vulnerable state.

Aragorn: There is nothing more we can do here. We should take our leave for now my lord.

Theoden: I never would have thought that it would be my caution that would knock me to my knees. Simply because I never took the chance. And for that; All of Rohan has suffered, none more than Eomer, Eowyn...and You my dear Grima; and I the Horse Master of the Golden Hall truly apologize.

Theoden may have tried to rationalize the whole situation, with Eomer, however feeble it was. This dark winding path the king had with this man when further and had become more dark and twisted over time. The pressure that had been placed on the elderly king's shoulder was unreasonable even for a ruler who had already seen the hardships of life.

To Aragorn it seemed that the king now stood at a fork in the road, one where he bowed to their wish, but where the other did not yet have a clear choice or prospect. The king turned to him, however briefly, but long enough for him to see the teary and distant eyes; Theoden was still lost. A crooked grin spread across the monarch’s face.

Theoden: In some of his more malicious whims he would have said; that I should be thankful that Theodred is no longer here to see his father-king on his knees.

Soft boot came up behind him. The ranger had come to him. His face was marked by seriousness, but at the same time he gave him confidence that he was not alone in his misery.

Aragon: Forgive me my intrusion. But why did you stop your nephew?

The king seemed to have come out of his bubble, now he once again stood with the same attitude as when he had been given the ill news about Isengard's horde.

Theoden: I find your question amusing, since it was you who prevented me from freeing the serpent from its wretched head, and putting an end to it's pitiful lies.

Aragon: True. But you could have ignored me. You didn't. You didn't let it happen, and even now I sense that something is bothering you. Dare one ask what?

Théoden didn't answer, he hesitated. But merely nodded in the direction of the impaled tail. The young Aragorn must have heard him back then, and had put two and two together. So why did he chose to deviate from his question, he did not know.

Theoden: Had Eomer ventured to slash his way past Wormtongue, his horrendous screams of pain would only alert Saruman to us. Losses that would not have been worth the revenge. You heard the wizard.

Again the thick silence fell over them.

Théoden: And as Éowyn said; the deed is hers, and hers alone. And I respect that.

Aragon perceived the suttled sadness in the king's voice, he took him by the shoulder, and with a heavy heart he led the mournful monarch to the gate. He saw once more the old withered figure that had sat aloof and unresponsive on Rohan's throne.

Theoden: Concerning your question; the ceiling vault was my only concern.

Aragorn smiled at the king. He had heard every word but didn't push, the truth would eventually come out.

Aragorn: A good choice, my lord.

Théoden and Aragorn came to a stop; a tapping sound of wood against stone echoed from the stairs when Gandalf came limping down the steps, leaning heavily on his staff.

Gandalf: Much despair has weighed upon your mind, Theoden king. And it pains me to say that only more hardships would come. But first of all, we must get your adviser out of the way.

Theoden: Then tell me, for I am all ears. How do you suggest we get rid of this leech?

.........

Although Merry and Pippin's lives were at stake, Gandalf was sure Theoden would make the right choice.

As things stood, Theoden could do what most people would call fair, either kill the worm and get to Saruman, regardless of the consequences, or put the past behind him and leave Grima, and Saruman to their fate in the tower, which would sentence the hobbits to life in the dark. That left only one right way to solve this. He would make this as easy as possible for Theoden. All the king had to do was follow his advice he now would give him.

Gandalf: You will come to face Saruman when he is called to account for his misdeeds, but first you must hear what I have to say.

Here it is explained to Theoden that this sorcery is fueled by self-hatred. Like the rest of Edoras, Wormtongue considers himself the hideous worm he has become, and loathes it even more. But the transformation is not yet complete, the man is still there. But the longer he remained stuck, and afraid, despair would soon set in until the worm has devoured him completely.

Theoden: Then time is runing out. What would you have me do?

Gandalf: Atonement, your majesty.

Theoden: You want me to gather unity among all of Rohan in an attempt to forget what that man has done? That is preposterous!

Aragorn: Not to forget, my lord. Just forgive.

A deep grunt drove their attention to the gate, and the reappearance of their friends, who guarded them attentively, especially from the shorter of them.

Gimli: Forgive? What is that? I have never heard of that before. I suggested that we tie a hundred ropes around the leech's tail and pull it out. We have manpower and horses enough.

Legolas: But Mithrandir... How is the way to be cleared out by that?

Gandalf: I would have come to that, had Gimli not blown his helmet.

Theoden: Forgive Wormtongue? The leech that drained me of life. The creature that held me in the dark, where I silently withered away, while passively letting the fields of Rohan be reddened in my son's blood?

Gandalf heard the king very well , what he suggested could be considered folly after a treacherous sceem that had inevitably killed the king's son. Yes, this was only a theory, but it was worth a try, for even a curse as vile as one Saruman had concocted, must had its loopholes.

Gandalf: Well...I'm sure his king alone would do, and your words does not need to be taken lightly. The worm was never one to keep his word either. But if you could, if only for a moment bring yourself to look behind his greasy skin, and let your inner turmoil rest and gain his trust.

All eyes were on the wizard. The silence was heavy, but for Theoden Gandalf could only imagine it to be suffocating. He also imagined when the time came, if that was how the Valar wanted it, it would be Saruman who would pay the greatest price for what he was about to say now.

Gandalf: Compliment him. Praise his urge, and stroke his ego, if that doesn't work then the good old days must still appeal to him. Let him know that no one wishes him harm and that you, Theoden king, lords of the Mark have considered in taking him back. When that is done, you can choose to do with that trust as you please; You can take it to heart, or crush it. After all, it is not a sin to cheat a deceiver.

Theoden didn't surport that plan, despite his earlier keenness. Lying and tricking was the last resort a noble king of Rohan would choose. He didn't want to deceive anyone, it wasn't in his nature. That will make him no better then Wormtongue.

Gandalf: Keep in mind my king, what ever your decision no one will hold you accountable for that verdict, no one but yourself...Oh, and Legolas would you please collect your arrows?

With that, the wizard took to the stairs once more, but this time with a newfound strength, and brisk steps. Theoden on the other hand was anything but in a hurry.

Legolas: It's strange. The more people talk about it. I can't help but find it sad. I would even say that I would have liked to have known him sooner.

Gimli: Nonsense elf. You heard the king, that sleazy fellow has the king's son's blood on his hands.

Theoden: No. Theodred was killed by Saruman's slaves. He now rests under the soil of his ancestors, where I too one day will find rest.

Legolas: You have my deepest sympathy, Theoden king. I only wanted to state that; no one is born with darkness in their heart.

Gandalf: King Theoden?!

Gandalf stood in the middle of the stairs, his tall figure half hidden in the darkness, but Theoden could still see the displeasure. And he didn't cared one little for the chide that sat on the wrinkled face as the old wizard stood there; watching him with doubt beaming down at him. --"Did he expect the king of Rohan to already have given up? However, he'll prove him otherwise, the white wizard's disapproval had not deterred him.

Theoden: If you will have me excused mr elf. I think my presence is needed elsewhere.

..........

Everything had gone so quickly after Gandalf had slipped his wineskin between Wormtongue’s black lips. First the sound of how the delicious brew disappeared down the throat of Worma or, Grima whatever the name was. To the sight of the wizard suddenly leaping over the table, wrecking a chair, and with a grace that an elderly man should not possess wizard or not, charged straight toward, and through the room's only exit.

Gandalf barely managed to get his gray beard with him, and gone he was before the pale flank swelled out, blocking the only passage and plunging the wizard into darkness, leaving him completely alone.

Merry stared at the now completely blocked entrance. Gandalf was gone. He out there, and him still in here; alone. That was until a wailing voice sounded behind him, reminding the hobbit that unfortunately he wasn’t completely alone.

Grima: Ooh, poor old Grima.

Merry: Well, look who decided to come out. It must have started to get stuffy in there?

Merry prepared to lay an extra criticism on the man when he lost the thread..--” H ad he Grown?

Yes, and alot. His upper part had now been thrust forward so much that his scales had been squished between several folds of skin, and had forced his body to curl even more until his back was bent and undulating like a weather-beaten hedge. Just having to pull out of the chamber must have been a strengules task.

Grima: I'm trapped. trapped like a rat!

Merry: You certainly are.

Grima: Move, Hobbit! You're in the way. Let me get away!

Merry: And where do you intend to sneak off to, Mr. Wormtongue?

Wormtongue obviously intended to leave Orthanc the same way he had done so many times before. Ironically, it was he himself who stood in his own way.

Merry shrugged and started to walk towards the window, expecting to catch a glimpse of a grey-clad figure among the cavalry, when he suddenly heard a deafening shout.

The hobbit turned around in confusion, then looked on stunned. Wormtongue had bitten into his own flesh! And was tearing it in a desperate attempt to pull himself free. His sickly pale flank is being torn into red dripping strips, and the scales cracked between his teeth.

Merry: What are you doing, numbskull?! Stop!

Grima: H-he lied to me! He...misled me! I hate him! I hate him!

Once again Merry tried to get Grima to stop by throwing more books at him, but nothing seemed to make him stop biting harder and deeper.

Merry: Good , you finally got it! Now stop! You're hurting youself, you idiot!

Before Merry could throw the last book Grima collapsed. His chin hit the stone floor hard, causing his long jaw to clang shut, releasing the gruesome flesh wound. Blood began to flow from his mouth, and started to pool around his thick chin.

The hobbit didn't dare taking another step. But he sincerely hoped that the poor thing have only bitten his tongue. Turning out that wasn't the case. He had let go, but not without taken a bit out of his own flesh!

Merry: Mr. Wormtongue?

Grima: A stupid worm. That's what I am. Useless.

Merry: Well, I'm not g onna to lie to you. But you have really gotten yourself into deep water.

Grima:...I-I can’t even swim.

Unexpectedly, Grima burst into a fit of tears. Merry, unable to ignore this, slowly inched closer until he was only a few steps from the worm's snout. He slinked silently past the enormous head, and danced smoothly over the blood where he leaned against the white scales. What he was doing was idiotic, something that Gandalf would have smacked him over the neck for. - -So why am I venturing so close to this thing?

He looked thoughtfully up at the wound. It created an eerie red glow as it stood between endless rows of white. Those teeth could have plucked his head off like a dandelion.

Merry: Now don't feel bad about it...I can't either. Pippin can, but he doesn't hold it against me for not improving on my doggy paddling.

Grima: They don’t like me. Not enough to they'll share a jug with my cup.

Merry, for whatever reason, had pushed himself up, and was now openly walking even closer. At this moment he was patting Wormtongue on the snout. Unbelievable, normally it would have been Pippin who would do such irresponsible things, risk life and limb for a little excitement; for an adventure.

Merry: You’re quite welcome. Although I am not someone to force drinks down somebody’s throat, but i'm glad you liked it.

Grima: I think I...swallowed it.

Merry: Excuse me?

Grima: Your wineskin.

Merry: Oh!

Grima: Please. This is so fatuous. But...I'm so hungry.

Merry looked up, disgust spreading across his face and his stomach twisting at the sight of the broken skin. The angry sin-torn folds of mauled flesh. --How could he be hungry?

But sympathy had crept into his breast as he took a look into the lost gaze of the poor creature, and before Grima could ask him chivalry had won. Merry reached under his cloak for his travel bag.

Merry: I have food, mr. Grima. Have you ever tried Lembas bread? It doesn't look like much. But I promise you, it is very filling.

.........

As Gandalf and Theoden made their way up the stairs, a conversation had come up about something that had been gnawing at the wizard's thoughts.

Gandalf: I have traveled through Rohan, and been your guest for many years. Why did you never tell me you had your own witch master?

Theoden: I had no idea myself. Presumably something he has usurped during his many visits to Orthanc. It wouldn't surprise me if it was Saruman himself who taught him about his so-called medicine.

Gandalf: I see.

Theoden: What? Something else that I haven't been informed about?

Gandalf: Doubtful, Theoden. Magic is not something that can be practiced.

Theoden: Pay it no mind. It doesn't matter now, the man is a witch.

Gandalf: A burden that would hardly put him in a better light in Edoras?...Or for you?

Theoden hung on the word "better". What did he mean by better? Could Gandalf have found out Grima's true origins. A silly question. Of course he knew, who didn't. Was it perhaps not that very trait he himself had been so busy presenting to his entire court?

Theoden: It's Intolerable. I thank the Valar that I was the target of his malice. Many could have fallen for his wicked sorcery.

A new thought had come up, and one that made the wizard wary, a sign that reminded him that the time of magic was nearing it's end.

He; Gandalf the White was on his last journey through this world. After Saruman if he blindly continued this pursuit of power it left him no choice but to strip him of his magic. If not Theoden swooped in first and made good on his threat to hang him high from the gallows, and leave the crows to erase all memory of the fallen wizard. If they weren't already forgotten.

After the fall of the dark lord Malkor, Morinehtar and Rómestámo went together to the far east. Since then nothing was ever again heard or seen of the blue wizards; it was as if they had just disappeared.

Gandalf had long ago come to terms that they probably would never come back, and were most likely dead. But now their unknown fates and the thought of not knowing what had become of them was becoming a depressing thought.

Leaving him with the question of what would have awaited him had he still been floating around in the void. Which was quite possible nothing; terrifying. There weren't many of them left now. Radagast the brown, "tender of beast" was probably their best hope for their kind to spread the magic further on into the fourth age; that was at least until now.

Theoden: Why did you never mention there was something amiss with my adviser?

Gandalf: Amiss?

Gandalf recalled the journey he made to Edoras, he had arrived at the celebration of solstice and the exited hum among Theoden's people rejoyced the day. Which had also been the first time he saw the dark haired man. The king's chief councilor had back then been adorned in the finest garments Rohan's elite could wear. But despite the excess of the clothes, Grima son of Galmod had not participated in the evening festivities like the rest of the court, but had stayed close at the king's side. The shady nobleman had not tried to strike up a conversation with him back then , and frankly he had no interest in talking to the man in the shadows either, too gloomy. And he was already sure that the man would have had none of it.

Gandalf: Hmm. Neither had I noticed anything wrong. But Saruman definitely would. He would have already smelled it the first day the snake made his arrival in Nan Curunír. Saruman had then found his spy, and one with a gift. After that, everything for his own benefit, had fallen so needly into his covert plans. Now the questions is just what started it all? How does such hatred grow? W hat feeds it? And how to stop it?

Once again the stubborn king evaded his question.

Theoden: Gift? Rather a curse. Edoras can not harbor a mage whose folly could have brought her, and Rohan down.

Gandalf: Your concerns are understandable, and something you should consider before making your final decision. As you heard I tried to persuade Saruman to help us, and returned to the light. The same could perhaps be found in someone else. A naive mind became his bane, but can be guided on the right path with the right support.

Theoden: I've made my decision.

Theoden stomped past Gandalf, and onward. To many the choice seemed the simplest, anyone with a clear head would have dismissed a traitor, especially when it occurred to them that that person carried a secret as dangerous as this.

His predecessors would have without hesitation let judgment fall, and have taken the safety of the people as the first priority, as any righteous king would. But the dead did not meddle in the affairs of the living, and Eomer still had long prospects for his time as a regent. And none of his family knew of the sorrow and loss the dark councilor had brought when he dismissed Rohan, and its king along with it.

Gandalf had sensed the subdued commotion since the terrible news of the orcs ravaging the outskirts of Rohan. He felt the shame oozing from the king. He was in the valley of mists, not knowing where his devotion lay, or with whom.Theoden was in an inner war, and still fighting; he had not yet made his choice.

Gandalf: What awaits Wormtongue?

Theoden: As soon as Saruman's staff is broken and his magic vanquished. I would condemn the wormtongue to the same fate as his master.

Gandalf: Thus would you place the fate of one of your countrymen in Saruman's hands. It would be unwise to let him hold a piece that could influence you.

Theoden again possessed the perfect facade of a king. His countenance was stoic, but his eyes were meek; like those of an old plow horse.

Gandalf: Theoden. Both of us, and possibly all of Rohan no doubt has the same opinion of Wormtongue. But..I wanted to ask you anyway; What is he to you?

The wizard knew that the king would answer him from the time after Saruman's mist had been lifted from his mind. But he would still like to become more familiar with the king's relation to the man before the mists and the lies.

Thoeden: A fork-tongued snake that hung over my shoulders where it whispered in my ear while venomous honey flowed from its maw. A carrion vulture babbling wildly as it gorged itself at my table. After which he would begin to grumble about my lack of appetite when he would loudly devour braised meat, fried vegetables. With the bread crumbling, and applesauce running from his chin. A cowardly mutt who expected his gagging to be justified by force-feeding me pancakes, and that awful porridge!

After Theoden angry ranting came another thing which Gandalf had not considered before now; and also one that gave him that unquenchable curiosity that made his eyebrows quiver. Who had cared for the aging king?

At their audience, only the king, Wormtongue and a score of depressed courtiers had been present. Rohan's white lady, would certainly have taken part in the care of her uncle. However the constant surveillance of Wormtongue's eerie gaze would have driven her away. Also when it came to the king's well-being, it was the healer's job to step in, not the chief consultant. And it would only have become more difficult to imagine Grima Wormtongue as a caring person, once the man of poisonous intent had shown himself practicing in Leechcraft against his own king. Had it not been for one little exception; Grima's specific craft needed no substance to create an effect. It just needed a vulnerable mind and an open ear.

Grima could not have poisoned Theoden. But why not just suck the last life from the dying king and be done with it, let Saruman take over the throne of Rohan, and take the woman he so desired? Only two options came to the wizard, the wormtongue was either playing the role of a concerned friend, only to prolong the king's suffering, or could it be that the man had a hard time letting his king go?

Gandalf: Has his majesty thought about how he would reconcile with his...troubled adviser?

Theoden: It was you who dragged me away from the dusty throne, and brought me back into the light. You Gandalf the White Knight, are my righteous advisor. Therefore, I would ask you to not refer to that..man as my adviser. And let me never hear that name again.

Gandalf: So, a man after all I can hear. But your majesty surely didn't think that I would be staying in Meduseld?... Because I have no intend to.

Soon after the revelation of Wormtongue's treachery, Gandalf had found himself placed at King Theoden's side, in the ousted councilor's seat. The whole experience at the king's right side had been unpleasant for the wizard, it had made him feel awkward.

An hour had passed in which Theoden had kept his gaze glued to the bearskin, where he had outright rejected his advice. Sitting so high on the ladder had felt to Gandalf like being cut off from the outside world. And for Theoden King, the problems didn't look any different. The regent seemed sullen, and his despondency  reeked of hopelessness, almost suffocating. Reluctant to deal with the world around him, he had held his hand in front of his face as if suffering from an excruciating headache.

Even with his family around him, they couldn't give him the solace that would bring him that "sweet" peace of mind, where he didn't have to let evil rumors plague him.

It was clear that Theoden had allowed himself to become too dependent on Wormtongue for far too long, perhaps even longer? And he got this sensation that he had intruded; that this was not his seat.

Despite the king's silent demeanor it told him right that his feeling was mutual, Theoden was merely being polite.

Theoden stopped. The sudden announcement of his impending departure had clearly not sat well with him. So the wizard took the king at eye level, staying clear by not speaking the name.

Gandalf: Galmod is in circumstances that forces him to witness how Edoras sees him, both in flesh and what lays beneath. What you see before you is testimony to his own conception of self; a long-worm; the serpent that twists and bends.

Thoeden: A lindworm.

Gandalf: A creature of grotesque greed, an insatiable lust, and an unrelenting seeking for attachment". --sounds familiar? Was what Gandalf almost had the nerve to ask. "And a venom so potent..that it kills and scorch all that it touches"

Theoden: That sounds unmistakably like him. When my strength began to fail me, I would wake up every morning to see him standing over me with a bowlful of that lukewarm oatmeal, dreadful. His cooking skills as well as his leechcraft could killed an orc.

Gandalf listened to Theoden's words, but as they trotted along a new sound came to his ear, but also to his feet; a faint shiver spread through their footwear. And it wasn't long before all hell broke loose. A thunderous rumble made the stairs tremble, making the walls echo. The whole tower shook under their feet, and the heavy clang of the wizard's staff clattered against the stone floor.

Theoden: What in Eorl's name is happening now?

Gandalf: Clod of a Buck!

Gandalf pulled Theoden against the wall as Wormtongue's flankes suddenly began to stretch...and widen. A chaotic situation that was more claustrophobic than the attack from the cave troll was happening before their eyes, and here his staff was not of much use.

Gandalf: Hurry, Theoden! We have to go back before he crushes us! Run!

In their hasty retreat back to the hall before the meaty mass could catch up to them, their legs were in constant danger of being pushed out from under them. The wizard and the king were now pressed right up against the dark wall, and in his last effort of strength Gandalf threw an arm over Theoden's shoulder and with his own body pushed him forward. Both landed with their noses pressed hard to the floor, not too far from where Merry had begun his ascent.

When the dust had settled, the stairs were completely covered by Wormtongue's lower half from wall to the edge of the steps. And judging by the sound of angry curses and the whining from terrified horses, Grima's tail had extended a few good meters above the barren land of Isengard.

Theoden: Wh-what happened? Gandalf, what-

Gandalf: A hobbit is what happened.

Suddenly Eomer came leaping forward, looking utterly dazed, and behind him came Eowyn, her beautiful face had turned white as a fresh bed sheet.

Eomer: What the hell is going on in there?!

Gandalf: Admittedly, Galmod is not a true serpent. But he does carries the beast's cradle gift. The more it eats, the bigger it gets.

The marshal shouted in frustration, and gave a strong kick to the now peeling skin.

Eomer: To think that worm has Rohan's bloodline running in his veins, but i guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Theoden: Eomer, cease that! Was there any casualties?

Eomer: A couple of horses threw their riders, but fortunately no one was hurt. Gamling is seeing to them.

Gandalf: I must return to the others. Aragon, Legolas, and Gi-

Eomer: Gandalf, Wait. I regrettably bare grievous news.

Slowly Eomer took off his helmet, his long golden hair hanging down over his burdened face.

Eomer: It's my believe that...the dwarf has meet his demise. He is gone.

.........

Thus had it taken place; after Gandalf, and the king had gone up to convince with wormtongue, He, and the ever  exceeding contrary dwarf had remained back. They had been sitting peacefully at the top of the stairs, patiently waiting for their friends return. 

At least "he" had been sitting peacefully while Gimli for whatever reason had in his infinite wisdom climbed up, and started stomping down on mr Wormtongue. He had just finished telling the story of Thranduil; his adar, and the elven king of Mirkwood who had single-handedly defeated the mighty sea serpent of the north.

Had therefore supposed that Gimli had become eager, perhaps even envious, and had sat out to set the record straight. Fumbling with one of the arrows, trying to find a better understanding the competitive spirit of his dwarfish friend. --There was no need to take it so hard, he was already a few orc heads ahead of him after all. He had wanted to ask Gimli directly about what was nagging him, but before he could turn around the dwarf had disappeared.

Legolas: Gimli?

He and Aragorn had found Gimli several yards from the foot of the stairs, and with his ruddy face flattened in the dust beneath the tip of the serpent's tail. They gently pushed the tail to the side and the elf flipped the clearly PTSD stricken dwarf onto his back.

Legolas: Gimli are you alright my friend?

The elf gently patted the smudged cheek, and the dwarf began to stir.

Gimli: Uuuh. Galadriel?

Both smiled, and they both heaved a sigh of relief; Gimli was okay.

Legolas: Sorry old boy. But you should almost have seen it coming.

Chapter Text

Merry was trapt in a shell shock of his own. A moment earlier he had sat quietly beside the grieving worm, had placed the offered lembas bread on a pale, apparently bloodless tongue. And in the next, he was knocked down and his world went black.

When he came to, his cheek was pressed against the white scales, and his fists tangled in the black hair. His chest and side hurt as if he had been hit by a stampeding pig. His head hammered behind his skull as he glanced around, but instantly regretted it. The whole room was a chaos of overturned tables, broken chairs, tipped shelves, and paper flying wildly about. And in the midst of all the mess lay Grima; his long body lay curled and twisted around the room. His bent curves had crushed almost everything in the room, and at the center of the room his body bent so high that it had caused a hooked iron chandelier to swing violently; and the extreme curvature looked painful.

A daring peek made his heart leap up his throat. From behind him, Grima's neck rammed up against the outer stone wall, and his head was being pressed hard against the ceiling. The poor thing must have a worse time than him to be left upside down like that. The elvenbread was nothing to be taken lightly.

Merry: I'm terribly sorry, Master Grima. I'm guessing four loaves was just over the top.

Grima: "buuurrrp"

A sticky sound could be heard as the long lower jaw gave way, and Grima was shortly vacated from above. Briefly back on his feet, Merry had jumped for his life, he covered his head as he landed with his nose stuck between thick hair.

The massive head landed hard on the long body, sending fierce vibrations through the hobbit's small frame, the bobbed snout was only a few steps from his back pocket. Yet it wasn't fear that followed. But the excitement that came with it, which had made his knees turn into gel. Merry broke into a low laugh, the first real one in a long time.

But the laughter didn't last long as the ominous sound of footsteps approached them. Out of the darkness came Saruman, and with him in his cold grasp he dragged an unconscious Pippin, from his forehead running a congealed line of blood.

Merry winced in rage, he slide down from Wormtongue, with harm now burning in his eyes.

Before realising what was about to happen Grima had tried to catch the charging halfling that had started running towards his lord. But Merry was already out of his reach, ready to engage the wizard with his bare hands. A mistake that would not only have serious consequences for the halfling, but also for the fallen rohirrim.

Merry barely got five steps from Saruman before a chill shot through his head. The blow sent him rolling across the floor. Coming to a stop against a wracked table, he was clutching his upper arm in agony as red hot pain seeped through his cheek. Ignorring the hobbit for now, the wizard turned with a coldness in his bottomless eyes, and silently observed the mess that had overtaken his magical library.

Saruman: Are we having fun?

Grima: I-It wasn't-! Ooh forgive me.

Slowly Wormtongue attempted to crawl towards his master; pleading with his head low to the ground, but was frozen in his tracks.

Saruman turns a bone-chilling glare down at the already fearful creature. -- "Not good enough! It wasn't good enough! Lower, he must crawl lower! He downed his gaze, and pressed his jaw to the cold floor in deep submission.

The wizard's grimace was not just of distaste for the mess, or the rebellious hobbit. It was his footman's continued ability to speak, and it only caused his contempt to smolder tenfold.

Saruman: I leave the worm alone, with full confidence that it can handle the task I had trusted it. And still it failed me.

Panicked, Grima cowered at the chill of his master's voice. He wanted to squirm from the searing anger that burned behind those merciless eyes, but his entire body lay frozen.

Grima: My task? But my lord, the potion. I-

Saruman: Instead I find it wasting time having fun with its new toy!

Merry pulled himself up onto his knees, grabing his aching limb. He could still move his arm; so it wasn't broken.

Grima: It shall never happen again!..Pity poor Grima. Tell him what he must do?

Saruman: Very well then. I’m willing to overlook your mistake, because it can be settled....Kill the hobbit!

Grima's eyes widen. His scaly face lost whatever pallor it had, and left only a sickly green on his cheeks. Stunned he turned to the hafling, his stomach knotting as Merry watched him with a guarded gaze. He had been warned, and he timidly held his claw over his wounded side.

Grima: But my lord. The young hobbit has only been kind to Grima. He comforted him, and looked to him when he was afraid and hungry.

Merry listened intently to the tension in Wormtongue's voice. He was mildly surprised to see such obvious emotion on the reptilian face.

But it embittered him so when Wormtongue began to speak in a third person; as if the man beneath the skin had been blown out and all that was left was this subdued creature whose mind had been shattered.

Grima: Oouuh. Mercy lord! Show pity, let the hobbit stay. He is good for old Grima, who lonely used to be friendless. I beg and plead, don't think badly of him. He gave me drink, he shared-

Grima's words fell on deaf ears and the wizard had long since stopped giving him his attention. His lazy gaze looked sharply into the shrouded crystal that adorned his black staff.

Saruman: My dear friend. Do you know what to do with old run-down horses?

Grima: What?

Saruman: Of course it depends on the circumstances; either the lazy beast pulls himself together and uses it's last strength to complete it's task and get the flour home. Where the generous master awaits it with a bushel of oats. If not, if it collapses it may find itself out in the wilderness. Where the hopeless starves, disappearing into the mists of forgotten, and dies...alone.

Grima's eyes brightened and new tears welled up. He cast his gaze down again in shame. His whole once massive body suddenly seemed gaunt and frail. He looked up again, the tears had stopped. But somehow he seemed aware, like he had just woken up from a trance.

Grima: After everything I've done for you. You wouldn't even grant me this? Show compassion to him who once held you in reverence, even devoted his mind and heart to-

The last request for mercy was crushed when Grima was raised with an unnatural speed, and shook the room as his head crashed directly against the ceiling vault. Incapacitated, still conscious, but only just.

The first blow drew no blood. But Wormtongue's act of disobeying was the last straw. In his thundering voice, Saruman roared all his bile at Grima, and repeatedly beat his staff over his head until the blood began to flow.

Saruman: Ungrateful worm! After all I have taught you! I gave you your silver tongue! Your knowledge bestowed by me! You are nothing without me! Mercy? I showed you mercy the day I let you into my domain. I fed you, gave you a roof over your head. I even allowed myself to share my air with you!

Merry: No!

Merry charged forward, thrusting his good shoulder hard against Saruman's hip, knocking the wizard off balance before he could deliver the intended death blow. Grima let out a scream. Hot tears mixed with thick blood when the spikes of the white staff missed his mangled head, and instead cut two deep gashes down his eye and cheek.

From the floor, Merry sees Pippin lying at the foot of the stairs, right in front of him. He stood up, running to his cousin ready to protect him. But before he could, long sharp fingers swept across his forehead and grab hold of his hair. The hobbit's resistance and cries were abruptly stopped when the back of his head was slammed down on the stone steps.

Snorting, Saruman leaned heavily on his staff, clearly overwhelmed by the hobbit's strength, and fierceness. Never had anyone resisted him so much, certainly not someone so small.

He then turned back to Wormtongue, who was lying in a growing pool of his own blood. Grima had been beaten to the edge of his life, his vision began to blur, and a sharp ringing in his ear, but that did not prevent him from hearing Saruman's soul-crushing words, which brought the chill of winter to his chest. But the words were as true as those Eowyn's had spoken. ”Your words are poison”.

Saruman: No one ever cared for you as you were, and no one ever will.

With these last words, Grima's last dwindling trust in the wizard vanished. He would never be granted or rewarded with anything Saruman had put in his head. No one would respect him. Never again would he set foot in Rohan, and he would never be granted the woman whose love he so foolhardy longed for.

-----------------Flashback---------------

Being in love, because that's what it was, right? Yes, there had only been one person in all of Middle-earth he truly cared about. He knew the feeling; you want to protect them, take care of them, and hold them close…but for whatever the reason, that feeling didn't really fit in where he wanted to place the lovely Eowyn. Although it still tempted him so.

But that love was spoiled by the words of the white wizard, who convinced him that he had every right to the king's niece.

His ears constantly filled with sugary convictions that he was clever, and more gifted then the rest of his peers. And everything he did was for her and that she would understand his actions.

But the Shieldmaiden's constant rejections of his advantages has soured his words and mindset until whatever affection that might once had been, had now withered and died til only lust remained. But to Grima, Eowyn's rejection had no longer any meaning, or substance because Saruman's words was always right.

Grima had wanted to surrender all of Rohan to Isengard from the beginning to save as many as he could. He knew that Theoden would never surrender Rohan to Isengard, and thus serve the dark lord even if it concerned Rohan's entire existence. The king's pride would be their death. Grima had reasond that Theoden therefore had to be deposed from power by a clear mind. So he help the only way he was capable of. At that time, it had sounded like a small price to pay for the rest could live.

He had hoped that Eowyn would be able to talk some sense into her brother and cousin; that resistance was useless. And together they could lead the rest of Rohan to Isengard; the winning side. A savior of Rohan he'll be, though the victory will be bittersweet.

Saruman had of course seen the tribulations that tormented him from his actions against the king. But had reassured him by saying that his deeds would be forgiven.

Saruman: Belive my word when I tell you this: they would honor the friendship the good king esteemed you, and you're sacrifice would benefit all. Theoden would have wanted the same. For everything Grima, son of Galmod does is for their own good. And should therefore be grateful. And in time my dear Grima, Rohan would learn to love you. When they see whom their king had hidden away under the cloak; and whom that'd saved the white lady from the flames.

But that hope never came to be. Eomer had already smelled something was amiss, and was beginning to grow threatening towards him. Eowyn ignored, and avoiding him as often as she could.

Which only frustrated him further, he wished he could initiate her into his, and saruman's plans, he was sure if only she understood the mercy that had been given to Rohan she wouldn't be so cold towards him, at least he hoped so.

But he could not let the curtain fall just yet; It could jeopardize the whole plan. And more stressfully, he had no idea when the time was right. Saruman had told him he shouldn't wait too long, but still he had found himself more occupied then ever, render him unable to find the right time.

Nothing had gone as easily as the wizard had preached.

He was now more stressed, more pressured than ever before. Ever since the king fell ill, when all should have put their trust in him; the king's own confidant, everything had gone wrong. People whispered behind his back, and with them the foul nickname had come forth, and Éomer's hard gaze watched over his every move; like an eagle watching a snake in the grass, and more dishearteningly it seem like Eowyn saw no difference between him and a viper either.

It only became more and more difficult to talk to her as his stress and uncertainty welled up inside him. His tongue had knotted at every attempt at breaking the ice between them, and the colder her gaze become the angrier he became. He'll break her, if she forced him to. So instead of convincing her of his feelings and luring her to him, he found satisfaction in following her every step through the unlit passages; knowing that he scared her.

But he had to remember that he couldn't waste too much time. Saruman had said so. He had other more important things to attend to, and spent more time with the king, who at this point constantly needed his support. Eowyn was going to be his, whether she wanted it or not. Saruman had promised him.

And precisely as Theodred had foretold, his luck had run out, and he had been thrown at the gate. Forced to flee back to Isengard where the furnaces, and chimneys constantly burned and oozed. And it was then that it dawned on him that Saruman had no intention of sparing Rohan now. He never dared ask when the plan had changed to the extermination of his people. And when he saw the army of 10,000 he began to understand that it had probably never been Saruman's true intention to spare anyone, not even his beloved Eowyn. He had lost his light, and was trapped by the Darkness.

end of flashback 

A Memory

Darkness loomed around him, how had it all come to this? Just thinking about it made him feel like his head was going to explode. Oh yes, a woman it was always a woman. A very special one.

At last he made it, he was now one of the king's councillors, and the one to be sent to Isengard as a messenger between the allied powers. And it was here among Orthanc's old books a whole new world of knowledge opened up to him, and they taught him more than enough wisdom to secure him an even better position in Theoden's court, and in no less than a year he had been promoted to chief counsellor, royal adviser. But even with this promotion, he felt something was still missing.

After years of faithful service to King Theoden, there was still no shadow of the greatest gift of all. No lady had yet appeared of whom he could call his own. And as time went by, Grima began to question his position with the king. --Why am I still alone? Where is she? No matter how close he sad to the king, his hopes for a mate still remained as something of a distant wish.

But that day came soon. Eowyn had arrived at the venerable age of 19, and now warm passionate feelings were unleashed in him. He has found the lady he longed for. But unfortunately Rohan's white lady was several calibers above him, he may hold the title of royal advisor, but he is not of noble birth, far from it.

And a sensible mind would have warned him that it would be foolish to achieve the impossible and risk a misdemeanor to the king. Their first meeting had been nothing but banter and nonsense, but he couldn't quite get the beautiful Eowyn out of his head. And he was pretty sure Saruman could smell it.

Saruman: You are very quiet today, Grima. Tell me; what's on your mind?

Grima: Oh, nothing my lord. Nothing important.

Saruman: Ah, but there it is. You do not fool me, young man.

Grima:..Never would I do such a thing, Your Grace.

Saruman: I can see it on you. You have not been able to control youself; pacing the place like an excited blackbird, try to stand still" Saruman toke a hold around his trembling hands, they began to go damp as the wizard's long thin fingers ran over his palms. "And your pulse are more frequent than usual"

The bony fingers slid gently through his black locks before they tickled down his cheek. "You have forsaken to grume yourself. Youre cheeks are wet although hot. The hair; greasier than usual, and seems to be...thickening". His cheeks flared at this unexpected attention. It was not something one would expect from someone like Saruman, and his gaze stayed fixed on some random volume; on which it said "Is Man a Myth?. "How strange. But why the weight loss then?" His whole body stiffened as Saruman gave his nether a crooked look. After a moment his grey eyebrows raised before looking back at him. Grima's face grew even hotter as his throat repeatedly tried to swallow the unease growing under his collarbone as Saruman grabbed his staff and walked behind him.

The color drained from his cheeks as the wizard bluntly asked him to bend over the table, and--!!!

He stepped back before saruman had a chance to examine these "periodic swelling"

Saruman: Well, how would you explain it?

Grima:.I'm.. just busy, my lord.

Saruman: Who is she?

Grima: She?

Saruman: No games, You just gave yourself away. But I understand, keep your secret to your heart. However, I have a promising idea about who she might be. But listen to my word, son of Galmod, do not wait too long.

Saruman holds out a wine-bearer out to Grima, he accepts it happily.

Saruman: Tell me, are my assumption correct?

Grima: Well...Her smile, her lips are...rimmed by gold. The sun. Her eyes are melancholy, like heavy rain clouds. Her hair is like golden grain caressed by the summer breeze. Her skin; warming me like the last glow of the evening...Her bosom...swelling. So soft it must be..My golden maid my Eowyn.

Dreamily, he slowly swirled the wine in his glass, the acidity playing on his tongue, leaving a sweet aftertaste. The disappointment on his face was only surpassed by the erotic image that disappeared before his inner eye as the glass was taken from his hand.

Saruman: I'm sorry we have to stop here. You have a long journey ahead of you, and other... pressing matters to attend to before your departure.

Grima followed the wizard's gaze. His heart pounded like a wildly hunted hare, and his face flushed from the heat that had gathered in his abdomen. The king's niece was apparently not the only one who is bulging. Grima quickly got back on his feet. He wrapped his robe around himself to hide his shame as he desperately bowed his way out of the room, trying to regain his dignity.

Saruman: A king's daughter. Don't wait too long, Grima. Not too long.

End of memory

While Gandalf hurried after Eomer to see Gimli. Theoden had given way to them, and yet he hesitated. Against all his compassion, and the reluctance to see the despair his serpent had now wrought, though it was his duty, he remained in the tower.

Theoden: Why did I appoint you that day?

How could i have let You get this close? When I had pushed everyone else away? Theoden holds a hand to his face in shame. -My sons, forgive your old fool of a king.

He turned to leave the hall, expected it to be his last farewell to the obsidian hall. But before he again could cross the threshold and step out into the daylight, he was stopped. He turned slowly, his shoulders heaving. -- Was that a gust of wind? No, more of a faint whisper that drifted down from the darkness. ”How strange”. It was impossible for the wind, or voices to reach his ear down here.

Theoden convinced himself that he must have been mistaken and that he really should go back to the others. But there it was again, and this time there was no doubt. The sound of something fragile being crushed, like a hoof treading on the withered leaves.

The all-too-familiar sound froze the king in the nightmarish memories that had been inflicted on him in his own home. The sound of dying. And there, like the memory it depicted, haunting his waking and sleeping mind, on a silent wind flew something that looked like leaves from the Simbelmynë.

Transparent flakes of dead skin had begun to peel from Wormtongue's rapidly deteriorating body. Despite his already waxy pale white skin, it had now taken on a corpse-pale color to grey-pale patches that were poking out in various places. And from among the loose strands of hair sprouted gray streaks in the midnight black locks. It had already crossed the threshold before he could reach out.

Theoden: What's causes this?

.........

The dwarf held his throbbing forehead.

Gimli: Ooohh. Great serpent of fire.

Gimli was still stumbling around when they reached him at the foot of the stairs. He placed his hand on his helmet, checking to see if it was still there as his eyes raced wildly in his head.

Gimli: W-w-what happened? Has her highness come for me?

Aragorn smiled cheekily down at the dwarf.

Aragorn: I guess that was thanks for last. Although the hospitality we resieved was far from pleasant. But I saw when you pushed him down, and threatened him.

Gimli: The elf held him down too! Why does he go free!

Legolas: Just because I took out my arrows doesn't mean you should keep firing at him, no points would be awarded for this.

Gimli: What?!

Aragorn: Take heed my friend. It is very dangerous to threaten a man in his refuge. You never know what he might do when desperate.

Gimli: Dangerous?! The guy could barely stay on his feet when all hell broke loose. If We hadn't grabbed him, he would have run away without a proper scolding. In other words, a good and hard slap.

Legolas: Of which was given. But Estel is right. Mr. Wormtongue was indeed layed low, but a lone dwarf should never follow him into the shadows.

Gimli: Ha! Even in the darkest of night he could not escape my owl-eye.

The elf still rememered the horror on the man's face, and how abruptly it had turned to aggression when Gandalf had approached Theoden.

.........

Eomer: Speak to me, Greyhame. How did this come to happen!!?

Gandalf: The hobbits carried little more than bread. Does this worry you?

Eomer: Mere bread? Well, that settles it.

Gandalf stepped quickly in his path as Eomer reached for the hilt on his belt. The marshal had to save his rage a little longer, the time would come when the itch in his hand would be called to fight.

Eomer: Let me pass! He is too dangerous to let live.

Gandalf: I am afraid I cannot allow that.

Eomer: Then do something, wizard! Lift the spell. Turn him back into that pathetic worm he was before!!

Gandalf: That power is not within my abilities.

Eomer: Then you give me no choice, stormcrow.

Gandalf: Believe me, young lord. The Marshal himself is closer to break this curse than the magician himself.

Eomer: W-w-what kind of silly nonsense are you babbling about?

Theoden: Gandalf, look!

The king's shout called Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli forth, and prompted Gandalf and Eomer to break from their argument. Theoden was pointing up at one of the windows on the east side of the tower.

Aragorn, as well as the rest of the riders glimpsed to get a better look at what their king was pointing at. Gimli put his hand over his gaze, all while an anxious Legolas clearly saw "who" it was that the wizard's bony hand held dangling out of the window.

Legolas: Pippin? Gandalf it's Pippin!

Gandalf staggered forward, his old face staring fearfully up before he stumbled hard against his staff. Aragon, and Legolas stepped in to help, but drew back as a darkness broke across the wizard's downcasted brow, alerting them to the anger and despair that rose within him the more he stared at the lifeless hobbit.

Eomer and Eowyn looked equally horrified at the childlike figure dangling unconsciously in Saruman's hand. Eowyn covered her mouth to stifle a half-choked scream. Eomer clenched his fists tightly, he suddenly felt sick, but he would not look away. Cries of frustration and threats erupted from among the Rohirrim, who had also followed their king's trepidation. It wasn't long before the screeching and stomping of thunderous hooves echoed across Isengard.

Gimli: Let. Him. Go!!

Saruman: I don't think you've thought this through, dwarf” Saruman began loosening one finger after another….

Aragorn: Stop! Wait, I'm begging you! Don't do it!

Saruman: Arch. The man who would be king. Am I therefore talking to a man who is wise enough to negotiate?

Theoden held up his arm, and all the turmoil that had come over his men subsided.

Aragorn: You win. What does Saruman the White wish?

Saruman: A treaty; leave my home, depart from Isengard. And never disturb me again. And you will get your cretin back.

Gimli: And what about Merry! Two, old goat!..Such deal includes two!

Saruman: Two?. (Saruman glansed down at Theoden) "Gladly, one service is worth another. Disarm all your men horsemaster! As I said, you will get your vermin back; when I see each and every Rohirric toil and drag until each and every one of your peasants has rebuilt my life's work!

Theoden clenched his jaw as he scowled up at the sorcerer. His face darkened, and his blue eyes flashed; The king was the true image of a thunderstorm.

Theoden: You bastard.

Legolas: Tread carefully Estal. You know he has no intention of honoring his end of the bargain. He can't possibly believe we're leaving Isengard willingly. If he gives us back both Pippin and Merry now, He would be left without a hostage, and We both know that neither Merry nor Pippin would leave the other behind.

Aragorn nodded

Aragorn: You talk nonsense Saruman; jailer of Mordor. We will not risk anymore enmity between our borders. The darkness is approaching, soon the war would break out. And Gondor would be the first to fall, and soon the rest of Middle-earth would perish unless we all make an effort to stop the dark lord. Therefore I ask you again Saruman the White, the same as Gandalf; come down and bring our friends with you, and fight along us!

Saruman: Madness! Better to work for him than against him.

Gandalf: You deceive no one with those words. You ordered the Hobbits' capture, believing that one of them bore what You sought with hatred in mind and greedy plans to usurp Sauron as the Lord of the one Ring. Is it not true, Saruman of many colors?

Saruman spat and spluttered in anger, holding Pippin further over the abyss.

Saruman: You miserable, ignorant old dullard! You clearly learned nothing from our last meeting. I will let you know what happens to those who refuse my negotiations. But I want to show my good will so allow me to bring the little one down to you.

with out stretched arms, Gandalf ran forward in a futile attempt to catch the hobbit. His gaze pleading up at Saruman to not letting Pippin go. Even though height up, he had a feeling Saruman saw his desperation.

Saruman smiled devilishly down at them, madness shining in his dark eyes as if he wanted to tell them how much pain he was willing to put in their hearts; especially Gandalf, and Aragorn.

Theoden couldn't take it any longer, he did not know what torments Saruman had planned for his prisoners, but he was in the same predicament as the rest of them, and he gladly took his share. He had his life to thank them for, and besides, Saruman still had someone who belonged to him.

Theoden: Applaud Aragorn's grace, if you are as wise as they say. But I, Theoden king will not be deterred from tearing the dark tower down to the ground. Mark my words wizard. I shall show my own good will by sparing your life for having spread discord in my kingdom, when I once again see my counselor returned to his king.

Saruman: Tearing down?! Horsemaster now I'm afraid it is you who's talking nonsense. Try as hard as you might; Orthanc is unmatched. My castle is eternity! Where your thatched hut would rot, and fall apart with time, while the fires consums Meduseld's golden roofs, like its fields.

Theoden: Bring him back to Me, Warlock!

Saruman: The jailer of Mordor has spoken; for eternity! If you want him, cut a piece!

Before Theoden had a chance to roar another cursing, Saruman had already pulled away from the window, presumably before he lost his temper further.

Gandalf: I admire your courage, your haughtiness. But even I know when to keep my mouth shut. Had you're..thunderspeak been just a tad more venomous, you might have even made Saruman jump out of the window..Or it could have been Pippin!

Theoden: Terribly sorry about that. I-I don't know what came over me.

The darkness faded with the outburst of anger, and Gandalf laid a calm hand on Theoden's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Gandalf: So am I, but we must not let Saruman's words sway us. You more than any of us would know. And I think I understands why your majesty acted that way.

Theoden answered quickly.

Theoden: Life is in danger, Stormcrow. I'm done sitting idly by with my hands in my lap.

The wizard had a crooked smile, and a twinkle in his eye.

Gandalf: Oh. But I just meant that there is not far from thought to action.

Legolas: Aragorn!

Aragorn and Gimli's attention was drawn to the elf, who nodded at the announced advisor. Unrest came over the fellowship, only now had they seen the rapid change that had crept down on the snake's tail, which was once robust and smooth.

But since Theoden's departure from the tower, it had worsened. Now, before their very eyes it appeared emaciated and crippled. Even scales had begun to fall around them like an autumn drizzle.

Theoden tried to keep a stoic look, despite the withered skin that quickly faded to a sickly yellow color, as if a disease was crawling under Grima's skin. Although he wanted to reach out to touch, he kept his hand firmly clasped to the hilt of his sword.

Theoden: You are mistaken Gandalf. Things haven't changed. Wormtongue might still be a man of Rohan, but as his king it is my duty to seal where the rest of his hapless life will end.

Eomer and Eowyn did not understand their uncle's sudden demand on be given back the man who had brought them so much pain. It seemed incoherent. For such a voice of longing had not been heard since Queen Elfhild, their late aunt who had been fleetingly mentioned over Theoden's sunken lips.

Eomer: My king?

Theoden: I've long had a bone to pick with the man. Therefore I ask you not to withhold me from this.

Theoden loosened his scabbard from his belt and handed it to Eomer. "Here, hold on to it for me. I won't be needing it"

Eowyn: Wait!

Theoden took hold of his niece hands; they were cold as ice. But her tear dripping down on his hand was warm as a summer night's dew.

Theoden: I hear your wish. But it shouldn't be you who should be held accountable for the mistakes of an old fool. It was I who failed, and I alone who must make the madness stop. I promise you my daughter; Wormtongue will never again trouble you.

It had now been over half a year since Rohan had lain weaken under Wormtongue's influence; how things would develop was unknown. Theoden's mind was still heavy, and yet still as stubborn as a mule. But Gandalf was sure; something had changed in the old king.

Only time could tell if the worm deserved his king's pardon, and how Theoden singlehandedly would handle his biggest decision without interference from his smooth-tongued steward.

The roars and angry shouts of the Rohirrim still echoed through out Isengard long after Saruman's departure. They called for the sorcerer to once again show his scowling face. Shouts of coward, dog, and wretched charmer could be heared from some of the rearguards.

And it sounded like it would soon go awry if he didn't get his men under control. It would be a shame for Rohan if its army were to waste their fighting spirit on an old man who had already locked himself behind his walls. In fact, he had completely lost interest in apprehending the wizard. All he wanted now was to get his advisor back. No matter the price.

Theoden: Silence! Sons of Eorl, heed to your king!

"My proud Eorlingas. Gandalf the Gray has spoken; our victory is within reach! But we haven't won, not yet! Not until Saruman's staff has been crushed under the horse's thundering hooves! But we will! Mark my words, victory will be ours. Saruman would be led from the gates of Orthanc! It would happen! If only you could find the strength in your hearts to grant indulgence to the king you all swore a pledge to.

Alas the man you trusted was but nothing but an old sad man, who even before the shadow lay upon us ruled silently from his seat, slumped in his own misery. I was a unbridled fool who only thought about his own worries. I let you down. Blindly determined to hold on to those I feared to lose, but still...still I lost someone who was as close to me as my own kin and whom I cared deeply for, and still does".

The king holds his men in a solem gaze. "I was a fool, and one can only hope for your leniency for what I am about to ask of you. (He reached out and laid his hand on Grima's fallen body) "For thus the Worm's curse may be broken. Hereby I, Theoden Ednew, the seventeenth king of the Eorl line. I call for all to withhold any resentment, to surrender grudges? I ask Ye men of Rohan this; to forgive son of Gálmod?

Silence had fallen over the horde, but the mood was not one of calm. Confusion among the men rose to disapproval, and some even sent sideways glances at the king, where others could not see eye to eye with their own monarch.

Neither Eomer nor Eowyn knew either out or in. Nothing occurred to them now except that their dear uncle only at the very end had lost his mind. Tears broke from Eowyn's eyes, she took hold of her tear-stained cheeks. And atlast in the grip of grief sought solace in the embrace of a stunned Aragorn.

The feuds that had torn elf and dwarf for millennia seemed non-existent, so insignificant now to the two parties. Self-respect must have been lost along with his gray hat, but Gandalf reminded himself that he did indeed deserve a refill of Merry's brew. Two if his plan worked.

Theoden had expected their displeasure, but not the effect of the chilled gazes of his own people had on him. If this was what Grima had to learn to live with on a daily basis, it was no wonder he had ended up like the bitter, snarky creature he had hanging over his armrest.

But from one simple touch each of the king's words was spoken, through marrow and bones. To dreams.

Chapter Text

----Flashback----

Grima: Theoden would have me tied up if he knew of this.

Eventually he have had to spill the beans, and had candidly vented his distress to Saruman. He is only a simple councilman, and without a single drop of nobility in his blood, and even with his newly appointed title it did nothing in the matter when it came to courting a princess of Rohan.

The white wizard laughed heartily at the ominous assumption, but had convinced him that every man had a right to seek out the woman they love; maid, or princess. To his ear these words had sounded very sensible.

Saruman: Now don't overreact. Remember what happens when you let your emotions get the better of you. Why would the king do such a thing though?

Grima: It's not my place. I-It's stupid, and devious.

Saruman: It is. The risk is enormous. A dangerous game for a common man.

Grima: You understand my distress, sir. I can not. Never would I dare.

Saruman: But as I see it, such a marriage would be of great benefit, and delight for Theoden king.

Grima: Delight? How?

Saruman: Is it not true when I say; that the only thing the king loves more than his country is his family?

Grima: Yes, that's true. Perhaps more than his people.

Saruman: Well then. Isn't it in his best interest to keep the family around him? And isn't it ideal to give his niece to his most trusted man?

His face was warm, heated as well was his throat as he tasted, and swallowed the sweet appreciation the wizard spoke, unaware of how much praise and flattery he soon was to swallow.

Grima: N-now you are asking me something that I have no right to answer-

Saruman: And are you; Grima son of Galmod, not his best friend. His most trusted?

A deep regret had made his stomach sink, and still did. True, but all that was a duty; a strict function. Theoden was kind, and more considerate of him, but that meant nothing more than by the simple fact that Theoden was a good man.

Grima: A friend? But such a thought would be highly unprofessional in my position.

He clearly remembered the day when he officially were to met with the king of the Mark, and even more vivetly the night before. He had been dressed in a dark under-robe, its sleeves laced with a beautiful knotted net overlaying his arms . Black had apparently been the king's chosen suit for him. Along came a thick black velvet overcoat, with golden stitching. Gold inlays, and the well-fitting smocked neckpiece that warmed his neck displayed a great opulence. Why the king had placed such a great prestige, such trust on him, and already on the first day?

And even if the dark clothes only exposed his face even more, how could he; a wildling of dunland refuse such luxurious things?

He still remembers when the dresser laid and fastened the belt around his waist. The heat had risen in his cold cheeks, realizing his small hip stood out almost feminine. From that day on he had taken to bear the slim leather band so that it hung loosely. Althought, this choice had given most of the nobility among the court the impression that he appeared a bit disheveled. And a few had commented that his dark appearance was seen as inappropriate in front of their king, given his grieving disposition. But he didn't care as long as he didn't look anything less than a man.

Saruman: The man he lends his ear to? The man he holds close to him? Isn't that what friends do for each other? You, son of Galmod is the One he trusts. And the one he can counts on would never take his niece from Edoras.

Those words had rung truth. Saruman had set something in motion that night. Something had stirred to life the repelled thoughts at the mere mention of the one day of Eowyn's inevitable departure. And worse, such a separation would hurt and haunt Theoden even more, and it would tear his own soul apart.

Grima:...Yes. Your words are so true. Forgive me, your knowledge is beyond any doubt...No It must not happen. Eowyn..my beautiful maiden can't just leave Edoras..not me.

Saruman: Do not despair. I have no doubt that he would gladly entrust her safety to you. The man is not an idiot after all.

Grima: No! Certainly not, no...D-Do you really think I can? Could there really be a chance for..me?

Saruman: Surely you haven't come this far without means, an achievement nothing else then remarkable. Be brave, be diligent, and use you're words wisely.

Blushing until he almost felt dizzy. He saw himself as a hard working man. For a common citizen, a position as a counselor would be considered more of a smooth job than tilling the land was. But it was far from dishing out some good advice for everyday life. Well, for them perhaps, not for someone who has known politics most of his young life. But he certainly wasn't dull either. No, the problem came with the wizard's first pearl of wisdom.

Grima: I..I'm probably not the best when it comes to bravery...maybe..but then-

Saruman: Gifts, Grima. You obviously don't have the words yourself yet. Let thise speak for you. Hurry now. She has right to know the love that has been intended for her. Don't leave her in the dark.

Not wasting even a heartbeat, Grima hastily gathered the underlined pages under his arm. Pure glee shone on his thin face, and with eagerness in his step he sprang down the stairs on his newly found suitor's feet.

........

Gray and cloudy the day had been in Edoras. Much like the previous days, and no doubt tomorrow would be the same. Perhaps if he was lucky, rain would break out from the threatening clouds that hung over the plain.

A dark and cold downpour would put the finishing touch to the gray sad expressions on the people's faces. Better yet; it would also discourage, and cancel the king's once high expectations for the annual hunt he and Eomer had planed on just weeks ago. Why? Because my opinions are after all reasonable, and my concerns are general. For our king has fallen ill, his body is frail, and his mind weak.

Those were the words he had spoken to the court before he sent them all away "Leave for youre homes and do not disturb the king. To the once and still son of kings; "I will let you both know when and why your king, and father wants your presence". Next was Eowyn; "Fear not. Your uncle is in good hands. Go now. Rest, and do not worry. I am with him".

And it would also keep the white maid from going outside, and him the opportunity to hand her this. He once again stood hidden away in one of Meduseld’ s numerous nooks and crannie s . The golden hall had been the most illuminated room, its light had been unmatched and the warmth had been all surrounding. But not anymore. And even back then there were places where even the light, and the heat had feared to touch. Once more he had her in sight, and all alone.

Eowyn stood silent, staring down into the black charcoal that had long since died out. Her face was white and cold; lifeless like the rest of Meduseld.

Something gnawed in his chest as he saw her, and he fumbled with the thin st em between his fingers. It had taken him hours to find and select the right one; a lush flower. Its yellow petals shone as he caressed them between his pale fingertips. A little sun in the dark; a sunflower.

He gulped as he remembered the words of encouragement Saruman had given him. This was not his first gift to her, but one of many , maybe hundred? Why should this one be any different? It had only been two days since she had given him a warm bowl of stew, the warmest gift a man could be given by a woman; well maybe except for another small thank you. And he just wanted to show her his own appreciation. His feet felt like stone, like he was stuck in a bog.

Brave, diligent, and clever. Why couldn't patience have been one of them? Why? Because the time wasn't there. He is forty-nine, almost fifty. Halfway through his life, he is not young anymore. That setteld it, and h e stepped out of the shadows.

Grima: It is late, my lady. If you need something to ease your restlessness I can help you.

Eowyn: Is "that" included in you're aid?

"For you" Stiffly he held out the flower to Eowyn. Her gaze shifted between Grima and the aster. But in the end, despite her reluctance, she took it. Brought to by the fear that Wormtongue would misunderstand, and take her hesitation as an insult. Although her dread of evoking his dislike for her attitude was great, but not nearly as great as the fear for that ill-will to befall her uncle instead if she angered him. Which was the reason for her nocturnal wanderings in the dark corridors. "Thank you my lord"

Tears had started to roll down her cheeks. It was strange to see such raw of an emotion on a face as hard and white as marble. But why is she crying? Does she not like it? Is she in pain? Has anyone caused his lady grief? Has someone violated her? Of course, these possibilities, and reasonings were only something that could have popped up in his own head, because there was probably only one thing in his mind at that time when his empathy was basicly non-existent; himself.

And yet he didn't want to see Eowyn cry. This shouldn't happen. His lady should be resting peacefully in her bed. Safe and sound where he could keep a watchful eye on her.

He tentatively reached out to wipe her tear-stained cheeks, but held back. Something stopped him, not an idea, certainly not a whim, but definitely an urge. He moved closer, his blue eyes closed as he puckered his dark lips intending to kiss them away from her soft skin. He could feel her warm breath against his own scalding hot cheeks.

"Slap!"

A searing pain paralyzed the entire left side of his face, and a sharp ringing pierced his ear. His eyes shot open but he didn't see Eowyn. Instead he now faced the empty throne which he had sidelined each and every day for months from which he scowled down at a downtrodden people, those who still dared to stand before him.

Odd it was. He had long looked up at that throne with wonder... why? On the day when it finally would be his? Yes...and yet no. His head had insisted on that was the goal. And always had been. But something deep in him had reminded him that it was not so much the throne, but rather...

Eowyn: Stay away, vile bastard!

He held his cheek, to inspect and feel the burning sensation. What had happened? Did Rohan's white lady, his gentle, sweet Eowyn, just slap him?

Eowyn: I'm not blind! I know what you're doing! What You have done to him!

Grima chewed his tongue as bloody saliva dripped from his gaping mouth. His breathing had become a mushy hoarseness, and the ringing in his ear only got worse as the blood pumped back into his cheek. Swear words were familiar to him, but the shock was unrelenting. His face was hot, so terribly hot, and wet. He couldn't believe that the woman he held so close, the one he hoped had been waiting for him, had actually raised her hand against him.

Grima: Hah. You-you hit me!

Eowyn: Have you no shame, you snake! He is your king!

Her uncle had been betrayed; she had been betrayed. And in her breast she felt how the hope darkening the remaining scraps of her disfigured life as her family began to leave her. All perpetrated by the creature who was meant to have the king's best interests in mind before anything else.

Still he held his cheek, which now had grown into a angry red swelling. He couldn't lose face now. His name and reputation were certainly tarnished, but he did not want to risk his position by being caught up in a plot that were meant to save not only his life, but hers as well. -- I beg you, my lady. Don't blame me, I understand your disappointment, but don't think I'm not trying to do my best. And with the perfect image of a beaten dog, he turned to Eowyn as like he did not understand what she was referring to.

What he saw broke his heart. His lady was in the grip of helplessness and despair marred her face. -- Oh, how he wished that there was just something he could do for her. To give her some comforting words.

He quickly scuttled back as she raised her hand towards him again. But it seemed her anger was slowly ebbing away. Which he was only grateful for, had Eowyn continued her beating his mind would have been the next thing to be broken.

Eowyn: You're poisoning him.

He turned his gaze back at her , stunned - She knows!

Swallowing down the bile in his throat --Now it has gone too far. He had to stop this nonsense, and get her away from this thought. He was certainly the cause of the king's illness, but he'd never poisoned anyone.

Grima: My lady, you are just tired. And rightfully so from all the frustrating incidents that have befallen you-

Eowyn: How?..How can you live like this? All the lies..All the people you do harm?

He had gone into silent shock by her words. He was cold, but he wasn't cruel. Did she truely see him like that?

Grima: Ooh, my dear. Don't say such a thing. That's what I want.

Feebly he reached out his cold hand and caressed her tear-stained cheek “For all of us, to leve.

Eowyn's heart pounded in fear as the cold fingers touched her, and her breath froze at his voice; to her they were cold, and false. She pulled away, watching him like a wild beast that could pounce were she to take her eyes off of him for even a second.

Eowyn: Stay away. You scare me.

Grima: Don't be... Please, don't be.

And then she fled, she never stopped running after that night. And after many failed attempts to get her in talk, after countless gifts, his own hope quietly began to dwindle. He began to watch her from the shadows, and after a while it was as if they talk to him more than anyone else.

.........

- It is done, my lord. It is completed. The last obstacle has been cleared; The Third Marshal of the Riddermark ha s been banished .

....Why did I do it?

Saruman had promised him safety, the mighty wizard was his ally. He will show his mercy by ensure that Theoden, unlike his predecessor, would meet a peaceful death before Rohan bowed to Isengard.

It didn't have to come to this. Had Eowyn only given him a chance though. Just by listening to him, she might have been able to talk her brother into giving up his defiance of the white hand, and he wouldn't have had to do this. Theodred might still have been alive. But in the end she would understand what mercy had been laid before them; for him, and for her.

But of course all his hard work was dashed when the intolerable stormcrow did them his honour, and arrival.

And it only got worse for him when Saruman possesed the king right infront of everyone This had filled him with anger that the wizard would risk exposing him in an already precarious situation, which would put him in even greater trouble. - What were the mad wizard's intentions?

His stomach turned and twisted, what danger was already hovering over him from the sorcerer's wrath? The fact was that Saruman had been there all along, watching him caring for Theoden, when he was not meant to do so.

He had tried to explain away his hesitation the night before.

He had foolishly claimed that there was time enough to drain the king. That it would only have been him a pleasure to drag out the time and prolong the king's sufferings. There was no imminent danger.

But the unspoken truth was just that he couldn't bring himself to kill Theoden. His hatred for the old king was no more. But he couldn't say that now, it was too late, he couldn't slither his way out this time. And yet leniency was shown, but never had he thought that the day would come when he would be granded mercy, and did not wished for it.

Though the choices given to him were not difficult to make, he still felt like a wretched beast neither too capable nor too useless to be let loose in the field or for slaughter.

But it did not matter now, such mercy would never again be given. No one would ever -"forgive son of Gálmod"

His memories had rudely been disrupted. But it was okay. He was grateful not have to taste those words on his tongue. Such kindness, such meekness spoken for him by no words of his own was a rarity, an impossibility. And yet, that voice..though muffled by the throbbing pain in his poor head he thought he could recognize the ghostly voice. "In my dreams yes, but once awake it will always just be a dream, your Majesty"

----end of flashback----

Chapter Text

His surroundings was blurry and his head felt like he'd been hit with one of Tom Cotten's prize pumpkins. He reached for his forehead but in doing so had made him groan in pain, and quickly pulled his hand away as his fingers slipped through his damp hair.

Merry gasped, his fingers was completely covered in blood. The panic stricken hobbit came back on his feet. And though still slightly dizzy he looked around for the wizard when his foot stepped in something, his toes became sticky and a dull warm drenched his pads. Sickend, but still he looked down, only to see more blood.

Even though all of his senses told him not to look anymore at the carnage, but no matter what his gaze just couldn't look away, and followed the red stream that led him to Wormtongue's body. Blood flowed profusely from his head, and a smaller stream ran from under his ripped cheek. Although not as grotesque as the bloody mess that once had been his eye.

Merry trotted forward, stopping only when he stood right in front of the torned-up flesh. Seeminly uncertain of what to do. He was clearly worried and confused, before he suddenly began frantically pounding his fist, leaving bloody handprints on the pale skin.

Merry: Hey! Wake up! Nothing happened.

He grimaced and jumped up to hang from one of the long locks of hair, where more blood was squeezed between his hands as he desperately tore at the damp mane, but still no sign of life could be evoked.

Merry: Come on! Wake up you cloth-eared bastard!

But no matter how much he kicked and punched, Wormtongue remained motionless despite his efforts.

Merry fell to his knees before his thoughts caught up to the mad wizard, Saruman was gone and so was Pippin. He gritted his teeth in anger, and leapt undeterred towards the third floor. Ignored the pain in his head. He was only five steps up the stairs when a low whimper froze him in his haste.

Grima: W-wait..Don't leave me.

Merry's breath froze. It was impossible, there was so much blood. And yet still, Wormtongue was alive.

Grima: Where are you? Please stay.

Merry still hadn't moved from his spot. He had at first supposed that he had only tried to stop Saruman in his anger from killing Grima out of pity, Furthermore from the short time he had known him counts for nothing when it came to his own kin. But now, in all the madness, Merry had found himself in a dilemma where his conscience pulled him in one direction, and his heart in another. What should he do?

Merry shook his head, scolding himself, there was only one choice. One simple choice that shouldn't be overthought and certainly shouldn't be regretted. He couldn't stay with him. He must go after Pippin.

Merry: I'm so sorry..B-but I can't stay. There is someone who needs me.

Grima: Please, kind hobbit stay with poor Grima. H-he's so sick... He needs help.

The horrible third person dialogue had returned and right now most of all he just wanted to cover his ears. Blocking out all the pleading.

Grima: It hurts. Could the sweet hobbit spare old Grima some water?

Merry: Stop now! I didn't want any of this to happen. And I can't stay with you. I must, and shall save Pippin!

Grima: C-cold. It's so..cold. A lovely cloak l-like that worn..by such noble shoulders..would keep his puny hide..warm.

Merry: Noble? Then you should have remained faithful to that king, whose shoulders you no doubt hung over. I'm not here for you!..You're not my charge.

Grima:..Theoden.

Merry turned his back, but still stood unmoving on the cold steps. He would bet his pipe that no hobbit, not even the bull-roarer, would have made it this far into the dark tower. But for all his courage there was nothing to be proud of. Not after speaking so reproachfully to a dying man who asked for his help. He's not a scornful hobbit, not even to a wretched thing like Wormtongue. For heaven sake, the guy had just saved his head. Or at least, tried.

Merry: Plese listen to me. I promise to come back for you. You just have to wait.

Grima: Wait?...Yes. He can do that..He just..has to do that..Yes, Grima....waits.

Merry thought this was what he needed to hear; therefore he could not understand why he found it so difficult to put one foot in front of the other. Why didn't he run? Even for his determination, he couldn't bring himself to take another step further up as long Grima lay bleeding on the stone floor.

Merry trudged back. He set about unfastening the brooch from his cloak as he tried to think of an explanation for what he was about to do. Whatever the motive, the traitor had tried to intercede for him, no matter how futile it might have been, but had thus possibly spared him from the majority of Saruman's violence.

He respectfully stepped around the blood, and went to the neck. He then reached up to get a firm grip on the longest lock he could find, and began to pull himself up. Merry knew his responsibility; provening he had his heart in the right place, no matter what the guy had done he couldn't leave him here all alone.

He done it. He was sitting on a dragon. His tiny self nestle between clomps, and clusters of black hair. But there was nothing comferble of it, mane was damp, and greased.

Merry pulled the cloak from his shoulders and pressed it against the bleeding, a pained gasp caused he to tighten his grip on the black mane. Rattled by the shere power his the beast, the Hobbit gulp down mouthful after mouthful of air, he must get his bearing together.

He knew it was madness from what he hoped Wormtongue would be able to accomplish for their common good, not least Pippin's. But he had to try. Help was scarce, and he himself would assist where it was needed. The worm was coming with him, even if he had to drag him all the way to the top.

Merry pushed himself further forward while keeping a hand against the gray wool cloak, and delivered two solid kicks behind Grima's nape, or so far his heels could reach.

Grima: W-what are you doing?

Merry: I assume you know how a horse works?

Grima:..Grima is no horse!

Merry: Come on! I'm with you all the way.

Grima: Grima..is..stuck...can't..move-

Merry: You can! You grew! You are bigger than you were before! Push through!

Grima:..Why? Frustration urged Merry to kick again, and again.

Merry: No water until We reach the top.

Grima: W-why kick poor Grima? A-always he gets hit or yelled at. Hearing this Merry immediately stopped as he was made aware of what he was doing to Grima.

Merry: I’m sorry! Please forgive. But We can't wait. You must go forward, you must!

At the edge of despairing, Merry blurted out his own plea. Gripping and tucking insistently on the dark mane as fear, and anguish flushed his tear streaken cheeks.

Merry: "My friend Pippin is in danger. He's all alone. I'm begging you, I need your help...Come on..move your legs."

Grima:..Pippin?

Merry: The one I treasures most of all. All my friends are gone, and Pip might be the only one I have left now...And I can’t go back without him.

With these words the worm obeyed its new-found master, and began to move its legs.

His world shucked as Grima took on his first step. The long hooked claws that sat upon five armor scaled fingers scraped across the black stone. Merry had been so enraptured when Grima finally began to pull himself up the stairs that he hadn't noticed that these were real steps, long, heavy, dragging steps. Something that before would have been next to impossible given the enormous mass he would have had to drag. Until he took a second look under the worm.

For Wormtongue, it didn't seem like he had noticed the powerful front legs that had buffed up from his scaly body. Merry had a theory; however not yet an encouraging one. All that had recently passed between them had been; shouting, accusing, and violence. Could it actually be because Grima felt less than human? It certainly seemed that way, and what would happen if it continued like this? Merry shook his sore head. Whatever the reason for this sudden change he decided from then on that he shall never again lift a hand toward Grima.

This brought Merry back the memory of Sam's relationship with Bill; the overpriced nag they had been sold for a value far over what was considered reasonable. But that didn't matter. For just how happy and joyful the shaggy pony had been after being rid of it's previous owner. And how cheerful and content Sam had been when he took charge of the maligned pony. Now he began to understand why.

And with the same intention to invigorate a tired horse, Merry reaches behind to give Grima some encouragement. As his hand slid through the black mane, and his fingers got caught in a rough tangle of hair, stuck together in clotted blood. Pulling a face in disgust but as he pulled his hand free his palm bumped across a smooth surface on the back of Grima's head.

Suddenly Grima lost his footing on one of the slippery steps, and he falls hard as his head hits the sharp edges of the stair. Startled, Merry lost his grip on the cloak, but with both hands cought hold of a red-soaked lock before he could slide off. He gritted his teeth when a horrible screeching cut through his ear. Like meat hooks Grima slammed his long claws into the stone steps until he came to an abrupt stop.

Merry looked down, but all he saw was the depths of the abyss. The way up had taken the shape of a spiral staircase, and with no railing to keep them from plunging to their deaths. He tried to get a better grip, which was easier said than done. The mane was greasy and blood was running down along his only lifeline, dripping onto his face.

Merry: Hold on! Pull up and push forward!

Grima: M-my lip.

Merry bit back the pain as his sprained arm took on the final effort and pulled himself safely back onto Grima's neck. His lungs burned, and sweat dampen his hairline as he tightens his grip on the cloak and pulled forth to get a look at the red under jaw, but he held no grudge against his companion's slip up. Grima had been very lucky, his teeth could easily had made more damaged then a split lip, and stroked down his neck. Adding on a cheekey remark.

Merry: Good thing you didn't bite off your tongue, huh? Come on, you can do it! We'll be there soon. The incident of what he had stumbled upon at the back of Grima's head had taken a backseat, for now.

Grima: I can't breathe. Can't we have a rest, my lord?

Unlike Bill, who mostly kept his opinions to himself, and had followed Sam and his travel companions as things came. Grima Wormtongue was a real whiner; there was no other way to describe it. But he could't blame him; the blood had begun to show on the cloak and the dark red stain was growing.

The wet slurping sounds that came from under his clenched hands was horrible, and he just couldn't think of any context for such an indigestible endurance. Most people, or at least hobbits, would have lost consciousness long after a massive blood loss like this. All he could do was press his now bloody palms down over the leak and hope Grima could make it. Merry look behind; a gruesome trail of blood followed in their wake. - He's losing too much blood. They had to get to the top before it was too late, because if Grima slipped and fell now Merry highly doubted either of them would ever walk again.

His conscience put his decision to the worst test this adventure had yet exposed him to. Merry withdrew in a downcast grimace. Silent tears threatened to fall as he choked down a gasp as he inwardly asked himself; Why he choose to take Grima with him? Why didn't he just leave him where he was? He could have tied up the bleeding and let him wait for him. Why is he sitting on him?! Grima didn't deserve to be put through hell like this. But he certainly didn't deserve to die all alone on a cold floor, and trapped in the scaly form of a giant worm either.

An unexpected curiosity had succeeded in pushing away thismobid thoughts. He had no idea what the man behind the scales looked like. Now bursting with this urge to meet the man personly filled him with a new vigor. Merry hold on to his new side goal, and went on stroking and caress the pale skin till something made his guts convulse; the midnight black locks had turned matted, and some of them had changed to a lifeless charcoal gray!

But they made it, they had finally reached the fourth floor. (Which is the middle part of the tower) The whole room was lit by towering windows which made up the entire circumference of the tower. Merry was greeted by hundreds of glasses and clay jars, their edicts written in intricate handwriting. This must be where Saruman's cooked his abominations, he reasoned grimly.

Above and around him hung on iron hooks sweet-smelling tufts of herbs, and other dried up flowers. Merry recognized none of them. And he wished even more that his friend Sam had been here, he should know what they were and if any of them could be of any help to Grima. Although it was hard to imagine that anything that had been in Saruman's hands could do anything but harm.

However, Merry caught a very familiar, and extremely much missed scent of tobacco. But alas, Pipe-weed was no help for healing bleeding wounds inflicted by a mad wizard.

Merry: Old Toby? What is Hornblower's herbs doing here in Isengard?

Without warning he fell forward and rolled down the long head, barely avoiding the fall as he clung to the knobby growth at the end of the snout. Wormtongue's legs had finally collapsed under his own weight. Merry was still clining on. Still not too close to the floor, but it wasn’t too far that it would hurt him, too badly. He landed hard on his hands and knees. The cold floor brought his burning palms some relief, but there was no time for that, when the sound of scratching claws slowly began to drag over the smooth floor.

Merry: Grima! No no no. Come on, get back up! You can't lay here.

There was still too much of his body out on the stairwell, which was precariously slippery with his own blood. So Merry reached out to wake him, the skin was icy cold.

No answer came.

And this time no amount of encouragement or support would get Grima to move. He wasn't resting, he had fallen unconscious.

The hobbit scrambled to find something he could use to prevent his mount from being pulled down the stairs by its own weight. He searched every corner, every nook, and wall for rope, a chain, whatever could be used to pull or at least retain Grima to safety. But it became obvious that all the space in the room was occupied. Every wall was either covered with shelves containing eerie luminescent glass, or with bookcases crammed with old books.

It was here that Merry remembered Galadriel's gift to him, and Pippin. Both had been given a beautifully crafted belt, and now it turned out that they could also have other, more unexpected purposes than just holding up their pants. He unfastened the silver belt, and proceeded to lead the strap into Grima's mouth; he didn't know if it was just him or had the belt gotten longer? He couldn't possibly have put on that much weight. The awkwardness grow hot in his cheeks. But he just shrugged, and justified that he must have hit his head harder than he thought because the belt continued to get longer and longer the more he put it around the mouth.

Making sure it was behind the long fangs, Merry tightened the belt over the bridge of Grima's nose so that the strap pressed against the knot-like formation at the top of his muzzle. Probably a horn of some kind, he thought.

Grima awoke at the hobbit's heaving and pulling. This time Merry was merciless in his requests, now ordering him to lift his lanky front legs and start dragging his scaly rear forward, if he didn't prefer to remain gagged and pushed down the stairs.

Those words triggered a dramatic effect. Merry was momentarily drawn back, but like with one of Gandalf's rockets he ran out of the way as Grima staggered to his feet, and lunged forward, like a viper at an fleeing field mouse.

With chest first Grima landed hard on the stone surface, and manage to anchor his head on the center stone in the room, his front legs laying limp now. His effort had also lead to the dislodging of the belt from his mouth. And in a hoarse voice the disempowered third person rewired it's pitiful voice.

Grima:.Can Grima..have some water..now?

Merry:..Um, about that. There is no water...not right now i’m afraid.

Grima: You lied?

Merry: I know. It’s just..Pippin carried our last ration of water from the journey. It’s my fault..I-I should have known that you couldn't..And then there's Saruman. I'm so sorry. Some of that Ent-draughts would have been exactly what you needed.

Grima: Kingsfoil.

Merry: No. No, it's not your king's fault. It's mine. How should-

Grima: No..L-looked for...Athelas. There..must be..something...in this room.

Merry: Athelas? Of course, back at Weathertop!

Merry tore each and every cabinet open, he sought through all of the clay jars so that they rattled and smashed at his feet. His finger vigorously searched all the shelves again. Glancing intently at the dead flower vines on the ceiling, none of them were kingsfoils. But there might yet be someone who still had some left.

Merry looked up, the the room's intrance was shaped into a point; narrow enough for him crawl over Grima and squeeze through. And with his newfound task, he clawed up at Grima's neck. The skin began to pull back as his fingers tightened around one particular dried knot of hair.

He now remembered back at the earlier event on the stairs, a fright brought on by a bolt of pain. Frankly, he didn't want to see anymore of the atrocities that had befallen Grima. But he already intended to heal all the damage done to the poor creature. He was going to see more blood, and gore. Thinking of the bloody mess his cape already was covered in. So what did an already healed lesion do?

Now he wanted to see to any damage done by that cursed warlock, and gently began to lift up the long greying mane. What he saw horrified him so much that he began to cover up the disfigurement. - He scalped you?! Anger constricted in his throat, but choked down his malice. He calmed himself down by caressing the rim of what he assumed must be an ear opening.

Merry: I'll be back soon. Just hold on a little longer.

Without wasting another second, he grabbed and hold tight of a thick lock of hair and slowly began to crawl down the scaly body. One fistful of hair at a time.

Merry took a quick look down and clamped his hands and feet together in the greasy mane. His hands had become sweaty, but he had to keep a cool head, and continued to crawl, but now a little quicker. Despite it's disheveled condition, the uncombed hair proved easy to crawl as it's clumps and knots assisted his feet and hands to cling on.

At last he could see the distance that Grima had bled for, he loosened his grip, and let himself slide the rest of the way. And before he knew it he was at the window. They haven't seen him yet, and he easily found the darkhaird man among the small crowd of people.

Merry: Aragorn! I need more Athelas!

Aragorn: Merry! What has happened? Are you hurt?!

Merry: I'm fine! But-

Legolas: Marry, your forehead! It's worsen. Please sit back down! Gandalf and the king will be coming for you!

Hearing this, Theoden withdrew from the fellowship, surprising the elf with his sudden aversion.

Merry: I'll be fine! The herb is not for me.

Gimli: Oouh. It's Pippin. Please don't say it isn't so.

Merry: It's for mr. Grima!

Gimli: How typical it is for a snake only to swallow the stone when it's most favorable. And since when have we come on first name?-

The ranger flash a grin at this unexpected odd request.

Aragorn: I don't have much left!

Merry: I understand, just let me have what you can spare. He's already in a very bad way, but I have to try and do what I can.

Aragorn found the small rolled-up package with the rest of the Kingsfoils, and passes it on to Legolas. The elf looks at him questioningly.

Legolas: You are willing to give it all?

Aragorn: I have a feeling this is what Theoden would have us do, and would have done so himself had he been present. And before you speak son of Gloin. If the king's speech was about anyone else than the old worm, enlighten me now.

The dwarf grunted his defeat. However, Legolas nods in understanding and tied the package to one of his arrows.

............Flashback..........

Grima arrives in Orthanc, where nothing good has ever happened; at least for him.

He had no idea that Gandalf and his pack were at the gates of Edoras. He didn't even know the gray wizard was in Rohan. Grima knew only too well that he was in big trouble when Gandalf entered the golden hall, revealing that the king's true suffering was not brought on by general old age. And the problems only got worse when Saruman spoke through Theoden, only to be blown away like dust.

The grip around his dagger had given him asurence, at first. But had it gotten to where he had to threaten the wizard to leave he feared that he might have found himself more akin to his hideous nickname; flopping around on the floor, and crawling on his stomach.

But he was more than ready to take the wrath of Saruman rather than stay in Rohan, just to lose his life on the battlefield. Had he been asked, he would have had a hundred of excuses; unfavorable with a sword, weak limbs, failing age, and afraid of everything. But now, though only beknownst to himself, he carried something important, if not more precious than his own life; something that was genuinely gifted to him, fostered with love, and born of great importance gave him the excuse he sought. But had anyone acturlly asked him of "what", he surely would have been turned into a worm or a toad.

He had prepared with all the information he could scrape together to win back the wizard's favor and prove that he could still be of use for his lord.

But it wasn't long after his arrival that he begins to doubt his actions in coming to Isengard.

"Théoden will not stay at Edoras. It is vulnerable, he knows this. He will expect an attack on the city. They will flee to Helm's Deep, the great fortress of Rohan."

Much blood had been shed by his actions against Rohan, his manipulation against Theoden. His part in Edora's weakened advance towards Helm's Deep. He himself easily gave away the wall's only weak point, and soon Saruman would shed even more.

"It is a dangerous road, take through the mountains. It will be slow. "They will have women and children with them."

Faithfully he had followed his lord to where the wargs was being hold, and tamed; if one could call those beasts tame. The method they used was terrible, but that was the foundation of how the new Isengard was been laid.

A horrified screech cut in his ear. Then his eyes shot wide as he followed the group of orcs who hauled forth a struggling black horse. Kicking and rearing violently against the ropes that pulled it towards the wolf pit. And not just any horse. His horse.

Grima: Wassa? My lord, what are they doing!? That's my horse! Why is he here?!

Saruman: We must all make sacrifices. Even the speechless.

Grima: Saruman, what are those orcs doing to him?! Where are you're beasts taking him?

The wizard didn’t even offered him a glance, before he called a sentence.

Saruman: ..To the wolves.

For the first time, he stared at his lord with pure abhorrence. He couldn't breathe, and the blood was pumping in his ears, but no tears was shed; there were none left. A hushed "No" was the only word he could force from his cold lips.

Saruman took any means he could lay his hands on, and it wasn't only man and orc that Saruman saw the usefulness in. Everyone had a role to fill in Isengard, that also included Wormtongue's horse.

Saruman: Wassa? Hmm"Victory hunt" Sounds promising.

Grima:..No..no, no, no. My lord, I beg you, forgive me. Why-

Saruman: The wolves need a scent trail. And nothing can stop them when first their teeth plunge into the sweet taste of blood. Leading them to Rohan's flesh.

Grima: But he's mine! Hear! He is terrified..Let him go free!

Saruman: Don't be a fool!! I know why you came here. You should have realized by now they turned their backs on you before you were even born. You don't belong anywhere...And you don't need that animal anymore.

His tears finally broke free as anguished cry erupted from the darkness. The macabre shadows of Wassa desperately trying to hold off the monsters as they snarled , and bit at his flanks. He had hoped for a quick death, but the palfrey wasn't giving up without a fight. Kicking and stomping hooves made the underground rumble. Incredibly, he managed to bite down on the neck of one of the wolves, but it was hopeless as his screams, and whining finally were swallowed, and silenced by growling howls.

Wassa had gone down like a true warhorse, a more credible death then the one his rider would ever receive.

And things only escalated. None of his information, nor the slaughter of his horse, had been enough to appease Saruman, and he was determined to show how seriously his footman had disappointed him when he ordered him to surrender him his dagger.

Never had he thought the punishment could be so severe, and certainly not for him. But neither had he thought that it would be Wassa's warm blood that would smear the teeth of Isengard's wolves.

Saruman: Theodred's sacrifice was just in time, wouldn't you say?

Grima: Pity, my lord. It was an offer of which I had no will.

Saruman: Speak not to me of will! The wizard exclaimed. "You were too greedy Grima. Too gluttonous to see the bigger picture. Instead of focusing on Theoden, you wasted time consoling the dead"

His voice was back to the sugary tone he once hungered and thirsted for. Now it scared him to the edge of his life.

Saruman: And now, if you would please step forward.

Petrified, dumfounded and scared beyond word, he still found himself walking towards the wizard. He rested his cheek on his knee, in a last silent plead. He only knew what was going to happen when he felt Saruman lifting his hair before an excruciating pain ripped through his head.