Helm and Hauberk — Behind the Hills into Shadow.
by stormypetreluk

Chapter 2

"In his eyes was the hunted look of a beast seeing some gap in the ring of his enemies. He licked his lips with a long pale tongue."

It is late; and today, for whatever reason, Théoden has been querulous, not questioning in the way his warriors might want him to be but more like a small child wishing attention. I have seen this in the very old before now; it would seem that my masters possession has hastened Théodens mind towards senility and so now when he does drift up from his drug and magic induced torpor he reverts to childhood. The light flickers in the small room I have made my own. I have a bedchamber and an `official' office as the kings advisor but this is where I come to do my real work. It is the one place within these walls where I feel relatively safe. The thugs who follow me for little more than a promise of gold and violence do not come here and I would wager that most others do not even remember the existence of this little room tucked away in a quiet corner.

I shuffle the papers and maps I have been poring over into neat pile, there is little more I can do for now. Those Éoreds which I control or which I can fool I have scattered across the mark. The others, those loyal to Éomer, Théodred and Elfhelm have distracted as best I can. Unfortunately, Théodens weakness, the very thing that makes it easier for me to control some Éoreds, makes it easier also for Éomer and Théodred to take greater control of the men they led. In truth there is no kingdom of Rohan now, just an uneasy collection of farmers and riders most owing loyalty only to their village or Éored leader.

Rohan needs a king and a strong one but whilst Théoden lives still it will have none. My masters' greatest fear is that Théodred will heed the urgings of his men and his cousins and take the throne. None would withstand him, and with the young golden Éomer at his side he would easily win approval for his actions.

I move onto my other work, more legitimate this, and it normally gives me a sense of achievement that is sweeter than the bitter satisfaction gained from my actions to confuse and divide the Rohirrim. There are many things to be done, my comment to Éomer so many days ago had been true. Who else was there to do this now? Éomer and Théodred care little for such things and although Éowyn has the sharpness of mind capable of managing the business of the country her thoughts still yearn toward the glory that her brother and cousin revel in.

So late at night when no doubt I am expected to be concocting poisons or whispering vicious lies and rumours into Théodens ear I am instead managing grain shipments, land allocations and trading.

My task here is made harder by the need to keep Rohan on the brink of starvation but not yet to allow it to fail. It is becoming more difficult to strike the balance that is needed to steadily weakening Rohan but not destroy it. Saruman is not yet ready for that, and he knows as well as I that these people would not let themselves be destroyed so easily. Take away most of what a man has and he will try to hold onto what is left, even if that means turning away from others. Take away everything a man has and he will turn and fight. We are not ready for Rohan to fight, not yet, not whilst more than half the riders are still outside my control.

After a half hour I push the papers away, my mind is not working as it should. The writing dances before my eyes and my head aches abominably. It is long past midnight and for a moment I allow myself the indulgence of closing my eyes. Almost as soon as I do so I find images of Éomer dancing behind my lids. I sigh, is it not enough that he plagues my sleep several nights of every week? Now he interferes with my ability to work. He has not referred to what passed between us that cold winter night, neither in word or look. During the day I am grateful for his apparent ability to dismiss and forget the incident. At night however I sometimes find myself wishing for him to show some sign of it. It gnaws at me that I can so easily be dismissed. I tell myself it is only that, but then when dawn comes and the evidence of my need is staining the sheets I shudder in shame and send a plea that Éomer will remain to busy to notice me for a while longer. For I know that in reality it is fortunate that he forgets so easily, if he did not he might seek me out, seek to erase his shame by spilling my blood.

Suddenly the soft light I could see even through close lids fails and I realise I have been plunged into darkness. I open my eyes cursing, the room feels colder without the light of the two candles and I fumble as I try to relight one of them. The sudden flare of tinder startles me and I shield my eyes trying to see who it is who has invaded my bolthole.

The candle is set down and I can finally see beyond its flame. Éomer stands on the other side of my desk, he looks tired and somehow unsure of himself.

I raise my eyebrows and drawl slowly, "well my lord have you finally come to flush the rat from his hole?"

"I did not even know this was your room, Wormtongue, I saw a light and came to investigate." He says abruptly.

"Well then you have found my bolthole, and satisfied your curiosity."

"What do you do here then, I thought your rooms were far away from this section of the halls otherwise I would not..." he stops but his meaning is plain.

I cannot remember any time at which someone has entered my rooms, even the more 'public' office, willingly. He prowls round the room restlessly as I watch him from under half closed lids, he obviously would not have entered if he had known who was here but now he is here he seems unable to leave.

"why are you here," he repeats the question, coming to a stop close to me he leans over and looks at the papers on the table. "what are these, your plots and plans? is this why you sneak away here?"

I lean back pointedly putting some distance between us, Éomer growls and lets go of the papers to grab my robe, "oh no you don't snake, you are staying right where I can see you until I know what it is you do here."

I shrug and manage to dislodge his hands although he is still far too close for comfort. "Look all you like Éomer, I'm sure if you look long enough you'll find some reason to mistrust me even more than you already do."

He frowns at that and starts reading through the papers, he seems honestly surprised when he realises how innocuous they are. Either that or the idiot didn't realise just what running a kingdom really entails, he probably thinks all the king has to do all day is sit on the throne and look regal, I think to myself with sneer. He catches the sneer and his temper flares again, for a wonder he seems to control it for once.

"Satisfied?" I ask hardly bothering to hide my weariness. I am weary in truth but Éomers' nearness is sending a thread of warmth through my chilled body. "So there is nothing here that dams you, I hardly expected you to keep records of your treachery. No worm I am hardly satisfied" he takes hold of my chin and lifts my face so I am staring directly into his eyes, "Not until you and your master are exposed and hunted down, and every hurt you have done to my people is repaid. Only then will I be—satisfied" he spits the last word out and I feel a tremor go through me, he feels it and something changes in his eyes, the fire of anger narrows to become a darker fire, more dangerous but the pounding of my pulse in my throat has little to do with fear.

His grip on my chin tightens, I know I should be fearful, but between weariness and the bitter warmth of arousal curling in my belly I can only wait. The chair scraping against the floor doesn't even startle me, whatever I expect from him it is hardly gentle movements or soft words. I manage to keep my balance as he pushes my chair—and me in it back and steps between it and the desk. He smells of horses, leather and sweat; smells I despise, smells that surround me every day amongst these half barbarian horsemen. Here in my cramped windowless chamber the smell is overpowering, as is his nearness. His hands fall heavily onto my shoulders and for a long moment he holds me there, I cannot tear my eyes away from his and this seems to amuse him;

"You look more like a rabbit than a snake right now, a sneaky skinny rabbit."

I try and think of a cutting reply but his eyes have dropped below my waist and I feel hot blood staining my cheeks an ugly red. He rakes me with a swift glance there is contempt in his eyes, but below that there is lust. I see it and a small smile flickers across my face, he makes a sound like a growl low in his throat and suddenly the hands are pulling me forward, then pushing down so that I slide ungracefully form the chair.

The floor is stone and the cold strikes through my leggings and robes. But that I hardly notice as the evidence of his need and lust is now so close. It is easier somehow when I do not have to meet his glare, do not have to see the contempt and hate in those blue eyes, easier to reach out and place my palm over the hard bulge that is level with my eyes.

He swears harshly and slaps my hand away, for a moment I doubt the evidence of my own touch wondering if he means to slit my throat instead, my mind is hardly eased when he bends to pull a dagger from his high boot and holds it lightly against my neck.

"Just in case you had other things on your mind little worm." He says mockingly.

I shiver at the cold steel but his other hand is tugging the laces of his leggings undone and the smell of lust, once his cock is freed, overpowers the other scents of him and overpowers all fear or reason on my part. His hand comes to rest on my shoulders again and he tugs me forward.

I need little urging. Even as part of my mind sneers at me, at him, for what we are doing, I have leant forward and taken him into my mouth.

He tastes of sweat and lust, a salty musky taste. He has little finis or perhaps he sees no reason to waste it on one such as me for his thrusts are fast and deep, deeper than I can easily cope with. I choke as his cock hits the back of my throat, he pulls back a little, not much but enough for me to catch my breath slightly and shift to a better position. I know he is doing this because he feels shamed by his lust, that this way he can convince himself it is about his power and my submission. He tells himself that he is using me and I tell myself I am using him, perhaps both of us lie.

It is over quickly. In other circumstances I might try and flatter myself that it was because of my skill—bitterly and harshly taught but well learnt nonetheless. However he gives me little chance for any demonstration. He is determined to use me as he wishes twisting my arms fiercely when I reach out to touch him, holding me in place, the dagger at the side of my neck effectively stopping any move I might make to draw back a little, to tease him and so prolong this.

So I cannot draw back when I feel his climax approaching, perhaps I am grateful for that, that he takes the choice away from me. His seed floods my mouth and I swallow it, bitterness lingering at the back of my throat.

For several moments the only sounds are his harsh breathing and my softer ragged pants for breath. They seem unnaturally loud in the still room, still and dimly lit, the single candle flame had flickered round us wildly earlier. Now, more than half burned down, it settles to a weak glow.

He re-sheaths his dagger and pushes my hands away from his thighs where they had rested. I slump down my legs aching from holding the half kneeling position. I hear him redoing his breeches, he is clumsy puling at the ties roughly. My hearing seems magnified or perhaps I am merely concentrating on that in an attempt to ignore the painful ache in my groin.

I try and pull away from the sounds, wishing he would leave, wishing he had never come here. I must succeed in blocking out awareness of him to some extent for I am startled when he drops heavily beside me on one knee. I flinch instinctively, scuttling back across the floor, and he makes a disgusted sound and takes my arm to pull me back. Without speaking he reaches out unerringly to touch me where I am so achingly hard, My eyes fly to his and I know that for this instant I look like nothing more than the frightened rabbit he compared me to earlier. He does not meet my gaze and after that first glance I cannot bear to look at him either for fear of what I will see.

Like him I spill quickly, it takes little more than a few pulls of his hand, harsh and quick. I bite my lip as I climax, it is the only way to keep myself from screaming at the pleasure that is so much more intense than anything I can bring myself to. My body is shaking as he wipes his hand roughly on my robes, staining them beyond repair.

It is a very long time after he leaves that I am able to get up and slink through the corridors to my rooms.

Helm and Hauberk — Chapter 3

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