Faramir Fiction Archive

A Soldier's War (NC-17)

Written by Vejgeta9

04 January 2006 | 20900 words | Work in Progress

Chapter 3.1: Gríma Wormtongue

That afternoon, Berethor and Éowyn made their way to the Great Hall. It was dark inside, despite the fact that the sun was shining out in full force. The Hall was empty with the exception of the handful of soldiers watching the entrance way, and the two stationed near the throne.

Gríma stood near Théoden King, staring at the two who approached him. He smiled upon seeing that Éowyn was smiling at him. She had rarely shown any sort of emotion towards him, not even hatred or disgust. Once in a while, he could have sworn that her eyes reflected pity towards him…

“Gríma”, said Éowyn, bowing slightly. Though she would have never addressed him before, today was different. Today she had a mission.

“Lady Éowyn,” he said, bowing as well. “How fare you?”

“I am well,” she said truthfully. “I have come because I would like to talk.”

Gríma smiled slightly. What was her game? Her wanting to talk? He decided to play along. It would be the only way to find out her ulterior motive. “And you needed a Gondorian Solider to help you?”

Éowyn chuckled lightly. In truth, she was glad that Berethor was there with her. Just looking at Gríma made her feel… dirty. “No. I have brought you Captain Berethor, son of Brenethor.” Berethor bowed, slightly as well. No need to overdo things.

“I did not have the pleasure of introducing you to him last night. He and Captain Faramir, son of Lord Denethor have a long journey ahead of them, and have stopped to rest in our fair city,” said Éowyn. He nodded. “Now, shall we sit over here and talk?”

Gríma looked over to the benches set up by the wall, away from prying ears. He slowly nodded, and followed them over, and sat, back against the wall.

“You know, I realized today, when Berethor asked me about you, that I knew nothing about you – other than the fact that you have been the advisor to our Beloved King for many years. I feel bad about never taking the time out before now. Can you forgive me?”

Gríma was shocked – inwardly. Over the years, he had learned never to show emotion. It showed what your weaknesses were. He swallowed hard.

“There is nothing to forgive, Lady. Times have been trying for us all, and I cannot blame you for things past.”

‘He speaks very well taught, for someone that looks so under–privileged,’ thought Berethor.

“You are very well spoken, friend. I take it you are from a family of high nobility,” said Berethor. He could feel himself getting sick after having to give such high praise to someone so undeserving of it. Gríma eyed him suspiciously.

“I often thought you may have been from a family of scholars. I have heard you speak many times, and the way you captivate you audience… it speaks of a scholar,” agreed Éowyn. ‘I hope he is buying this load of horse manure we are selling,’ she thought.

“Please, you flatter me unnecessarily. I have no higher learning. What ever it is that you are here to ask of me, I will try to grant. But do not flatter me, my Lady,” Gríma said, much more gently than he would have liked.

“There is no favor that we ask. We are here simply to talk and learn each other better. Is there something wrong with that?” she implored. “I have nothing to gain by this, other than your trust. Have you anything to lose?”

Gríma sighed. Maybe he was overacting for nothing. Lady Éowyn seemed genuinely interested in him. He looked at Berethor. He too, looked genuine. ‘If only I had Master’s ability to read the mind of this one.’ He briefly studied Berethor’s features, his posture and poise. There was no hidden agenda there above the surface, but beneath…

“No, I do not,” he said, smiling. “But this works two ways, you know.”

Éowyn and Berethor both smiled, agreeing to this admission. Things may be easier than they thought…

Faramir and Éomer had searched Gríma’s rooms from top to bottom. Éomer even searched hidden spaces that he though that Gríma may have found during his stay. They found nothing but a small crate of books. They sat down to read, hoping that one may mention what was happening to the King. What they found, even Éomer, with his usual nerves of steel, could not believe.

“These are journals,” whispered Éomer. Faramir nodded. “Where do you think the first entry starts?”

“I believe I have it,” answered Faramir. Éomer crossed the room and peered over his shoulder.

‘My last memory of my father was his funeral. My mother finally found a reason not to go out ‘working’ as she called it, and dressed myself and my brother. We walked to the hillside where my father’s father and his father before had been laid to rest. The hills were silent that day, no wind, no birds singing, nothing. It was as if time itself had stood still.

‘I found the tears falling down my face, not wanting to accept the reality of the situation. My father had fought his last war. There would be no more waiting at the gates, watching for his return. No more running to his horse. No more of his embraces, no more of him…

‘I found out that day that life was cruel, life had no sense of love or feelings… It had no emotions, or thoughts. It was simply what it is – life. There I was, seven and alone. I had to be what father I could to my brother. I would make my father proud, wherever he was. I would make him proud…

~Gríma

They were silent after reading such a sorrowful entry. The raw emotions behind the words were enough to soften the hardest heart.

“He lost his father,” said Éomer. “It happens in time of war. That is not what we are here for. Keep reading.”

Faramir looked at Éomer, but said nothing. He flipped to the next page, determined to find out more about Gríma’s past.

“So, your father was Gondorian,” said Berethor. “I though so. One Gondorian can spot another miles away. It is because we all share the determined chin.”

“And you must not forget the arrogant attitude,” laughed Éowyn. Even Gríma had to laugh at that.

“So, how old are you,” she said.

Gríma looked at her. “I am twenty-seven. Twenty-eight in less than thirty days.”

“Ahh. So I am the elder. Faramir and I are both thirty. Born a few days apart, actually.”

‘I cannot believe that I am enjoying this!’ Gríma thought. He had never had a conversation like this since his younger days.

“His mother was found dead when he was nine,” said Faramir, sadly. Éomer turned to look at him.

“It says that she was found murdered by one of her… customers.” Éomer’s eyes widened.

“His mother was a whore?”

“According to this, she was. The man that murdered her was hung days later. He didn’t even get to go to her funeral, nor did his brother.” Faramir paused before continuing. “His brother’s name was Rinan. They were sent to an orphanage.”

“So, is this ‘Get to Know Gríma’? Ok, so a few bad things happened to him. Are you saying we should pity him?” asked David.

“No. I am taking advantage of the fact that Tolkien never gave Gríma a background. So, I decided that he would get one in my story.”

“But, why so sad? Why so much pain? I mean, making his mother a whore?”

“Well, I doubt that they had lawyers and women doctors in those days. And a serving wench, from what I’ve picked up was also a whore in most instances.”

“Hmm, good point.” He kissed my ear. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” I replied.

“Is there anything else about him?” asked Éomer. It became clear to him that Faramir needed a reason understand why Gríma was the way he is now.

“There’s a lot more. At eleven, his brother was adopted by a rich Gondorian family. Gríma was shunned because of his age.”

“Or maybe the families just thought he was no good – a dud,” Grímaced Éomer. Faramir looked at him and then continued.

“At twelve, he was molested by the head mistress at the orphanage, and then beaten because she thought he was too eager. He had a lot of anger built up by then.” Faramir continued reading, and his eyes grew bigger at the next major entry. He got Éomer’s attention.

“Listen to this:

‘I was used to being picked on. Being thin, having no friends, and being bullied is apart of life. But what I did not understand was why did Brant like me? He was the one that started the other kid bulling me, picking on me… I guess I should start with what I remember.

‘A family had come in, looking for a child to adopt. We were called down the stairs and made to line up – a day to day occurrence. I found no reason to head down with the rest of them, as I had been passed over time and time again for a child younger, or stronger than myself. I stayed in my rooms, ignoring the visitor’s bell. I would rather spend my time reading, anyway.

‘After the couple left, the head mistress found me on my bed. I was hauled down to the ‘Room of Punishment’. I assumed the position, arms wrapped around the pole, while she beat me. The pain that the whip would normally cause, the feeling of my skin breaking under each lash, I felt it none. Instead of the pain that I normally felt, I felt a strange sense of peace. I felt as though someone was watching over me, blocking the pain from my senses.

‘She beat me longer than ever before. My back and legs were covered with welts and blood. She beat me raw. After she was done and left the room, I fell. There was no pain – only emptiness remained. The tears that I up to then refused to shed fell as well, and I found myself crying uncontrollably. Would no one come? Would no one look for me? Did anyone care? I fell asleep on the ground, past all caring.

‘The door opened, and shut again. She was back. She felt the need to drive the point home more than usual. I tried to stand, to assume the position that had become her favorite, but found that I could not. She would kill me for not giving her respect. But I was beyond caring. Death had to be much better than this.

‘Instead of the belt, of the whip, I felt two hands on my shoulders. I felt lips on my neck. So now, she would rape me again. I was used to that, too. But, then I heard a whisper in my ear. ‘I shall take care of you, Gríma. I will protect you. I will love you.’ It was not the whisper of the head mistress. I tried to turn, to see the face that the words were flowing from. ‘Let me love you, Gríma. Can I love you?’ The lips were on my neck again, and my ears were engulfed in wet, searing heat.

‘I was prepared, gently beyond anything I had experienced. Then, I was entered. The pain from my back and my legs entered in full force, and I cried out. His ministrations stopped. ‘Am I hurting you, my love?’ I was stunned at the words. No one had ever asked that; no one had ever cared. I shook my head, not wanting him to stop. The force by which he took me was unbelievable.

‘After it was over, I was turned around and held close. ‘I will protect you, Gríma. I will love you. I promise. When he drew back, I saw his face clearly for the first time. Brant…

‘I awoke in my bed, my back and legs carefully bandaged. I looked over towards the window. A figure was staring out of it. I tried to sit up, but the pain… I forgot how much it hurt the day after. In an instant, he was by my side, fingers running through my hair. ‘My Gríma,’ he said. I could not believe it. I thought it was a dream – it had to be. I reached up and touched his face. ‘I am real, my love,’ he said. ‘I am here. I will always be here.’

‘I was thirteen when I fell in love for the first time. I fell into eyes of blue that were deeper that the deepest pools… How I miss him now…

~Gríma

They were appalled. Faramir wiped his eyes, not realizing that tears had begun to fall. Even Éomer needed a moment to collect his thoughts.

“No child deserves that kind of treatment. Not even he deserved that,” Éomer said after a moment.

“I think that there is more than this. Pass me the next journal.” Éomer did so. At that moment, he realized just how beautiful Faramir really was. How his grey eyes were much more expressive than his brother’s.

“You know,” he began, “Gríma is not the only one that has his secrets. There is something I feel I must tell you.”

For the first time in many years, Gríma felt free. He felt as though no one was judging him, looking at him funny, or hating him. In the two hours that he had been talking to Berethor and Éowyn, he had told them parts of his childhood, leaving out details no one should know.

In turn, he learned that Berethor’s father was killed by orcs when he was twenty-four, that Éowyn never got to know her parents, and Éomer was just plain cranky. He reveled in this news, not so much to use it against them, but it was a comfort to know that he was not the only one that had suffered. He realized that there was no reason not to trust them. They really seemed like they wanted to be his friends.

A feeling that he had never experienced but only once before.

He also was aware of something else: His master would be calling him soon. It would be time to give Théoden his ‘medicine’.

“Yes,” said Faramir, not looking up from the journal he was reading. Éomer took a deep breath.

“Your brother and I are lovers.” He waited for his response. Faramir nodded once. Éomer was shocked slightly. “Have you nothing to say? Did that not surprise you?”

“No,” he responded. “Why should it? I have a male lover. Why should it surprise me that my brother engages in the same?”

Éomer said nothing. The thought had never occurred to him that this news would not shock Faramir in the least. Boromir was, and had always been, more rash. He thought with his fists a lot, and so did Éomer. Suddenly, something else became clear. His attraction to Faramir was due to the fact that he balanced him out. He realized that of the two brothers, no matter how he felt of Boromir, if he had a choice, it would always be Faramir. No questions asked.

“There is something else, as well,” he continued. Faramir placed the journal down in his lap and looked up expectantly.

“We have known each other for many years,” he said, pacing the floor in front of where Faramir was seated. “In that time, I have watched you grow from a young child, asking questions one your age would not have normally thought about, to the man in front of me now. We have romped and ran together, you and I. But…”

Faramir was now listening intently. He had a feeling that may both like and dislike what was coming next.

“I have not had a chance to think about the possibilities that this brings. I… care for your brother deeply, you understand…” Faramir nodded. He knew that Éomer felt himself too manly to utter the three word that he and Berethor reveled themselves in.

“I also care for you. Maybe more than I do your brother.” He looked at Faramir, hoping that he had conveyed the meaning of those words correctly.

Faramir understood what those words implied. But what he could not understand was why. He tried to process the sentences that his ears had heard, but could come to no logical conclusion.

Seeing that this conversation was not going as intended, Éomer decided that they should get back to reading. Faramir almost didn’t hear him suggest it. He picked up his journal, but found that he could not concentrate on the words written. Instead, he found his mind pondering over all the possibilities that those words from Éomer could mean.

This would change everything.

“So, this ends this chapter, huh?”

“Yes, love”, I said. “Pretty good, huh?”

“I must admit, there are some elements to this story that I did not expect.” David paused. I could tell that he was choosing his words carefully.

“I know that sometimes I can be a bit over – critical. At times,– overbearing, but it is because I love your work, and just want to make sure that you have considered things from all angles. I don’t mean – “

I silenced him with a kiss. It didn’t matter about all the things he was saying. All that mattered was that I could count on him to tell me the truth on everything I did. All that mattered was that he supported me in my endeavors, and the rest of the world be damned.

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