Disclaimer: All this belongs to the wonderful imagination of JRR Tolkien.

"A witless worm have you become. Therefore be silent, and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth."

Grima could still here Gandalf's voice in his head. The voice of the wizard kept repeating these lines over and over again as if it was some kind of mantra. As if he wanted to drive him insane with these words.

Grima was fleeing to the only place he could think of; Isengard. Isengard, where his master lived. His King Theoden had just thrown him out of the Golden Hall and he had probably left it behind forever.

The Golden Hall was the last thing that remembered of how he used to be. He had lived there for his entire life. First with his parents, the proud Galmod and his wife Belaria. But after their both deaths when he was a young boy he had lived there on his own. He had never been very loved. He was the strange one, the person you kicked when you was frustrated or just wanted to kick someone. He had been the weird one all his live. His parents where both real Rohirrim; strong people with a caramel skin and long golden hair. But somehow the Valar had given his parents him, a skinny boy with a pale skin and hair as black as the tower of Isengard.

"A witless worm have you become…"

It maybe even was lucky for him that his parents died when he was a young kid, his father would never have coped with the fact that Grima wasn't like him, that Grima trusted more in the power of knowledge than in the power of strength. But being left alone wasn't such a great option either. He had been bullied his entire youth, hiding away in his own imaginary world and hiding away in books. Books about all kinds of subjects that made him one of the wisest persons in Rohan and that made him counsellor of the King.

"Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth."

Grima slowed down his horse, he had never been a good horse rider and probably would never be either. If he was honest with himself he was even a bit afraid of the noble animals with their wise little eyes. At the horizon he could already discover the tower of Isengard. When he would go there, there really was no way back anymore. He had chosen once, to serve Saruman, but even then he might had been able to turn back, but if he would go to Isengard he wouldn't.

He closed his eyes. Memories shoot through his head. Memories like how he first met Eowyn and how friendly she had been to him, the first person who had been friendly to him in probably his entire life. Memories of how the young Rohirrim Eothaín had beaten him when he was a young boy. Memories of how he first had met the powerful Saruman. He had been intimidated by the power and wisdom of this Istari from the first second he met him. Wormtongue had become his hated nickname, because his ability to use words in a way that made people do what they normally wouldn't. Well Saruman was a person who deserved that nickname too, even more than Grima did. He felt how one single tear tickled down his face. He knew that he would go to Isengard and he knew that he would be doomed. Doomed like his whole life had been. He just wasn't meant for luck, or love.

"The wise speak only of what they know."

Gandalf's voice keeps talking in his head, disturbing his thoughts. Deep in his heart he knew that Gandalf probably was more powerful than Saruman, Saruman who he had started to hate. He didn't remember exactly when his hatred towards this wizard had started, but it was there. But still he was running back to him, as a loyal servant should, as a dog back to his master. A witless worm had he become. That was absolutely true. His father would have killed him if he were able too. More tears started to flow. He was totally alone on this world, with no friends or family. He couldn't turn to any other human being 'cause he was sure that nobody would ever be able to like him, the witless worm, 'Wormtongue'. Out of his robes he got a handkerchief and he wiped away his tears. Then he turned his horse and rode quickly towards Isengards, towards his doom and master.


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