Helm and Hauberk — Where Now the Horse and the Rider?
by stormypetreluk

Chapter 3

"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 watch from inside the halls as Éomer rides back, Théodred slumped in front of his saddle obviously badly wounded. I am disappointed, it had taken days to ensure that this ambush would be successful and the orders had been for both Théodred and his young cousin to be targeted. I slip away before I can be spotted and slink into the great hall, the injury to his son might prove enough to rouse Théoden and despite my master's ever increasing hold on him there are times when I must wield my own skill in herbs to ensure that he remains biddable. I quickly pour wine from an old bottle. So simple this, a bottle obviously dusty and still corked—whatever may be suspected no one here has the wit to work out how an apparently unopened bottle could be poisoned. And of course if anyone else drinks of it one dose will not do any harm except to make them feel slightly more drunk than usual and inclined to agree with anyone who speaks. It is the culmination of many doses and of Saruman's will which has resulted in the decline of Théoden.

I actually have to hold the cup to his mouth now and he drools down my hand as I encourage him to drain the cup deeply, Wiping my hand on the hanging in disgust I move into the shadows watching and waiting to see what will occur now.

It is hardly more than a few minutes before Éomer strides into the hall to confront his Uncle. Éowyn follows him, I shift position slightly, she is the one I must watch. Saruman has a mind to keep her alive, perhaps as a puppet ruler, more likely for darker purposes. She is colder and sharper than her brother. His anger burns fierce and hot but it can be as quickly extinguished or turned aside through battle or drink, hers lacking in an outlet builds like a glacier.

Although it appears there is one thing that can quench her white anger, her obvious grief for her cousin. Her voice holds tears as she tells Théoden his son is wounded, tears as much for the lack of response from his father as for Théodreds wounds.

Éomer's words on the other hand are full of anger still, and he is prompted into openly stating his mistrust for Saruman. I step out for the shadows to challenge him, my voice a smooth mockery of his rougher angrier words.

Éomer keeps his eyes on his uncle as he drops his next blow; "Orcs are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked. Unchallenged. Killing at will. Orcs bearing the white hand of Saruman." Quite literally drops as he has managed to bring back proof of his words. I curse inwardly and for a moment I cannot think how to rescue the situation. The orcs were not supposed to bear the white hand openly yet against the Rohirrim, it is too soon, unless something has occurred to change Saruman plans.

Thankfully Théoden's random mutterings give me an excuse to turn to him, maintaining the fiction of a concerned councillor. I know as I add those last words that Éomer will be angered by them, but Théoden has shown himself remarkable easy to persuade that Éomers tempers and questions are the mark of a discontented and ambitious youngster.

The accusation of warmongering may have been a little too sharp, a little less smooth than I would normally have been, but my mind was racing trying to work out what the next steps were. I realise that mistake swiftly though, being held up against a pillar by an angry warrior tends to focus the mind quite admirably. I lie though, it was not the threat of violence which focused my attention onto Éomer. The minute he turned and his eyes met mine, my grasp on the wider ramifications of this were lost.

He seems oddly upset, I muse idly, did he really think that I would not seek every opportunity to oust him from favour? Did he begin to actually believe the pretence I had created? I mock him for it but I should mock myself for his next demand catches me off guard.

"How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price, Grima? When all the men are dead you will take your share of the treasure?"

I could not bear to meet his eyes and let him see that what Saruman had promised me was nothing more than what every man longs for, his life and his freedom; led my eyes instead to his sister. I was glad then that my guards where so well trained for if I had had to meet that angry and betrayed stare for much longer I would have been unable to stop myself from correcting his misapprehension. Éowyn had never been the object of my lusts, too cold, too bitter. She reminded me too much of myself. A prisoner whose prison is made all the more secure by the fact that those surrounding you do not recognise your imprisonment. It is quickly over, Éomer really was a naive fool. Naive enough to believe he would be able to lay hands on me here in the great hall and that I would not have my guards, my dogs, standing by. He gives me the excuse I have needed to dispose of him a well as his cousin.

I stand rubbing my throat, Éomer had represented freedom, heat, passion all things I had not felt for a long time. Which is no doubt why instead of having him killed I merely banished him. Watching his eored ride out with him, knowing that he would find others to rally to his cause, and so create the valiant leader his people needed, I could not bring myself to regret that decision.

A pity I did not take that as warning enough that my instinct for self-preservation was sadly clouded, and left quietly whilst I still could. Although where I could have gone I do not know. So as I watched the first ripples of disaster mar the smooth surface of my masters plans I waited, fearing to leave, fearing to stay.

The grey wizard came and it was then that I knew my master's power was not all he would have had me believe. Foremost in the council he had been once but this ragged wanderer had the power to cast Saruman out from Théoden's mind. I have no pride, I would have fled then happily but being unable to reach the master in person they were disinclined to let the servant escape punishment.

Seeing Théoden renewed did not make me tremble but the strength and ferocity of Gadwall companions is breathtaking, two of them manage to fell five times their number without weapons. Strength I feel all too personally when they take it upon themselves to throw me down the stairs to medusald.

I suppose I should be grateful that the dark man intervened. In truth, I was not sure even then that a swift ending by the sword was not a preferable option. Once reprieved though instinct cut in. I could not hope to survive in Rohan now. My only hope was to return to Saruman and pray that he would be able to plot his way out of this disaster.

Helm and Hauberk — Chapter 4

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