Helm and Hauberk — Rain on the Mountain
by stormypetreluk

Chapter 5

Late in the night we are passed over by a Nazgûl, I had fallen into a deep if not restful sleep and in the confusion that followed it was only the over heard words of others that gave me any idea of what was going on.

Apparently one of the halflings had been allowed to pick up the Orthanc stone, stolen it away and looked into it. That appeared to be why the Nazgul had arrived so quickly, they had no doubt been sent by the dark lord to see what was happening. We had little sleep for the rest of the night although Théoden did not set out until first light. Gandalf had whisked the foolish little thing away. I really have no idea why men considered to be wise, would bring these halflings, little more than children in their height and their foolishness, on such a quest. From what I have learnt they have even sent one of them off with the ring of the enemy. I laugh to myself, in a few moments during the confusion of the night I had learnt tidings that would have amply recompensed Saruman for my failure at Edoras.

I can summon up no enthusiasm for the idea of returning to Orthanc and selling my knowledge though. No doubt it has already been outdated by more detailed tidings from Barad-dûr. Even if it had not, I cannot think of Orthanc without a shudder. No; bruised, cold and tired as I am, there is something liberating about finally being free, not just of Saruman but also of my role as the kings advisor. Ironic, really, that now when I am actually held as a prisoner I feel more free than at any other time in my life. For I am a prisoner, despite Éomer's valiant offer of safe conduct. I think I am probably safer as a prisoner in the eyes of the Rohirrim than a free man.

Soon after the wizard has left us, the ranger and his companions leave also. He takes with him those few elves that survived the battle. We are riding to Gondor after him it would seem, although Théoden and Éomer need to first muster the full strength of the Rohirrim, a task that might prove more difficult than they had hoped.

A day later we reach Dunharrow. Éowyn is unhappy because Éomer and Théoden have spent most of the ride ignoring her pleas to be allowed to ride with them when they set of for Gondor. By the time we have set up camp I am wishing someone would slap her and point out that if she truly wants to be treated as a man, a soldier, then she ought to learn that the first rule is to obey your captains orders. It is obvious that there is a need for someone to stay in Rohan, despite the victory for the Rohirrim at helms deep this land is far from safe and the people need leadership; need to feel that their rulers have not deserted them.

These thoughts are interrupted rudely when Éowyn herself crosses my line of vision. I am crouched by one of the meaner fires on the outskirts of the camp. I am being left severely alone but still watched, mainly out of the corners of eyes. I wish they'd simply clap me in irons and have done with it. This uneasy status; half prisoner, half free man does not sit easy on any of us. Éowyn obviously has few doubts about where I should be. Her mouth twists in disgust as she hisses my name. I take my time raising my head to look at her, it is a small thing but it makes me feel less vulnerable to make her wait.

"Your Highness?"

"Get up worm, my brother wishes to see you."

Oh that hurt didn't it, my lady. You have been sent away and I am summoned. I can tell that she is hoping I have been summoned to face some form of revenge. No doubt she would call it justice but wish ardently in her heart that she might be the one to exact a bloody price from me. Truth be told I am not so certain myself that Éomer will not have given in to his uncle's and sister's anger and decided to take back his word.

I get up slowly, it would be an attempt to annoy Éowyn still further but as I begin to rise I realise that my injuries leave me little choice but to make every movement as slow as possible.

She looks me over in disgust and flinches away when I step closer. Turning on her heel she would have flounced off without a word but I call after her, "Your highness, I do not know the way to your brothers tent."

She turns back and with the amount of hatred in her eyes I wonder for a moment if she knows more of what has passed between Éomer and myself than I had supposed. I shake the thought away—I cannot imagine that she ever crept close enough to discover my private bolthole. Éowyn opens her mouth but then closes it with a sharp snap and motions instead for one of the Rohirrim. "Take him to my brother and the king"

How disappointing I think idly as I am—yet again, dragged away. Dear Éomer is not alone.

The oaf pushes me unceremoniously into the tent, and unsurprisingly I stumble and fall flat on my face. I land on my wrist, which despite a crude bandage hasn't been set and the pain is excruciating. When my head clears I realise that Éomer is bent over me shaking my shoulder. The lamps have been lit although it is not yet full dark outside, and the flickering light for a moment gives Éomer's face a ghastly set of shadows. Then the draft dies and the light settles into a warmer yellow glow around his hair and mail.

"Wormtongue; Gríma, get up."

I try, but roll my eyes as another bout of pain lances through me. "I am trying, your Highness, or did you think I enjoyed rolling around on the floor."

He grunts at that and reaching down effortlessly hauls me to my feet, "at least your tongue seems to be in one piece." He curses as he catches my injured wrist and I double over again. "Haven't you had the sense to get that seen to?" he barks.

I finally manage to stand up but he doesn't release me instead he looks me over an expression of disgust growing on his face.

"For gods sake, Worm, couldn't you find anything better than this?" he tugs at the cast-off clothing I am wearing.

I pull away, suddenly unreasonably annoyed at his questioning. "I wasn't given a choice, your Highness. Somehow my usual sources of clothing and food seem to have disappeared," I sneer the words but I know it is a thin defence. I look pathetic and broken, a sentiment echoed by Théoden.

"I do not like this Éomer, look at him! How can you say that he can help us? This miserable snake has betrayed us once and now you bring him here. In this state?"

"I'll find something else for you later," he mutters. Grabbing my arm—thankfully the uninjured one, he leads me over to the table. "He's the only person who can help us sire, after all he's the one responsible for this mess."

I lean over the table ignoring the angry looks I am getting from Théoden. There is a map spread out and I recognise it as one of the ones I used to hand over to Theodred when he demanded it.

"We have two more days to muster the Rohirrim who have been stationed on the borders ..." Théoden's voice trails of as he looks in confusion at the map and I suppress a snicker. The problem is obvious, even without my misdirection and outright lies about where eoreds had been stationed neither Éomer or Théoden has the knowledge necessary to organise this muster. Théoden left all such matters to his son and Gamling even before I had infiltrated Meduseld.

Éomer unfortunately seems to be brighter than I remembered for he catches my smirk and turns to face me. "A bargain, worm, serve us in this—gather the Rohirrim to our standard to answer the call of our allies and once it is over—you are free to go, if you still wish it."

A splutter form Théoden, "you would bargain with this wretch?"

"Why uncle, if you believe you can gain his assistance any other way I invite you to try, but I doubt any man who survived the tender mercies of the white wizard would tell us much under torture."

That is almost too far my golden princeling I think as I watch Théoden's face, but apparently Théoden has learnt humility in the past few days. He almost visibly restrains himself form slapping this impudent puppy down but restrain himself he does.

Éomer's hand lands heavy on my shoulder and he steers me towards a portion of the map, pushing a handful of counters into my uninjured hand. I clutch the wooden pieces fiercely, concentrating on that small pain to dull the edge of the larger pains.

"Where are the Éored's stationed?" he asks.

It is such a simple request without threat or promise behind it, asked as one would ask idly on a summer's day, 'where the cool wine was stored?'. Without thinking I lean forward to place the counters on the map outlining the furthest edge and the mountain paths. It is only when I look up and see the fierce grin of triumph on Éomer's face that I realise what I have done so easily at a mere word form him.

I step back from the table and already they appear to have forgotten me. Discussing the best routes, the fastest riders to send to call the Rohirrim to muster. I stumble over to a campstool and collapse into it uncaring of whether anyone sees me. I am so tired now the voices begin to sound like the meaningless calling of birds and despite —or perhaps because of— the pain I am nearly drifting away on a tide of black peaceful silence.

A few minutes? hours? later I am jerked back into the brighter harsher world by loud voices. Éomer and Théoden are disagreeing again, and this is interesting, Gamling has joined them. Not interesting—worrying, when have I ever slept so deeply as to be unaware of anyone entering a room I was in? I shake my head to clear it and try to catch their words.

"We must take them over the west pass, that is the quickest route."

"We have not enough grain and provisions to feed the men we have let alone those we hope will come. The damned orcs burnt as they came."

I pull myself up to consciousness and clear my throat, "the west pass is blocked" it comes out as little more than a whisper and no one hears me. I try again and this time Éomer turns round.

"What was that, Gríma do you know something more?" he strides over and hauls me out of the chair, I wince and totter clinging onto him as my legs refuse to function. He makes a frustrated noise and picks me up bodily by the scruff of the neck, almost like a stray whelp. Dumping me on a rickety campstool by the map table he places his hand, hot and heavy, on the back of my neck. "Show us," he commands.

Coughing as the sudden movement takes its toll on my battered body I huddle into myself for a moment trying to gather my wits and think of what to tell them. Then I look up at the unfriendly and mistrustful faces and sigh. The only thing I can do is tell them everything. I reach out to trace a line over the mountains. "The west pass is blocked, I sent there over a week ago. You have at least two Eoreds trapped on the other side of a landslide. They can't clear it from that side." I watch as my skinny finger moves across to a spot further up nearer to Isengard. It's strange I muse, as my voice carries on, clearer and more confident now. I can betray my master without a second thought, and it isn't anything to do with the bruises that are causing my breath to come short and my body to hunch. It is something as simple a being allowed finally to do something useful with the information I have hoarded.

"There is a store of food, grain mainly and some meat although that might have been taken or spoilt by now, here," my finger stabs down at a spot some ten leagues from us. "They didn't burn everything, and some of the grain was diverted before it even reached Edoras"

Théoden's face went red with anger, "my people starved because of this you miserable worm. How will you answer to the mothers who watched their children cry..."

He would have gone on evidently but was interrupted by Éomer who was frowning over the map with Gamling at his side. "Can we redirect any of the riders to here to pick up supplies on the way to the muster?"

Ignoring Théoden I start to explain the routes and work out, with Gamling mainly, the best and quickest way to get all the riders here on time and with as much food as possible. We redirect some of the wagons of refugees via the hidden stocks of food.

About half an hour later judging by the candle flames we are finished.

"Good, that makes this something more than an impossible idea. We might even pull it off now as long as everything goes as we planned it" Gamling pushes away the maps with a grunt and goes to pour wine form the flagon nearby, he bring two back for Théoden and Éomer first and then to my surprise I find one pushed in front of me. I look up and find an almost identical look of surprise in his eyes, for a moment it would seem Gamling had forgotten who he was working with.

I take the wine eagerly however, I care little why it is there only that it will warm me and ease the pain for a little while at least. I bury myself in the cup as Théoden mutters something to Éomer and then pulling himself upright with a loud harrumph and an obvious ignoring of my presence he leaves the tent. Gamling follows and I shrink closer to the table waiting for Éomer to summon the guards to drag me back. I am half way through the wine when Éomer's hand on my wrist startles me into spilling the dark liquid.

"Have they fed you yet?" he questions roughly, "you're of no use to me half starved and drunk"

I look up, I know my fatigue must show on my face but the wine and the pain and the total hopelessness of my situation means I am almost past caring, with him at least. He grunts and walks over to the tent flap to bark orders. Bringing his head back inside he stands hands planted on hips and regards my huddled form for a moment. With a snort he walks back over to the table and starts rolling up the map. He doesn't even look up when the guard comes back in, "make sure you don't let him get away," he says as I am unceremoniously but not roughly hauled to my feet.

Cold, I hate the cold, my naked form shivers and I hunch over wrapping my arms around myself trying to preserve warmth although all thoughts of modesty are long gone. Hands probe me again and I shiver and wince. Then a splash of cold water nearly makes me cry out form the bitter chill. I am still shivering when I am handed clothing and commanded to dress myself, shivering when they realise I am incapable of doing so and roughly pull the clothes on me.

Someone bends over me and I flinch and grovel instinctively, they spit in disgust but their hands are firm not callous as my wrist is quickly and efficiently bound. At the same time I am given some stew that I attempt to eat one handed, the bowl balanced awkwardly on my knees. The voices and people surrounding me dissipate and I finish the stew leaning my head back and almost drifting into sleep. That is not to be allowed however, I am dragged to my feet again and prodded through the camp to the tent.

Once inside I blink, the lights are dimmer now only a single set of candles on the table where Éomer still sits looking over papers. He looks up and points to another stool. I limp across and sit down carefully. There is a long silence as I watch the candle flame flicker and muse on how the light gilds Éomer's skin to gold whereas it casts shadows onto my face.

Then Éomer pushes back his chair and looks up at me, his eyes run over me critically as if assessing a horse, "how badly are you hurt?" he asks abruptly, his eyes linger on my wrist, "is that broken?"

I suppress a wince at the memory of that awful cracking sound, "it would appear so," I say wryly.

Humph," he stands and walks round pulling me to my feet, "anything else? I can't see any bandages"

I look away unable to answer, I can walk and talk what more does he need to know. He won't take this for an answer however and runs a hard hand down my body. I stiffen and bite my lip as his touch brushes against painful areas. "Ribs maybe but nothing else, good. We haven't time to wait for you to mend totally."

I sigh and glance back over to the maps it sounds as if it is going to be long night. I am still thinking this when I am pushed back towards the bed and it is only when it catches the back of my knees forcing me to sprawl in an ungainly fashion on it that I realise why I am here.

He looms over me and I swallow, it is still there both the lust and the need to punish. It could be a knife at my throat or in my belly more like a long and painful death. But this time it is not, this time at least he is kneeling above me pulling open his breeches and then tugging the clothing I have been given out of the way.

He was surprisingly gentle I muse afterwards, I doubt I would sit a horse easily but then given my other hurts I was unlikely to be able to do that in any ease anyway. It was quick and rough but his hand was on me and a flask of oil for harnesses eased the initial entrance. Lying still half pinned under his weight I chuckle to myself bitterly, if it had not been for the still healing marks of the Orc breeding pit no doubt I would have even found pleasure in it. Oh I had split, I could do little less, held beneath him his cock impaling me and his rough hand wrapped around me. I had gasped and shuddered in my ungainly fashion spilling warm seed over his hand even as he muffled his cry of completion into the teeth marks he'd left on my shoulder.

His breathing eases and with a groan he hauls himself off me and rolls over flinging one hand across his eyes. I pull myself together slowly and roll to the far edge of the bed curled into a ball. For a long time there is no sound or movement, then when I think he must be asleep I try to slide out of the bed suppressing my winces. I am half sitting on the edge trying to persuade my body to make the required movements to stand up and at least leave the bed if not the tent when a hand latches onto my good wrist and pulls me back down.

I lie there in the dark listening to him breathe, I am still lying on the far side of the camp bed, and he has now fallen asleep for he snores faintly I could leave easily, but I will not, not now.

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