What Darkness Beheld
Part Two
He cherished his hands as much as his tongue. In them lay his persuasive talent; without them he had nothing.
He could not cut his hands.
He could not damage them.
He could not lessen his craft.
He had to stay strong in mind and body to protect her. She didn't want to be protected but she didn't know, couldn't know.
She feared her brother and what he could see. Grima knew that.
But he also knew that if all went well, Theodred would die, and Eomer would go away and leave them alone.
These were his thoughts, his secrets still silver, still untarinshed by volcalization through his imperfect lips.
His secrets were silver.
Hers he thought diamonds - hard, sharp, unbreakable, bitter. Precious above anything else - each one found was cherished. But yet unlike as well. . .because he stumbled on them frequently.
Eomer's were gold undeiscovered. Grima lusted to uncover them, but each one was pricey.
He watched them all, but actually spied only on the lordling, that braggart who thought he could be so good, who considered himself noble and pure.
Grima laughed at the lordling's fears.
Darkness - foolish. It was an inevitability.
Death. Equally laughable.
Only one fear of Eomer's Grima Darkhand did not laugh at.
It was a fear they shared, based off the only connection the two of them had.
Grima ane Eomer both had nightmares and daymares of the same thing.
The loss of she whom both loved most.
Grima furthermore began to root a deeper fear.
The fear that, when the time came, he would be unable to save her.
Part Two
He cherished his hands as much as his tongue. In them lay his persuasive talent; without them he had nothing.
He could not cut his hands.
He could not damage them.
He could not lessen his craft.
He had to stay strong in mind and body to protect her. She didn't want to be protected but she didn't know, couldn't know.
She feared her brother and what he could see. Grima knew that.
But he also knew that if all went well, Theodred would die, and Eomer would go away and leave them alone.
These were his thoughts, his secrets still silver, still untarinshed by volcalization through his imperfect lips.
His secrets were silver.
Hers he thought diamonds - hard, sharp, unbreakable, bitter. Precious above anything else - each one found was cherished. But yet unlike as well. . .because he stumbled on them frequently.
Eomer's were gold undeiscovered. Grima lusted to uncover them, but each one was pricey.
He watched them all, but actually spied only on the lordling, that braggart who thought he could be so good, who considered himself noble and pure.
Grima laughed at the lordling's fears.
Darkness - foolish. It was an inevitability.
Death. Equally laughable.
Only one fear of Eomer's Grima Darkhand did not laugh at.
It was a fear they shared, based off the only connection the two of them had.
Grima ane Eomer both had nightmares and daymares of the same thing.
The loss of she whom both loved most.
Grima furthermore began to root a deeper fear.
The fear that, when the time came, he would be unable to save her.