Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. I am only playing with the fandom for the enjoyment of myself as well as others.
Author's note: Take care that a spew warning might apply and be cautious when handling food and liquids while reading this.
Chapter 59
His shirtsleeves pushed up over his elbows Éomer knelt in the hay beside the mare, murmuring gentle encouragement to her. The soothing and gentle rhythm of the Rohirric tongue indeed seemed to reach the mare. She tossed her head at a whicker behind her, Firefoot in the next stall, his head over the low wall. Entering the stall to kneel beside him in the hay, Éothain looked grimly on the mare as she was about to foal. "Your half breed Orc horse bit me," he inspected the deep gouges in his forearm, two of them slowly oozing blood.
"You should not have turned your back to him," Éomer only shrugged. Though it was rare that he would bite Éothain, especially with such ferocity he drew blood, it was rarely a forthnight when some stable hand did not get bitten.
"I did not," his friend only shrugged, not really aggravated by the incident. It was not the first time he had felt the stallion's teeth, and he would be surprised if it was the last. "For all his foul temper, at least he is straightforward and not underhanded. I appreciate that."
"He is merely concerned about Earnwine," Éomer shrugged.
"I swear he knows he was the one who sired the foal," Éothain shook his head amazed as he threw a glance behind him at the grey stallion.
"He's a smart fellow, he certainly remembers having his fun," Éomer shrugged. "And he has always been rather protective of the mare."
"I have noticed," Éothain stated dryly. Drawing a grin from his friend. It was not the first time Earnwine was having a foal, far from it. She was a fairly experienced lady. When they were young and she had been little more than a foal herself she had been the only survivor of an Orc attack upon the herd. Even now she still carried the scars from their claws. Though most told him she would not be suitable, Éomer had trained her as a war horse. For his own part, he had not seen how it could be done, though he had known Éomer well enough to know he would do so regardless. When it came to horses, very few had the intuit skill of Éomer and Éothain figured it was a lot easier to just trust whatever he said.
She had certainly showed her courage, but alas she had been gravely injured in her first battle. A crossbow bolt that went first through Éomer's leg, then heavily into her shoulder had rendered her lame. A horse that could never walk without a limp could not be rode in battle, no matter how strong her courage. Earnwine had been taken to Aldburg where she was left for breeding.
That she was sent there had been on Théoden King's command, knowing it was where Éomer later would be stationed when he progressed to Third Marshall of the Mark, a position he had not yet held at the time.
He knew that though she could not be ridden, it had been a comfort to his friend to have her near during those horribly dark days.
Èomer was very fond of her, and it was for good reason he had decided to let Firefoot cover her. While she did not have the blood of the Mearas in her, she was a good strong horse with beautiful lines. She had certainly shown her courage and her strong will, and with Firefoot's blood as well, Éothain felt it would be a foal to be reckoned with.
It was due anytime now, which was why his King as well as himself had slept in the stable for the last senight. Èomer refused to be aught else for the birth, and Éothain certainly understood him. This was a very important foal.
Now they knew it was drawing near, she had laid down in the stall, and Firefoot had sent one of the stable boys running for his life. Èothain felt no sympathy for the lad, he had been warned many times not to turn his back to the stallion, and yet he did so. It was better he learned once and for all that what was said about the horses should always be kept in mind. That he himself had been bit by the stallion he shrugged off, Firefoot was just anxious. He knew Éothain would not hold it against him, they were friends after all.
To his knowledge, the only one Firefoot would not bite was Lohtíriel, he seemed to deem her too much a lady for that. Though he would gladly snag her dress or shawl. Even Elfwine now that he was older had been bitten. For many years, Firefoot would not do so, all too well aware that the child was showing him all the respect he was able, but was merely too small to have full control of his body and his actions. Elfwine knew it also, and was always careful never to abuse that trust. The first time Firefoot had bitten him it had not been a hard bite either, but the boy had been immensely proud and declared it to everyone. Firefoot had deemed him a man, and worthy of his temper.
"There girl, take it easy, it won't be long now," Éomer soothed the horse, stroking her neck while Éothain sat back.
"She knows what's coming," Éothain mused. "She's much calmer than many."
"She's got good strong blood in her veins," Éomer mused. "Truly she does, even amongst our horses not many would take a crossbow bolt as she did and not panic. She proved her valour then, though I regret now I put her through that."
"For the action, she is revered amongst our herdsmen," Èothain shrugged. "Take comfort in that, and all her foals have been strong and healthy, she is well sought after."
"Only because the fools knew no better than to doubt her before," Éomer snorted. "Aye, you certainly showed them girl," gently he stroked her neck again. "Another half hour I should say, would you head inside and ask Lothíriel if she wishes to come? She wanted to, but it is getting late."
"I do not think that will stop her," with a wry grin Éothain considered the fact that Lothíriel was in much the same condition as the mare, if not so far along. There had been no official announcement yet, but if he had learned to read the signs as well as he thought he had, the royal brood was about to get bigger.
They were an impressive lot, fair haired like Éomer, blue eyes and grey, all capable of the same gentle manners as their mother, and the same hot temper as their father. When they joined up with his own two sons, no one in Edoras was safe.
Grinning to himself when he thought about how the Riders of Rohan would be in another few years when their boys were old enough he made his way into Meduseld. Knocking on the door to the Royal chambers.
"Èothain," Lothíriel opened the door herself. Wearing a light dress at the late hour. "Is it time for the foal then?"
"Aye, it shan't be long now, if you wish to come," he nodded.
"I most certainly do," she confirmed. "As do Elfwine. I only need to fetch him."
"I'll get him," Éothain shrugged. "You should take a robe my lady, it's a bit on the cold side at the moment."
"Thank you," she smiled as she reached for her robe, and cloak, while Éothain went to get Elfwine. The boy had obviously hoped the foaling would occur during the night. Rather than asleep, he was fully dressed and sat reading a book by the fire.
He looked so much like Éomer had done at that age it made Éothain smile, though no one would ever have found Éomer reading for enjoyment. He certainly knew how to, having been noble born. Théoden had expected Éomer to stand by Théodred's side as the heir ruled, and in order to do so he needed to know how to read and write. As well as be well versed in Westron rather than merely have a vague understanding of the language.
In Éothain's case it had not been predetermined, though like Éomer he had felt all knowledge had the possibility of being good knowledge. Out in the field with the riders they spent many a long night, and being young sometimes found it hard to find their place with the more seasoned riders, so Éothain had learned the skill of reading and writing from his friend. Drawing letters and words in the dirt with sticks.
Elfwine seemed to have inherited a genuine love for reading from his mother, which he figured was all the better for the boy. "Is it time?" he hurriedly closed the book and put it on the table.
"Aye, seems to be, should happen in just a little while now," he nodded.
"Father said he thought it would be tonight," Elfwine beamed as he hurriedly grabbed his cloak.
"Your father generally knows what he's talking about when it comes to horses," Éothain mused. "Come on, and remember to take it very easy when we walk into the stable. This is no time to startle the horses by accident."
"I will," Elfwine promised. "I won't make a sound."
"Make sure you don't," Éothain grinned at him as Lothíriel fell in step with them.
When they entered the stable Lothíriel found herself smiling as she watched her husband. He seemed to be unaware of them as of yet, and he had his full attention on the mare in the stall. The stall was filled with fresh straw, thicker than it would most often be, and the mare looked to be slightly distressed as the foaling was beginning.
"She looks to be doing as well as can be expected," Éothain stated. "You two can go in with Firefoot, he won't mind."
"Alright," watching how the stallion pranced in his stall Lothíriel ushered her son into the stall before she went to the fodder store. Taking an apple from the barrel she brought it back. Firefoot for a moment seemed torn between the treat and what was happening in the next stall.
"Don't spoil him so," Éomer did not even look up from the mare he was kneeling by, and Lothíriel had not been certain he knew she was there.
"I thought it was a special occasion," she smiled softly. "After all, I do believe he is a part of this."
"Aye, but he had all the fun, while she's the one having to do all the work, she's the one who deserves it," Éomer looked up briefly. "The foal is lying perfectly, there should not be any problems though. She's a brave girl."
"She's beautiful," Elfwine laid his arms across the low wall of the stall.
"She always has been, even when she was naught but a frightened little foal," Éomer nodded. "And she has always been strong."
The mare whinnied and he turned her full attention to her. Lothíriel knew it was time to wait in silence, but it was a beautiful thing. She had seen foalings before, and it had always amazed her. Even more so when she watched her husband aid the mare. Though her heart broke for the mare and the whimpers of pain, knowing all too well how she felt, she also knew the fealing when first the foal showed. When that tiny little body slowly came into view. Tiny and perfect, and when the mother nudged the newborn colt and there was the first tiny whinny from the little one. That was something that always seemed to bring a tear to her eye.
When the tiny colt was nudged by her mother to stand, and supported by her husband as he did so, she wept openly and embraced her son.
"A most beautiful colt," she praised. "Does this mean you will return to our bed, husband?"
"Not tonight," he admitted sheepishly.
"I had thought as much," she smiled. "And I do not hold a grudge for it. In truth, I am glad to know she will not be alone. It can not be easy to bear a colt."
"I will keep an eye on her," mindful of the fact he badly needed washing he stepped over to the low wall, placing a peck of a kiss on the tip of her nose. "It is late, you should take your bed. The morn shall find us soon enough."
"Indeed it will, and I intend to be here bright and early to great the mother and her babe," Lothíriel declared. "Do either of you need anything afore we go?"
"We have all we need, we shall be well," Èothain replied. Amused that she did not ask if he intended to stay or not. They had their blankets from before, and planned to sleep comfortably side by side in the straw as they had so far.
Though there was no reason to foresee any trouble, there were no reason to take any chances either.
Stroking the velvet soft mule of the newborn, he eyed his limbs critically, the lines were beautiful indeed, and he already stood fairly securely on his long limbs. "He shall be magnificent," he stated. Though the mare was a bay, and Firefoot was a grey, the colt was mostly black with a grey star on the forehead, and grey socks. The rest should most likely come to be coal black which was a blessing. The Orcs had stolen so many of their black horses they had but a few left, and they were now highly priced.
"Indeed," Èomer stated, leaning against the low wall of the stall he was absently stroking Firefoot behind the ear.
"Have you thought of a name for him yet?" Éothain spread their blankets in the corner of the stall. Out of the way though they would be ready in an instant if ought was wrong with the mare.
"Aye," glancing between the mare and the colt, leaning his head against Firefoot's cheek he nodded slowly. "Ældwinë."
"A worthy name," Éothain nodded his approval. "Sired by Firefoot by Earnwine," though the name meant he was a friend by fire, in true Rohirric tradition it was part of the names of both parents. Both could certainly be seen in the colt, already now. No less for the fact that the little one could barely walk, and yet stumbled over to Éomer who instantly knelt to scratch him under the chin and behind the ear.
"Well, there he is," Éothain met the eye of the huge grey over his king. "Your heir…"
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.
