Helm and Hauberk — Dead Wood Burning?
by stormypetreluk

Chapter 4

"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."

It is so very cold inside Orthanc. The only warmth to be found is in the birthing pits in the great cavern below, and that is a place I will not go to willingly. Even if the alternative is to freeze here on this cold black stone. I had almost forgotten the cold, the empty rooms and echoing silence. Except now that silence is broken by the sounds of the pits, even with the armies gone the great pits are still working, Uruk-Hai are still being birthed. It is a terrifying sight that, to see the great creatures claw and rend their way out of the slime. As each one arises they rip the life from the goblin slave who stands by. If any do not they are soon discarded, unfit for my master's purposes.

I have been there only once, after the forces of the tower marched to Helm's Deep. Saruman took me. The breeding cannot work on magic alone, they require flesh and blood, and whilst women are unnecessary for this travesty of birth, they require semen. For orcs are sterile, bred for one purpose only, their makers have taken from them the ability to reproduce and so taken from them any hope they might have.

Saruman has slaves aplenty who are used for this purpose, often their flesh and bone is used as well. Not so with me, only my life fluids, semen and blood. Only! They have so very many ways of making a man spill those fluids, and by nightfall I had begun to wish that they would use me as they did the slaves, at least their misery was over within the day. They did not; my master wanted me punished for my failures but not dead. When he returned for me I could barely stand. And so hating him more fiercely than I had ever hated those I was sent to betray, I crawled after him on my hands and knees.

So when the great walking trees came, like creature's from some ancient myth, I did not mourn to see the pits flooded the fires put out and the rabble swept away. I did not mourn for the slaves trapped below the deluge; their last moments filled with terror as they watched the inescapable rise of the water, or were struck down by the weight of falling timbers. No do not mistake me, I did not think in terms of their deaths being a mercy, I know to well the terror of being trapped, helpless whilst your death approaches you. No I spared no thought for them or any other there that day except myself. If Saruman's anger at my failure in Edoras had been great, his rage when his stronghold was attacked, his works and arts of war destroyed, was beyond imagining. I fled as soon as I saw the ents approach, and so escaped the first fury. But there is no place in that tower where its master cannot find you and find me he did.

There were two long days before the lords of Rohan deigned to visit us in our shattered home. Two long days in which my master plotted and paced, he had not used the seeing stone, but his fear told him it would not be long before the dark lord called for him. And so his fear infected the tower. I think if I had had any knowledge of what was being bred here he would have offered me up to Barad-Dûr as a sacrifice. Unfortunately in this the wizards foresight failed him, he had made no secret to Sauron of the fact that he despised me almost as much as the rohirrim did, he knew that the blame for this disaster would fall on his shoulders. He could however amuse himself with me, and he did for several hours. But his frustration and terror clouded his inventiveness and he was reduced to allowing the tower orcs to beat me unconscious.

It offered me some small measure of amusement to know that he gained little from the exercise. He had to wait before I came around and could talk again before he could begin questioning me. He learnt little more, I had paid only slight attention to those accompanying Gandalf Greyhame, except to say their kindred's I could tell him nothing. I wondered at his interest in the companions of the wizard, an interest that was obvious when they finally came to us. Théoden and Gandalf led them, and it would appear that Éomer had not taken his banishment to heart for he was riding with them. Beside him were the ranger, elf and dwarf who had arrived with Gandalf at Meduseld. Whether this man was indeed the lost heir of Isildur I could not tell, he had shown a certain nobility I suppose by preventing Théoden from killing me and offering me a hand to rise. It also appeared obvious that for all his words previously Saruman thought he was something more than a ragged Ranger. Through the ensuing discussions with Gandalf, Saruman strove to see him, to sense who he was. The grey wanderer stood before the doors hammering on them with his staff and calling for my master. I was pushed forward to open the window and call out, he could not even then resist the temptation then to mock me. "Go and fetch Saruman, since you have become his footman, Gríma Wormtongue! And do not waste our time."

I didn't have to fetch Saruman, he was standing behind me. This was all a ploy, all a game to show power even as his tower was besieged. If Saruman had answered Gandalf's call himself it would have seemed that Gandalf could summon him easily. Which no doubt the grey wizard knew, and yet he still mocked me, the easy target instead of my master.

But then my master did deign to appear. I could see the magic of his voice working on those foolish men below even before they realised it. Théoden fell first, as was to be expected. Pitiful, weakened Théoden, his only hope now was to die gloriously in battle for his will had been sapped by my master over many long years, and he was no longer fit to rule. Of course now that Théodred was dead that would mean golden Éomer, apparently returned to his uncles loving arms, would inherit. I craned my neck for a glimpse, he looked tired and grim but was at first content to stand back and let Gandalf and Théoden conduct negotiations, which they outstandingly failed to do. When Théoden stood silent, pulled into the poison honey of my master's voice it was Éomer who spoke up.

"Will you parley with this dealer in treachery and murder? Remember Théodred and the graves at Helms Deep."

Oh yes his anger and pride are still hot, Saruman cowed him, spitting words I had heard spilling from my own lips in the bitter watches of the night. "Slay who your king names as enemies, and be content. Meddle not in politics which you do not understand."

Éomer's defiance must have roused the failing spark in Théoden for he rejected Saruman's offer, and then we saw where Saruman's true interest lay, he mocked Théoden but turned to his own kind with softer words, he and the grey wizard spoke for some time. Ah yes Gandalf offered Saruman sanctuary, and in the end he refused although he was I know, tempted.

The cracking of my master's staff on the stone steps of Orthanc was more terrifying than the destruction of Isengard. In that moment many of his powers fled and I saw my fate as clearly as his. He would never allow himself or me to flee the tower, to take the hand Gandalf had held out to him. We would rot here until the servants of Barad-Dûr came for us and then we would pray that they had left us here to die in starvation and isolation. The figures below me turned to walk away and I laughed to myself, what hope had I anyway? Even if Saruman had taken the offer, it would not include me. No it is far easier for these wise men, these kings, to forgive one who they though of as an equal no matter how great and terrible his crimes. But to forgive one whom merely served? They had nothing but contempt and loathing for me.

I do not know what strange impulse prompted me. Perhaps a desire to stave off the retribution of Barad-Dûr, a vain hope to buy time in which I might escape. Saruman had left me lying on the floor of the chamber of the seeing stone when he went to answer their calls and I had crept back to the balcony to watch them. I had half expected it to smash, I prayed that it would, that in its loss Saruman would lose the link with Barad-Dûr and so gain us a few more days of uneasy quiet. But perhaps a part of me long buried was glad when it did not, when it rolled and fell into their hands. I had little time to ponder on my motives. Saruman knew it was me, after all even if there had been anyone else to suspect, Gandalf was not chary of handing me over.

"A parting shot from Master Wormtongue, I fancy, but ill aimed."

"The aim was poor maybe because he could not make up his mind who he hated more you or Saruman," replied the ranger.

Well at least one person could see that I was hardly bound here by love and respect. I saw Éomer and the dark ranger look up as Saruman strode onto the balcony to shake me like a warg shakes its prey. Éomer even took a step forward but was restrained by Gandalf whose attention, predictably enough, was focused upon Saruman.

"Saruman I ask you for one last time. Your fortress is besieged, your works destroyed, your staff and powers broken and your last remaining item of power in the hands of those you have wronged. Will you not yield? You will find less mercy with Barad-Dûr than you will have with us."

"There will be no mercy for anyone when the dark lord comes, Gandalf the grey. You fool yourself and these petty kinglets if you think so. Go, run as far and as fast as you can, but not even you will escape his wrath." my master's voice was no longer smooth and honeyed but harsh, shrill with fear and desperate madness.

I took my chance, if Gandalf had replied and held Saruman's attention for a little longer I might have got further before he caught me again. Gandalf did not intend his words to have helped me of course; he even laughed as he saw my desperation, shrinking back from Saruman on the steps.

"Ah Saruman, what hope do you have? See even your servants betray you, but then I suspect his rewards are likely to be the same of yours" he turned away then.

I suppose that is the way of good wizards. It is acceptable to taunt and mock but not to stand and openly gloat as Saruman kicked his treacherous servant down the steps. His hand had caught me by the scruff of my neck but through a half-choked haze of fear and pain I heard another voice.

"What of you wormtongue, would you leave the tower and escape the wrath of Barad-Dûr?"

"Éomer be silent."

I am unsure of who was most startled, the wizard, my master or myself. I even tried to twist around to see him and nearly strangled myself in the process. He strode forward then, suddenly unwilling to stand by and let old men make all the decisions.

"No, this is our foe not yours Gandalf. If you can offer safety to the betrayer of your kind, the wizard who created this horror," he waved a hand at the smoking ruin of Isengard, "then I can offer safe passage to one who betrayed my people, his servant."

"Safe passage?" Saruman spat, "Poor Théoden, your son dead and this fool replaces him? Wormtongue is a thief, a liar and a spy, horseman. Why would you let him go free? Or is this some unsubtle trick? Do you mean to have him in lieu of me for payment to your burned and broken people?"

Théoden seemed about to speak but Éomer's younger voice overrode him. "I do not take payment from one man for another's crimes wizard, and I do not speak to you but to Wormtongue. I offer safe passage out of Isengard, and freedom from revenge for his betrayal of my uncle."

"Oh so fine, so noble," Saruman sneered, "and what of him when he leaves this tower? Where do you expect him to go? You may pat yourself on the back for your mercy towards a pathetic enemy but I doubt your people will feel the same. Oh no Wormtongue cannot leave, he has nowhere else to go, why else do you think he came crawling back to me so many times?"

He had let go of me as he sneered down at Éomer, but I could not bring myself to move. He was right, there was nowhere else I could go, no one who would accept me. Even if I could survive the harsh plains, and I had few illusions about my ability to live in the wilds, sooner or later I would be seen and hunted down by men who blamed me for the destruction of their homes and families.

Saruman laughed then as if he had heard my thoughts, "you had better leave Wormtongue with me you know, he is really not very nice. I wonder if you would be so gracious, so merciful if I were to tell you of the thoughts I plucked from his head about you Éomer?"

I moved at that, I think I tried to snatch at his belt knife but was kicked back. "No, Wormtongue is not very nice at all."

"My offer holds." Now that was unexpected. I could see Théoden swing round to chastise Éomer for speaking but surprisingly the dark man's hand on his arm restrained him. "If Wormtongue wishes to leave, he can have safe passage with us. He has my word, he will not be harmed for past crimes in this realm."

He was looking at me as he said it. Oh yes, I knew he was honourable and that he meant it, but I wondered how he intended to ensure his word was carried out. It didn't matter though. After all I would rather die at the hands of an angry mob than spend even an hour in Barad-Dûr. The Rohirrim may be brave but they are not clever, and mobs are usually too impatient for blood to have the patience required for real pain. I half rose and Saruman saw my movement and turned swiftly.

"So snake you would slither away from me would you?" he raised his hand and I realised that he had not perhaps lost all his power with the breaking of his staff. I flung myself backward as the bolt of fire sprang towards me. I managed to escape the flame but I lost my footing on the steps and fell. In the awful silence I heard my wrist snap as I tried frantically to break my fall, and then the world went black.

I was not allowed to linger in that warm pain-free place for long however. An insistent shaking roused me and I looked up into a face far too beautiful to be human. I groaned, perhaps I had been too hasty, elves had had just as much time to perfect their arts as the orcs at Barad-Dûr. I had little doubt they would consider me much different from the orcs they hunted so fiercely. The face turned away to speak to someone behind.

"He's alive, although I think he is injured"

"Of course he's injured you fool elf, he fell down three flights of stone steps. No human could do that and stay in one piece" That growl must be the dwarf. Yes there he was, a squat hairy blur behind the blonde elf. "Humph, do better to slit his throat here and now, once a traitor always a traitor. I don't doubt in the end you'd have done him a favour."

He was probably right and I waited in resignation for the elf to do as he suggested. Instead they both got up and moved away as the sound of familiar voices arguing came closer. Oh yes that was Éomer and his uncle. I recognised the tone of voice it was the same tone Théoden had used to his son and nephew in the early days when they had argued for more patrols and a more active defiance of the enemy in the south. He had not listened, falling back on the tired mantra that he was ruler not some young upstarts. It was one of the reasons it had been so easy to beguile him, to drive a wedge between them. He lost this argument though and I heard him turn away, barking orders in disgust at the troop.

"Can he stand?" Éomer did not come closer but tossed the query at the elf brusquely. The elf turned back to me and ran hard hands over my limbs.

"Nothing except his wrist appears broken," he reached down and ungently hauled me to my feet.

I swayed but managed to stay upright. I suppose the correct thing to do in such circumstances is to draw yourself upright and if you cannot manage gratitude and loyalty to at least find some words of pride and defiance that you will walk unaided. Thankfully my self- preservation was far stronger than my pride and I leaned on the elf unashamedly. I even took a malicious pleasure from feeling him shrink away from me even as he supported my battered frame.

"Get him on a horse, he'll have to ride double with one of my men."

I remember little of the ride. It might only be my wrist that had snapped in the fall but my body had bruises from several days of beatings. In fact the broken wrist at first gave me some relief as its sharper pain distracted me from the insidious dull ache that was my whole body. By the time we made camp that night however, I was managing only to hold onto my determination not to shed tears by biting my lips until they bled.

I could not suppress a whimper however when the rider pushed me out of the saddle. My limbs were too stiff, too painful for me to do anything but tumble into an awkward heap. I lay there for some time as the sounds of the riders making camp ebbed and flowed around me. I had begun to think the elf would have indeed done me a kindness if he had slit my throat back at Isengard. I was so lost in misery and loathing that I almost didn't realise when Éomer came and stood over me. The other was with him, the tall dark man whose name I had heard only once and swiftly forgotten.

It was him who spoke now, "it was a noble offer you made back there Éomer, butŠ."

"But foolish, is that not what you are going to say my friend?" Éomer's tone was light and I suddenly hated them for discussing me like this as if I had no more importance than a stray whelp.

"Not foolish, misguided perhaps. We are still at war and in some respects Saruman was right, he has betrayed two masters already."

"He is hardly in any state to betray anyone now Aragorn." Éomer's toe pushed at me.

`Like some half dead beast,' I thought bitterly.

"No, he looks like nothing so much as a collection of rags and broken sticks now." That dismissing tone grated on me. "What will you do with him? You would still be entitled to put him to trial for the wrongs he did you and yours"

"I gave my word Aragorn and I do not give it lightly."

"Then be careful my brother, for he is treacherous still."

With that I heard the older man, Aragorn, move away. Éomer crouched down and studied me for several long moments. He reached out and I flinched away automatically. His mouth twisted. "Look at me Wormtongue." His voice was harsh and slowly I raised my head to meet his eyes. He drew a breath in and I wondered what he saw that gave his features that look of horror and shock. Abruptly he stood and called out to one of his men.

"Clean him and bind his wrist," he looked back at me. "And get him out of those clothes, I will not have him wearing the riches he stole from us any longer. Find him something else."

They did in the end after much squabbling find me some old cast- offs. They were all reluctant to give me their own things until they stripped my robes and tunic from me and saw the bruises mottling my flesh. I confess they even made me draw breath. I had not fully seen the results of my master's handiwork until now. New bruises from the fall overlaid the older harsher ones from the beating. Below those again were the marks of torment in the breeding pit, there was hardly an inch of skin that was not marked in some way. It was ugly beyond belief; the yellow and purples fading into browns, the red angry half healed marks of burn and whip all marking pallid white flesh. It seemed to move them to some level of pity however even as they averted their eyes. The taunts stopped and they completed their task of washing me and binding my wounds. Finally pulling a tunic over my head with a roughness that spoke of a need to have those marks hidden, so they could go back to loathing me.

Helm and Hauberk — Chapter 5

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