Frodo was surprised at how quickly that league was eaten up by the long-legged beast he rode. As he grew more confident that Éomer's hold was secure, he amused himself with his new vantage point: I can see the top of that bush. I can see over this rock. It made the experience less unnerving to focus on the scenery; nevertheless, Frodo wondered how Merry managed to cross all the vast distance from Rohan to Minas Tirith, perched on the front of the Lady Éowyn's tall mount. He had never before appreciated how notable was the feat.
The little party swept into the encampment, a host of tents set up in every open space among the trees before the sparkling waters of the Anduin. Riders and Gondorians alike bowed at the passing of the king. Frodo found his cheeks warming at the unwanted attention; he felt slightly foolish bouncing at the front of Éomer's saddle, like a truant who had been caught 'shrooming and was now forced to stand at the front of the class for his schoolmates' amusement.
Éomer drew his mount to a halt before the largest of the Rohirrim tents. The duty guard saluted and swiftly drew back the flap, as Éomer stepped easily to the ground. Frodo's heart gave a flutter as he found himself again the sole rider, but Éomer instantly reached up to lift him to the ground, even as a youth rushed forward to grasp Hyrulf's bridle.
"Here you are, Ring-bearer. Back all safe, as promised." Éomer set Frodo on his feet.
Frodo lifted his head to thank his new friend, when his knees unaccountably buckled. Instead of speaking his thanks, he found himself clutching the king's hands, as Éomer grasped him swiftly to steady him.
"Are you well, Frodo?"
"Yes." Frodo felt his face flood with heat. The other riders of Éomer's escort had swept up behind them; he desperately hoped that Sam had not witnessed his weakness. "My legs feel wobbly as noodles." He stepped in place gingerly, trying to work out the twinge in his hips. His feet took the opportunity to remind him how far he had walked that day, and flooded him with their own complaints.
"Riding is difficult work, if you are not accustomed to it," said Éomer kindly. "And you must—how shall I say it?—stretch farther, to get your legs across the back of a mount such as this."
"True." Frodo was much too embarrassed to face him. The fact was, the ride, short though it had been, had had a definite… straining effect on his thighs. And his… lower areas, informed him of just how hard a saddle can be to those who bounce unintentionally. His appreciation for Merry's determination to join Théoden's company rose to new heights.
"Master!"
Frodo briefly closed his eyes at Sam's urgent cry. His hope was vain; he had been seen.
"Master!" Sam cried again, rushing up. "Are you all right?"
Frodo turned to meet him. "I'm fine, Sam. I'm just not used to riding."
Éomer swept his hand towards the tent entrance. "Please, join me for some refreshment."
The king's kindness only made Frodo more self-conscious. He stammered, "I thank you for your generosity, Éomer King. But I must return to my own tent, for the healers will tend me today." He took one step, and his traitorous knee buckled again. Sam instantly was at his side, propping him up.
"The healers can attend you here," Éomer said. "Come, Frodo. Be reasonable. You must take some rest."
Frodo did not argue further; he had made spectacle enough of himself for one afternoon. Leaning upon Sam's arm, he minced into the tent, careful of his feet and his undercarriage. Éomer stood politely at the open flap until his small guests had passed within.
The tent was handsomely furnished with colorful wall hangings, thick woven blankets, and fine rugs. Frodo's abused feet sank pleasantly into the unexpected padding. A carved center pole raised the ceiling high, an unlit lantern hanging along one side. Éomer's seat was a tall wooden chair carved with horse heads. Frodo wondered if it had been fashioned on that very field, after the host learnt that they meant to stay awhile. Saddles, pillows, and blankets formed the remaining seating selection. They were arrayed in a circle around a low table placed upon a plush, richly dyed rug. Sam led Frodo to a saddle covered with a blanket, and eased him down against it.
Éomer remained a moment at the entrance, issuing orders, before ducking inside and joining his guests. He ignored the chair on the dais, and took his seat against a pillow near Frodo.
"They will bring us something to eat shortly." His eyes wandered over Frodo with concern. "Are you indeed well? I should not have bidden you ride, had I known it would distress you so."
"It ain't the riding so much as his feet," Sam put in. "When they get tender like this, it's a job for my poor master to get anywhere, and that's a fact."
Frodo looked at Sam in amazement. It was true. The peculiar stretching from his ride had already diminished after a few short steps. But his feet, after dangling unused for a while, had had time to become sensitive to any pressure. It was always a chore, toughening them each day into carrying him about as they should. "Sam," he said with mingled amusement and wonder, "how is it you always manage to know more about what I'm feeling than I do myself?"
Sam looked smug, though he tried to hide it. "I've been looking after you so long, I reckon I just got a sense built up that way."
Éomer indicated the stack of blankets next to Frodo. "Please, Master Samwise. Sit. You must also be weary."
"Oh, I could go on for a long while yet, if I had to. It's my master what had the cruelest time. Naught that I went through could compare with it."
"Sam." Frodo felt the color return to his face.
"I'm only saying the truth, as good King Éomer must already know." Sam settled himself next to Frodo, looking out the open flap. "Can you send word to the healers, sir? I'd hate for old Strider to get to our tent later on today, and find no one there."
Éomer sat up. "Strider! You mean… the High King attends you?"
"Not every day, but he knew Mr. Frodo meant to make a good walk today, so he planned to come by after teatime." Sam smiled. "He does have a gift for this sort of thing, not meaning to take anything away from the rest of 'em. 'Hands of a healer,' folks say, and they're right. No one does Mr. Frodo so much good as our King Elessar."
Éomer rose swiftly. "If you'll pardon me, I'll send word directly to the King. He'll know that you are taking tea with me, and not become alarmed by your absence."
Sam beamed. "Thank you, sir. That's well thought of."
Frodo winced, acutely embarrassed, as Éomer delivered his message to the sentry outside. The king returned, followed instantly by three servants who quickly laid an abundant feast. It was simple fare, hearty and good, the tea brisk and invigorating. Frodo ate to his heart's content. The conversation was soothing as well. Éomer asked no questions about Frodo's adventures, which Frodo had been dreading. Instead, he found himself exchanging memories of home with his host.
"So, no forests," said Sam, munching around a sourdough roll. "I think I should miss that."
"We do have forests, but of different nature from these in Ithilien. In Rohan, the trees climb the sharp slopes of the mountain vales, where it is too steep for riding. Woodcutters slide the logs down chutes to villages in the foothills, but wains must carry the wood far across the plain, to serve those who live in the open marches." Éomer's eyes took on a faraway look. "Ah, the sharp smell of the evergreens, wafting clean and bright upon a snow-kissed breeze. How bracing, the scent of sap from a fresh-cut limb. Yet even more do I miss the grasslands, the heart of my homeland and succor to our brave equine friends. There, the wind sweeps across the wold like waves upon a lake, over and over in patterns that never repeat. The long grass bows and whispers in rank upon rank, nodding and then standing tall, looking light and then dark in turn as the wind caresses it. That I could watch every day of my life, and never grow weary. I will be well glad to return thither—and shall love my homeland all the more for the memory of those who must remain behind, unwilling dwellers in a foreign land forever."