Author: Lauren 

Title: Blood is Thicker than Honor

Chapters: 1 - 2

Characters: Grima and Eowyn

Rating: PG-13


Keywords:Angst/Drama 






Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings
or any of the places and characters contained within. 
It is a product of 2001 New Line Productions, Inc. 2002 New Line Home Entertainment, Inc. The Lord 
of the Rings, the characters, names and places therein, TM The Saul Zaentz Company d/b/a Tolkien
 Enterprises under license to New Line Production, Inc. All Rights Reserved. This disclaimer isn't
 even my own, it is found on the Fellowship of the Ring DVD. That said, do not sue me! I own naught
 but, pocket lint.



Summary: This takes place pre-War of The Ring. Grima has not been in the service of King Theoden for
 very long. He is not yet the king's only council but, one of four. Saruman, who is not pleased with
 his meager progress, conceives a plan to hasten the destruction of Rohan. He convinces Grima to come 
to Isengard to get more formal training. Grima's task is to remove the other three using both his wits
 and his newly enhanced gift. At least that is the plan but, it is interrupted when Grima receives 
a visitor. Someone he did not expect, someone like . . . his sister.


A/N: This is the first chapter. I hope you enjoy it. Lots of thanks to my wonderful betas, Phantom and Zerlina.
 *bows*



The cock crowed, signaling the arrival of dawn. The sky above Rohan was cold and grey but, in the east
 the horizon was a thin golden line. As the sun slowly rose, warm rays of the life-giving light shone 
out over the land. One of these rays found its way to a window, shone through the wooden slats and streamed 
onto the richly colored rug on the floor. The slowly rising sun carried this small beam across the floor, up
 along the bed, and finally to rest on the eyes of one, Grima son of Galmod.




Grima stirred and opened his eyes. The bright glare shrank his pupils to pin pricks. "Argh!" He growled 
as white hot pains shot through his blue eyes. His hands shot up to shield them from the cruel sun. Rolling 
over, he reopened his eyes and red spots danced along his line of vision. Blinking a few times drove 
them away and he could see normally. He pushed the heavy blankets off him and stood, stretching. Yawning,
 he looked around the room. On the round wooden table in the center of the room; he saw that the candle 
had burned low. Wax had splattered upon the surface. He scratched some of the hardened wax off with a 
fingernail. "Another day." He whispered to the empty room. Grima turned and saw that a few embers were
 still clinging to life in the hearth. He went over and lifted the iron poker. Jabbing it into the ashes,
 he watched the embers flared red. Selecting a faggot from the box near the fireplace, he tossed it on 
the newly awakened coals and watched as they licked at the dry wood, slowly growing into a warm blaze. 
Peering into the heavy pot that was suspended over the flames, he decided to heat some water and bathe
 himself. Nothing more refreshing in the early morning then a good bath.




He walked over to the wash basin in the corner of the room, lifted the metal pitcher, that had been 
refilled with fresh water, and carried it back to the pot. He poured the water into the pot and returned 
the pitcher to its place. To pass the time until the water was ready, he straightened the linens and heavy
 cover on his bed, removed the remainder of the wax from his table and lifted the stub from the candle holder.
 This he flung into the growing flames, making a mental note to get a new one from one of the servants. After
 checking the water, he flung open the wooden shutters of his window. This time, he shielded his eyes before 
the sun could blind him. It certainly was morning in Rohan, in the village people were tending crops and feeding
 horses. The sound of children's laughter floated on a soft breeze. Turning his gaze to the doors of the Meduseled, 
he watched as the night wardens were replaced by those of the day. Looking at the ebony pot he saw a bit of steam 
pouring from the top. "Best to take it off now, no reason to scald myself," he muttered. Taking a thick woolen
 cloth from a hook, he lifted the pot from its place and carried it over to his wash basin. He poured 
the hot water into the basin and put the pot back in its place above the fire.




On the edge of the basin sat a bathing rag and a square of soap. He lifted the soap to his nose. It
 was a strange substance made from the fat of pigs and scented with foreign oils. After giving it a
 sniff, he set it back on the basin. Reaching up to remove his nightshirt, he realized that he had 
slept while still wearing the amulet his mother had given him. He removed it and set it gingerly on 
the table in the center of the room. Pulling his faded gray nightshirt over his head, which revealed
 his bare chest and legs, he yawned again and scratched his chest. The shirt fell to the floor in a 
crumpled heap. The only article left was a long piece of cloth wrapped several times and tied about 
his waist to serve as a bit of a loin cloth. He submerged his hands in the hot water, leaned over, 
and splashed it into his face. "Ahhh." He murmured as the wonderful warmth struck his skin. Picking
 up the rag and soap, he soaked them both. He rubbed the soap into the rag, trying to create a sort 
of lather. Seeing as this was not working, he wrapped the soap in the rag and let the lather and scent
 soak through. He dragged the rag across the flesh of his arm, he repeated this motion along the extent of
 his body, all the way down to his feet. Straightening, he remembered there was still some of him yet to bathe.
 His free hand came to the tied part of the cloth when he was suddenly overcome with a sort of paranoia, struck 
suddenly with the horrible fear that someone might be watching. He ignored the urge to look around and 
scolded himself for being so childish. Undoing the tie, the cloth dropped to the floor round his feet.




He was shaking his head at his hesitation when he noticed the window. He had left the damned thing open.
Without even bothering to cover himself, he slithered over and slammed the window shut. Leaning with his
 back against the cold stone, "Idiot!" He growled at himself, as another wave of paranoia washed over him.
 Returning to the basin he dipped his hand in the water again. It was rapidly losing its heat so he quickly 
resumed his bath. He soaked the rag and soap again, then quickly bathed himself. After all of him was 
throughly scrubbed, he used the water to rinse away all the soapy residues. He lifted a dry towel from the
 back of the basin and dried himself off. With all this done, he tipped the basin and all the used water
 ran down a drainage opening in the floor. When the water was all gone, he lifted the basin into an upright
 position and returned soap, rag, and towel to their proper places. Grima turned and went in search of fresh
 clothes.




Grima pulled the doors to his oak wardrobe open revealing, nothing. It was empty. He stood, staring blankly
 at the back of his wardrobe, while wondering where all his clothing could have gone. Looking around, a bit
 frantic for a moment, he saw several bundles piled up near his chamber door. "Ah Ha!" He exclaimed pointing
 at it. "The laundress must have washed and returned them." Hurrying over and gathering up the bundles, he
 dropped them on his bed. Opening the first, he found his customary black attire. He set this aside to change
 into after he finished unpacking the rest. Opening the next few and gathering things up he hung them in the 
wardrobe. He piled a few different things at the bottom of his wardrobe and threw a clean, loin cloth on top 
of his clothes for the day. He closed the doors to his wardrobe and turned back to his bed. Noticing there was
 one left unopened he went and untied it, something white slipped out. "White?" He picked it up. "I do not own
 anything white." Lifting and holding it at arms' length, he examined it. It was clearly the attire of a woman,
 the chest was slightly cupped to house two things he certainly did not have. He stared at it. Why did it seem as
 if he had seen this before? He thought a moment longer and finally realized, Eowyn! This is Eowyn's dress,
 I've seen her wear it before. He fought down the urge to bury his face in the soft material and gently folded
 and placed it back in the bundle. Happily this gave him a valid reason to speak to Eowyn, he of course had to
 return her clothing. After closing the bundle he set next to the chamber door so he would remember to bring 
it with him. After all that fuss over putting away his clothes he realized he was still entirely naked. He lifted 
the clean cloth off the bed and wrapped it around his waist three times before tying it. He finished dressing himself
 as quickly as he could. Pushing his hair back behind his shoulders, he retrieved his amulet and placed it over his 
head, letting it lay limply on his chest.




Pulling his dagger out from under a pillow, he slid it into the sheath on his belt. He looked down at his
 feet peeking out from beneath his robes. "Boots." He said absently and began searching for them in all the
nooks and crannies of his chamber. "Boots!" He exclaimed as if he expected them to come to his call. Finally 
getting down on all fours and looking under the bed, he found them. He reached and pulled one out; then, 
went after the other one but, it was just out of reach. He sighed and laid flat on his stomach forcing his
 arm and shoulder to stretch to full length. His fingers brushed against the boot and he clawed at it. He 
finally clasped it, pulled it out and dropped it next to the other. Getting up and sitting on the bed, he 
pulled one boot on and then the other. In the right boot something felt strange so he took the shoe off and 
shook it. A rather large spider fell out of his boot and onto the floor. He placed the now empty boot back
 on his foot and scooped up the spider. Carrying it over to the window, he reopened it and tossed the spider
 outside. He was about to close it again but, was cut off by a loud high-pitched shriek. He quickly looked 
outside and saw one of the serving maids frantically clawing at her hair. He watched as something black fell
 from her head and landed on the ground. He hurriedly backed away from the window before the girl saw him. 
After he was safely out of sight, he chuckled, complimenting himself on his magnificent aim.




Grima turned to his chamber door. He lifted the bundle from the floor and opened the door. Stepping out into 
the corridor, he closed the door behind him. He traveled against the far wall of the corridor which was in 
shadow. He often traveled in the shadows, doing this served the duel purpose of giving him the element of
 surprise and a security from those that often looked on him with disgust. He hated those looks, they stung
 like little daggers. He received these looks because of his appearance, because he was not one of the rugged,
 blonde riders of Rohan. No, he was different, and being different was a sin. The shadows gave him solace and
 protection from the loathing of others. There was one though, one who was kind to him. In fact, this kind 
one was whom he was returning the bundle to. Eowyn. She was both kind and fair, but she still had a childlike 
innocence about her. Always willing to help, always willing to listen. Grima remembered one time not so long 
ago, he had just gotten word that his dear mother had lost her battle with a strange illness that had been
 plaguing her for many years. He had broken down in front of the whole court, yet another reason why so many 
looked down upon him, he had shown emotion and being a man of Rohan, he could never show such womanly emotion
 in the presence of the king. He had been given leave to return to his private chambers. On the way there 
he had felt a small hand on his shoulder. He turned, and there she was, so young yet so perfect. She said
 no word, she did not need to, she simply put her arms around him in an embrace. He had cried again but,
 that time it was alright. She just stood and allowed him to sob on her shoulder. When he had finished, he 
had pulled away slowly and she had given him a small smile, then she had returned to her uncle's side. 
The pain of his loss was somewhat lessened simply because someone had cared enough to comfort him. 




Grima came back to the present and entered into Theoden's throne room. Theoden was seated in his throne,
 but Eowyn was no where in sight. Theoden's three other advisors had yet to arrive. Malcarite, Adrian, and 
Barthol. A sniveling bunch of yes men if ever there were any. Claiming to be advisors! All they did was listen 
to all of Theoden's initial ideas and blatantly agree. 'Yes Lord, a wonderful plan my Lord!' Mindless sheep
 but, that was Grima's purpose after all. Saruman had sent him to slowly convince Theoden of his other councils'
 incompetence. Then, rise up as an improvement over all three. Grima shifted the bundle to his other arm and slid 
along the shadowy portions of the chamber and emerged at Theoden's side. "A very good morning to you, my liege." 




Theoden started just slightly at the sudden appearance of one of his loyal advisors. "Ah Grima, glad to see 
you are up and about this beautiful morning. What might that be?" He said motioning to the bundle in Grima's arms.





Grima looked down at the bundle. "This Lord? Why there was some mistake made by the servant that delivered my 
clothing this morning. It seems I was given a bundle of what appears to be the Lady Eowyn's things. I was meaning 
to return them to her. Do you know if she has arisen yet this day?" He tried to conceal his hopefulness that 
was undoubtedly playing across his face.




Theoden scratched his beard. "Eowyn? I have yet to see her, her brother, or my own son."




As if on cue, those very three burst through the doors of an adjoining corridor to the left. "Ah, good
 morning all of you!" 




"Good morning Uncle! Good morning Father!" They chorused. Theodred and Eomer took seats at the table on the
 side of the room and waited for breakfast to be brought to them. Eowyn came up and hugged her uncle, then 
she smiled at Grima. "Good morning Lord Grima."



Grima smiled as well. "Good morning Lady Eowyn." He just looked at her for a few moments then remembered the 
bundle. He offered it to her. "Here my Lady, these were delivered to my chamber by mistake."




Eowyn looked inside the bundle and blushed slightly. "Thank you, Sir." She bowed her head and carried the 
bundle back through the doors to place it in her chamber. Grima watched her leave until he was interrupted 
by the sound of another opening door. In strode Malcarite, Adrian, and Barthol. "Good morning my Lord," 
Malcarite said bowing deeply to Theoden. "Prince Theodred, Lord Eomer, a wonderful morning to you also." 
Chimed Adrian. "Where is Lady Eowyn?" He asked looking around.




"She had an urgent matter to attend to, she will return shortly." Grima said as his lip automatically curled
 in disgust at their highly overdone performance. Malcarite was obviously the brain of the trio. Which truly,
 could not have been that hard of a task. He seemed to have an air about him that signified he was the leader.
 Of course it might just have been his pompousness shining through his vulgarly colored robes. He seemed to
 want to give the impression that he was wealthy by purchasing cloth in the most outrageous hues possible.
 Simply to look at him was enough to burn one's eyes. He was obviously under the delusion that he was sent
 by the gods themselves to aid Rohan in becoming the greatest kingdom in all of Middle Earth. As long as 
he received something in return of course. This self-endowed task would be hard to achieve since he had no
 ideas of his own. Grima supposed his plan was to bask in Theoden's reflected glory. Adrian was something 
very different. He was always smiling, constantly smiling and talking in a cheerful and often loud voice. 
His smile never reached his eyes though, his eyes were unfocused and always staring. He was quite tall, so
 tall in fact his height almost rivaled that of Theoden himself. Adrian had a disturbing air about him, a 
suspicious one as if he were some sort of thief. His presence was uncomfortable one to bare, an ominous
 feeling seemed to follow him everywhere. The reason for this was something that Grima had not been able 
to fathom just yet. Lastly Barthol, what a pathetic case. Always trailing at the tails of Malcarite and
 Adrian, not even enough brains to begin the agreeing with Theoden. He always waited for the other two 
to begin their mindless banter and just would stand and nod vigorously. He would be the easiest to uproot
 from Theoden's good graces.



"Grima, how do you fare this morning?" Barthol said with mock sincerity.




How shocking, did that fat oaf actually form a complete sentence? Grima hoped his smile looked polite 
even though it felt very much like a sneer. "I fare very well thank you, and yourselves?" Barthol was about
 to answer when the side door opened yet again and Eowyn returned. She noticed the other three and smiled. Her
 smile seemed a tad strained, but it may have only been Grima's imagination.




"Grima!" Eowyn said, her eyes very wide. "Could I perhaps speak to you for a moment, privately?" She motioned 
to the door from whence she had just come.




Grima stared silently for only a moment but, quickly composed himself. "Of course, my lady. Anything I can do 
for you I more than happily will." He strode quickly and followed her out into the hall. The heavy door closing 
behind him with a dull thud.




The heavy wooden door closed behind him with a dull thud. Grima turned to face Eowyn. "What is it that you 
wished to say?" He forced himself to hold her gaze, though he longed to allow his eyes to wash over her. He
 wanted to take in every aspect of her being. Eowyn's voice broke into his thoughts.

"In truth, you were my excuse to leave the room." She leaned slightly against the dark stone. A newly lit torch
 burned in its bracket merely inches above her head. The fire light made her hair shimmer. 

Grima realized his mouth was hanging slightly open. "Oh? Why did you wish to exit with such haste?" His 
previously heightened mood had slipped, he had been hoping for another reason.

Eowyn's eyes narrowed. "I was inclined to leave because of them." She motioned at the closed door. "Malcarite 
and the others," she paused, "may I be quite frank?" 

Grima nodded. "Of course."

Eowyn took a breath. "I hate them!"

Grima felt a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Do you?"

Eowyn sighed. "Yes, very much. I feel it does my uncle disrespect to have such men in his service. Theoden
 deserves better, he deserves someone who will aid in his decisions, and someone who is brave enough to speak 
up if he is wrong. What he does not need is a trio of cowardly boot-lickers."

"I completely agree with you, my lady." With her stormy eyes blazing and her pale skin flushed with anger; 
Grima suddenly was overcome with the need to kiss Eowyn. He knew too well this would not be the best plan of 
action. He had no way of knowing how she would react to his affection. Also, imagine the uproar if Eomer or
 Theodred happened along to see what had become of Eowyn. "I hope that I have not come across as a 'boot-licker?'"
 He asked in mild amusement.

Eowyn's eyes widened, afraid that she had insulted Grima. "By no means did I wish to include you with that lot. 
You are worthy of your title and have thereby gained my respect." She stood straight, leaving her position against
 the wall. "I have heard you give my uncle valid council. Apparently the others are unaware of this, but 
Theoden respects an honest opinion far more then he does a blind agreement."

"Yes," Grima agreed. "Of that I am aware. The others, most certainly, are not." He looked at her with one
 eye, tracing the contours of her body in what he hoped was a subtle manner; the other was trained on her face. 
"Regardless of our feelings toward Malcarite, Adrian and Barthol, and I assure you they are mutual, we must 
return to your uncle's side. We do not want anyone thinking I spirited you off somewhere." He smirked at his
 own jest. Eowyn smiled and stepped toward the door, which Grima opened for her. She entered and Grima followed,
 closing the door silently. The two of them reentered the throne room. Food was being served, and after a 
slight nod to Grima, Eowyn went and joined Eomer and Theodred. 

Another table and pair of benches had been brought in. Theoden was already seated. Malcarite, Adrian, and 
Barthol were gathered off to the side, speaking in hushed tones. Grima watched them suspiciously as he made 
his way to the table. A few moments after he took his seat, the trio came and seated their selves, to his dismay, 
around him. Adrian on his right, Barthol to his left, and Malcarite across from him. " Ah, Grima, you have been 
in the service of the king for only a month's time and you already gain his approval. That is quite an achievement."
 Malcarite said it so sweet a tone, Grima wished to retch.

"Your praise is most kind, good sir. I wish naught but to serve our king to the best of my abilities." 
Grima said calmly as he speared a sausage with a knife and began eating it.

"No need for gratitude. I give you my praise because you earn it, otherwise it would not be given." Malcarite 
also slid some eggs and sausages onto his plate. "Now, my only inquiry is this, this is not so large a kingdom a
s say, Gondor? I wonder if Theoden truly needs four in his council? Perhaps Grima, you should think of moving 
onto bigger and better things. You already have shown that you have the skills." The volume of the conversation
 had reached a point where all, in the court could hear. Grima mentally scoffed at the feeble attempt to convince
 him to leave. Malcarite, was obviously threatened by the presence of a younger, perhaps more qualified, council.

"Now, why would I wish to leave? I was born and raised in this country, I was requested to serve our king, I have 
friends and family here." That was a lie but, he intended to prove his point. "I am quite comfortable here Malcarite,
 one would wonder if you did not want me around?" Grima stated this innocently and pretended to be more interested 
in his food.

"Enough of that." Theoden interjected. "There are more pressing matters, and this banter must cease!" He rose from
 his seat.

"Yes lord," all four men recited, heads bowed at the chastening.

"That is better." Theoden replied. "Now, we need to discuss the matter of taxes. I feel a raise in the demand on 
our people is unnecessary. They work so very hard for their wages as it is."

"Yes, yes quite right." The trio had begun their monotonous prattle. Grima had planned to simply continue eating
 and let this slip by, but he felt eyes on the back of his head. He turned and Eowyn was staring hard at him. 
Once she had caught his attention, she shifted her eyes to Theoden, then back to Grima in a frantic manner. Grima
 blinked but then, recalling their previous conversation, understood what she wished him to do. " My lord!" He spoke
 up and the chatter of the other three faltered.

"Yes Grima?" Asked Theoden.

"The people work diligently to earn their money, tis true but, the royal treasury is in need. I propose the 
taxes should be raised just slightly. You provide your people with protection from the dangers at the borders. 
It is little compensation to spare a few coins to keep the kingdom in fine working condition. Do you not agree?" 
Grima raised where his eyebrows would be, had he any.

"I, I believe you are right." Theoden said, as he resumed his seat. Adrian and Barthol were looking stupidly from
 Grima to Malcarite and back to Grima with wide eyes. Malcarite looked livid. Grima, with a bow of the head to 
Theoden, commenced his eating.

After the dishes and remaining food had been cleared away, Grima stood to take his leave. He felt a hand catch his 
shoulder. "Uhh," he groaned, his eyes traveling skyward. He turned, it was Eowyn. "Oh, it's you. I thought it would 
be one of . . . " He looked up, Theoden was within earshot. "One of the others."

"I just wanted to thank you for standing up, not only against the others but, against Theoden's decision as well.
 I want so much for a change to be brought about here and I think you, may be the one who can do just that." She smiled.

Grima was about to respond but, he was interrupted by the voice of Theoden. "Theodred, Eomer, come here please." 
The rest of the court watched as the boys moved in front of the king. "As you are already aware, today you shall 
begin a long and challenging period of training. 'The best way to maintain peace is to prepare for war,' as my 
father used to say." Theoden beamed down at his son and nephew. "Come, let us go to the armory and see if there 
is anything suitable that will fit you." 

"Uncle?" Theoden halted and turned. "Uncle, may I begin training too?" All eyes were now on Eowyn.

"I am sorry Eowyn, but, you are still young yet. You are not ready for the pains and trials of training for war." 
Theoden said warmly.

"But . . . " Eowyn began but was cut off, by more prattle. 

"In this decision you are justified, Lord," said Malcarite, throwing Grima a dark look. "The battlefield, whether
 in training or in reality is no place for a girl," he hesitated, "so young." He had indeed saved himself, if he
 had left his statement at that, a large group of offended shield maidens would be visiting his chambers this evening, 
most likely brandishing their blades. Grima had to act now, not just to put Malcarite in the wrong, but to aid Eowyn. 
That would surely gain at least a small portion of her affection.

"Lord?" Grima spoke up once again.

"Yes Grima?" Theoden's voice sounded irritated and Grima decided to tread lightly.

"I think it is in the best interest for Lady Eowyn if, she too, learned the ways of battle." Grima spoke softly 
and calmly, hoping not to arouse anger in the king.

"She is too young, she could be injured." Theoden said as evenly as he could, though his temper was indeed rising.

"That is a possibility my lord but your father was also heard is saying 'those without swords may still die upon them,' 
was he not? " Grima drew a slow breath, hoping this would have the desired effect.

Theoden opened his mouth, as if to speak, but he paused. His hand came to his beard and his fingers ran through it, a
 common practice when he was deep in thought. "Eowyn will receive training but, she will wait three months time. 
Once she is sixteen she may begin her training." With that he turned and left with the two boys, heading toward the 
armory.

"Thank you!" Eowyn said gleefully and threw her arms around Grima's waist, giving him a tight hug. Grima's eyes 
grew wide but he smiled and put his arms gently around her, patting her back with his hand.

"You are very welcome. Just promise me this." He released her and looked into her eyes. "You will receive your 
training and you will do well, there is no doubt. I want your word that you will not use your skills frivolously 
but only when it is of dire importance. Promise me?"

"I promise." Eowyn leaned up and gave him a small kiss on the cheek then dashed off in an excitement. Grima touched
 a finger to where she had kissed him and looked a bit dazed. Another hand came against his shoulder, he turned, 
and was met with three angry faces. Malcarite looked as if he was expecting some sort of explanation.

"Well you said it yourself Malcarite, I do have the skills!" Grima laughed and before the others could respond,
 he had melted into the shadows and headed in the direction of his chamber. 

Grima closed his door behind him and went over to where his night shirt was still crumpled on the floor. Lifting
 up the shirt, he tossed it on the end of his bed. Looking at his table and the empty candle holder, he realized 
he had forgotten to ask for a new one. "Have to do that before dark," he mumbled and rubbed his chin.

The stillness was suddenly broken by the pounding of hooves. Curious, he went over to the window. A rider on a
 brown steed rode up to the gates. He dismounted and handed something to one of the guards, a scroll perhaps? 
Grima strained his eyes but, after a few words, the guard already had disappeared into the royal house. The rider 
mounted again and rode off, leaving Grima's sight after he rounded a bend. He had continued looking from his window 
at nothing in particular. In what seemed like a matter of moments there was a series of knocks at his door accompanied
 by heavy breathing. "Who is it?" Grima called, turning toward his door.

"Message for you Lord!" came the voice of Hama, one of the gate guards. Grima opened the door and Hama handed him 
a scroll. "Came for just now, sir." Hama puffed. Obviously he had run straight from the main doors to Grima's.

"Yes, I saw the messenger come. Thank you Hama." Hama nodded and walked away to return to his post. Grima closed 
his door and looked down at the scroll. Its seal bore the White Hand of Isengard.