Grima. Yeah. Is cool.
Jan. 17th, 2003 12:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kaydeefalls
Strange, short Grima ficlet. Gen, basically. Don't know where it came from. Don't know why. I just wrote the damned thing. Go forth and be evil.
Title: Ice
Rating: G
Pairing: a dash of Grima/Eowyn, but this is a gen fic.
Summary: Grima has always been cold.
Disclaimer: oh-so-much not mine. Just playing.
Archive: where the hell are you gonna put THIS?
Author's notes: I don't know where this came from. Grima and gen, all at once? Eep. I frighten myself.
Ice.
Ice against your fingertips, first brushing lightly, then snatching hold. Smooth ice, inexplicably soft. Cup your hand around it gently. The cold sears into your skin -- it tempts you, tantalizes you. Does it freeze against your hand? Could it? Do you want it to? To stand here forever, the palm of your hand frozen to her icy cheek?
Careful, now. Ice can break. It can shatter. Splinter. Cut. Bruise. Melt.
That just wouldn't do.
* * * * *
You are friend to the cold. Air chills in your presence. It unsettles people -- they shrink away, pull their cloaks about them just a bit tighter, avert their gazes. You recognize neighbors not by face, but by the shapes of their backs. Shoulders. Profiles. When you were young, it troubled you. "Look at me!" you would almost scream, but the words caught in your throat, and the sound dissipated into the frigid air. Just small clouds of steam, an exhalation. Never an entreaty, never a condemnation.
Those came later. You discovered there was more power in a whisper than a shout. It cut through the cold rather than being lost in it. And people listened. Against all probability, they listened. Hisses tinged with ice, sharp edges, penetrating. No one had to look at you. Perhaps you liked it better that way, the opposite of the expected, heard but not seen, a solid wall of ice masking your inexplicable progress. Your cold desires. Invisible ascension. Higher. Higher.
And the words he spoke to you? Not icy, but hot with hatred, passion, aggression. Promises. Your ice could fuel his fire, and his fire warmed your ambition. You could have anything. A crown. Golden coins. Fine scepters and rich meals. And the fair lady by your side, all ice and beauty, the one woman who understood what it was to feel coldness.
It was not a difficult decision.
* * * * *
Her cheek is the ice against your hand. So fair. So cold. You can read her heart, perhaps her mind as well. Passionate at times, but coolly logical. She sees. She understands.
How could you not touch her?
Poison. Snake. Worm. Ice, and she's gone. Your hand aches with the memory of cold, fingers tingling with the loss. Lost. Gone. Ah, well, there's always tomorrow. At least this time, you touched.
* * * * *
Memory is a cold thing. So is the bitter sting-ache of failure, defeat. A cruel breeze assaulted your face that day, the same day that cold stone steps bruised you as you fell. Cold eyes, everywhere. Looking at you. Piercing you. If you could laugh, you might have, at the irony. The townfolks' faces were not nearly so pleasant as their backs. The chill in the air -- did it emanate off you or them?
No matter. The past is already frozen, unchangeable. Hardly worth thinking of.
But it led you here. With cold-chapped lips and windblown hair, you came. The tower of black ice. Fitting.
The wind is cold up here, looking down, but you feel unpleasantly warm. You always knew this man-wizard spoke fire. So alien to you, unnatural. And the masses gathered below, born of heat, raised in flame -- they scald you with their hatred, sear your pale skin more surely than a cold woman's touch ever could. So many. So much fire.
Do you crack? Melt? An unfamiliar dampness trickles down your cheek. Melting, falling. And in the sudden flush of warmth, you realize that you never knew what ice was. The cold you knew is nothing next to the chill now creeping up your spine.
THE END
Title: Ice
Rating: G
Pairing: a dash of Grima/Eowyn, but this is a gen fic.
Summary: Grima has always been cold.
Disclaimer: oh-so-much not mine. Just playing.
Archive: where the hell are you gonna put THIS?
Author's notes: I don't know where this came from. Grima and gen, all at once? Eep. I frighten myself.
Ice.
Ice against your fingertips, first brushing lightly, then snatching hold. Smooth ice, inexplicably soft. Cup your hand around it gently. The cold sears into your skin -- it tempts you, tantalizes you. Does it freeze against your hand? Could it? Do you want it to? To stand here forever, the palm of your hand frozen to her icy cheek?
Careful, now. Ice can break. It can shatter. Splinter. Cut. Bruise. Melt.
That just wouldn't do.
* * * * *
You are friend to the cold. Air chills in your presence. It unsettles people -- they shrink away, pull their cloaks about them just a bit tighter, avert their gazes. You recognize neighbors not by face, but by the shapes of their backs. Shoulders. Profiles. When you were young, it troubled you. "Look at me!" you would almost scream, but the words caught in your throat, and the sound dissipated into the frigid air. Just small clouds of steam, an exhalation. Never an entreaty, never a condemnation.
Those came later. You discovered there was more power in a whisper than a shout. It cut through the cold rather than being lost in it. And people listened. Against all probability, they listened. Hisses tinged with ice, sharp edges, penetrating. No one had to look at you. Perhaps you liked it better that way, the opposite of the expected, heard but not seen, a solid wall of ice masking your inexplicable progress. Your cold desires. Invisible ascension. Higher. Higher.
And the words he spoke to you? Not icy, but hot with hatred, passion, aggression. Promises. Your ice could fuel his fire, and his fire warmed your ambition. You could have anything. A crown. Golden coins. Fine scepters and rich meals. And the fair lady by your side, all ice and beauty, the one woman who understood what it was to feel coldness.
It was not a difficult decision.
* * * * *
Her cheek is the ice against your hand. So fair. So cold. You can read her heart, perhaps her mind as well. Passionate at times, but coolly logical. She sees. She understands.
How could you not touch her?
Poison. Snake. Worm. Ice, and she's gone. Your hand aches with the memory of cold, fingers tingling with the loss. Lost. Gone. Ah, well, there's always tomorrow. At least this time, you touched.
* * * * *
Memory is a cold thing. So is the bitter sting-ache of failure, defeat. A cruel breeze assaulted your face that day, the same day that cold stone steps bruised you as you fell. Cold eyes, everywhere. Looking at you. Piercing you. If you could laugh, you might have, at the irony. The townfolks' faces were not nearly so pleasant as their backs. The chill in the air -- did it emanate off you or them?
No matter. The past is already frozen, unchangeable. Hardly worth thinking of.
But it led you here. With cold-chapped lips and windblown hair, you came. The tower of black ice. Fitting.
The wind is cold up here, looking down, but you feel unpleasantly warm. You always knew this man-wizard spoke fire. So alien to you, unnatural. And the masses gathered below, born of heat, raised in flame -- they scald you with their hatred, sear your pale skin more surely than a cold woman's touch ever could. So many. So much fire.
Do you crack? Melt? An unfamiliar dampness trickles down your cheek. Melting, falling. And in the sudden flush of warmth, you realize that you never knew what ice was. The cold you knew is nothing next to the chill now creeping up your spine.
THE END
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-01-17 07:15 am (UTC)...Tari
Re:
Date: 2003-01-19 12:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-01-17 09:47 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-01-19 12:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-01-18 03:58 pm (UTC)*runs off to pimp this fic*
Re:
Date: 2003-01-19 01:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-01-18 04:44 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-01-19 01:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-01-19 01:16 am (UTC)I love the way you tell about his thoughts and feelings, and they match so perfectly the way he actually must think; what he thinks about, what he feels, what he wants, fears, expects. There's no way he could ever be good and liked, because he's chosen the wrong path. But he wants Eowyn... she's almost like him and yet the complete opposite of him. Maybe she'd make him a "normal" human being again.
You recognize neighbors not by face, but by the shapes of their backs. Shoulders. Profiles.
I love that. Just... love it. Because it says so much, but not directly. And it hurts that people are like that, even in real life.
And of course there was Saruman and his fire as the opposite of Grima's ice. I love the contrast and how you've combined them, made them one.
Okay. Seems I'm babbling again :) I tend to do that when I read something I really like. Just wanted to let you know that I'm all for Grima fics. Especially now when I see him in a different light, as a person, not just a cardboard villain without any kind of background. I'm really glad
Re:
Date: 2003-01-19 01:39 pm (UTC)But he wants Eowyn... she's almost like him and yet the complete opposite of him. Maybe she'd make him a "normal" human being again.
Yes, exactly. Brad Dourif's greatest moment is after that scene with Eowyn, when she runs away from him. He looks so wounded. In that "Oh, shit, I really screwed THAT up" sort of way. Not that I want Eowyn to fall in love with him, but you can't help but feel really bad for the guy.
Seems I'm babbling again :)
Babble away. ::grins:: You just made my day, you know that? Thanks again.
no subject
Date: 2003-01-19 11:59 pm (UTC)Yes! And the weird thing is that I don't like the book version of Grima, at all, but since he's played by Brad in the movies, I've began to like him. And for the first few moments it felt really awkward, but then I stopped caring ;)
Not that I want Eowyn to fall in love with him, but you can't help but feel really bad for the guy.
Exactly. I never thought I even could feel this bad for him. On the other hand, I would hate to have boring characters in the movie. It's better that they are more multidimensional. Is that even a word?
Babble away. ::grins:: You just made my day, you know that? Thanks again.
Oh? Okay :) And you're very welcome, you deserved it.
no subject
Date: 2003-01-21 07:58 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2003-01-21 01:46 pm (UTC)