working on a chapter for Cycles of Song and it’s just like Grima. Grima honey. Can you try being honest with yourself for once in your life?
Grima: s h a n ’ t
Once, Theoden was in a philosophical mood and asked Grima: at what point do a people stop following their king? At what point does it become reasonable for them to turn aside and seek a new leader?
A question Grima had no answer to at the time aside from: When the king causes more harm than good.
Theoden, And you? Do you trust your king?
Grima does not know if he trusts Aragorn, but Aragorn isn’t his king. Grima trusts Theoden to always try to do what is right. To try and be what is, to Theoden’s mind, a good and just king. Even if he doesn’t have the ability — personal or in the people around him — to succeed.
And Eomer? Will he trust Eomer as king?
No matter the answer, he thinks, one must remember that a man will follow someone for more reasons than trust. After all, there is a difference between trusting a king and loving a king and following a king.
Other than the James Dean Bad Boy Apple Scene with Eomer in Helm’s Deep, I think this is the closest to actual Griomer content we’ve gotten in the trilogy portion of swimming through fire
Theoden’s chambers are warm — in colour and temperature. The walls wooden paneled, decorated with animals and plants and mythical beings from old legends. Covering that are tapestries of Eomarc’s history: Eorl and the Oath, Helm Hammerhand and the fortress, the Union of the Ten Tribes from before Eorl’s time. That being one of the earliest stories of their people.
At the centre of the room, a fire burns strong in the circular hearth. Positioned around it, several stools and chairs between which are low tables. In Theoden’s livelier days, they would be covered in cards, dice, books sent from Gondor, little sketches and drawings for the king enjoyed attempting his hand at draughtsmanship and, to Grima’s limited knowledge on the matter, seemed to have a keen eye for it.
Another lifetime, Theoden always said to him. Another lifetime I’m a draughtsman. And you? If you could choose another occupation than the one life has found for you?
I couldn’t say, my lord. There is precious little I take pleasure in, aside from what I do now.
You write. I’ve seen you scribbling away in your little journals. What is it? Poetry? No, not you. Treatises, perhaps. In the Gondor style. On statesmanship or the craft of being a courtier.
Grima hid his blushes by drinking wine and saying, vaguely, It’s nothing of any import or quality, my lord.
Tell me, Theoden was ever a gentle coaxer of information.
Translations. Some of our stories into my mother’s language. Also, perhaps, a few musings on the craft of translation. What is the role of the translator. How should one approach the art. But nothing of any depth or insight.
Theoden sat back, pulled a paper over to sketch across, and said with dry amusement, Oh I doubt that. I doubt that very much.
Once again, Grima being like: I DON’T NEED NO FATHER FIGURE IN MY LIFE.
Eadric says, yes, yes it’s Sauron. Only, well, maybe. He shifts in his saddle to lean over and tug something out of a bag. ‘This was brought to me. It’s a helmet of one of the orcs from the warg raids.’
The item glints in sun and Grima can see, emblazoned on the front as clear as clouds in the sky, the white hand of Saruman.
‘That’s absurd,’ Grima says.
‘It’s Saruman’s emblem, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Grima takes the helmet and turns it over. It is clearly from Orthanc, he recognizes the design and make. ‘But Saruman’s an ally. He’d not work with this sort. Let alone against us.’
Eadric’s nerves return. He again takes to casting anxious glances in all directions. Dropping his voice to a whisper he asks, ‘So what do you think it is? Has Saruman turned against us? Or is Sauron trying to sow discord.’
‘Most likely the latter than the former. I can’t see Saruman going rogue, can you?’
Grima you lying, sneaky bastard.
Look at you go, you little man. Scheme, my spooky snake man, scheme.
Eadric slides up alongside Grima on his horse with a hood slouched low over his face. It is early morning and Grima is trying to find peace outside Edoras’ walls and hamlets and farmland that surrounds the great city. So, he has taken Saewine out for an airing past past past everything.
Dangerously so, perhaps. But he is not overly concerned for his own safety. It is a beautiful July day and the sun already threatens the world with too much heat. Grima enjoys this, wants to soak it up like a lizard on a rock.
‘I’ve news,’ Eadric says without a greeting. He looks over his shoulder in an increasingly nervous fashion.
‘Try to be less obvious,’ snaps Grima. ‘I’m out for a ride and maybe I will bag a rabbit for the pot. What are you doing?’
‘Making sure wargs don’t eat you.’
‘How kind.’ It’s sneered. But Eadric has a daughter who is fourteen and a son who is sixteen. He is well versed in the art of ignoring sneers.
Good news everyone, Grima is a sixteen year old brat and Saewine is alive and well in the Eomer & Grima Team Up To Scheme AU.