Helm and Hauberk — The Days Have Gone Down in the West
by stormypetreluk

Chapter 1

"In his eyes was the hunted look of a beast seeing some gap in the ring of his enemies. He licked his lips with a long pale tongue."

I leave the woman standing there against the wall. She is white faced and trembling and I wonder again at the foolish complacency that leads people to say "you can't do that" when what they actually mean is "please don't do that". She used those words, and seemed unable to grasp that it was not any particular cruelty or malice towards her and her husband, which had led to this. In fact she seemed to find that worse somehow, as if a personal grudge would have been more acceptable than the simple reality that they threatened to disrupt my plans.

She will do as I say now however, it took only a few words to convince her. They say there is nothing to match the fury of a woman protecting her young. There is also nothing she will not do and that includes betrayal of her people in order to keep her man and young ones alive and well. She would light the torches to burn Meduseld herself if I ordered it. She need not do anything so drastic or obvious though, and that makes it easier for her. All I require is that she persuades her husband not to speak of what he saw when he so foolishly rode towards Isengard.

It might have been more difficult if he had actually had the courage to ride closer still, to see inside the outer circle. But, like many of the riders here, his vaunted courage and heroics deserted him when he was actually required to do something that would not be greeted with horns blowing and banners flying. He saw only that the outer circle was bare, the trees torn down. Suspicious but not yet dangerous. Still it was best not to let news of this come to Éomer or Théodred's ears. Whilst my master's hold on Théoden is too secure for anything short of a miracle to rouse him, his son and nephew still hold far too great a following. Now is not the time for Rohan to fall. A little longer to confuse and weaken, a little longer in which to have Théodred and Éomer disappear, or at the least lose their support and standing, and then, Rohan would be Saruman's.

I am lost in my thoughts as I hurry back to the main halls of Meduseld. I do not look around me, at this time of night, and in the depths of winter. I do not expect anyone else to be present here. That proves to be my first mistake, the second is assuming that the woman would have the sense to leave as swiftly as I did when we concluded our bargain. I slip in through one of the lower doors, avoiding the main entrance as I usually do. I see no need at any time to broadcast my comings and goings to all in the hall. And like much of my work that is carried out at night, it is better if no one should question my leaving the kings side.

I have only gone two or three steps inside and am just shaking off the rain form my hood and cloak when I realise that someone is has moved out of the shadows in the corridor to stand in front of me. I sigh when I realise who it is.

"Well Éomer, what are you doing sneaking around in the dark?"

He is taken aback, obviously he had intended to use that line on me. He recovers himself quickly though I will give him credit for that.

"I need give no man here explanations for what I do, least of all a snake like you wormtongue"

"No," I let the word stretch out as if considering its every nuance; "no I suppose you need not, after all you can hardly be doing anything..." Unlawful, he thinks "important"I say.

Ah, there it is, the startled flinch, really it is almost too easy. I smile at him, knowing that like all my smiles it will look like a sneer, and smoothly move to step past him. Unfortunately this time it is I who receive a shock, instead of scowling, muttering, and then stepping out of my way as if I carried a disease, he stays put and even puts out a hand to stop me.

"What were you doing by the storehouses Wormtongue?" so the young fool spotted me, did he.

"Nothing, important" I say giving the same stress to the word important as I had earlier. "Merely checking the grain supplies. Of course such matters would escape a warriors notice being too petty for your concern, but it has been a hard winter."

I let my voice slip from mocking to smooth. He will still sense the condescension, but everything I say will seem reasonable, in fact will be reasonable. He will feel a fool for having challenged me at all. "Yes a hard winter, I feared for our people my lord Éomer, it will be several months before we are able to restock our stores, so I must ensure what we have is not wasted."

"Why must you do this, is there not anything within these walls you do not meddle in?"

Fool, if you give me opening like that one you have lost this battle of wits before you began. I open my eyes wide and feign a puzzled and put upon air, "But lord Éomer, who else is there to do this? Would you have the people starve?" It is then, when I am sure that I have won this round that my mistakes bear fruit.

"Liar" he snarls. Suddenly I find myself trapped against the wall, him looming over me as he growls. "I saw you there, and I saw that poor woman you left behind, what did you do to her Wormtongue?"

I cannot help it, I laugh, a bitter thing but laughter nonetheless. He actually believes that I...

"You laugh? I wonder if you will still laugh when her husband kills you in the sight of all as you deserve"

"My dear Éomer, not even you can believe that I took that woman against her will."

He misunderstands, "Are you trying to tell me she was willing" his voice breaks incredulously "that any woman would..."

I interrupt him "...that any woman would chose to lie with me? No I do not ask you to believe that" I finish and some of the bitterness that gnaws at me shows in my voice. "But did you see any sign of force on her? Do you see scratches, bruises on me? Surely if an honourable woman, the wife of one of your riders, was approached by such as me she would not let me touch her without some protest." My voice drips sarcasm and he seems confused now. But like a true warrior he does not stop to think for long.

"You lie, you did something to her and I will find out what"

The wall is digging into my shoulders now, I can't go any further back. I wonder if he will kill me or merely beat me senseless. After all, he must have been praying to whatever gods he holds dear for an opportunity like this one. Despite my protests, if he were to claim he found me molesting that woman I doubt there would be any who believed otherwise, especially if I was dead. The same gods that love to watch and mock me, listen to the prayers of men like him.

He follows me and a brief mad hysteria rises in me at the thought that this is perhaps the closest that any rider in these halls has let themselves come to me. All except mad, sad Théoden pull themselves away when I walk past; mothers tug their children aside. There are few who can walk through these halls unhindered but wherever I walk a path opens for me. It is power of a sort. But in his righteous anger this young whelp has me trapped against the wall. I wonder if he realises this, if he realises that in grasping my arm, in shaking me to force answers from me he is offering me the only human touch I have had in the years I have served here.

"You disgust me, creeping around, like some pallid wretch who never sees the light of day. Why my uncle allows such as you to pollute his halls, to give him counsel, faugh."

His scorn pours over me, but that is something I am well used to here. I cannot pass up the opportunity to mock him, to hit at his weakest points.

"Perhaps, my dear Éomer, your uncle, in his wisdom has learnt that better counsel can be gained from those who watch and learn than those who find their wisdom only in a horses stride"

"Watch? Spy more like. Is that what you do here? Aye I warrant you'll not have touched her or any other, you've not the courage for it have you worm? But you would watch would you not, sneak behind walls, listen at keyholes. Is that how you find your pleasure?"

Some bitter impulse prompts me to sneer back at him; "Oh I doubt that one such as you, Éomer son of Rohan could comprehend of my pleasures."

He does not quite understand but he senses an insult to his precious honour. I could almost laugh again, at his bullish reaction to a sneering tone no matter what the words. Amusing to bait him, but the sudden pain in my head drives away the laughter. He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls back hard so that I am forced to stare directly into his eyes. Oh yes he is angry now.

"Listen to me worm, if I find you watching any of the riders' women...If I hear even a rumour that you have ..." His voice runs, out obviously the poor, naïve, honourable fool cannot bring himself even to voice the thought that I might touch another living being.

"I can assure you Éomer, I would gain no pleasure from watching any of your women."

His closeness must have overwhelmed my senses, for I do not quite manage to avoid the faint stress on the word women. And for once his brain must have been working at something approximating normal speed for he hears it. His eyes narrow and he steps closer still.

"As much as touch one of my riders worm, and I will have your head"

Ah yes, that is where your real concern lies does it not Éomer, not the pitiful wretches that your women so quickly become but the strong brave riders you lead. And none are so golden, so brave, so strong as you Éomer, third Marshall of the Riddermark.

He draws a breath in sharply, and I wonder if perhaps I had said those last thoughts aloud. Blood stains my cheeks ugly red, and then as he does not move away it pools in my groin, rushing there so swiftly I feel light headed. He steps closer and places his other hand around my throat, the rough leather of the gauntlet rasps across my white skin. He could kill me easily here, like this, and as if hearing my thoughts his hand tightens ever so slightly.

Cold sweat drips down my back in fear but at the same time I feel myself grow even harder. His thigh is pressed against me trapping me against the wall and he must feel my arousal. Bitter shame combines with the fear and I shift slightly in his grasp seeking a way to escape, half hoping to provoke him into violence. I would prefer that to his scorn. But close as we are I can no more escape the evidence of his arousal than he can mine. For a long moment my mind goes blank, all I am aware of is the heat between my legs, the almost painful pulsing of my blood through my engorged cock. He shifts uncomfortably and brushes against me, I do not think, I merely act and before he can draw breath my hands have slid between us, cupping him.

His grip on my throat is more painful, but still not enough to choke me. I am shivering as I undo the laces to his breeches, I hear him gasp as I draw him out, my long pallid fingers flickering against his solid warmth.

I do not let our eyes meet as I stroke and pull. Only once do I steal a glance up at him from beneath my heavy lids, his head is thrown back, his eyes closed. The look on his face is between pleasure and pain and I look down again quickly somehow shamed to have seen him like this. His hand tangles in my hair, a constant pressure against my scalp.

His movements grew harsher, more violent and ragged. He thrusts urgently into my hand, his grip on my hair yanking my head back. Tears are streaming down my face from the sharp pain in my scalp and the dull ache in my shoulder from the rough wall. I can barely breathe or move. All I can do is let him ride my hand. It is hot, slick with sweat or perhaps that is him, I can no longer tell. It takes most of my willpower to force my muscles to obey me, to reach past the pain in my head and tighten my grip, and I am rewarded for the effort.

Suddenly all space between our bodies is gone and he slams into me, his hands fall from my scalp to my shoulders, digging into my thin frame under the rich velvets. My hand is crushed between us, my grip fails, but he no longer seems to care. Once, twice, his tall powerful form crashes into mine and the groan he gives, as his seed spills over my hand, my robe, sounds like an animal in pain.

I should have pulled away then and left him.

I should have straightened my robes and sneered at him for losing control. I should have mocked the proud warrior for taking pleasure from the touch of a snake. I should have taken advantage of his weakness to slip a knife into his ribs. I should have opened one of the rings my master had gifted me and smeared poison into his open mouth.

I could have done any of these things but I did none of them.

I close my eyes, lean my head back against the wall, and wait for my frantic heart to slow. His forehead rests against the wall as he pants for breath; slowly he recovers himself and pulls away. I hear the faint sound of cloth and leather and know he is restoring his appearance to that befitting the kings' precious nephew, the bright young god of his people. It wouldn't do would it, my golden Éomer, for your men to find you rutting in the corridor. To find you allowing yourself to be touched by the snake. Oh yes, I know what they call me, I've heard, and been called worse names, all things considered.

I wonder if it would make any difference now if I did what I should have done at first, or would he hit me all the harder if I mocked him now. I open my eyes and I know it is too late, too late to paste my usual sneer back onto my face, too late to pretend. He is not looking at me, he is looking at my robes and if he had been too lost in his own sensations to notice before, now he knows. Knows that when his final thrusts slammed our bodies together, the merest touch of his thigh against my groin had sent me, gasping and shivering like some clumsy fish, over the edge. I make some attempt to draw myself up, and if I had it in me I would try for dignity as I wait for the blow that will surely fall. But dignity is something for the blind, foolish and noble, none of which I am, and so I merely wait.

I am still waiting as he turns and strides away from me, and I do not know if it is relief or disappointment that brings me to my knees there in the corridor alone.

Helm and Hauberk — Chapter 2

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