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Beauty and a Beast
The Banishment of Éomer
The horsemen rode to Edoras with Éomer in the lead, as he carried the gravely wounded Théodred.
Éowyn ran hastily up the stairs to the Golden Hall and entered a bedchamber, and she ran up to the bed.
"Théodred!"
She exclaimed.
Théodred seemed to hear her call but was unable to respond. He has a bloody gash on the side of his head. Éomer nodded to Éowyn in the direction of Théodred’s torso. Éowyn drew back the covers and as soon as she saw Théodred’s fatal wound, her lips tightened and her eyes closed. She looked up to catch Éomer’s eye.
Éomer and Éowyn were speaking to Théoden-king who sat motionless on his throne, wizened, and aged beyond his years.
"Your son is badly wounded, my lord."
Éowyn said, sadly.
"He was ambushed by Orcs. If we don’t defend our country, Saruman will take it by force."
Éomer said, serenely.
"That is a lie!"
Gríma said, as he appeared from the shadows.
"Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally."
he continued
"Gríma… Gríma…"
Théoden feebly mumbled, and Gríma leaned down close to the King.
"My son...? Gríma...?"
He asked.
"Orcs are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked. Unchallenged. Killing at will. Orcs bearing the white hand of Saruman."
Éomer continued as he dropped an Orc’s helmet onto the ground, which toppled over to reveal the white hand of Saruman.
"Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind. Can you not see? Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent, your warmongering."
Gríma asked.
"Warmongering?"
Éomer asked, as he grabbed Gríma and pinned him against a pillar.
"How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price, Gríma? When all the men are dead you will take your share of the treasure?"
Éomer hissed, and Gríma’s eyes flickered to right, as he watched Éowyn as she walked by. Éowyn stopped to stare back for a moment before she departed from the hall. Éomer jerked Gríma again and clutched his hand around Gríma’s jaw.
"Too long have you watched my sister, too long have you haunted her steps."
Éomer snapped.
Gríma's eyes looked to the left and he relaxed as Éomer was suddenly pulled off Gríma by his thugs.
"You see much Éomer, Son of Éomund. Too much."
Gríma said, and the thugs punched Éomer in the stomach.
"You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Rohan and all it’s domains. Under pain of death!"
Gríma added.
"You have no authority here. Your orders mean nothing."
Éomer snapped, as the thugs punched him in the stomach once more.
"This order does not come from me. It comes from the king. He signed it this morning."
Gríma said, and he showed Éomer the banishment document, which read as follows:
“Let it be known that
Éomer, Son of Éomund,
third Marshall of Riddermark
Is banished forthwith from
the Kingdom of Rohan and all
its domains from this day forth,
being the eight and thirtiéth
year of the reign of
Théoden, Son of Thengel,
King of Rohan”
At that, Éomer was dragged away, despite his struggling.
Éowyn ran hastily up the stairs to the Golden Hall and entered a bedchamber, and she ran up to the bed.
"Théodred!"
She exclaimed.
Théodred seemed to hear her call but was unable to respond. He has a bloody gash on the side of his head. Éomer nodded to Éowyn in the direction of Théodred’s torso. Éowyn drew back the covers and as soon as she saw Théodred’s fatal wound, her lips tightened and her eyes closed. She looked up to catch Éomer’s eye.
Éomer and Éowyn were speaking to Théoden-king who sat motionless on his throne, wizened, and aged beyond his years.
"Your son is badly wounded, my lord."
Éowyn said, sadly.
"He was ambushed by Orcs. If we don’t defend our country, Saruman will take it by force."
Éomer said, serenely.
"That is a lie!"
Gríma said, as he appeared from the shadows.
"Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally."
he continued
"Gríma… Gríma…"
Théoden feebly mumbled, and Gríma leaned down close to the King.
"My son...? Gríma...?"
He asked.
"Orcs are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked. Unchallenged. Killing at will. Orcs bearing the white hand of Saruman."
Éomer continued as he dropped an Orc’s helmet onto the ground, which toppled over to reveal the white hand of Saruman.
"Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind. Can you not see? Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent, your warmongering."
Gríma asked.
"Warmongering?"
Éomer asked, as he grabbed Gríma and pinned him against a pillar.
"How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price, Gríma? When all the men are dead you will take your share of the treasure?"
Éomer hissed, and Gríma’s eyes flickered to right, as he watched Éowyn as she walked by. Éowyn stopped to stare back for a moment before she departed from the hall. Éomer jerked Gríma again and clutched his hand around Gríma’s jaw.
"Too long have you watched my sister, too long have you haunted her steps."
Éomer snapped.
Gríma's eyes looked to the left and he relaxed as Éomer was suddenly pulled off Gríma by his thugs.
"You see much Éomer, Son of Éomund. Too much."
Gríma said, and the thugs punched Éomer in the stomach.
"You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Rohan and all it’s domains. Under pain of death!"
Gríma added.
"You have no authority here. Your orders mean nothing."
Éomer snapped, as the thugs punched him in the stomach once more.
"This order does not come from me. It comes from the king. He signed it this morning."
Gríma said, and he showed Éomer the banishment document, which read as follows:
“Let it be known that
Éomer, Son of Éomund,
third Marshall of Riddermark
Is banished forthwith from
the Kingdom of Rohan and all
its domains from this day forth,
being the eight and thirtiéth
year of the reign of
Théoden, Son of Thengel,
King of Rohan”
At that, Éomer was dragged away, despite his struggling.