teenybuffalo (teenybuffalo) wrote in leechcraft,

The Very Secret Diary of Grima Wormtongue

*tap tap* This thing on?  

I've brought fic for you.  Starkiller published this in a print fanzine about three years ago, but it's been long enough that I figure it's all right to post it here. 

Title: The Very Secret Diary of Grima Wormtongue
Summary: What it says on the tin. 
Rating: R (various naughty words, innuendo)
Pairing: various.  Slash, het.
Notes: Based round the movie, but takes in the book's background as well.
Disclaimer: None of these people are mine.  Also the Very Secret Diary concept is not mine; Cassandra Claire thought it up. 






Day 1. Hid in closet, masturbated.

Day 2. See above.

Day 3. Ditto...

[Hiatus in manuscript.]

Day 397. Ditto. Have developed alarming growth of hair on palms. Must weigh options: shave off? No, hate edged implements unless they are pointed toward other people. Am so lucky that my beard does not grow. Stop visiting closet? Aargh aargh no! Hiding is my v. fave thing. Like darkness. When am hiding, cannot be mocked, beaten up by great hulking brainless jock bullies of Riddermark men. Funny to think that I am a Riddermark man too, more or less. Mummy always said I was special. Am off to shop for gloves, wish me luck. Big ugly bright world out there. On second thought, shall bring notebook for company.

Day 398. My goodness, lucky I brought this. Today:

Bought v. nifty fingerless gloves which stay on with this neat little loop thing and go with my favorite fur coat.

Hit on head behind stables (mind you, everywhere is "behind stables" in damn million-horse town of Edoras) and kidnapped by large malodorous wretch riding on a mastiff. Taken cross-country, dropped off at Art Deco tower of Isengard with striking obsidian-effect wallpaper. That is what I call taste.

Amazingly well-set-up elderly wizard offered me position as his catspaw and general lackey. You should have heard me witter. Fell at his feet, kissed hem of his robe (off-white moiré silk, he has good eye for contrast). Chance of lifetime. Joy! Only downside: no closet here. Saruman (for such is my benefactor's name) has three-inch white nails. Ooo, bloodcurdling. So glad brought journal, can confide inmost feelings. Heehee. Am sleeping over, I wonder where?

Day 399. Was escorted to roof by burly thugs, given sleeping bag. Bit of a downer. You don't roll around any too damn much when spending night on platform w/no safety rails. Hmmph. Still, cannot dampen mad glee. Am to poison mind of none other than Theo the Tosser. Mister "Oh I say, by Helm, let's reinstate the draft!" Which is one reason I like to hide. Yes, ahahaha! Your doom approacheth, King, how d'you like them apples?

Must run, mastiff is waiting.

Day 400. Fleas from mastiff infesting fur coat, I rather fear. Insinuated self w/Big Theo. He doesn't change: "Well, fellah, we'll give you a week's trial as secretary, can't say you're easy on the eyes but you've got some sterling qualities. So those little twiggy things are letters and numbers, jolly good." Grinned, cringed. Then the Uberjocks walked in and I nearly fainted. Theodred and Eomer, just as mean as when we all were six and they tied me up and put

On second thought, will not recount incident. What if someone finds this?

Anyway, both still mean and dumb, but now covered in hair, muscles. All I could do not to flee screaming. Thought of Sarey. Encouraging thought. Stood ground.

Big Theo, pointing at me: "Here, lads, this little scabby fellah can read and write, and he does sums! What about that, eh? Guess there's something in this 'education' thing."

Theodred, doing hunky grin: "Cool. He's got a face like a lizard but he sure can think."

Eo-boy: "Huh huh! Uh hah huh!"

Eo-boy's mouth hangs open all the time. Does he know how to breathe through his nose? Not that I had guts to ask. Acted servile, withdrew at measured pace. Fools. I am so going to get them. Little do they know that they just demeaned the Seneschal of Isengard. Hope have spelt that correctly, as never had occasion to talk about seneschals before.

Have selected nice suite of rooms in Meduseld. Must move in, then oil hair and hide in closet (deep and dark with lock on inside of door).

Day 401. Much better day. Household accounts in disarray, not surprised. Sorted them out, embezzled from the farriers' budget. So it begins!

All staff take midday meal with Theo and the Thickoes. This supposed to make staff feel like big happy family. Hah. But could not be better for my and Sarey's fell purposes. Drugged Big Theo's kielbasa. Ditto his beer. Ditto his sauerkraut. Ditto the two pounds of apple strudel he ate for dessert. Big lug. No ill effects yet.

Day 402. Did accounts. Embezzled. Drugged the royal kielbasa, beer, sauerkraut, apple strudel. Theoden disgustingly healthy. Clerical work. Had quality time in closet. And so to bed.

Day 403. Accounts, embezzling, drugs.

Day 404. Ditto. Maybe progress. Theoden looked off-colour, had early night. Keeping fingers crossed.

Day 405. Ditto. Big Theo slept late, is pallid. We shall see. Bad evening: met by Eomer the Kid in hallway and given noogies. Oh, my scalp.

Day 406. Don't they serve any main dishes here but sauerkraut and kielbasa? Meduseld niffs of cabbage all day. Have bought musk-scented aerosol for my office. Shall now cover this notebook in dustjacket of Hegelian Dialectic: An Overview, thus guaranteeing jocks will not touch it with ten-foot pole should they find it. Thicko Boys hate me because am Kingy's right-hand advisor now. Ha ha. Tough patooties! We are a long way, boys, are we not, from grade school, where you did not like the looks of me?

Day 407. Minute by minute, Theoden puckers, droops and goes all senile. Bingo! The long cold white hand of my employer closes about the royal house of Rohan like a steel trap with white charmeuse silk padding and...

Goodness, feel all faint. Need coffee. That is one thing they know how to do here at Meduseld.

Day 408. Theoden reduced to shell of former self, can barely mumble. Who does he mumble to? Trusty Grima, yippee! No one else wants to go near king as he drools and is not ornamental. King's decrepitude causing no trouble otherwise, as Uberjocks only too happy to be left to their own devices. Instead of doing military drill, they are out playing skull polo with other young studs. Let the harness fetishists play while they may. Am off to have spare stables converted into sauna.


Stunned. Had just given carpenters orders when out came the royal pre-cadaver, leaning on haughty blonde bint. She was taking him out for a dodder, only then she saw us and came over all high-handed, "How deah you do such a thing?!" Gave her the usual scrape-and-cower but could not get over her looks. A spiffin' babe, as they say in Gondor. Muscles and cleavage and gorgeous yellow hair. She's Eomer's sister and just got back from the Iron Maiden triathlon in Emyn Muil. *shudder* Still, odd that the jockness which is so icky in her brother should be all...thought-provoking in her. Have mental image of her white thighs bestriding a stallion. Okay, a smallish stallion with a wart above its eye, and hairy frogs to its hooves.

I can dream, can't I?

And she would ply her riding crop with

Stop it, Grima, let it go for now. My power will soon have her crawling at my feet. Isengard wasn't built in a day. Yikes, what will Sarey say if I do nab Blondie? What was there ever between Sarey and me except a business relationship?

Okay, wishful thinking on my part was what there was. Would help if I knew how he felt but he's so noble and inscrutable with those deep dark eyes like wells into the Abyss...

Life is so complicated, I wish I'd never come out of the closet. Breathe in. Breathe out. Hmmm. In. Out. In. Out. Nope, not helping.

Day 420. Sorry no entries lately. Have been busy in function as Royal Mouthpiece. Big Theo is vegetative but he still holds his court of law, because I say so. Heehee. So far: 10 estates confiscated to the Crown (ie me), 302 horse-lords arrested for treason (boy can I trump up a charge) and stuck in Durance Vile. That means the dungeons, which were just jail cells in basement till I had them flooded to knee-depth, infested with crabs. Have written to Sears, Roebuck for latest catalogue of torture devices. I love mail-order, because the shopping takes so long to come that one almost forgets about it and it is like a present. Also ordered crate of SPF 50 sunblock and good pair of mirror sunglasses. My duties as Regent mean I have to go outdoors sometimes, and I'm so photosensitive.

Working on poem for Eowyn. What a lovely name, only problem is that nothing rhymes. Now if she accented the second syllable..."My gracious Horselady Eowyn, as down Life's dim road thou art goin'..."



Winds a-blowin'


Have finished. Blank verse, much easier. Shall just slip it under her door. This will thaw her like a blast from a hair-dryer. For all her classic features and gilded tresses and...for all that, I bet no one else writes her poems. I am the only eligible male around here who isn't related to her. Boyjocks don't like girljocks. All the more for me. And she will be able to see past my pallid complexion and veins to the richly faceted human being that I am.

Day 421. Disaster! Last night, pushed poem under door, then tried to peek in keyhole but she had left key in lock. This morning Eowyn still frozen like the Icy North, and (break, my heart) she has told her cousin.

Theodred put me in a half-Nelson at breakfast and snarled wetly in my ear, "You leave our Winnie alone or I'll wrap yer intest-tines round the gatepost." Stood on dignity, told him to unhand me, at which he laughed and slapped me so sleeve of my new robe (basic black) got in the maple syrup. Everyone laughed. Curse them! They never laughed at old Kingy, what did he do right? I need some sub-minions and I need them fast. Miss High and Mighty wasn't even there, she was off in the Great Hall feeding old Kingy waffles. My master's Art grips him so completely that he can't move, and I just leave him on his throne all day in a perpetual state of sickly stasis. Cannot afford to let him die until have mated with Eowyn, producing heir and legitimizing claim to throne. See? A prepared mind is nine-tenths of the struggle. Sarey said that.

On bright side, have sent for Southron cook. Down with all sausage! Perhaps Kingy's kielbasa obsession based on sympathetic magic. If so, it failed.

Day 422. He wants Her, Theodred does. It's so obvious, he's always trying to get her to laugh by telling dirty dwarf jokes. Gross me out. The worst part is that She laughs at his limericks. Must save Her from incestuous lout. Ooo, feel so powerless. Just when I thought I was a proper tyrant. Wonder if She even read my poem. Must not have done, otherwise She wouldn't sit still for "There was a young lady from Gondor..." Gag me with an ivory wand of office.

Which for some reason reminds me, what will Sarey's next command be?

Day 423. Remarkable lucid dream last night: became poodle with red bow on tail, rolled over and begged for large white whooping crane which was Sarey. He ended dream by pecking my eyes out, after which I woke up bathed in sweat. Yuck, it was almost as bad as when was small boy and Mummy bathed me in water. Eyes really okay, or as okay as they ever get (stupid cataracts) but looks like he is jealous. Flattering, but am too important now to let him have things all his own way. Shirt sweaty, but shall not take it off to dry as am determined to wear it two more years to break it in.

Good news: Sarey passed word of Orc attacks on northern frontier. Theodred and Eomer hot to trot as have run out of severed enemy heads for polo. Have imprisoned or exiled most of army, so just the Gruesome Twosome and their chums are off to hew down orcs on their own. That's it, little flies, walk into my web.


Auditioning sub-minions based on ability to lurk, slit throats efficiently, look good in black schmutter. Riddermark boys v. bad at lurking. No surprise. They don't make 'em like me every day.

Day 424. Tension mounting. The people of Rohan fear Orcs, I fear Uberjocks coming back, everybody fidgety. Sarey, don't fail me now. Get 'em get 'em. My skin has broken out again from all the worry. Applied Noxema. Is nice, dark, cloudy day so am lying out on roof in hopes air circulation will dry out skin. Thatch actually comfy...who's that down on the piazza, waving sword so it goes woosh through the air? Who d'you think it is. Miss Stormin' Amazon Babe. Every swipe she takes at the air cuts another slice off my dark heart in manner of chopping pepperoni. Will call out to the fair wanton. No I won't. Yes I will. Won't. Will. What, and have her sneer up at me? She is as fair and cold as a v. fair and cold thing. My eyes watering because of Noxema, hence these spots on page. That's all.

Later: Went inside and snuck damn fast down to piazza in order to wander by and exchange a quiet word. No sign of Eowyn. Looked down hill to riding track, there she was doing dressage like a v. buff female centaur. Wandered by track, no Eowyn. She had gone off on cross-country ride. Stalked back to Meduseld for dinner. Two-hour feast, no Eowyn. Silver lining of cloud: Southron cook has arrived. Baba ganoush, spicy chickpeas, baklava. Yum, delish. Was only one at table who knew what to do w/pita bread. Let the old order burn in the fires of change.

Later still: Turned round after dinner and there She was within arms' reach, looking about seven feet tall. Carefully prepared come-on speech flew right out of head; found myself babbling about sherbet ices (why? why?) and complimenting her hairdo. She said "Thank you" in tone which meant I could take a flying leap. Ooo, that cold sharpness is sexy. Was all I could do not to fling myself on her snowy bosom and yell, "My woman!" Said I admired her riding. She gave me stare which went through me like ice-blue daggers. Got desperate, said she must be lonely. Her icy facade quivered slightly, am sure of it. Next moment she said, "What's wrong with your sk...oh, that's Noxema, is it? I thought you'd come down with leprosy." And off she loped. Needed hour in closet to get over that. Still, hope gleams. She noticed me.

Day 425. Riddermark bruisers decimated by orcs, v.g. Theodred dying: think lung punctured, v.g. Eomer still alive and kickin', phooey. Apparently he carried Cousin Theodred home riding double. T. was v. limp and languid, you should have seen E. fuss over him. Now they have excuse for emotional gooshiness over each other, which smacks to me of certain Numenorean social practices. Not for the first time, must remark that it is rich those rosy-cheeked boys used to call ME names. Biggest news of day: have patted Eowyn's shoulder. Shieldmaiden wracked with sobs so sweet and vulnerable that I chanced it. She didn't notice, but still. Nice warm shoulder; surprising how warm, I keep expecting her to be carved out of ice. All I can think of is getting in pat on other shoulder. Mental images will help me keep awake. Must sit up till everyone asleep and can sneak into infirmary.


Snuck into infirmary. Must say that the Prince of Humpy Horsemen was badly looked after, not that I mind, but it was a surprise. Lying on stone slab, covered in bearskins, no bandages on mortal wound, not even a hot-water bottle. His lips were blue and I could see it was only a matter of time. Wouldn't you think that after hundreds of years of war the men of Rohan would know about first aid? Anyway, question is now moot. Could not be bothered waiting for natural causes to take over, so pressed pillow down on Theodred's face for count of 100. And so he ends, pitiful and floppy and unable to call me names. Like seeing a raging fire reduced to one little flame that I pinched out in my fingers. For a moment, was rather sorry for him. Just for a moment though. Snuck safely back to room. The most exquisite mixture of feelings: melancholy, triumph and lust pull me three ways. Life in closet was never like this.

Day 426. Non-v.g. start to day. Got up at dawn, went to infirmary in hopes that early Worm could catch bird. There She was. I feigned innocence v. well if I do say so myself. Put on my greatest eloquence and told her she was lonely and fed up with horse-boys who just want women to cook and bear children. Cha-ching! I'd touched a sensitive subject, I could tell. She let me touch her, put my hand on her other shoulder, yes! Lovely warm clavicle. Patted her cheek. Square-jawed but soft, and she wouldn't know acne if she met it in the street. For that moment she was in my power ...but then she said, "You speak with a forked tongue. And your shirt's all greasy. Look what you've done, your cuff's put a grease spot on my nice dress, you dandruffy creature! Ohh!" and she rushed away in a typhoon of navy-blue organdy. Curses! Self-confidence shaken, must go hide in closet before attending to business.


What a day of emotional highs and lows. Eomer stormed into Great Hall, made prat of self griping about Orcs. Called Sarey v. mean names. Luckily no one there but Eomer, me, Kingy (who does not count as is used husk), Eowyn and my sub-minions hiding behind all the pillars, so was safe to tell him he was wanker. He pounced like rabid stoat, knocked me down and grabbed my face so hard that it still feels stretched out of shape. For moment, had fantasy of Eowyn drawing sword in wrath and hewing off his head, but alas she just stood there like we'd never shared a deep emotional moment, frigid creature. Meanwhile Eo-boy is lying on me and weighing a ton, snarling with such vehemence as to spatter me with spittle, all about how he's onto me, I'm a spy, I'm after his sister. And he wouldn't let go of my face. It was horrible. It was like the Playground Lipstick Incident all over again. But I remembered: am now a grownup with minions of my own, so was able to keep cool head. I said to him (rather muffled by his wrist, but still): "Go on, beardy boy, give us a snog, you know you want it."

Hurrah for squirminess, it is useful to exploit people. Eomer dropped me like I'd caught fire and I whistled up minions, who did a creditable job for their first time in action. Little curved daggers v.g. for threats. One minion conked Eomer's head w/hilt. Must give that man raise; has rudiments of sense. Banished Eo-boy from Rohan. Really wanted to have him drawn and quartered but could not risk upsetting Eowyn so just had his arse kicked to the city limits. Then went to room and did victory jig. Thus be it ever to Uberjocks! But how did he know I was a spy?

Wonder--would she like me if I wore clean shirt? Forget it. She should learn to love me as I am.

Day 427. Sunny morning, and still do not have mirror sunglasses--cursed be both Sears and Roebuck. Hiding inside Meduseld gates peering out through cracked woodwork; behind me, old Kingy makes senile noises. So brilliant outside can barely stand it, but can just make out radiant figure on ramparts. The Lady of Rohan, dressed all in white. Lonely. Perhaps she loved...no, she can't have done, her taste is better than that. She sees something, I wonder what. Have dispatched minion to roof w/ telescope. Meanwhile, stay still, White Lady, you are perfectly framed in this chink in the wall. Looks as though you would get violent w/ anyone who tried to start a conversation, but even a ding upside the ear would be welcome from you. Must restrain self.


Four visitors approaching on three Riddermark horses. On one, blonde elf being cuddled by furry creature; on other, lanky bandit w/ star shining on brow, extreme 5 o'clock shadow on chin. On third, wizard. I remember this Gandalf. Daffy old bloke with whiskers, always brought dire warning that never panned out. Should be no trouble to a mind like mine. However, will go get Kingy primed for encounter as a few croaking words from the regal mummy are never amiss. Proves me to be faithful Grima looking after poor old near-cadaver who can only be understood by me. My many-colored master Sarey looks out of Kingy's eyes sometimes. I tip him a wink, on the off chance.

Four bums prob. want food and shelter for night. Should be satisfying--bed them in stables (sauna still under construction). But no falafel salad for them! It's mine, all mine. Let them eat knockwurst!

Day 428. Oh, poor me. Oh, my poor master. Oh, my poor minions. Ache in every joint. And it started off so well. I delivered v. nice burst of impassioned rhetoric when beggars got threatening, but then squad of minions beaten up five ways to a Friday by three hoodlums in varied states of dirtiness and ethnicity. Knocked down, trodden on by thing like armored wombat. My poor eyes almost blinded by vigorous old man in white martial-arts costume. Lay there flabberghasted, thinking, "What happened to gentle old goofball?" Then Sarey had word with Gandalf, who bashed him one, and I knew I was so done for. Horror of horrors, Theo Kingy's mind came back from wherever me and Sarey sent it! All our good work down drain. Age and decrepitude peeled away as if a mere makeup job, and there was Kingy, hale and stout, w/ that belligerent scowl which I have learned to know and hate. Thought I was rid of him forever... just when thought day could not poss. get worse, Kingy drew sword, smacked my personal bits black and blue w/ flat, punched me in face and threw me down 27 stone steps. Fur coat helped absorb impact, my only good luck today. Lip is split, good looks ruined.

Kingy, in macho rage like bull oliphaunt, went to kill me. Thought last moment had come, looked for Eowyn to give her brave nod. She was up on balcony, smirking and flirting w/ elf. Shut eyes; did not care if I died. However, Kingy was stopped, by beggar w/ star on brows. When have power, must reward that man, such as merely hanging him while cheese-gratering his companions.

Was allowed to grab horse (consoled self by taking glossy black steed which coordinates w/ fur coat) and ride whither I would. I would to Isengard. Have spent all day finding way among dratted industrial muckheaps, been misdirected at Uruk-Hai logging camp, finally got through Slagland and there's the tower of Orthanc ahead of us, horse and I are both ready to drop. So glad had notebook in coat pocket, now I can unburden heart's inner wishes, which at present are to be (a) at the back of nice deep closet or (b) dead.


He met me at door, blood on his face too, all brooding and frowny. Poor Sarey, made him look human. The dear thoughtful evil wizard, he welcomed me in, said "The faithful servant returns...and bleeds in sympathy, as he should," in that dark voice which is like if you could hear how coffee smells, and he touched the blood on my chin. I broke down crying. Sarey is first person to be nice to me in about a million years. Summoned up all my courage and hugged him. Awkward, but looking back I think it was right thing to do. Sarey is abt. 2 ft. taller than me, but thin as rake. Doesn't he ever eat? He may be 7,000-year-old Maia, but still.

The way he leaned on me. Poor boss.

After that, I respectfully suggested he have goblin men put kettle on, and Sarey unbent slightly: took cup of cocoa w/ me, though he only drank sip. (Wonder if could get message to that Southron cook; could perhaps convince boss to try moussaka.) Meant to be businesslike, but when telling story of terrible day, mentioned Eowyn. Off I went again, tears and all. Boss did not speak, but patted my arm. Kind boss. I told him that the scales had fallen from my eyes and Eowyn meant less to me now than the dust on which I trod. He did that subtle eyebrow-lift, but I don't think he is going to hold temporary infatuation against me. Whew! To say the least! Altogether a good evening for getting to know one another, letting hair down, etc. In moment of gloom, I said, "The jocks have won."

"They shall not conquer forever," said Sarey, who by now looked as if he had never cried in his life. "Unfortunate Wormtongue, you have merely been my outrider in the first skirmish of the first battle. This war is to be fought against blind force, by the power of the cunning mind. That was what they used to call this place: Orthanc, the Cunning Mind. Cheer up your heart, my minion, [he called me his! Mraahaha!] you shall yet have some command."

Was so floored that could only grovel. Have joined winning side after all.

Goblin medic put iodine on Sarey's forehead and my lip, after which Sarey went off to have beard shampooed and left me to tender mercies of Uruk masseur who seemed to be named Lawrence, though lisp makes it hard to tell. I insisted on keeping fur coat on; was given sports massage anyway which did not want, but orc so huge that I was scared to contradict him. May have helped. Feel like noodle rather than roadkill. Good news: shall not have to spend night on roof this time.

Day 429. Happy day. Lalalalala. This is the life. Morning: got to hang over Sarey's shoulder as he consulted orb. All I could see were strobe light f/x, but could feel great solid biffs of power come off it like heat waves. Apparently mass migration fr. Edoras in progress. Hope She gets bitten by ticks and mosquitoes and walks into quicksand and dies, heartless jade. Hah! I don't care about her. Got to advise Sarey the many-coloured. He. Asked. My. Opinion. Whee! Then boss went off to the diggings, left me w/ injunction not to even go near orb or else my eyes will melt, but otherwise free to do what I want. Marvelous library. Would you believe a complete set of "Periannath Unleashed" magazine, dating back to Great Year 3390? Am engrossed.

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