- Text Size +
Story Notes:
This is just a very short story examing what may have happened if Grima had gotten his wish of Eowyn, as Sauraman had promised him if Rohan were to fall.

I have been into writing more AU stuff and examining the "What if" aspect's of some things, This was just a quick story I jotted down. It is rather dark, but I cannot envision a story where Rohan has fallen and Grima has Eowyn within his clutches being overly happy to be honest.
The destruction of a nation lay at his feet.

Grima, Son of Galmod, who was ever small and weak in the eyes of his kinsmen, was no longer a servant but Lord! Nay, King! King, of these new lands’s granted to him by his master in reward for his loyalty.

Yet the wild men and orc’s which so freely roamed the land did not recognize him as their lord as they had but one master and Grima was left to hold court over the bones of men and horses.

The once green and fertile lands of Rohan were now as dead as the men who had protected them, brown and utterly barren for as far as one’s eyes could see. The rolling pastures were no longer churned by ox and plow but by the countless feet of the dark creatures that had descended upon Rohan. The Rohirrim were left without a King to guide them. Into their very last hour the Rohirrim fought valiantly but were poorly organized and overcome within days by the sheer strength of the attack mounted against them. The warriors were cut down as wheat before the scythe.

Few, so very few had survived.

Birth right, heirlooms of a now broken house belonged to him now as well as the fairest treasure of the House of Eorl. Crowned in gold and pale of flesh, Grima for many years had lusted secretly for the Theoden king’s niece, the fair Eowyn and to him she had also been gifted, another spoil of war.

Now all that had secretly desired for so many years was easily within his grasp. Grima did not mourn for his betrayal of those who had never accepted him, those who had called him cruel names Wormtongue he was often called, for the cunning of his word’s, or so he strove to at times tell himself.

Possessing now both power over a broken land and meaningless weath Grima had ever held to within his heart, if it might be said that even possessed one, that Eowyn now would look at last beyond his ashen skin and bent body and see him in the same light as the King she had once so loved and reverred, and that she too, would desire him in return.

Eowyn would never come to love the one who bore the blood of her kin upon his hand’s. Murderer! she spat at him, a craven fool! The depth’s of the woman’s scorn towards him was seemingly without end.

There were no word’s he possessed to soothe hurt of her spirit, no gift he could draw from his newly found weath that would please her, she would not even permit him to touch her, she looked down upon him with unveiled hatred and scorn, he desired of her what would never be given, love, her loyalty and above all else, complete submission to him.

All around them the world was changed, all that they had both once known was falling into decay as the world was slowly consumed by darkness and yet the most intimate dance of advance and retreat that had always been been there between them, as he pursued her always she had turned him away, ever this seemed destined to remain the same. Even after those who would have kept her from him were slain, she was at last utterly alone and still she would not give herself to him.

Like a festering wound his resentment and anger towards her grew, all that he had done for her and still in her eye’s was ever the loathsome creature he had ever been, merely fit to lurk in the shadow of her beloved Uncles throne.

This deepened until at last he could stand her rejection of him no longer, and in a moment of blind rage he slew the very thing that for many years he had so wished to possess. An unintentional blessing to Eowyn who had teetered precariously upon the edge of madness as her people were struck down about her and her beloved land’s burned and pilaged

So fleeting was the jewel of his effrort, the price of betrayl, shattered by his own hands. It had been Grima, Son of Galmod who had sealed the fate of a nation with his treachery and sealed his own fate in the blood of thousands of innocent lives. Now alone, in a hall that had become a mere faded shell of its former glory he was left to reflect a bitter lesson learned. For now the woman he had always desired was as utterly beyond his reach, as was forgiveness.
Chapter End Notes:
Feedback, as with any of my work, is always very warmly welcomed.
You must login (register) to review.