A big thank you to b5delenn (who has been so generously offered me the idea of how to explain the "act" to Hannor and which subsequently gets our Horse-Lord into a little trouble.) and Talia119 (who reminded me that Gamling and his missus should be proud). This is all good as the reward will come as a saucy scene in next chapter! :D

Writ of Shadows and Phantoms

Chapter 24: A Lesson Too Soon

Wynflaéth felt her mind had just gone blank. Éomer's words roared like a thunder in her ears. She covered her mouth with her sleeve and turned to look at Gamling, hoping to ease their embarrassment. But no, her husband just stared at their king absently.

They did not expect this and to make matter worse, it came out so directly from Éomer's mouth. A person who was not only their Kin but also someone younger than them. Wynflaéth felt stupid like a young girl being caught by her mother at watching young boys bathing in the river. She wished the floor would crack open and swallow her like a giant crater. Or, she would shrink herself to the size of a rat and hide in a rat-hole.

"Everyone heard….us?" She heard her husband asked carefully.

Éomer put a finger in front of his mouth to reassure silence in the study. He rose onto his feet and walked very quietly to the door. He paused as his hand touched the knob and he swung the door open swiftly.

OOF!

The hall way fell silent immediately.

He was met with at least a dozen faces, wide-eyed. The lower corner of his left eye was twitching. His teeth were grinding impatiently.

He was right. He knew his men. They were everywhere like flies buzzing around horse muck. There were five fallen over just an inch away from his boots. There were at least another six on both left and right sides. They quickly found something to occupy themselves with. Those five on the floor were admiring the seams on the rug when there was hardly any seam left on the worn textile. The others were inspecting very attentively every crack on the wooden slab and every rust on the iron bar.

He knew their faces, from young esquires to a few old riders, notably two of them were Gamling's peers.

"Go..good day, Sire…"

At least one was brave enough to remember his manner.

"Care to explain your presence outside my study, Riders?"

Swallowing a mouth of empty air to brave himself, the courageous one replied honestly, "We…..we came to learn from Marshal Gamling, you know…we thought you both were having a conversation about how to….you know…a manly discussion of the subject…"

"Really?"

"Yes, Sire!"

"Anything else you would like to add, Riders?"

That was not a smart question as it further embarked a series of honest answers.

"Many are interested in this subject, my Lord!"

"Have you found out the tactics, Sire?"

"Which position was it?"

"Did wine help?"

"Tell Gamling to share! Many more could benefit from it!"

"We would be very happy to be part of your council for this matter!" another older Rider added.

"Silence!" All the nerve on his body was crawling all over. His day began with extreme difficult challenge. He did not want any extra troubles. And now he found a dozen of his men being overly earnest and honest with their thoughts. Yes, Men of the Mark do not lie. Sometimes honesty is a curse.

"I granted halfday break. Not permission to eavesdrop a conversation between a king and his Chief Advisor," he exhaled a long breath out and turned his eyes to the hall way, "Erkenbrand!"

The Lord of the Westfold appeared and stood proud and tall in front of his King.

"At your order, my Lord!"

Éomer could see bemusement leaking from the corner of his Marshal's eyes when the old Westfold Marshal tried to look into the study. He sighed and said weakly, "send them to the kitchen to get lunch ready."

No harm was done this time. They were just curios. He had a soft spot for his men that he never wanted to admit.

He heard groans and silent protests as Erkenbrand dragged away the poor souls and his voice fading, "you lot should thank Béma that Lord Éomer did not send you mucking Firefoot's barn…"

"Get some wine too!" he added before calling for his bodyguard, "Éothain!"

He needed some wine desperately to work his mind around today.

The younger rider came out from hiding behind a rock pillar, struggling to stop his lips from curling upwards.

"Guard the door with every attention and every nerve you have!" he said before closing the door. He turned to the pair whose faces were redder than a ground cherry.

Wynflaéth let out a breath of relief when the door finally went shut.

"I am sorry, Gamling, Wynflaéth," he pulled his chair and sat down again, trying to recall where he had dropped off their conversation, "now where were we?…..almost everyone in the East Wing."

Wynflaéth squeezed her eyes shut and wished she was deaf.

Eomer tried to look away and made an effort to explain the situation casually, "they were awake for four hours, it seems. Erkenbrand did not come for his breakfast this morning."

"Nobody came for breakfast." A female voice inserted.

"I thought we were careful and discreet," Wynflaéth said quietly.

Yes, she thought they were. She could not recall at all that they were making that much noise. It was an extraordinary night but not as wild as when they were young. She was certain that they were not that loud.

"I'm sorry to have troubled you with this, Lord Éomer!" Her husband could not be more apologetic.

"No, I'm sorry, Gamling. You both just reunited a few weeks ago, I should have thought about it and made appropriate arrangement."

"No! You have done more than enough, my Lord," Wynflaéth bowed her head and could not bring herself to look at her King anymore. She really appreciated that

"Gamling, Wynflaéth, look, there are no tapestries or curtains in your chamber. If it makes you feel better, you could ask for another bedchamber. There are plenty empty ones in the West Wing."

No! That meant a high possibility of waking their King up. Bad option! She did not want him to hear them. He was their King, for Béma's sake!

"Thanks for your offer, my Lord. I think we will contain our…err…hmmm…enthusiasms until we are back in Edoras," Gamling was wise not to bring further embarrassment upon them both.

"I have sent news to Edoras to have a cottage ready for you both upon our return. There are quite a few rooms. That should secure some privacy."

"My Lord, we cannot-"

This was too much. They could not ask more of their King after his effort to save them from their embarrassing doings.

"Wynflaéth, all married Marshals have their own dwelling. This offer does not come freely. You are required to help to run my household with Gamling."

"My Lord!" They curtsied at the offer, knowing it was one they could not decline.

The pair could not be more grateful to their King. But even the feeling of appreciation could not wipe their memory of the embarrassment; they bid to take their leave and left hastily and were not seen again until lunch time which did turn out to be quite a scene.

Now came the time for the most challenging task.

Éomer rubbed his forehead recklessly, resting it on his fingers, and turned to the idle woman at the table, "Can you tell me from the beginning until the end what Hannor actually asked?"

She let out a long sigh, "he heard their screams and asked me if it was Wynlfaéth and Gamling and if they were fighting…"

"You could have said it wasn't them!"

"How could I lie when the screams went Oh-Gamling and Oh-Wynlfaéth, Valar knows how many times it repeated itself!"

"Béma…."

"And, that is not the worst part of it….."

"….what was?"

"Occasionally, the screams were interrupted with…," she drew a deep breath, braving herself for what she was about to say, "….words like 'harder'….'more'….'please!'….'deeper'….'no!'…just to name a few."

"Béma saves me…" Éomer felt like his brain just suffered a haemorrhage.

"Now you see how difficult it was to convince him and to get him back to bed…and that did not happen until five in the morning…when they were finally done…"

"Could just have told him that it was nothing special to slack him off!"

"Believe me, THIS was special! They screamed so much that the dead might have rolled in their graves with red burning cheeks. And the echo that went on and on and on! I was considering the option to poke myself deaf!"

After a long moment of silence, Éomer thought they should return to the question at hand.

"How do you think we should do this?" He finally asked.

"WE? What we? I had my turn, it is yours now!" She crossed her arms.

So it was a one man show from this moment onwards. He would have to explain. He would have to demonstrate and most of all he would have to tell the truth. Not storks, not frogs or bees but THE ONE TRUTH!

"Why did you not tell him to ask Gamling?" Frustrated, he blew a short breath, pacing his steps a little recklessly.

"I am certain Gamling and Wynflaéth have more than enough embarrassment to last a lifetime now. Moreover, Hannor is closer with you anyway. An answer from the King himself must be quite convincing, don't you think?" She responded as a matter of fact.

Éomer shook his head, his mouth stretched into a flat line, "you should have taken him to the barn when the stallions are servicing the mares!"

"That is gross! I can't believe you said that!"

"It is not! That is how life is created!"

"Tell Hannor that if it sounds all that easy-"

"My Lord Éomer?"

A small knock at the door interrupted them and marked the arrival of the biggest challenge of the day.

"Yes, Éothain?"

"Hannor is here."

"Let him in," he waved off Lothíriel to settle herself in a chair by the table.

"Good morning, Hannor. Come in please."

"Good morning, Lord Éomer."

Éomer watched as the little one made his way and sat himself into a chair.

"Lothíriel said you wanted to ask me something," he pulled his chair closer and poured himself some wine.

"It was about last night."

"What was about last night?" He took the first sip of his wine and saw from the gap that Lothíriel was scrutinising him, even though she tried to appear casual by biting off a small piece of bread very very slowly.

"I thought someone was crying, being beaten and then there was screaming. I think it was Gamling and his wife. I heard they called their names….they were not fighting, were they?"

So it began.

Éomer kept telling himself to just answer the exact questions asked, offer nothing more, not to elaborate too much and definitely not to overshare.

"No, Hannor, no."

"Then why were they screaming and crying this morning?"

He removed the horse pieces from the board set sitting on the table and brought one in front of the boy, asking, "Do you know where baby horses come from?"

"Éothain says the horse mama eats some special grass from Béma that carries the baby horse and the baby horse grows inside the tummy of the horse mama."

"Great help, Éothain!" Éomer cursed under his breath, "Hannor, err, baby horse comes from horse mama but it is not the grass that she eats…she has a horse papa which she…errrr.…" He pushed the rest of the board set away and paraded two four-legged horse figures on the table.

"loves?" Lothíriel chipped in suggestively, shrugging.

"Why are you shrugging?"

"I am not…."

"Yes, so….she has a horse papa which she loves. So then they are happy and stay together in their barn and then the baby horse comes!" Éomer turned his attention back to Hannor and placed one of the wooden figures at the rear of the other. One horse was now standing on its rear feet, touching the back of the other. He looked at the wooden objects again and squinted at them. Indecent was an understatement. It all looked so…wrong!

His palm was damp and getting sweaty. "Do you understand now, Hannor?"

Hannor looked at the two carved miniatures with his wide eyes, puzzled.

"Firefoot too?"

Whispering an apology to his best friend in his heart, Éomer gulped, "Yes, Firefoot too….. Someday he will be a horse papa. Do you understand now?"

"Yes! Hmm….Éothain is stupid…..-"

Éomer let out a breath of relief which he had long held but it was too soon.

"-but no….it is weird! Are you sure the baby horse is made that way? Just staying together like that?" Hannor looked at the Horselord expectantly.

"I am absolutely certain. Hannor, look, the same thing can happen with people, with humans. When a man and a woman love each other very much, they get married, like Gamling and Wynlfaéth, they share a bed together…."

"No need to mention the beeeeeed," came the long hiss from behind.

Yes, over-sharing was not required at all!

Éomer looked over his shoulder and gestured at Lothíriel to keep her mouth shut. He was trying to work his mind around here and she could at least show some appreciation of his effort.

"Humans can do it too? In a bed? Gamling and Wynlfaeth are going to have a baby horse?"

"Yesssss…..NO! They are NOT going to have a baby horse!"

He stared deeply into his wine, was thinking hardly how to get their conversation back to the correct track.

"You see horses do it with horses, and humans do it with humans, and they have human babies, not animals! Not puppies, not kittens but real babies."

"Hmm…humans have real babies…." Hannor tried to register the statement, his index finger scratching his little head.

Éomer fought the urge to sigh again in relief. It would be over soon. "Let's do more riding this afternoon, should we? You have not had a rid-"

He tried to move on to another subject but before he could, Hannor asked again, "How do humans do it? Like horses too?"

Instead of answering the boy's increasingly difficult question, Éomer gestured at him to be silent and went quietly to the door. His booted footsteps made no sound when his head reached the bronze knob. With a swift turn, the door slung open. Éomer's glance fell on a squatting figure in front of him at his feet. More precisely, it was a squatting Éothain who had one side of his face positioned against the disappeared wooden panel.

Second time today.

"….."Clamping his jaw tight, Éomer stood wordlessly looking down at his young Marshal. He heard Lothíriel laughing under her covered mouth.

"Errr, good afternoon, My Lord! Ha! It is such a lovely day!" He tried to smile as naturally as he could.

"I see you are obviously guarding my study with all your devoted attention."

"…yeah, of course….why won't I….not do that….you are my King. I follow your orders!"

"If you are so ever thoughtful, maybe you could check with the kitchen to see if lunch is ready. We are all hungry!"

"Aye, right away, Sire! I will see you at lunch and….. have a gooooood time!" With that he shot off.

Éomer dragged his glance across the hall, looking at the men and women who all suddenly appeared very busy. "Nobody comes close to my study until lunch calls!" And he slammed the door shut.

"Where were we, yes, horses and humans…." After forcing a casual pause, he said, "….humans.. that…..that…well….they just do it."

"But how? Standing like horses?" He pointed at the still two awkwardly positioned chess pieces.

Showing the horses was a bad idea.

Éomer's brows knitted and his hand went on the table and flung off the wooden objects of indecent pose.

" Like I said before they have to be in love and they…..ahem…hug each other very close and tight and they….they do it ….in a bed, in their bed and they…..and they…they…." He needed to think of an appropriate word, he needed his wisdom. He reached for his wine cup and took a sip, stalling his time.

"And they scream and say stupid things like harder, deeper and more? Why do they scream?"

He choked at his wine at the boy's words. Patting his chest with his hand, he tried to catch his breath back and cleared his throat before saying, "Uh….sometimes they do that…and it makes them…uh..comfortable?" He picked his words with extreme care. Example, he needed an example and it lit immediately in his mind, "exactly the same when you go to the boghouse it makes you feel good after you release all the liquid."

From the corner of his eyes, he could see Lothíriel's shoulders were shaking so violently. She had her both hands covering her mouth, trying hard not to laugh. She was enjoying this. Damn this woman! Eomer shot her another warning glance, "show some gratitude, would you?"

"So they do it in the boghouse, standing and with their trousers down?" Hannor appeared even more confused now with all the new emerging information.

"Oh Béma, no! Hannor, people do it when they are in their bedchamber, LAYING IN THEIR BED! And probably unclothed…naked," he felt the heat building up in his cheeks.

"No need to mention naked, Horsemaster!" she hissed indiscreetly.

"Naked? How can this happen? Men and women can be naked together?" Came the shrieking exclamation. Stunned, Hannor looked at him in disbelief, both hands cupping the face.

"When people are older, much much much much older, and they decide under various circumstances, they can be naked….together…but only happens when they love each other very much, remember that…."Ignoring Lothíriel, Éomer directed reply to Hannor.

"How do you know?"

"Believe me, when you grow up, much much much older, and you meet someone, and you really really love her, then you want to do it….in a bed…do you understand?"

His innocent sweet face tilted sideway and he looked at Éomer with his big eyes.

"I don't understand very well...Can I watch next time?"

"NO!" Éomer's face reddened further and he almost roared at Hannor. Releasing that he might have frightened the little boy with his raised volume, his tone softened, "Sorry, I mean that Gamling and his wife would not appreciate it."

It was more difficult than he thought. Maybe he should just have asked Gamling to explain it after all it was not his doing that caused all the stirrings. Damn!

"And you say that people in love do it?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Only people who are in love can do it, Hannor." Lothíriel rephrased the importance of their conversation, taking another sip of her tea.

"Then I can watch you and Lady Lothiriel!"

A gush of almost vapourised liquid sprang in high speed across the small mallorn table, Lothiriel coughed, catching a napkin to dry her mouth and the wet table surface.

Eomer rubbed his forehead with his palm, sweeping off the sweat, his face could not be more red, "OF COURSE NOT! Hannor, you cannot watch, you cannot go and watch anyone while they... for Béma sake, it is rude! People do it when they are alone, it is very private! And they have to be married. They fall in love and then get married. It is between husband and wife... so you don't watch people doing it!"

He found himself repeating the same words. Killing Mûmakil was definitely easier. Just aim and thrust the damn spear. Aim and thrust. They just dropped like flies.

"Then you and Lady Lothíriel are going to get married?"

Hannor's words brought Éomer out of his short-lived reverie.

"Hannor, we are not here to talk about me and Lothíriel."

"But you are in love, are you? All the riders say it."

"I have heard enough…."pushing herself away from the table, Lothíriel felt her heart could not cope anymore with the shocking exchange between the child and the adult.

"Hannor, listen-"

"So I did watch you both doing it!"

"WHAT? No! We did not-"

The sound of leaving footsteps came to an abrupt stop and came back approaching at Éomer's direction. A steam of radiating fury surrounded him and demanded an explanation which he had no time for, "What have you done?"

"Nothing improper!" Grinding his teeth, he replied with absolute certainty at her and turned back to Hannor with solid determination to clarify the misunderstanding, "Hannor, we did not-"

"Yes, you did! You were hugging her very tight that few nights…."

Éomer felt the glare behind him was searing a hole through his tunic.

"Hannor, that was different…"

"…..and you were not wearing a shirt!"

And the deadly silence followed. The curious crowd outside the study heard no more noises. Not that they could hear anything precisely much before for they had been warned to stay away from the study. Then a slamming door startled everyone. And their diplomat from Dol Amroth was seen storming out of their King's study, fuming and grinding her teeth.

Her face was as red as a beet.

She was cursing and swearing.

"I will kill you Éomer!"

"I'm so going to kill you!"

So that was how it ended, leaving Hannor partially dumb folded and feeling guilty that he might have said something wrong and Éomer incapacitated of words to explain his previous action. But all was not vain, lunch time it was.

The dining hall was surprisingly congested today. More tables needed to be brought out and rearranged to accommodate the sudden increase of number.

Hands behind him, Éomer paced into the hall with his young Marshal.

"It seems a little more crowded than usual," Éomer remarked, watching the busy servants moving the furniture about.

"They've all come to learn about the secret!" His Marshal whispered loudly with unhidden anticipation in his voice.

Furrowing his brows, Éomer could not help but shake his head. He walked over to his usual seat and noticed that the riders came pouring in from the front door, filling up the empty seats quickly. And interestingly, most had decided to settle around where Gamling usually sat – Éomer's table. And apparently someone had also decided that the chair next to Gamling's should be left unoccupied too.

Éomer took a sip of some water whilst his eyes surveyed the hall with great attention. Every rider seemed to have his own agenda masking under his face. The trays of dishes made their ways to their designated tables. Breads and butters, vegetables and meats were laid out on the rectangular surface. Pitches of wines sat a few plates away from each other.

Éomer plucked a cherry tomato from the vine bunch. Yes, his country began recovering from the damages, from the hurts and scars of war. So much he had lost in that damned war.

"Some real food finally!" shouted a happy rider on the next table.

He released his glance from the red fruit and shifted it to the dishes in front. Indeed some real food, Erkenbrand had struggled to feed the hundred of mouths whom they rescued a few weeks ago. The food over the past three weeks was not up to the riders' standards. They had to buck up the provisions with additional taters and grains. Diluted flavour -not everyone's favourite.

Stew of Kings. Hmm. By the look of it, Lothíriel had spread her influence over the cooks and chiefs of Helm's Deep as well. He noticed a few of his other preferred dishes were among the served too.

A loud thump drew his hearing.

Lothíriel was grumbling something as she went passed him and sat herself a few chairs away from him.

He opened his mouth, wanting to speak to her but she just ignored him and began filling the bowls on the table with her stew.

So he turned his attention to his Marshal. Signalling Éothain to come to him, he asked, "Where is Gamling? And his wife?"

"I am sure they won't want to make such an early appearance, my Lord." Éothain replied, grinning, with a very meaningful look.

Then a series of loud, high-pitched whistles echoed in the dining hall. Many sitting riders now stood up and waved their hands. Some even clapped and raised their tankards and mugs.

"Well done, Gamling!"

"You still have it, old man!"

"Cheers!"

"You are my idol, Sir!"

"Rock and roll, Marshal!"

"Wild wild night, Gamling!"

"I salute you, Sir!"

Éomer stood up and saw Gamling pushing his way through with Wynflaéth behind him. Her head was as low as it could be. She wrapped a shawl around her head and neck to hide her embarrassment but it was not sufficient. Her face was redder than a ground cherry tomato.

Éomer rubbed his temple and sighed helplessly at the people's reaction. Then he felt something pointy at his rib cage. He turned around and saw Lothíriel elbowing him. She leaned forward and whispered, "Get your men in order before Gamling and Wynflaéth decide to jump off the wall!"

"Enough, people!"

That did not work. Even Éothain who was standing next to him and definitely heard him, chose to adhere to the crowd's reaction.

"Silence."

They still ignored him.

"SILENCE!" There was inevitable warning in his voice this time.

The crowd stopped their cheers and applauds as if they were struck by a bucket of cold water. Some even complained beneath their breaths, "Éomer King is no fun!"

"Show some respect to your Marshal!" He glared from table to table, before speaking in a milder toner, "Let's have lunch, Riders. The food is good today!"

"Aye!" cheered the crowd.

"My Lord, I-" Gamling greeted him in a very apologetic tone.

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, Gamling! Hold your head proud!" he said in a firm tone.

The lunch began and finished without any more surprises to Éomer's relief. The only slight annoying thing was that Lothíriel was now sitting five chairs away from him and been avoiding and refusing to communicate with him like he was a horsefly.

Later at night.

The day had been so long, he thought. He had a ride in the afternoon with Firefoot and by the time he caught up the happening in Rohan with Erkenbrand after dinner, it was already late. He had a wash and went for a stroll to calm his mind before returning to his chamber and found Éothain standing outside, tapping his foot impatiently.

At the sight of his King, Éothain hurried to his King and whispered, "You have a visitor!"

"Who?" A questioning eyebrow lifted. Éothain's low voice made Éomer suspicious.

"You will see!" Grinning, he pushed his King quietly almost to the door and made another gleeful whisper, "don't make too much noise! People might hear you!"

With that he quickened his steps and disappeared from the dim hallway.

Baffled, Éomer dragged his gaze from the hall way back to his chamber. There under the flickering torches, Lothíriel had her back to him. She had not heard him. She stood in front of his armour stand. She scrutinised the reddish brown armour with deep thoughts. She took a step closer and allowed her fingers to slide along horsehead nose-guard and edge of the cheek plates of his helm.

"Éomer, son of Éomund," she whispered as she examined the engrossed writing across a repaired crack-line on the burnished metal surface.

He felt his heart missed a beat when she called out his name. Yes, she spoke it out accurately in Rohirric. In fact she had been speaking in Rohirric since the day she had been rescued. She talked to his men in Rohirric. She spoke to Wynflaéth in Rohirric. She communicated with the cooks in Rohirric. In fact, it became so reasonably normal than he did not actually notice she stopped conversing in Westron. Yes, he did not notice that she had blended herself so well into his way of living.

His pair of green irises followed her movement. She looked almost delicate – a word which he never associated her with. Her fingers brushed along the textured surface of his chest plate. He had to look away momentarily to break himself from formulating the imaginary thought of feeling her fingers on his chest.

Returning his gaze, she was now in front of his weapon stand. His green shield was sitting at the foot. Gúthwinë was hanging idly on the horse-engraved wooden rack. She lifted her only free left hand and glide along the strap of his sword belt. She slipped her four fingers beneath the leather strap, allowing her thumb to run on the surface along the length of the red baldric, before it came to stop at the buckle. She scratched the double bronze horseheads with her thumb lightly and a small smile touched her lips, "Horse-lords."

She said it in Westron this time.

Her loose hair slipped over her back as she leaned forward. She was looking at his sword with great regard. Her hand was lying on the scabbard and sailing over the length of it. She scratched again the bronze throat lightly with her fingernail. Her pale fingers lifted and found the bronze pommel of his sword. She drew herself even closer and analysed every detail on the weapon. Her index finger followed the engraved coiling horse heads which formed the guard, not missing every curve and groove of the mouth, nose, eye, ear and mane. Her eyes were full of admiration for the tactile craft of his people. Then she stretched her fingers and wrapped them around the leather-bond grip. He remembered her fingernails were always trimmed short and neat and her fingers appeared blunter than most noblewomen.

"Gúthwinë."

He heard her whispering the name of his sword.

"...…..Éomer."

It was a very low mutter. He only managed to catch his name.

Her clasp on Gúthwinë tightened as she prepared to unsheathe it.

Then he decided it was time to stop her.

"Lothíriel."

TBC

A little of romance scene in next chapter, but only for those aged 15 and above.

Footnotes:

Scabbard: Sheath for swords.

Baldric: Sword belt

Boghouse: Toilet

Horse mating: Position-wise, like most animals, standing, and another *ahem" humping the other! (Google if you must!)

A big hug and wet kiss to all my reviewers! I have enjoyed writing this chapter from the first word until the very last! Woho!

BrightWatcher: You should have known! Being a married woman, eh! I checked the DVD a few times and the book too, apparently only window of Helm's Deep I have seen from the movie - there is no glass panel or curtain...here goes all the echo!

Talia119: I used a line of your review in this chapter :D Hope you like it!

b5delenn: Exactly, at least children of Rohan grow up knowing the reproduction of horses but Hannor won't get it! I hope you like the way I put it all together! I actually youtubed a video of horses mating...errr...won't recommend it!

xmmara: Old men still rock, girl! ;)

Lucy: No problem! Just keep pouring the reviews in! :D

Ranawe217: yeah I was thinking about assigning this task to Gamling but the poor man has to endure so much, I will let him off the hook this time! Nevertheless, thank you for the idea though ;) Much appreciated!

cCeret: Don't worry about your language! English is my third too! Yeah those husbands and wives...Mr and Mrs is much easier to group them up!

Hope you all have enjoyed this chapters and please do not forget to leave a review! Thank you! :D