AN: So, since I was bored and I've decided to be nice, here's my second update of today! Oh, and really people, go VOTE! It will only take you a minute and then I'll be able to update sooner. Anyways, Thank You; twilightfan1717, Oricke, ccgnme, Carla Mikaelson (My updating schedule is nonexistent, and I worry about putting a precise date on it. I've decided to kick myself in the butt and try to get a chapter a week done, but cross your fingers as there's no guarantee that's going to stay.) xanimejunkie, … and … and to all of you who may have reviewed whilst I was writing and/or updating.

~DragonsChild.96, expecting a good amount of positive reviews and thank yous.

Chapter 3: It's Unclean, Painful, and Greasy, but not a Torture Chamber… What is it?

(3rd POV)

Victoria stood beside the White Wizard, his hand outstretched and hovering over a large, dark orb- a Palantír. "The world is changing." He said, speaking both to the vampire beside him and his dark master, "Who now has the strength to stand against the armies of Isengard and Mordor?" Victoria watched as the image in the orb changed from a fearful eye to a view of an army of Orcs situated on a bridge, "To stand against Sauron and Saruman and the union of the two towers?" The picture returned to the eye and Victoria flinched in fear, "Together, my lord Sauron, we shall rule this Middle-Earth."

Victoria turned away from the wizard and his power trip, instead choosing to peer out the high tower window overlooking what was once a beautiful forest, now, however, it was a field of destruction- Orcs pulling trees from their roots and chasms of flame and darkness wound their way around the once glorious land. The sound of hammers reached even the tower as the caverns glowed with the flames of industry and molten lava was poured into casts to forge weapons.

"The old world will burn in the fires of industry. The forests will fall. A new will rise. We will drive the machine of war with the sword and the spear and the iron fists of the Orc. We have only to remove those who oppose us." Saruman described reverently to his lord.

The wizard strode over the precarious walkway, Victoria in his wake- hissing each time a spark came near her, "I want them armed and ready to march within two weeks!" Saruman informed the Orc standing near him listening to his orders.

"But my lord, there are too many!" The foolish soldier insisted, "They cannot all be armed in time, we don't have the means."

The wizard turned on his heel, glaring at the unfortunate Orc, "Build a dam, block the stream, work the furnaces night and day." He ordered.

The Orc stuttered for a moment, "We don't have enough fuel to feed the fires." He tried yet again to appeal to his lord.

Saruman nearly conceded the point when he caught sight of the forest outside the walls of his keep, "The Forest of Fangorn lies on our doorstep. Burn it!" His words were spoken with a harsh passion, as if had a personal issue with the trees themselves.

The Orc, finally admitting defeat, grinned horribly, "Yes."

A rugged man stood before the throne Saruman was situated on, lording over all those who were lower than he, "We will fight for you." The Wildman declared, his voice hoarse, and it was obvious his mental capabilities were lacking.

"Swear it!" Saruman demanded, his voice echoing throughout the chamber.

The man took a curved blade from his side and slashed his palm, holding it so that the blood dripped to the floor, "We will die… for Saruman!"

The white wizard marched amongst a gathering of Wildmen, his voice resonating over the crowd, "The horsemen took your land. They drove your people into the hills to scratch a living off rocks!" His voice bore a chaotic effect on the men, and they easily rallied to him.

"Murderers!" Several of the men called, the others repeating the word until it nearly resounded over the area.

Despite the noise, the wizards order once again cut clearly through the cacophony, "Take back the lands they stole from you! Burn every village!" The crowd roared in approval of his words, and they set off immediately, a horde of disorganized men slicing their way across the land in droves.

"It will begin in Rohan." He stated, his tone turning the name into a curse that nearly scored the ears of those surrounding him in its obvious venom, "Too long have these peasants stood against you. But no more." A cruel smirk crawled its way onto his face, striking fear into the soldiers still near him.

(3rd POV)

A plain woman stood in obvious fear, one of her hands holding the reins of a horse, the other stretched out and beckoning to two children dashing towards her, "Éothain! Éothain!" She called to one of the children, a young boy, "You take your sister. You'll ride faster with just two." The boy nodded, quickly mounting the large horse and pulling the reins to himself.

The woman reached for the girl, even younger than the boy, and pushed her into the saddle before him, "Papa says Éothain must not ride Garulf, he is too big for him!" She was complaining and trying to make her way back into the woman, her mothers', arms.

The woman held her fast to the saddle, despite the child's efforts, "Listen to me." She instructed, worry and pain clouding her voice, "You must ride to Edoras and raise the alarm. Do you understand me?" She was looking to the boy and still holding the skittish horse still.

"Yes, Ma!" The boy affirmed, acting the part of a man even though he still had a look of absolute dread in his eyes.

The girl started to cry, bending slightly to reach her mother's face, "I don't wanna leave!" She said through her tears, "I don't wanna go, Mama!" Her cry was heartbreaking, yet her brother held her fast to their mount, insuring her security.

"Freda," The woman avowed softly, "I will find you there." Screams sounded from nearby and the woman released the horse, "Quickly!" She cried, pushing the animal, and her children away from her, "Go child!" She called, tears forming rivers on her face as she watched her children leave her sight, possibly for the last time.

(Rosalie's POV)

I stood next to my surrogate mother within the depressing halls of Edoras, waiting anxiously for word on the health of the kind, young prince who had been so supportive of both me and Esme.

I was imaging all the sorts of horrors that had befallen Théodred, when the great hall's door burst open admitting a herd of soldiers. Éomer at the forefront, bearing his cousin's limp body. I dashed forward, making my way to the boy quickly and trying to assess his injuries; he bore a bloody gash across his forehead, though the pool of blood forming on his chest worried me more than what I realized was a flesh wound adorning his face.

Éomer made his way quickly to the prince's bedchamber, I joined the processional, one of my numerous degrees was in medicine and I could only hope I would be able to reduce the boy's suffering if nothing else.

Théodred was gently placed on the bed, though he still whimpered in pain at the movement. I walked up to the bedside, immediately taking an extra cloth from my side and wiping the excess blood away from his face, "Do you know what happened?" I asked the King's nephew, still checking the prince's head over for any other injuries.

"They were ambushed." Éomer answered shortly, though his voice was not cruel. I nodded in understanding before taking a breath and pulling the mound of cloth from his chest to see what lay beneath it. I sighed and looked away in despair at the obviously mortal wound.

The door slammed open behind us, making me jump, and Éowyn forced he way into the bedchamber. I moved aside to let the lady through, and could only peer in dismay when she realized the true extent of her beloved cousin's wounds. "Rosalie," She called my name and turned to look at me, "You have knowledge of the medicinal arts that no one else possesses… can you do anything for him?" She inquired, her voice tight with anguish.

I bit my lip and moved to take a closer look at the life sucking lesion, I wiped at it slightly, trying not to hurt Théodred and still see what the injury truly was, "I can try, Éowyn." I decided, "I can try."

We stood in audience before the king a short while later, blood still embellishing my dress like some sort of brown dye. "Your son is gravely wounded, my lord." Éowyn nearly whispered to the wizened king seated in the throne before us.

Éomer strode forward, a crude helmet clasped in his hand, "He was ambushed by Orcs." His voice was large in the dark room, "If we don't defend our country, Saruman will take it by force."

"That is a lie!" An oily voice called from the shadows as Grima appeared from behind the throne, "Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally." He argued, and I shuddered with disgust at the sound of him.

The snake's noise had stirred the King though, "Grima… Grima…" He muttered, his voice nearly unintelligible to my superior hearing, "My son…? Grima…" He tittered off into whatever illusion the worm had created for him and I sneered, glaring at the man who had poisoned the king.

"Orcs are roaming freely across our land." Éomer pressed, hoping to reach the king once more, "Unchecked. Unchallenged. Orcs bearing the white hand of Saruman." He dropped the helmet in his hand to the ground near the king's feet, making the white handprint across the top clearly visible. I glanced at the snake's face and saw dismay flit across it briefly- good, I thought, he deserves to feel pain and worry, and much worse.

The worm leaned on the arm of the throne, placing what deceived itself as a comforting hand on the king, "Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind. Can you not see?" Grima sauntered up to the king's nephew, his eyes staring lewdly at both Éowyn and myself as he passed, "Your uncle is wearied by your malcontent, your warmongering."

Shock and disgust played over Éomer's face, "Warmongering?" He questioned, an element of danger in his voice that immediately had me backing away. I was right, and the man's arm shot out, seizing Grima by the throat and pining him against a nearby pillar, "How long is it since Saruman bought you?" Éomer's words were filled with spitefulness, "What was the promised price, Grima? When all the men are dead you will take your share of the treasure?" Grima's flicked away from the face looming in front of his, watching Éowyn as she swept by, stopping only to stare in obvious revulsion before she continued on her way.

Éomer wrenched the worm's face back to himself, "Too long have you watched my sister, too long have you haunted her step." I was startled when two men brushed past me, grabbing the king's nephew by the arms and pulling him off Grima.

"You see much Éomer, son of Éomund. Too much." Grima sneered, I moved to help the man when thick arms grabbed me from behind and pined me in place, one disgusting hand covering my mouth. I winced when one of the thugs punched Éomer in the stomach, forcing him to bow. "You are banished forthwith from the kingdom of Rohan and all its domains. Under pain of death!"

The king's nephew jerked his head up at the proclamation, "You have no authority here. Your orders mean nothing." He practically shouted.

The thug punched Éomer in the stomach once more, "This order does not come from me. It comes from the king." He pulled a scroll from his belt and unfurled it. My eyes widened in disbelief, "He signed it this morning." Grima's voice held a sick pleasure, whilst Éomer's held only the same incredulity as mine. "Let it be known that Éomer, Son of Éomund , third Marshall of the Riddermark is banished forthwith from the Kingdom of Rohan and all its domains from this day forth, being the eighth and thirtieth year of the reign of Théoden, son of Thengel, King of Rohan." The snake read off the scroll, his voice growing more cruel, and yet joyful, with each passing word.

Éomer exclaimed in both dismay and anger and he was dragged away. Tears ran down my face and I looked to the worm, "Release her." Grima instructed, I dropped to the ground after the thug let go, no longer able to support myself. The snake stepped forward and pulled my chin up, "Rosalie," I hated the sound of my name passing from between those poisonous lips, "Go help the king's son." His mouth gave an odd twist at the title and he jerked his head in the direction of Théodred's bedchamber. I pushed him away and stumbled towards the room, tears fogging my vision.

AN: I'm sorry this chapter is so depressing!