Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. I am only playing with the fandom for the enjoyment of me as well as others.
Authors note: Take care that a spew warning might apply and be cautious when handling food and liquids while reading this.
Chapter 1
Running her slender fingers through the tall grass Lothíriel tore a handful of it, holding it out in front of her as an offering.
"He shall not take it," the light chuckle behind her caused her to turn around with a faint scowl on her face. She was wed only a short time, a queen now instead of a princess. The lady of Dol Amroth was now the young queen of Rohan, wed to Éomer Éomundson. To say she had expected it when first she met him would be to tell an untruth. He was brash, young and not what she had imagined at all. Yet once her cousin Faramir was wed to Éomer's sister, Éowyn, she had come to love her like a sister. Since Èowyn was most devoted to her brother, she had no choice but to meet him, and Éomer had grown on her.
She had thought him hotheaded, immature and ill suited to the crown that had come to be placed upon his head. Faramir had spoken favourably of his courage, Éowyn had done the opposite at first but then Lothíriel had come to see it was the teasings of a younger sister, and the picture they painted together had been more favourable.
Éomer was young, with temper running hot in his blood, but he was a fair leader and utterly devoted to his people. He was capable of great tenderness and she had come to see that his youth lent to a playful nature when not threatened. His courtship, once begun, had not been unpleasant if not at all what she had expected. He had never expected to be king and certainly at times did not know how to act as one. He was a warrior, not a man of politics and it was painfully clear when she watched him stumble through the endless hoops of protocol that was forced upon him.
To court a princess when there were many nobles who sneered and looked down on him. She had felt sorry for him when he could not fathom what he did wrong, gifting her with the gem encrusted dagger as a show of wealth. As the nobles all insisted that he must do, thought it suited them both ill. Then as the two of them were enjoying a ride with Faramir and Éowyn as their chaparons, he had instead placed a crown of white flowers on her head. A gift she had come to tressure more than the finely crafted gold.
Now wed, and enjoying the chance to get to know each other without the constant need of chaparons and escorts he had taken her out onto the grassy fields behind the city of Edoras. Where the river had allowed for tall good grass for the horses, trees with cool shade for them and privacy from prying eyes. Seeking refuge from the summer heat and used to the shores of her home she had quickly shed her shoes to wade in the cool shallow river, and after some cajoling convinced her husband to do the same. Though the look on his face as the water lapped at their bare ankles were one of puzzled bemusement.
The grass she had plucked she had offered his horse, and the stallion did indeed show no inclination of taking the offering.
Éowyn had warned her, that to the Rohirrim their horses were their all, and Éomer most certainly was Rohirrim. She had seen many a skilled rider in her home, or so she had thought until she beheld the riders of Rohan.
"I was hoping to get him to like me, I don't think he does," she sighed, shaking the grass in her hand as if to tempt the animal. The mare she had rode out was a palfrey from her father's stable. She had seen the way some looked at the chestnut, finding her wanting, but her first attempt to ride a full Rohan horse had not been to her liking. It had made her feel like a novice during her first time in a saddle.
"He doesn't know you," Éomer stated. "So no, he does not like you, but it is not personal. He won't take anything from anyone he does not know."
"It feels personal," she pouted as she turned around. "I am being laughed at as a poor rider, even if no one does so out loud. And I can't even get your horse to like me, what kind of queen will your people think I am? Even the nobles at Elessar's court laughed as they saw our animals together." She felt tears sting her eyes and her husband came to stand beside her. Placing calloused hands gently on her shoulders.
"You fret too much," he stated. "I would worry more about the opinion of Firefoot though, than that of any nobles. For I know him to have twice the sense of most of them…"
That drew a smile out of her, though it did not completely dispel her sadness.
"As for the horse and the rider, do you truly wish to learn our skill?" he touched a finger under her chin. "Because if you do, I can aid you in the task, but you can never learn to ride like us, on a horse like yours."
"She's a good horse, one of my father's best," she pouted.
"Aye, she's a fine animal, good enough for any stable of Gondor," he nodded. "But not for Rohan, that is a horse we put our old and infirm on. That we use to let our children learn in play, not a horse we ride. Rohan horses, our best horses, are descendants from the Mearas, the lords of all horses. They have fire, spirit and will, to ride a Rohan horse, even just one of the free herds you must truly ride, not like in Gondor where one will climb up in saddle and merely make a polite request…"
His humour took the sting out of his words, and it helped that she knew that they were the truth, yet he spoke with kindness in deference to her.
"In my home, I was not an unskilled rider, but here I am nothing but a novice."
"As was I, as a child," Éomer shrugged. "I will find you a horse with spirit enough to be a horse, but with more patience than Firefoot, do not think me rude that I will not let you ride him. He does not tolerate others with good grace. He will not even let my sister on his back without good reason and at my word."
"I do not understand though," she sighed. "How can you say we do not ride? I know we do so with less skill, but surely we ride."
"No, you sit on the horse, and the horse out of good grace carries you where you hoped to go, but you do not ride," he shook his head again. A quick, short whistle was all it took for the horse to stand in front of him. Éomer didn't reach for either saddle or bridle, he took hold of the mane and pulled himself onto the back of the horse in one swift motion that left Lothíriel dumbfounded.
"Éomer…" she put her hand on his calf. "You can not ride like that, tis too dangerous."
"For a Gondorian, perhap," he smiled at her and at that moment she was not so fond of his boyish mannerism. "But I am Rohan, and we are not lord of horses for naught, behold Lothíriel my love, as your husband will astonish you and prove to you why no Gondorian can ever best a Rohirrim on a horse."
"Éomer, please, do not fall," she pleaded, but took a reluctant step back. She did not see him give any command to the horse, he merely shifted upon his back and the horse moved forward at a trot. Where she knew she would have been bouncing helplessly upon its back, Éomer seemed not to care that there was no saddle under him. He moved with the horse, hips rolling, strong calves holding the sides of his companion and his bare heels touching before they broke into a gallop. Covering her mouth with her hands she could not hold back the squeal as he raced across the field, leaning down over Firefoot's neck he rode faster than she knew she would ever dare.
She wanted to cover her eyes, certain that he would never be able to halt the horse with no bridle to control him, nor no saddle to steady himself. Already they were so far away she could not see him in full, and then she saw him spin his horse around to come galloping back at her.
She cried out again when he leaned down to one side, certain he was falling and she would be a widow before she had even got to partake of the full enjoyment of being a wife. Her heart was hammering in her chest when he sat up straight again, riding in a zigzag as if the Orcs were behind him. It was terrifying, but at the same she had to admit to herself that he did not waver, he was in control and Firefoot was obeying him even if she knew not how.
Drawing up close to her again her own mare whinied in discomfort as the larger horse came barreling down on them. Then Éomer sat back as his horse slowed down, his bare feet shifting forward and as Firefoot came to a stop he reared up on his hind legs, forelegs pawing at the air and Éomer was not unseated as she had been sure he would. He sat as securely on his back as he had on their leisurely ride to the river. As Firefoot came to place all four hoves on the green grass again Éomer swung one leg over his neck, bowing down to offer her the handful of wildflowers and weeds he had somehow managed to snatch. "For thee, my fair lady, this humble offering…"
"You despicable fool..." she still felt her heart flutter but did not know if was from the glorious spectacle he had made, riding with the sun on his golden hair, or for the way he had nearly made her heart stop from fright. "Éomer, I thought you would not stop ere you made a widow out of me," taking the flowers she clutched them to her bosom.
"Lothíriel, I would never," he shook his head. "This is how we ride, we need no saddle or bridle, they are comfort aye, and handy for securing bow and gear, but we need them not. You can never fully know your horse through a saddle."
"And I could never ride like that," she dropped her eyes to the ground. She had been frightened, but she knew he rode in battle, it was good to know his skill.
"Give me thy hand," sitting astride his horse once more he held out his hand to her.
"Éomer?" she frowned, uncertain.
"Give me thy hand," he urged once more, and though she felt uncertain she did as he bade, and found herself lifted with the most ease to sit in front of him.
"Éomer!" startled she clutched at the mane in front of her, and the horse so much larger than her own shied nervously.
"There is no danger Lothíriel," he assured her. "But I beg you, do not pull his mane so, there is no need. Firefoot and I will not let you fall."
"But you only just said I could never ride him," she tried to relax her hand, but it was frightening, to feel the muscle and every movement under her. To be reminded in such a way how strong the warhorse was. "Èomer, this is foolishness."
"It is not my love, this is the only way you can truly learn to ride like us," he soothed her. "You must never ride Firefoot without me, unless the need is indeed dire enough to warrant it. If the danger to you is that great, he shall carry you safely and he shall allow naught to befall on you, but he will not suffer another rider for no reason, not even my sister, so please heed me. But with me, he shall allow it."
"It's frightening," she shivered as he placed his hands on her hips, allowing her to feel somewhat more secure.
"We shan't do anything brash, I only want you to fully know your horse," his voice was soft and soothing behind her, and with his arm around her waist she felt safe enough. Éomer nudged Firefoot forward, and she felt him nudge him forward. He shifted his weight as he urged his steed on, she had not noticed that afore.
She still could not help the small squeal that escaped her as the huge beast moved and she clutched at his mane with her hands and tried to hold on to his sides with her legs.
Firefoot in protest of her action tossed his head, but he did not sidestep like she had seen him do when impatient with uneasy stablehands. Most of those serving her father's stable were not fond of handling the magnificent horse.
"Please, desist that," Éomer gently took her hand to ease her hold of the mane. "And do not tickle his ribs such, he does not like it, and while he will never hurt you he will not tolerate it and will most certainly exact his revenge on me for subjecting him to it."
"But I shall fall," every step forward by the horse seemed to cause her to lose her precious ballance.
"You will not, though you make it harder for him," he shook his head. "Lothíriel, do not fret so, allow yourself to feel…"
Trying to do as he bade her she felt the rhythmic movements and it was easier. Éomers arm around her waist allowed her to feel some measure of safety though it was precious. Despite her unease she giggled when Éomer guided his horse into the shallow stream with nothing but his legs, and the cool water splashed up on her bare feet. Firefoot tossed his head, turning to look at her and she raised a hand to her mouth again, worried she had angered the horse.
As they came back to where their tack lay, Éomer lowered her to the ground with the same ease he had lifted her upon his back. His next words were in Rohirric, and she could not understand them, but Firefoot seemed somewhat unhappy with them. Éomer, his voice stern repeated them. Firefoot tossed his head again, and she could only imagine the argument between them, not understanding the words.
"He will heed you now, if need be, he will do anything you ask of him, will you not Firefoot?" Éomer directed the last to the horse who neighed and shook his head but seemed resigned.
"Thank you Firefoot," feeling almost a little silly for speaking to the animal she once more plucked a handful of grass and held it out in offering. This time the horse took it and ate with pleasure as Èomer slid off his back to land lightly in the grass beside her.
"What did you tell him?" she asked. Amazed and astonished as the great horse took another handful of grass from her. Delighted she took an apple from the food they had brought, offering it as well to the horse that bowed his head slightly before devouring it.
"I merely told him to obey you, as if you were me," Éomer shrugged as he started to saddle her mare for the ride back. "Some of our secrets I cannot share yet, but you need not fear Firefoot, he may be a stubborn fool at times, but he will protect you with his life now, and it is not something a Rohan horse gives lightly, I beg thee, do not take it as such."
"I will not," she promised as she watched him tightening the straps. "But I am glad he knows me, I have no wish to come between a Rohan and his horse."
She was surprised when Éomer went to put the saddle on his own horse, and Firefoot danced away from him. "Is ought amiss?" she asked worriedly.
"I warned you he would be displeased with me for it," Éomer mused as the horse moved in a circle around him, head facing him and dancing around, light of hoves as a mere colt. "Firefoot, enough…" The horse stilled and allowed the saddle to be placed upon his back. As his master turned to get the bridle from the grass, the mighty horse placed his head firmly between his shoulder blades to push him down to measure his length on the ground.
Éomer gave a grunt as he rolled over, glaring at his horse to the sound of Lothíriel's laughter.
"I'm sorry, I did not mean to laugh," she declared though she could not stop the giggle that escaped her. "I'm terribly sorry Éomer."
"Tis merely his way of telling me he does not appreciate an inexperienced rider," Éomer gave his horse a scowl, softened with kindness, as he climbed back up on his feet. Lothíriel had sat on the ground again to put on her stockings and shoes.
"I'm sorry he is cross with you, but I did very much appreciate the experience," she decided.
"He shall have to come to terms with it," Éomer paused to place a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose afore he reached for his own boots and pulled them on. "I could not have done that on a horse not Rohan, for they would not have the training to know my commands. Nor would I know your horse enough to trust her so, she's a good gentile horse…"
"She is just not for a Rohan rider," Lothíriel smiled as Éomer stomped his feet to settle them in his boots. "Beloved, may I ask for a proper Rohan horse in time? I should very much like to think I might come to be worthy of one."
Éomer paused, and for a moment she feared she had angered him. "I have a mare in the stable, she is of age, but not too much so. She may do for now as she has the patience. But she is no horse for you to take as yours. When next we bring the horses from the free herds in, I will ensure there is one for you."
"That would make me very happy," she decided as he lifted her into the saddle of her mare. "I wish to be a good queen for you."
"You are my queen, and anyone who thinks that is not enough shall feel my wrath and the edge of my sword," he stated bluntly as he swung himself into his own saddle. She doubted she would ever do the same with such ease, but it was magnificent to see him do so. Especially now when she knew even better his skill.
"Do not be angered husband," she soothed as she guided her mare next to his magnificent war horse. He was right, she was not controlling her horse even half as much as he was. She used the reins to say where she wanted to go, but she was still mostly at the mercy of the will of her mare. "Your people have suffered much in this war, they merely want to see a good strong queen by their king. you can not be angry with them for that."
"Mayhap not," he stated thoughtfully. "But neither will I suffer any fools with flapping tongues. Especially not ones who think they may speak ill of a woman, it is not the way of a true Rohan."
"Teach me to ride well enough for one of your women, and they shall have no need to talk," she soothed. She was unsure if he meant his words as he spoke them. Éomer was young and brash, hot tempered at times when he would do better to keep a cool head. She feared he would act too rash on her behalf. There were those who thought the king's nephew would not make a good ruler. He may have proven his worth in battle, but he was not and would never be a true son of the king. She did not want them to say even more ill of him for she truly believed he had the heart of a true king. "Come husband, let us not fret about it now, there shall be a meal at the table ere we get back, and I for one have come to enjoy the lively Rohan table." That was yet another thing she had not been used to. In her father's house, the nobles ate in somberness and falsely polite manners. In Rohan, the table was roaring with shouts and laughter. Daggers were used to spear bread and meat, the ale was plenty and it was loud and confusing to her ears at first but pleasant just the same. Riders would slap Éomer on the back as they passed to get more ale. They were in their loudness more open and honest, with dogs feasting on scraps by the hearth and children oft running free.
Rohan was very strange and alien to her, but she liked it well enough she decided as Edoras came in sight and they made for the gate. She would not mind to call it home.
A Temporary End...
Please review, the Cricket is hungry...
Additional Author's note: Some of these stories might not fit into the Tolkien timeline, I apologise for this, I have not yet been able to procure an English copy, and therefor there has been things I was unaware of while writing. Some I've changed, some I've left as I liked them.
Most of the Rohirric I use, is, as I believe Tolkien himself used, Old English. Though some is modern Swedish, as, frighteningly enough, these are quite often the same. In order to give the story a more pleasant flow for the reader, I have opted not to use a glossary at the end, rather, I try to make the meaning very clear in the story.
