[The group of horsemen ride across the plain. Èomer carryies a wounded Théodred in front of him.]

[A woman runs up the stairs to the Golden Hall of Meduseld and enters a chamber where Èomer has taken Théodred.]

[She kneels in front of the bed.]

Èowyn: "Théodred!"

[Èomer gives his sister a meaningful look, and Èowyn draws back the covers and sees that Théodred's wound is fatal.]

[The two are with king Théoden, who is sitting motionless on his throne, looking aged beyond his years.]

Èowyn: "Your son is badly wounded my lord."

Èomer: "He was ambushed by orcs. If we don't defend our country, Saruman will take it by force."

Gríma: "That is a lie!"

[Gríma appears from the shadows and walks to the king.]

Gríma: "Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally."

[Théoden mumbles feebly to Gríma, who leans closer to the King.]

Èomer: "Orcs are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked, unchallenged, killing at will."

Èomer: "Orcs bearing the white hand of Saruman."

[Èomer drops a helmet onto the ground. It has the white hand print on it.]

Gríma: "Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind?"

Gríma: "Can you not see? Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent, your warmongering."

Èomer: "Warmongering?!"

[Èomer grabs Gríma and pushes him against a pillar.]

Èomer: "How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price, Gríma? When all the men are dead you would take a share of the treasure?"

[Gríma's eyes flick to right, watching Èowyn as she walks by, who stops to stare back for a moment before departing.]

[Èomer jerks Gríma again and clutches his hand around Gríma's jaw.]

Èomer: "Too long have you watched my sister. Too long have you haunted her steps."

[Gríma's eyes look to the left and he relaxes, and Èomer is pulled off Gríma by guards.]

Gríma: "You see much, Èomer son of Èomund. Too much."

Gríma: "You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Rohan, and all its domains, under pain of death."

Eomer: "You have no authority here. Your orders mean nothing."

Gríma: "This order does not come from me. It comes from the king."

[Gríma displays a order with a sunburst seal and a scrawled signature.]

Gríma: "He signed it this morning."

[The guards take him.]

Èomer: "Argh!"