Éomer: If we don't defend our country, Saruman will take it by force.
Grima Wormtongue: That is a lie. Saruman the white has forever been our friend and ally.
Th?oden (mumbling weakly): Gríma... Gríma...
[Gríma kneels before Th?oden, surveying him intently]
Éomer: Orcs are roming freely across our lands. Unchecked, unchallenged, killing at will. Orcs bearing the White Hand of Saruman. [throws a helmet, bearing the white hand at Gríma's feet]
Gríma: Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind? Can you not see? Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent, your warmongering.
Éomer: Warmongering? [grabs Gríma by the throat] How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price, Gríma? When all the men are dead, you would take your share of the treasure? [sees Gríma looking at Éowyn] Too long have you watched my sister. Too long have you haunted her steps. [Gríma smiles. several men come from behind and seize Éomer]
Gríma: You see much Éomer, son of Éomund. Too much. You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Rohan, under pain of death.
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