"I cannot say if it will. But you have been honest with me, and I can do no less." It does not really make much sense to her, but Èowyn feels a deep conviction he should know it all-- especially in light of their deepening friendship. His touch is welcomed, and she curls her fingers around his instantly when he reaches for her hand. With her other, she brings her cup to her lips and takes a sip of tea before setting it back down on the tray, beginning her tale.
"I have told you already of the dark times that faced Rohan, of the king's enthrallment. Though its chief architect was the wizard Saruman, his will was done unto Théoden by someone closer to home-- the man who was supposed to be my uncle's adviser. Gríma Wormtongue, he was named. Aptly so." Her expression darkens for a moment, distaste crossing her face at the mere mention of the name. "Perhaps once he was a more decent man, or least benign. But for years now, he was the greatest threat in Rohan and to Rohan, though few could see it and even fewer could resist him. He had the King's ear and trust, and he abused it in Saruman's name. Working his foul influence together with Saruman's magic, they enthralled my uncle's mind. For Wormtongue, as pitiful a creature as he was, had the ability to ensnare with words."
She pauses, drawing in a deep, slow breath. "We did what we could to counter it; myself, Èomer and our cousin, Théodred. But Théoden sunk deeper into dotage, and we could not oust Wormtongue. For he had uncle's addled protection, and he claimed Saruman would shatter Théoden's mind and by doing so kill him if we intervened. Understanding of such magical matters is beyond me, and I know not if that was the truth. But we dared not test it. Then Théodred was wounded by Orcs of Isengard, rampaging unchecked across our land. My brother attempted to reason with uncle, to break through his thrall, but he was near insensate by the time. And when Èomer finally confronted Wormtongue in a fit of temper... he had my brother banished under pain of death."
She closes her eyes, remembering the pain of that day, her desperation of being left alone. "I told you on that day up on the wall that poison ran in me long ere running afoul with the Witch-king. I spoke the truth, for Wormtongue did not spare his fey whispers for my uncle alone. He poured his poison also in my ear for years. He made me doubt all things; myself and my own worth, the worth of my house and of our people. It shames me now to think of it, how I came to believe his lies. I think... he wished me brought down, my pride weakened, so he could press his advantage-- for his interest was ever personal. I know not what Saruman promised Wormtongue in return for betraying Théoden and Rohan, but I have my suspicion. For years, he haunted my steps, his leering eyes following me where I went. My skin crawled each time. He had the good sense at least to be cautious of my cousin and brother, but the day Théodred succumbed to his injury and my brother was banished... it was just me left, fighting two battles; to keep uncle clinging onto some sense of reality, and to rebuff Wormtongue's advances.
Do you know how unspeakable a thing it is, when the halls of your own home turn dark and hostile? I barred my door and slept with a knife under my pillow, yet I never felt at ease or safe. I could hear his footsteps, pausing behind my door at night. I was at the end of my rope that day, when Gandalf miraculously arrived and broke the spell enslaving uncle. I would have driven my knife into Wormtongue's gut, and damned the consequences."
She lets out a shuddering breath, shoulders slumping a little as if some invisible weight was pushed off them, her fingers tightening slightly around Faramir's.
"Lord Aragorn stayed uncle's hand, when he would have hewn off Wormtongue's head for his treachery when he awoke from his long thrall. I understand the reasoning, and yet I regret that he was stopped-- for I would have given anything to see Wormtongue pay for everything in blood. I still do."
A wan, sad excuse of a smile trembles across her lips for a brief moment. "Is that very evil of me to think so, do you think?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2018-10-05 02:57 pm (UTC)"I have told you already of the dark times that faced Rohan, of the king's enthrallment. Though its chief architect was the wizard Saruman, his will was done unto Théoden by someone closer to home-- the man who was supposed to be my uncle's adviser. Gríma Wormtongue, he was named. Aptly so." Her expression darkens for a moment, distaste crossing her face at the mere mention of the name. "Perhaps once he was a more decent man, or least benign. But for years now, he was the greatest threat in Rohan and to Rohan, though few could see it and even fewer could resist him. He had the King's ear and trust, and he abused it in Saruman's name. Working his foul influence together with Saruman's magic, they enthralled my uncle's mind. For Wormtongue, as pitiful a creature as he was, had the ability to ensnare with words."
She pauses, drawing in a deep, slow breath. "We did what we could to counter it; myself, Èomer and our cousin, Théodred. But Théoden sunk deeper into dotage, and we could not oust Wormtongue. For he had uncle's addled protection, and he claimed Saruman would shatter Théoden's mind and by doing so kill him if we intervened. Understanding of such magical matters is beyond me, and I know not if that was the truth. But we dared not test it. Then Théodred was wounded by Orcs of Isengard, rampaging unchecked across our land. My brother attempted to reason with uncle, to break through his thrall, but he was near insensate by the time. And when Èomer finally confronted Wormtongue in a fit of temper... he had my brother banished under pain of death."
She closes her eyes, remembering the pain of that day, her desperation of being left alone. "I told you on that day up on the wall that poison ran in me long ere running afoul with the Witch-king. I spoke the truth, for Wormtongue did not spare his fey whispers for my uncle alone. He poured his poison also in my ear for years. He made me doubt all things; myself and my own worth, the worth of my house and of our people. It shames me now to think of it, how I came to believe his lies. I think... he wished me brought down, my pride weakened, so he could press his advantage-- for his interest was ever personal. I know not what Saruman promised Wormtongue in return for betraying Théoden and Rohan, but I have my suspicion. For years, he haunted my steps, his leering eyes following me where I went. My skin crawled each time. He had the good sense at least to be cautious of my cousin and brother, but the day Théodred succumbed to his injury and my brother was banished... it was just me left, fighting two battles; to keep uncle clinging onto some sense of reality, and to rebuff Wormtongue's advances.
Do you know how unspeakable a thing it is, when the halls of your own home turn dark and hostile? I barred my door and slept with a knife under my pillow, yet I never felt at ease or safe. I could hear his footsteps, pausing behind my door at night. I was at the end of my rope that day, when Gandalf miraculously arrived and broke the spell enslaving uncle. I would have driven my knife into Wormtongue's gut, and damned the consequences."
She lets out a shuddering breath, shoulders slumping a little as if some invisible weight was pushed off them, her fingers tightening slightly around Faramir's.
"Lord Aragorn stayed uncle's hand, when he would have hewn off Wormtongue's head for his treachery when he awoke from his long thrall. I understand the reasoning, and yet I regret that he was stopped-- for I would have given anything to see Wormtongue pay for everything in blood. I still do."
A wan, sad excuse of a smile trembles across her lips for a brief moment. "Is that very evil of me to think so, do you think?"