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 62

Aragorn hadn't known that Éomer intended to visit, but then the blonde warrior did not always see fit to inform others of his intentions beforehand. Though it was now many years since the fateful war against Sauron had been fought, peace had been hardwon. Many times had they ridden together, swords drawn, as they together stood against those who would defeat them and their people. While both Gondor and Rohan had prospered as they learned to appreciate the peace they had, there had been hardship and losses.

Mothers who never again held their sons, children who never knew their fathers and young women waiting the return of the host to see if they were still wives, or had become widows.

Though he was still known by his temper, Éomer had become a wise king and one Aragorn knew his people were glad to have. Éomer Éadig they called him, the blessed, for it had been long since Rohan had known such good fortune.

That their King was a stubborn man who cared no more for protocol than he wished to had been a sore point for many of the nobles, though now that there was an heir, Elfwine, they seemed to have settled down somewhat. Éomer would not take an escort to Minas Tirith unless he wished to do so. He saw no reason to send messages to inform of his intentions unless it was needed. He knew he was always welcome and Aragorn was always glad to see him.

Sometimes surprised, but always glad.

This time though he had to admit it was with some puzzlement, for rather than riding Firefoot whom was well known in the city he was riding a young black stallion. Aragorn remembered well how black horses were now a rarity to be cherished in Rohan. The Orcs had stolen them, raided them for Sauron and his evil use and the colour had been scarce. Even now many years later it was a colour not common, especially not one pure black. Not only this, but he had another young horse with him. A roan mare with the powerful build of a war horse. Though saddled and bridled the horse moved freely beside the black. Too well trained to stray Aragorn knew, and the reins were tied up to the saddle. As relaxed as Éomer was, there would have been no accident or misfortune on the journey, yet this was something Aragorn was not used to.

With no announcement beforehand, it was only when Éomer entered through the gate that a squire was sent to run up to the Citadel to inform the King of the Royal guest. Given this it was not to anyone's surprise, that said Royal guest arrived at the royal stable well before the squire was let panting in to see the king.

Though Aragorn excused himself from the matters of state right away, it was clear Éomer had been in the stable for some time when he arrived there. The horses were already in their stalls, and the Rohir was grooming his magnificent black stallion. Though clearly young and being in new surroundings, the horse seemed perfectly relaxed, having cocked a hoof casually as he enjoyed the firm brush strokes.

Noting the saddle hung on the side of the stall of the young roan Aragorn took a brush and moved into the stall, it was a beautiful horse. He judged her to be around three years of age or a little more, while the black could not be much older.

"While I am always glad to see you my friend, if you allowed us to know your intentions we might have been better prepared to receive you," he mused.

"I see no reason to send one man to run before me and say I shall arrive, when you know I will as soon as I do," Éomer snorted. "Tis a waste of good horseshoes to wear them out for such foolishness."

"Aye, though I wonder how many of the nobles shall be throwing a fit when they find out they were not here to bow and scrape in time," Aragorn laughed easily.

"They are much too fat and complacent anyways," Éomer gave another shrug and Aragorn laughed easily.

"Do not ever change my friend, I beg you," he smiled. "Though if I may inquire of the reason for this joyous occasion?"

Nodding, Éomer reached up his hand, gently rubbing the velvet nose of his horse. There was an air of sadness above him that Aragorn only now noticed. Though now he paid attention it seemed to wear on the Rohir, causing him great pain.

"Is all well?" he asked softly, pausing in his ministrations of the roan.

"Aye," straightening Éomer drew a deep breath to collect himself. "Though I will admit my heart is heavy. Tis' the first time in many years I've made this trip without Firefoot. We have been together many years now. Even when I came with Théodred I rode him but the first, though he was young and near too inexperienced for it" he tugged gently at the black's mane as the stallion nudged his master. "Many more than a horse of lesser line would have been able to grant me. I have been fortunate in this, there never was a more noble companion."

"Firefoot is one of a kind," Aragorn agreed. "He truly is." There was no question that the magnificent grey was getting on in years, but he thought the stallion had a few more years in him yet.

"I felt it unkind to take him on such a long journey," Éomer stated softly. "It wears on him as it never did before. Before he was old enough for saddle, my uncle gave me the use of his old war horse. A mare, she was a fair but not too gentle lady. She accepted me well enough, and I learned what I needed about a war horse while training Firefoot. He shall make it seem like I've bestowed the worst suffering in the world on him. Certainly he tries to give me enough grief to prove it, but Elfwine rides him more often now than do I. He is lighter of frame and shall need his own soon. Firefoot is a good teacher."

"It saddens me also, to know it is so." Aragorn admitted. He had known the same thing with Brego, and it pained him greatly to know it. "Firefoot has always been a remarkable horse, and it pains me, though I believe he will indeed teach Elfwine well."

"Aye," Éomer allowed himself a smile. "He has thrown him several times, he knows well not to make it too easy. Yet he does so with a gentleness he never showed with me."

"I must say, that does not surprise me," Aragorn chuckled. "And I would think it is from his love for you he does it so."

"So I have surmised," Èomer nodded with a snort. "I have recently been bit, kicked and thrown more times than I ever did even when first I started training him. All for his great love I am certain."

"He does have a peculiar way of showing it, but love indeed it is," Aragorn laughed. "And respect as well I wager."

"That I know it to be so is why I have not taken him to task about it," Éomer admitted. "Though it would serve him right if I did so for the mockery I've been forced to endure due to it."

"Èothain?" Aragorn dared venture a guess. For the friendship between the two were strong and had been since childhood days.

"Éothain," Èomer confirmed with a nod. "And also my beloved wife who seems to find it most amusing. Though I suppose I should be glad she takes it so well."

"You should have a respite then, at least now," Aragorn mused as he nodded to the black stallion. "Or is he not more mild tempered? He is young, is he not?"

"Four years," Éomer confirmed. "Æledwinë."

"A friend of fire," Aragorn eyed the horse closer, taking in the lines, the way he held his head. "Is he of the same line as Firefoot? I can not always tell, but I would not be surprised if he had the blood of the Mearas in him."

"Sired by Firefoot, by Earnwinë," Éomer confirmed. "She might not have any Mearas blood in her, but she has more courage than many. She was but a foal when she was the only survivor after orcs attacked the herd. I trained her as a war horse, though sadly she was wounded badly in her first battle. Even injured she carried me home, and so Uncle had her taken to Aldburg to the herd there. I could not think of one more worthy. And do not let his deceptive manners deceive you my friend," he added with a smile. "He is ever the bit as viscous and obnoxious as Firefoot has ever been. Tis' not him alone that has made me suffer for this time, this young one has thrown me more than I care to admit, and shall like to do so again. I will not seek to break a spirit as strong as his. Rather I shall find myself dragged through the mud."

"I do not blame you," the horse looked innocent enough, but in this he would take Éomer's word. "She must indeed be a horse of true courage. A wise choice for Firefoot."

"Aye," Éomer nodded slowly, and Aragorn felt there was something he was reluctant to say. "In truth, that is why I am here now, and why I am here alone. For I want to ask you something, and I do not do so lightly. I know what I'm asking, and yet I beg you to grant it."

"Certainly if it is in my power," Aragorn hurried to say. "We still owe a great det to the Rohirrim."

"I will not have this granted for a debt that has long since been paid," Éomer fixed him with a stern glare. One Aragorn knew meant the Rohir was very serious, and would not be contradicted.

"Then please, do state your wish, and I will give it the utmost consideration," he stated.

"Firefoot may have sired a few foals, but the line of the Mearas is weakening, and we can not allow it to disappear," Éomer sighed softly. "Even more so for my own sake I ask you, for Brego was the last of his line. My cousin is gone, I do not wish to see Brego's line die also…" his voice was thick and his eyes was on the black stallion. "Will you agree to lending Brego for two seasons? So that we might strengthen our line of Mearas, and so that he will not be the last of his? I had thought to pair him Earnwinë, I do not doubt their offsprings shall be as fine as Firefoot's and hers has been. You would have the first foal of the pair."

"Of course I will grant this," Aragorn did not even hesitate, though he felt a pang of sadness in his heart. Brego had served him well, and had been a very dear companion, though in truth he had always wondered if it was fair to keep him. Èomer had never said a word, and he did not think the Rohir had ever minded. Even so, it was only natural, and only right, that he should grant him a chance to see the line continue. "I should have allowed him to go home long since," he sighed softly. "Never could another horse have served me better, but he too is feeling his age and I think I have not cared to admit it to myself. He should see the rest of his days in Rohan. It is only right, and I have Roheryn, a very fine horse. There is no need for you to give up their offspring."

"If not for you, then for Eldarion?" the relief was clear on Èomer's face. "He too shall need a worthy steed. One to train for himself is no less than he deserves."

"That I could be tempted to consider," Aragorn found himself smiling. "I have thought about negotiating a good horse for him. He is not an unskilled rider."

"He is," Èomer confirmed. "I would not have taken him for a Gondorian…" the last was added with a smile and Aragorn had to laugh.

"Then pray tell me, who is this?" Aragorn stroked the velvet nose of the roan. She was a beauty, with a similar grey star on her forehead as had Æledwinë, as well as grey socks on three legs.

"Æfenweard," Éomer gave the young mare a fond look.

Keeper of the Evening, the name made Aragorn smile as he recalled the minor dispute between Éomer and Gimli so long ago. Where Gimli had indeed threatened violent retribution if Éomer did not name Lady Galadriel the fairest of all. Because Éomer had named Arwen of greater beauty, the dwarf had claimed him forgiven. For he had chosen the morning and Éomer the evening or so he said. To an extent it was the dwarf's way of naming the Rohir a friend. "Is the reason you brought her then if Æledwinë should prove too difficult?"

"Nay," Éomer shook his head. "Æledwinë is the first sired by Firefoot and Earnwinë, Æfenweard is but one year younger. I have trained her to take a rider, but she has yet not born one."

"Brother and sister," Aragorn looked between the two, the similar star on the forehead and the socks made perfect sense now. Though one was a roan and one was black. "She is a very beautiful horse. Though I do not see why you have not yet ridden her?" Certainly he could not see that there would be anything wrong with her, and if there was, he could not see why Éomer would have brought her.

"Our horses have but one rider," Éomer reminded him. "Only in rare circumstances will they grant another. Brego chose you, and he chose wisely indeed. Likewise out of loyalty and love Firefoot now allows Elfwine. Æfenweard shall bear you, but she will not have any other beside you. They are indeed brother and sister, and as I count you a brother, I have brought her for you."

"Éomer…" Aragorn found he lacked for words. Not only for it being a horse of such great beauty and such a remarkable line, but also because he knew how much the blonde warrior wished to convey by the gift. Firefoot was in a way the horse Aragorn ever had admired the most. He was his own in a way not even Brego could always match, and to Éomer he was so much more than a mere horse. That he had not presented the gift first was because he would not risk it influencing Aragorn's mind for the request he made. Éomer would have granted the horse regardless of the answer, and he would have felt no ill towards Aragorn if he had for any reason been denied.

"I must warn you my friend," Éomer moved to the low wall, reaching a hand to the young mare. "She is indeed ready for a rider, and she is trained well, but she is a daughter of Firefoot and she will not allow it to be forgotten. She shall have you curse your luck every bit as much as you bless it," a wicked grin spread over his face. "I made certain of it, for I have indeed ensured she shall be spoiled in many ways. For all the times you have set my horse against me with your devious tricks and all the apples he has been given. I dare say you shall find her a challenge indeed. Though she will ever serve you well, never was any horse sired by two more loyal horses than these two."

"Èomer," Aragorn ran his hand over the strong neck. "My brother, tis a gift beyond measure…" He never would voice the thought that it was a gift of too much value, for to do so would belittle the intention with which it was given. Éomer knew well what he was doing, and he would have planned it for a long time now. It amused him to know that only last year when he had been in Rohan on official visit, the horse would have been there, and would have been one that Éomer was training, and yet the Rohir said not a word. "I thank you, with all my heart…"

"Roheryn is as fine a horse as I ever have known," the blonde shrugged. Not one to enjoy profused thanks Aragorn knew. "I hold her in the highest regard, but there are times when a horse of Rohan has advantages over an Elven horse. She knows us, and to heed our commands."

"Aye, that is an advantage indeed," Aragorn nodded.

"I have made certain she shall prefer the commands to be clumsy and ill performed," Éomer added with another wry grin. Even so far after the fateful war it was rare to see him smile easily Aragorn knew. Horses though, especially Firefoot, or his offsprings as well it would seem could draw out the best in him.

"I am certain I shall appreciate the trouble you have taken to ensure this," he replied dryly.

"Saddle her and try her," Éomer encouraged. "She is young yet, but she is well strong enough. I dare say she is already well aware she shall be yours. Until now, I am the only one who has really cared for her. She would not be so well at ease unless she had accepted you."

"Then we shall see if she comes to regret the choice," taking the saddle Aragorn placed it on her back. She was certainly smaller than Firefoot and Brego by about a hand and a half. Yet it was indeed very clear that she was strong. The gentle curves showed of strong muscle. He smiled as she tried to suck in a breath, so that the girth would not be tight. It was easy enough to correct and he was certain she would learn in time he did not fall for such a simple trick. It would not surprise him if Éomer had taught her that trick himself. Leading her out onto the courtyard he mounted her, and found she did not even blink at his weight upon her back. How the Rohir could train a horse so well to take a rider, and yet not having ridden her was beyond him.

The steps were light and the gait smooth, though he would only walk her on the cobblestone of the courtyard. Éomer watched with a critical eye, and did not hesitate to correct his posture.

"It shall do for now," the blonde king decided. "We shall need to leave the city if you wish to run."

"It would delight me," Aragorn smiled. "Do you wish to saddle Æledwinë again?"

"There is no need for a saddle," heading into the stable Éomer soon returned with the stallion, easily swinging himself upon his back.

In the meantime Aragorn had waved away the escort his guard sought to press upon him. For this they would not be needed. He easily controlled the mare as they rode down through the levels of the city to the gate. Outside on the field of Pelennor he was able to really let her run. She was certainly eager, all the more so for her youth. Her gait was indeed smooth, shifting effortlessly and barely noticeable from canter to gallop. He was perfectly aware that part the reason Éomer had chosen to ride bareback was to show off, and he was more than willing to indulge his friend. It was remarkable to watch the Rhoir ride in such a way. At one with the stallion, both seeming to know the others wish.

Rarely had he taken such delight in riding, but this mare was a remarkable creature. He recognized something of Firefoot in her, though he had ridden the grey stallion but once, and only been half aware of what was happening around him at the time. He was still able to recall the tight control and powerful will of the stallion, and the same he felt in Æfenweard. How Éomer had been able to train her to such a degree without riding her he did not know, but she obeyed his barest movement. As he only shifted in the saddle she threw herself to the side. More abruptly than he had thought, and it was only Éomer's sharp reflexes that saved them from colliding.

Though well known for his temper, the Rohir only laughed. "You still think you are riding a horse of Gondor if you think she needs your will spelled out to her," he grinned. "Truly subtlety shall serve you just as well."

"Aye," Aragorn replied over the pounding of hooves and the wind in his ears. "I thought you had her trained to suit a clumsy Gondorian?"

"My fault, I failed to take into account just how clumsy those Gondorians are," Éomer shrugged. Sitting back he brought the black stallion to a halt. "What say you? Will she do?"

Aragorn was not able to stop quite as easily, but he drew her in and turned her around easily enough to join his friend. "She is remarkable, I will treasure her always."

Nodding slowly Éomer nudged the stallion with a light knee to turn back towards the gate. Aragorn never saw any warning, but obviously Éomer sensed something, for his eyes narrowed and he was just opening his mouth to chastise the horse when he started bucking. Had it taken the blonde warrior by surprise, Aragorn did not doubt he would have been thrown. This time though he was obviously ready and stayed firmly seated on the horse. No worse for the lack of saddle. A sharp word brought the stallion in line and he trotted easily back towards the gate.

"He continues to try," leaning forward Éomer gave a fond tug to an ear. "And I wish him good luck in the venture. Now though he was only playing or he would not have let me known so clearly what he was thinking."

"He has a lot of spirit," so it would seem the mare he had been gifted also had. For when Aragorn had removed saddle and bridle and brushed her, she grasped his sleeve in her teeth and would not yield.

"Is this her own idea, or one you have taught her?" Aragorn asked as he was unable to free himself.

"That you shall have to figure out for yourself," yet Éomer had taken two apples from the barrel in the fodder store and gave one to each horse. They took them greedily and munched happily. Noting the indentation from the teeth in his sleeve, Aragorn wondered if he did not in truth already know.

Many a' time had he delighted in spoiling Firefoot with various treats. Always knowing that later the mighty grey would seek to annoy his master for it. Recalling this, he felt that indeed he knew…

It would seem that the mare would not only be a gift without likeness and a pure delight, she would also most likely come to be his bane.

Perhaps, he should not have been so fast to encourage Firefoot to all those tricks after all….

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.