How Grima Lost His Eyebrows

Judging by the smell, his master was working late again. A flicker of red-gold from the workroom window proved as much as Grima dismounted. It was a long ride in the dead of night to answer his master’s call, but with the delicious promise of Lady Éowyn for his very own still fresh in his mind, it was a summons Grima obeyed gladly. A few years and the task would be done, a simple matter of the right persuasions at the right time with a little medicinal help from the wizard. Grima pondered this as he hiked the slick stairs into the workroom, his torch held high to light the way. The smell grew stronger near the trap door blossoming to an unbearable level as Grima pushed up on the door and proceeded up the last stairs into the work chamber. Suddenly came a shout, “Wait, you fool!”

Phwoomp!

When he awoke some time later, the stink of charred hair clung about his robes though he lay outdoors in the fresh air. Above him glowered Saruman, the ends of his lank white hair and beard singed charcoal black.

“How many times,” the Istar growled, “have I told you to knock?”

A.N.:
Dedicated to Mr. Ferranti, my high school chemistry teacher, whose eyebrows and hair always grew back… eventually.