Storm Chapter 5

I slept long and heavily that night. Once I was certain that Gríma had left me truly alone I crawled into the bed and fell almost immediately asleep. The night, and my arguments with Gríma, had left me exhausted; and though I slept long, I still felt weary when I dragged myself from the bed the next morning.

The room was empty when I finally was awake enough to study it – Gríma, it seemed, was keeping true to his word not to disturb me. But as I looked about the room I noticed a white gown draped over a chair – something I was certain had not been present last night. Frowning, I stormed across the room to grab it, momentarily certain it was one of mine from Edoras. But when I lifted it, I saw that it was new, made of a fabric that was impossibly soft and delicate. I had never felt – or seen – any gown like it.

That only made me more irritable. I tossed the dress over one arm and made my way out of Gríma’s room towards his study, and found him there as he had said I might. “What is this?” I demanded, holding up the dress for his inspection.

He glanced up from the book cradled in his arms, disinterested. “To my eyes it appears to be a gown,” he drawled, going back to his book.

“Where did you get it?” I demanded, throwing it back over my arm.

“Saruman provided beautifully for your future arrival, although that proved rather useless,” Gríma said, turning the page. “You do not seem to like it. Does the gown displease you, my lady?”

“I asked you to leave me be while I slept,” I said coldly.

“I did,” Gríma said, irritation lacing his voice. “I entered only to leave the dress, and then let you alone. I had thought awakening to fresh clothes might please you, but apparently gratitude is not something I ought to expect from you.”

“Gratitude for what?” I spat. “Imprisoning me here in this tower until you see fit to set me free?”

He sighed. “If you dislike the dress, Éowyn, there are others.”

I glanced down at the pure white fabric, pressed against my dark brown sleeve. “The dress is beautiful,” I admitted grudgingly, “But hardly appropriate for common wear.”

“I don’t expect you’ll be out brandishing swords or digging in a garden,” Gríma said in mild amusement. “The tower does not require you to work heavily.”

“The tower is still dirty,” I replied. “Not all the quarters are kept by a living master.” I paused and looked towards the door. “How many chambers do you use?” I asked curiously.

“These, and Saruman’s primary study below,” Gríma said. “Nothing else.”

“You don’t explore?”

“No,” Gríma said flatly. “I have seen everything in the tower that I wish to see, and more that I didn’t.”

I stood in awkward silence for a few moments longer, still holding to the gown. “I don’t suppose Saruman thought to provide me with clothing less elegant than this?” I finally asked in as haughty a tone as I could muster.

Gríma smiled slightly. “I don’t believe he did,” he said. “But you can look, if you so desire.”

“Where?”

He nodded to the opposite side of the room. Buried amongst the bookshelves and candles was a small door, barely noticeable in the shadows of the chamber. “It doesn’t look like much,” I said.

“This is the tower of Orthanc, Éowyn,” Gríma said dryly. “Appearances can deceive you here.”

“I expect they can deceive you anywhere,” I returned coolly. “Certainly you were more than successful at deceiving my uncle for a time, but then I suppose we might consider you a product of the tower of Orthanc.”

Gríma slammed his book shut with unnecessary force. “Is this how we shall spend our days, Éowyn?” he demanded. “In petty bickering, like squabbling children arguing over a lost ball?”

“I can’t fathom why you think it might be otherwise,” I said, striding briskly across the room to the small door. “But you needn’t concern yourself too much, my lord; your company is the last I would hope for, and so I shall try if possible to avoid it.”

“You have made that abundantly clear,” Gríma growled. I heard him drop the book forcefully onto a nearby stack. “Why is it that everything I do for you only serves to anger you further?”

“I can hardly recall a time when you have done me any kindness without ulterior motive,” I said, swinging open the door. The room was small, but there were a number of sturdy dresses there, nothing nearly so elaborate as the gown I held. There was a simple brown shift, decorated at the torso in green, that I thought would suit my purposes nicely. I removed it and searched for a place to put the other. “I can’t imagine where you found this,” I said, waving the white dress back at Gríma without looking towards him. “Everything here seems far less elaborate.”

“Hmm,” Gríma said, voice issuing from directly behind my shoulder. “That’s most odd.”

I turned with a startled cry; he had been all the way across the room when last I’d looked, but now he stood directly behind me, staring curiously into the small room. I stepped away from him, unsettled. “You move fast,” I muttered, “And silently.”

“A useful talent,” Gríma said, distracted. “Close the door a minute, would you?”

Perplexed, I shut it. Gríma motioned me back and then opened it again himself, then nodded in satisfaction. “I might have known,” he said.

“Known what?” I leaned forward curiously and peered back into the room – and gasped.

Instead of the simple dresses I had first seen, there hung within gowns easily more elaborate and elegant even than Queen Arwen’s, and her clothes were of Elvish make. I gaped at them like a peasant child, reaching out to touch one of the nearest – an airy, dark blue thing held together by silver thread so thin it resembled spider’s silk. “How…?” I whispered, and trailed off.

“I assume it is the sort of room that holds whatever its master needs or expects at the time,” Gríma said, intrigued. “Since Saruman told me it contained clothes and other items for you, this is what I assumed would be provided. And you, when you opened the door, were hoping for something slightly plainer than what I apparently envisioned.”

“Clearly,” I said, still in awe. I closed my fingers a little longingly over the dark blue dress. It was daring, seductive even – not the sort of gown I ever wore, and certainly not the sort I would want to wear when Gríma was present. But its fabric was incredibly soft and looked as though it would allow me to float if I put it on.

“I considered bringing you that one,” Gríma said, a lazy smile playing across his features, “But I thought you might prefer something more… substantial.”

I nodded slowly. “I don’t believe I could put it on without tearing it,” I agreed. “It’s so thin… I’d seem to be wearing nothing but smoke.”

“I imagine that was the point,” Gríma said, his voice a low purr.

I tore my hand from the dress as though burned and hurriedly stepped even further away from him. “Hardly seems practical,” I growled, crossing my arms firmly over my chest. “But I suppose practicality doesn’t have a place in your wicked fantasies.”

“Apparently not,” he said, amused. “You didn’t even look at the others.”

“If that’s the sort of thing I can expect to you encounter, I don’t need to,” I said flatly. I held up the much more sensible shift I had removed. “This will suit my purpose much better than any of your designs.” I threw the white dress to him, and felt unnecessarily annoyed when he caught it.

“That’s very well so long as it’s your purpose you’re dressing for,” Gríma remarked, lips quirking into a half-smile. “I’ll want something from the wardrobe of my design when the night of my payment comes.”

I glared at him. “If it comes,” I corrected, turning away with a disdainful lift of my chin.

“You have so little faith in my healing skills?” Gríma asked.

“How can I believe you have the capability to heal when I have only ever seen you do harm?” I questioned. “Good day to you, my Lord.”

Before he could protest, I hurried out of the door to his chambers and into the corridor outside, still holding my newly acquired dress in one hand. I thought it prudent to get as far away from him as possible before changing into fresh clothes, and at any rate I felt like one of us might kill the other if we spent any more time in the same room. At least, I might kill him.

I reached the stairs and, without really thinking, ran downwards. I rushed down to the ground level and vaulted across the small space to the door, throwing my weight against it – but it didn’t budge. As Gríma had said, I was still trapped.

Sighing, I leaned back against the door and wished for freedom. But the wishing would do me no good, and I knew it. I pushed myself away and wandered to my right, where there stood an imposing door. It opened to my touch and revealed a large dark room – no windows, no light, just blackness. Yet when I made to step away, fire flared in every corner of the room, lamps and candles coming to life.

The room proved to be mostly empty, save for a long table and a series of high-backed black chairs. The room held a gravity to it that suggested war counsels and the meeting of great minds. I felt very small, as though I was a young girl again, trespassing into my uncle’s council chamber.

Council… whisperings… Gríma…

I pushed the wartime memories from my mind and stubbornly made my way deeper into the room. I closed the door gently behind me and hurried to a more shadowy, sheltered part of the room. I wasn’t certain, but I couldn’t imagine that Saruman had not had some way to see every corner of his tower; and if Saruman possessed such a spell or object, then Gríma must surely by this point have learned how to use it. And if that was the case, then in all likelihood he was watching…

I consoled myself with the knowledge that he was at least sixteen floors above me, and set about undressing.

I moved as quickly as possible, sliding my riding clothes off and the new shift on with such rapidity that I astonished even myself. My riding clothes were torn and dirty and looked to be in a very bad state, and the new gown felt smooth and comfortable against my skin. I grudgingly made myself promise to thank Gríma for showing me the wardrobe, and then started for the door again – when I heard whispering from behind me.

Startled, I turned about, looking for the intruder. For a moment I felt fury rising within me, certain that Gríma had followed me here – but no, this was not his voice I heard. I tilted my head and listened for the voice again. It came again briefly, but died away almost at once. “Hello?” I called, taking a step towards the sound – yet again no one answered.

I hesitated, frowning, but the sound did not come again. There was little point in waiting; I turned and hurried towards the door a third time. But just as I reached out to touch the handle – there the voices came, a flurry of whispers and hisses, alluring promises and curses in a tumultuous chorus. I turned at once and made for the sound – and it held relatively steady this time, though it seemed to be retreating with each step I took.

“Hello?” I called again.

Greetings, said the voices, in a thousand tongues. I could not understand half of them, but the few I did know were calling to me. Will you come with us?

I stopped as caution urged. “Where are you?” I demanded. “Who are you? What purpose have you in the tower of Orthanc?”

You are mistress here.

I shook my head. “I am but a passing visitor,” I said.

You are mistress here, the voices repeated, again in many tongues. And he, the master… he will come too.

“The master here is dead,” I said firmly.

There are always new masters.

I frowned. “You speak of Gríma?”

Griiiiii-ma. They spoke his name slowly, drawing it out, all the voices at once. It made me skittish as a horse in a storm, and I took a step back.

Stay, mistress, the voices ordered. You must stay, and come to us.

“I…”

We have things to show you. You will come.

I frowned. “Things? What things?” I shook my head rapidly. “No, I will not come,” I said, making my way firmly towards the door. “You are a trick of Saruman.”

Ssssarrruman, the voices trilled. He could not face us. He called us forth, but he could not face us.

“If Saruman could not face you, than I can hardly be expected to,” I said. My back came up firmly against the door – closed. My hands fumbled for the knob. “I am no great wizard.”

Wizards are not the only men to face us.

“I am no man,” I said flatly. “I am a Shieldmaiden.”

Shiiiieeeeeldmaiden, they said, testing the word, rolling it in their mouths – if, indeed, the things had mouths. I could see nothing of the owners of the voices. Shieldmaiden, what do you fear?

I started. “What?”

What do you fear?

I blinked. “I…”

Would you like to find out?

I pressed my hand to the knob. “I… no, I…”

You wish to know, the voices insisted. You wish –

Behind me, the door was flung open, and firm hands caught my arms and jerked me through the entryway. “Leave her be,” my defender snarled, his voice burning with fire and rage. “She is not yours! You cannot have her!”

We do not want her, the voices moaned. We can make you great, if you can but overcome us…

“Never,” my captor spat, voice echoing so harshly that I jumped. “You will not tempt us!”

The doors were forced closed, and I was turned roughly about to face my rescuer.

“Gríma?” I murmured dizzily.

He cupped my face in his hands. “You did not follow them into the Stair, did you?” he demanded, his voice a normal pitch and tone now.

“We’re in the stairs,” I mumbled.

“No, not these – the Stair,” he said impatiently. “It leads downwards.”

“To what?” I asked, leaning heavily against him. I felt immeasurably drained, and part of me longed to know what it was the voices were offering.

“I don’t know,” Gríma confessed, leading me away from the room and slowly up the first flight of stairs. “But Saruman went down and came back mad.” He paused. “Madder than he was,” he amended regretfully. “He could not face whatever lay there. Come up; you can rest, I’ll feed you, I’ll –”

My head began to clear the further we were from the counsel room, and as we walked, it occurred to me, rather abruptly, that Gríma had appeared most conveniently. “How did you find me?” I demanded.

He didn’t answer immediately, his hand tightening at my waist as he all but dragged me further up the stairs.

“How did you find me?” I repeated. I was beginning to recover my senses; the oppressive sense of weariness was gone, and the urge to follow the voices dissolving.

“I… was on my way outside,” Gríma said. I started to nod agreeably, then caught myself. I frowned suspiciously and noticed the tiniest hint of a foreign timbre in his tone – a persuasion spell of some variety, no doubt. “I need to gather herbs and plants for Angaran, and for our food supply. And I’m afraid my meat is running rather low…”

“And you heard the voices and came to my aid?” I finished.

He nodded. “You were most fortunate, my lady,” he said. “Death or worse would have awaited you if I had not found you.”

“There is little worse than death,” I said.

He turned to look at me, eyes dark and haunted. “When you have explored the corridors of Orthanc’s halls, you will not believe that any longer,” he said, a bleak promise. “It would be safer to stay with me, to help me tend Angaran…”

I bristled and pushed his arm from my waist. “You need not concern yourself over my safety, sir,” I said coldly. “I am quite capable of defending myself.”

“As proven by the voices you nearly followed,” Gríma retorted.

“From which you so marvelously rescued me,” I snapped. “And how did that come about, my Lord? You say it was merely coincidence, but I can hardly believe that you just happened to be passing by. You knew where I was, and furthermore you knew what I was doing. You were watching me.”

His face went still as stone, impassive, impossible to read. “I possess no tool with which to watch you, my lady,” he said flatly, turning away.

“Then how did you know it was I approaching Orthanc when I arrived yesterday?” I demanded triumphantly. “How was it that the door closed to me, that you knew me at once and thus revealed yourself, if you could not see me?”

He opened his mouth to protest, but there was little he could say to refute me. “It is true that I can see those coming into and leaving the tower,” he said slowly. “But I was not watching you now; it was a fortunate coincidence, nothing more.”

I could hear the spell in his voice again. “I can hear it when you lie, you know,” I said quietly. “That spell you add to your voice when you’re trying to convince me. I recognize it.”

He blinked in surprise, then smiled. “Only you, my princess,” he said, affection flooding his face. “Only you would hear so subtle a thing.”

“I suppose that serves you very well,” I said bitterly.

“Not in your case,” he sighed. “But please understand, my lady, the tower is dangerous. If I do not make certain you are safe every now and again, you could well die.”

“I’ve barely been gone,” I said.

“And yet you still succeeded in finding one of the most dangerous parts of the tower,” Gríma replied. “You do have a knack for attracting trouble, don’t you, my love?”

“No endearments,” I growled. “Not from you.” I paused. “You could always let me out of the tower,” I proposed cautiously. “To hunt, or to gather. You said we were in need of new meat…”

“Oh, no, princess,” Gríma laughed. “You won’t find your way out so easily. No, I will do the hunting, and you may stay here.”

“Without you in the tower, how can I be certain of my safety?” I asked, pressing a mock-distressed hand to my chest.

Gríma smirked, and I knew very quickly that I wasn’t going to like the response. “Oh, it’s very simple,” he said. “You’ll stay locked in my quarters where you can’t escape, and where I know you can do little harm.”

“Locked in?” I repeated, aghast. “Never!”

“Now, actually,” Gríma corrected mildly. “Come here.” The command was heavy with Gríma’s most disarming tone, leaving me feeling warm and eager to obey.

“No,” I said petulantly, but I could already feel myself giving in.

“Come here, love,” he breathed, and before I recognized what I was doing I was standing in his arms. “Good,” he purred, infusing his voice with every bit of persuasion he could manage. “Look up.”

I did so, hazily, unaware of myself.

“Closer,” he whispered.

I took the tiniest step forward, hardly able to move any closer. He snatched me up in his arms and pressed his lips to mine before the spell broke, before I could gather my wits and stop him.

“Mm!” I cried out sharply and jerked back, the spell shattering the haze that had fallen over my mind. “No!”

He still had me firmly about the waist. “Stop,” he ordered as I struggled frantically to get away. “Éowyn, stop.”

That damn voice… I thought, as my body started to obey him. “No,” I hissed through clenched teeth, pushing against his chest.

“Éowyn, really, you’re being unreasonable,” he said, a gentle rebuke as though to a wayward child.

“I am not,” I growled, still fighting, though less noticeably. The haze was descending over me again, clouding my thoughts and breaking my judgment.

“It pains me to see you struggling this way,” Gríma said, and he did indeed sound pained; my mind wanted to stop, just to please him. Yet some part of me still knew what was happening, and wouldn’t give in. Without really thinking, I lifted a hand and slapped him across the face.

I had at least wanted to hear him curse, but he managed to hold his tongue. He hesitated a few moments, and the spell his voice had woven started to lift. He must have noticed, for he immediately began speaking again. “Come with me,” he ordered, yet kindly – so that I wanted to come.

The mist was descending upon me again. “No!” I jerked back sharply, but he held onto me.

“Please, Éowyn, come,” he pleaded, and the fog took over and strangled all coherent thought.

He must have led me up the many stairs to his chambers, but I didn’t notice. He had an arm about my waist and his lips to my ear, whispering a constant stream of tender words that more than effectively smothered my will. When I realized what was happening, it was far too late; I was standing in the center of Gríma’s study, and he was halfway towards the door. “NO!” I shouted, turning about and running towards him.

“Good-bye, Éowyn,” he said cheerfully, and slammed and barred the door.

I ran to it and banged on it furiously, but it was too late; he was gone, and I, due to my own weakness, was confined and trapped in an even smaller cage than I had been before.

Cursing Gríma’s serpent’s tongue, I turned and stalked off to visit Angaran.