Characters/Pairing: Grima, Saruman
Warnings: somewhat ironical prompt usage
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tolkien. No profit reaped by myself, aside from a wealth of intellectual giddiness.
Gríma knew not where they traveled, nor whether he cared. Two days out, Saruman sat, knees drawn up, exhaling smoke. Gríma tried not to stare.
“Now you know one of my secrets,” Saruman remarked, proffering the pipe. Gríma, appreciating any lull in the wizard’s scorn, obligingly took a long drag.
He’d never smoked before. For just one moment he was weightless, giddy. His tired body fell away from him. He laughed. Then he toppled over, coughing wretchedly.
Saruman reclaimed his pipe. “If you’re to writhe on the ground like a worm, I shan’t waste any more on you.”