This is the first chapter of my newest story. Please, enjoy. I own nothing except what you don't recognise.

Chapter 1- Banished

The black stallion shifted in his stall as his rider tightened the girth around his belly. 'Easy Warrior.' His rider murmured. The rider's name was Verya, a female elf. She was also the Captain of the Rohirrim, under Éomer, the King's nephew. But she was trusted in the court, and that was what mattered. Verya checked her horse's tack once more, and her own armour and weapons, before she led him out of his stall, and the stables, and into the courtyard.

Out in the courtyard other horses and riders were gathering. A selection of the Rohirrim were riding out from Edoras to look for their prince, Théodred, who had been missing, with a patrol, for three days. Éomer was directing the men around and turned to Verya when she approached. 'Are you ready to go?' He asked.
'Yes, we are.' She replied, referring to herself and Warrior.

'We must hurry, the prince could be in danger.' Éomer turned and mounted his horse, Firefoot. Verya put her foot in the stirrup of Warrior's saddle, and pulled herself onto his back, as the other riders did the same. Éomer led the riders out of Edoras at a canter, taking the path Théodred would have taken.

On the banks of the Isen River the bodies of men, horses and Orcs lay slewn in the rain. The sound of horses approaching was the only other sound. Éomer led the Rohirrim to the river. He stared in horror for a moment. 'Théodred.' He murmured. 'Find the King's son!' He ordered. The riders quickly dismounted from their horses and began to search the battle ground.
As Verya checked every man in Rohan armour, her hands became coated in blood. She paused at the river to rinse her hands and heard one of the men. 'Mordor will pay for this.'
She rose. 'These Orcs are not from Mordor.' She corrected, turning one of the creatures over to prove her point, revealing the white handprint.

'My Lord Éomer! Captain Verya!' Another man called. 'Over here!'
Éomer rushed to the rider's side. 'He's alive!'
Verya grabbed Firefoot's reins and led him to Éomer. 'But not for long.' She pointed out.
Éomer nodded and lifted Théodred onto his horse, before mounting himself. 'We ride for Edoras!' The other riders quickly mounted back onto their own horses and rode from the river bank.

The riders rode swiftly across the plains of Rohan. The only hope for Théodred was for him to reach the healers in Rohan quickly. Even then, there was much doubt that he would survive many more days, for his condition was critical. Éomer and Verya rode at the head the group, Éomer carrying Théodred, Verya making sure that both Firefoot and Éomer did not get too tired, and checking that Théodred was still alive.

Back in Edoras, Éomer quickly took Théodred to the healer's wing, even he doubted that he could be saved, but he had to try, for the King was sick, very sick. His mind had been poisoned by the wizard Saruman and his Servant Gríma Wormtongue. He would listen to no one not even his own nephew.

Shortly after returning to Edoras, Verya went with Éomer and his sister Éowyn to see the king. 'Your son is badly wounded my lord.' Éowyn said.
Éomer stepped forward. 'He was ambushed, by Orcs. If we do not defend our country, then Saruman will take it by force.'
'That is a lie.' A greasy voice echoed from the shadows, and Gríma Wormtongue stepped forward. 'Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally.'
'Maybe once, but no longer does he hold ties of friendship with Rohan.' Verya spoke up.
The king mumbled incoherently as Gríma leaned in. 'Orcs are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked, unchallenged, killing at will.' Éomer challenged. 'Orcs bearing the white hand of Saruman.' He dropped a helmet to the ground.
'Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind?' Wormtongue hissed. 'Can you not see? Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent, your warmongering.'

'Warmongering?' Éomer questioned. Suddenly he lunged forward and pinned Wormtongue to a pillar. '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?'
Wormtongue's eyes flicked to where Éowyn was walking away. Éomer tightened his grip on Wormtongue. 'Too long have you watched my sister. Too long have you haunted her steps.'
Wormtongue relaxed as booted footsteps echoed through the hall. First Verya and then Éomer were grabbed roughly by guards. 'You and your captain see much, Éomer son of Èomund. Too much.' Wormtongue snarled. 'You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Rohan, and all its domains, under pain of death.'

The two Rohirrim struggled against their captors. 'You have no authority here. Your orders mean nothing.' Éomer yelled.
'Oh, this order does not come from me.' Wormtongue reached into his robes and pulled out a piece of parchment and opened it up. 'It comes from the king. He signed it this morning.'
The guards dragged Éomer and Verya from the hall and down to the courtyard, where they were dumped on the ground. Éomer helped Verya to her feet and looked around the courtyard, where many of the Rohirrim were waiting, along with Firefoot and Warrior. Silently the two mounted their horses and led the Rohirrim from Edoras.

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