For Author's Note and Disclaimer see chapter 1

Chapter 3

During the Lord Denethor's rule there had been much friction between the Kingdom of Gondor and that of Rohan. While smaller in land, there was no mistaking the power of Rohan, and in some matters they were superior to even Gondor and its might. Denethor had like as not chafed at knowing this Argorn suspected, for the horse lords were indeed masters of the horses and no finer creatures could be found. Even the elven steeds at times had to bow to the might of the Rohan equines.

Gondor sought every year to procure horses from their neighbour, and it must have angered the man to know he was never allowed the best of the herds. True, it was the dark shadow that had also in part created the friction, but man had played a part. Denethor falling for the lure of the Palantir, and Théoden under the evil influence of Grima Wormtongue had even come to banish his own nephew and heir.

After the spell was lifted from him by Gandalf, Aragorn had seen the grief on his face as he had to face not only the death of his son, but the knowledge of what he had done to his nephew. Éomer had come back, and had never hesitated to give his loyalty to his uncle, never harbouring any ill feelings for the slight. Éomer sought only to serve his king and had never expected to have to take that crown upon his own head.

Even so, Aragorn had to admit that it was probably good fortune for both Rohan and Gondor. While a young, brash and inexperienced king, Éomer was a fair and worthy one. The two of them had been in private conference with each other, and both had agreed that they needed to help each other to strengthen their kingdoms.

The marriage between Éomer's sister, Éowyn, and Denethor's son Faramir had only served to help the matter. Even more so when shortly afterwards Éomer courted Lothíriel from Dol Amroth, cousin of Faramir. Aragorn would never have tried to place such a political demand on affairs that should be solely of love, but it was good fortune. It also meant that the two kings saw each other more often than the rulers had of old.

The horse lord saw nothing of making the trip to Minas Tirith, if it was harder for Aragorn to escape the clutches of advisors and nobles. Éomers heart was as free as the horses on the plains of Rohan, and he would not be tied down to the throne against his will. There was never any doubt that he ruled his land and was in command, but he was a Rider of Rohan and not a politician.

So it was with pleasure that Aragorn had learned of the intended visit, knowing that Arwen would delight in the company of both Éowyn and Lothíriel. Lothíriel being the far more dimute of the two she felt it was good for her to at times be in a court more like her own home than that of Rohan. The horse lords tended to be louder and laughter rang freely during their meals. Lothíriel had not complained about it, but he knew it had been overwhelming for her at first. The same way he knew that Éomer had been very much ill at ease in Dol Amroth. In truth, he had seemed very much so in Minas Tirith as well. The sombre court and stone city left the man of the plain feeling closed in and uncomfortable. Finding himself wanting in the eyes of the nobles. To be crowned king when he returned home but viewed by some unworthy of the title.

Aragorn did not wonder that he had seemed to find himself ill at ease, and he was pleased that every time they had met, Éomer had seemed just a little more comfortable in his role and in this place. Lothíriel had given the horse lord more than her love he felt, as had indeed Éomer bestowed his own gift of freedom on her.

He had however felt some concern when the Rohans had not arrived at the expected hour. It was most unusual for the royal party to be late as their horses truly were the best and they always travelled light. Yet hours had passed and Arwen as well as Éowyn had seemed ill at ease as they gazed across the plain from the courtyard of Minas Tirith. Once the riders came in view, that worry was not appeased for one horse was without rider, and one man was walking.

The guards had sent reports up the tiers of the city as the royal company came to the gates, and Argorn had frowned as he learned that Lothíriel was riding not her own horse, but the one recognized as Éomer's. While the King was leading his wifes own lame horse by hand as he walked beside her. Fearing something was amiss, Éowyn and Arwen had hurried to see to Lothíriel, while Aragorn had been pleased to be informed that nothing more serious than a lame horse had delayed them. Knowing that Éomer would never let any stable hand of Gondor take charge of his horses, especially his own Firefoot, Aragorn had made once he had ensured there would be food and refreshment ready for the guests made for the stable.

If Éomer was so delayed it could mean that the condition of the horse was more serious than he had at first assumed. The stable was vast, though he had no difficulty at all in locating his friend. The Rohirrim were well known for being somewhat rougher than those of Gondor, though Aragorn knew better than to hold this for the truth where soldiers were regarded. Had he not learned that the soldiers of Gondor had at times conducted themselves in a most despicable manner? Faramir had relayed some of the tales, Boromir had been known to be loud and rowdy himself. He had however not tolerated any ill behaviour, and he knew that neither did Éomer.

The language of the soldiers though held true, and the explicatives he could hear from the far end of the stable held true to that. A somewhat uncomfortable looking stable hand shied away from him with a hurried nod as he followed the sound of the irate voice. That was not to say that Éomer was loud, but he was most certainly not pleased. Aragorn, having ridden with Éomer's grandfather, Théngel had thought he was well versed in Rohirrim curses, but he was finding so was not the case. The curses were muttered under his breath, but there was no doubt in Aragorn's mind that they were heartfelt as he came upon his friend. Standing in the straw next to his horse in the stall Éomer was most certainly angered. One hand clenched around the hilt of his sword, the other in a fist Aragorn had to admit he found himself impressed with the wide range of expletives that the young king was in knowledge of. He doubted his young steward, though having served in the ranks of the soldiers himself was as well versed in the course language.

"Éomer, I would quearry if ought is amiss?" in the stall next to Firefoot was a gentle mare, favouring a foreleg but it was evident the horse had already been seen to, and no doubt by the King of the Riddermark himself. "How fare your wife's horse?"

"She'll be well enough in a few days," Éomer did not turn his head and spoke through clenched teeth.

"She is not native of Rohan, is she?" Aragorn asked as he leaned against the post, he would have to admit to feeling some anxiousness in regards to his friend for something had most certainly angered the king, and he hoped no one in his stable had been fool enough to interfere with their horses. "I thought Faramir said you had given Lothíriel a horse from your herd."

"Aye, I did, and she knows to ride it, but that horse is yet too untrained to make this trip," Éomer grated out. "Lothíriel is also fond of the mare, as she was a gift from her father, and she is a fine enough horse, but she is far too gentle for this. More the fool, she thought she could keep up with our own horses, especially Firefoot. She started favouring her foreleg the day before this, and just after we broke fast, she came up lame."

Pleased he was to have an explanation Aragorn leaned back and waited. For Firefoot shifted to turn his head to him, and Éomer through gritted teeth allowed another string of curses to escape him, a few that Aragorn thought he had not yet heard.

"Will she be well enough for the trip back?" he asked and the Horse Master nodded.

"Aye, she will, and I will ascertain she has not the opportunity to challenge any of the others again. She can not manage it, and after she came up lame I had little choice but to spare her the burden. And you," he grabbed the chin of his horse in one hand. "Would no more let a lady walk than would I. She may not be as skilled rider as a Rohan yet, and she may have pulled your mouth and kicked your sides, but she is my wife and a lady and if you do not cease this behaviour we shall have words…!"

"Éomer?" Aragorn frowned as he moved over to lean against the low wall of the stall instead. The horses of Rohan tended to have but one master, especially those of the Maeras as was Firefoot, but he had never known one who could not see to carry another if the need arose. Especially the wife of his master, if his master requested it. Firefoot was a magnificent beast, and one that Aragorn would no more want to face in battle than he would want to be challenged by Éomer, for both were more than a worthy opponent in their own right. Had not Éomer on the battle of Paelennor taken down two of the Olipahunts with but one spear? Had not his horse then refused to budge as the creature was bearing down on them.

Had he not come to known the horse would stand guard over his fallen master if such occured in battle, and had not Firefoot then in his own right and by his own device taken down anyone who came near enough to do his master possible harm? Firefoot was no mere horse, he was not just a beast to carry a load. No, Aragorn had seen enough to know better, he had seen how Éomer could command any of the horses of his Eored, and he had seen how they all obeyed him without any hesitation.

Yet he had never before seen one of the Rohirrim display such anger towards their horse.

"He did not throw the lady Lothíriel, did he?" moving forward further he reached a hand to scratch the mule that leaned into his hand.

"Nay, at least he has the good grace never to do that," Éomer assured him, an assurance followed by a ground out curse of such heartfelt intensity that Aragorn wondered what it was he was yet missing. "And if you do not cease this, I shall be most pleased to let her ride you all the way back, if for naught else but to see you suffer…" he growled, his eyes narrowed as Firefoot looked between the two kings. Bending his large head he pushed his nose into Éomers shoulder, nudging him as if in an attempt to get back in the good grace of the master he had apparently managed to anger.

Aragorn nodded slowly, still feeling as if there was something he was not yet aware of. It was however evident that Firefoot was attempting to please his master and friend. Having accomplished naught by nudging Éomer's shoulder he bent his head further to push his nose into his hand. Burrowing into his hand to get a good scratch on the forehead, just between the eyes Firefoot tilted his head slightly sideways in enjoyment. Giving a content snortle typical of horses before he relaxed and rested his forehead against his master's shoulder. Éomer giving a grunt as the horse leaned against him. His voice was soft and almost indulgent, but as Aragorn read the Rohirric tongue he was made aware Éomer did know curses he had not yet heard. His soft tone a strange contrast against the harsh words.

"You have made your point, now cease this before I make mine, and heed my words, you shall not like mine anymore than I care for yours…." the Rohir stated.

Raising his head with a shake Firefoot stepped back, and Éomer gave a pained hiss as he too took a step back and Aragorn felt his eyes go wide with surprise. He had thought himself observant, his time as a Ranger had made it a necessity, but this he had not noticed. During their whole conversation, and most likely since even before he entered the stable, the large horse had stood with his front hoof firmly planted on Éomer's booted foot.

It was no wonder the exclamations had sounded so earnest and heartfelt, for even with the heavy boots the Rohan wore it had to be most painful. Firefoot was by no means a small horse, he was a war horse, muscular and strong. At the bidding of his master he would launch himself through the ranks of Uruk-hai. Not many dared to stand against the might of a war horse of Rohan, and he wondered how the horse had managed to catch his owner unawares for Éomer was nothing if not skilled. Lord of the horses indeed, Aragorn had seen him take a horse unknown to him, and yet ride it with a skill the horse's own master could never hope to accomplish. He could only imagine that the Rohan had lowered his guard in sympathy for what the horse had endured. He would not speak ill of the lady Lothíriel, but he knew the trouble well. Éomer would command his horse less with reins and kicks as with every shift of his body, it was nigh but impossible for someone who did not possess the same skill to even see the subtle commands of the rider shifting his weight or merely touching the ribs with his boot. Lothíriel, no matter how gentle and kind would undoubtedly give commands she did not mean because she was unaware of giving them.

Had not Gimli been thrown from a Rohan horse on their way to Helms Deep for that very reason? The dwarf, busy entertaining the lady Éowyn had without intent commanded the horse into a gallop. Lothíriel would no doubt have done the same many times if she had been riding him a full day, and it would have been a struggle for the horse to know if he should obey the commands given by her or not.

"So he bided his time until he could take his grievance out on you," Aragorn mused with a shake of the head. "I suppose we should be thankful for that at least…" He had thought it was affection and eagerness to appease his angered owner that had had the horse burrow against him, but watching the way Éomer gingerly put his foot down he could only surmise it had been to better shift his weight onto the limb. He doubted Firefoot had in any way wished to maim his master, but he obviously had not seen the need to spare him either.

The bond between the Rohirrim and their horses was a strong, and strange one, and not easily comprehended by an outsider. For would not anyone else have tried to shift the horse by force? The Rohir King however had endured it, although with a lot of rather salty phrases. No wonder the stable hand had shied away, if Aragorn had not been able to see what the matter was at first, it was likely neither had they, and they would most certainly have wondered what the matter was.

"I had never thought he would be pleased, but I will not order one of my men to give up his horse for my comfort," Éomer shrugged as the two of them made their way out of the stable. Aragorn slowing his pace somewhat from his normal long legged stride as he noticed his friend was limping. "Though he has no real cause for complaint," the blonde warrior added. "For Lothíriel has been plying him with apples for his troubles and will no doubt lavish more onto him for the next few days… She is most fond of him, as I know he is of her, but he will not miss an opportunity for vengeance when he thinks he can get away with it."

"He is a rather remarkable horse, the likes of which there are few," Aragorn mused as they started for the highest tier of the city. "Was he not given you as a colt?"

"Aye," Éomer nodded. "Théoden promised him to me when the mare was but expecting. I knew the foal born would be mine, and what an honour it was with a horse from his line," he added with a wry grin. "My sister was indeed most displeased, she felt it unfair."

"Your sister is not one I would want to ever cause to feel slighted," Aragorn mused. "She is a formidable woman."

"She is," Éomer nodded. "And as much a Rohan warrior as any Eored, in her own right. Even before she slay the witch king," he raised a hand to rub at his temple and for a moment Aragorn wondered if the battle between horse and rider had been longer than he knew since it seemed to pain him. Then Éomer shook his head with a look of fond remembrance. "Though to me she will always be the wrathful girl who threw a stew pot at my head because I said I would rather eat my cast off boots."

"Éowyn's cooking is, memorable…." Aragorn decided. It would not do for him as a king to speak ill of the Lady of Ithilien, but he felt confident Éomer would know what he meant. He remembered the bowl of stew that she had presented him with on their way to Helms Deep, and he had indeed found it to be the most vile thing he had ever sought to eat.

"I always felt risking her anger was safer than subjecting myself to her food," Èomer smiled lightly as they approached the palace garden. Aragorn noted that he seemed to attempt to hide the limp and would imagine he did not want his wife to worry and fuss over him. For worrying she would feel guilt, or for fearing it would make him look weak he did not know. Surely Éomer had to know that there was no reason to fear such in the company of family and close friends, but he knew doubts of his own worth sometimes plagued the young king's mind. Indeed it was different for Aragorn himself who had always known what role he was likely to come to play, if he liked it or not. Éomer in contrast had never imagined it would ever fall to him to take the crown, he had assumed he would always be nothing more than nephew and cousin to his ruler and lord.

They entered the garden where a stone table was set with refreshments and the rest waited. Lothíriel and Éowyn both shone up with warm smiles as they entered, and Éowyn stood to embrace her brother. It was clear to Aragorn that though the siblings must have had their battles there was great love between them. The King of Rohan would do no less for his sister's happiness than he would for his wife.

"Brother, it is good to see you," Faramir inclined his head, always more formal if Éowyn many times was a good influence on him. Aragorn did however note how his young stewards eyes narrowed for but a moment as he took in his appearance. Èomer might not let aught show on his face, but he was not able to rule his body so completely.

"As it is to see you are well," Éomer inclined his head, then drew his brother in law into a firm embrace that Faramir accepted with good grace. Indeed Aragorn thought being wed to the free spirited lady of Rohan had been good for him. He was thriving released from the oppressing weight of his father. It was also Aragorn's belief that as Faramir missed Boromir most certainly and suffered from the loss of his brother and guardian, Éomer filled some of that void if he was younger than Faramir. He had some of the same straightforward blunt manners that had also been a trait of Boromir and no doubt Faramir took some comfort in that.

"You were so long we had started to wonder," Lothíriel said as Arwen too greeted the King. "Edsel was not hurt worse than you thought, was she?"

"Nay," Éomer had greeted the Queen of Gondor with a bow, and looked somewhat surprised as the queen in turn embraced him with a teasing smile. It did not surprise Aragorn for just as Arwen could be playful, so did she care very much for the young King and wanted him to feel at ease where he sometimes worried too much about formalities. He had learned from Faramir that as King Théoden had had dealings with Gondor, he had oft sent his own son, Théodred. Many times Éomer had been travelling with him to learn diplomacy and the trade between countries, and Faramir had conveyed that Denethor had not had much patience with the in his eyes lowly heir. Èomer had oft been made to feel the uncouth fool before his eyes and sometimes still worried he was not performing as expected for the court.

"Edsel shall be fine with just a few days of rest," Éomer stated. "As long as she has the sense not to try and challenge every other horse in the stable." He allowed himself to be led to the table by his wife's hand.

"I feel terrible for poor Firefoot," she stated as Arwen started filling a plate with bread, cheese and fruit that she placed in front of the Rohir as the others had waited for him before they started. "I have selected a couple of apples to take him, I know he was most displeased with me riding him."

"You should take them to Edsel and let the oaf starve," Éomer gave a snort as he accepted the plate with a bow of his head. "Thank you, my lady."

"Éomer?" Lothíriel frowned confused. "I know he was displeased, I was hoping to appease him so that he needs not be irate with us any longer."

"I think regretfully it is too late for that action to be of any use," Aragorn accepted his own plate from his wife. He felt no guilt for the look Lothíriel gave her husband, it would be good for him to be fussed over a little. He always strove to be so stoic, to prove himself worthy.

He had no wish to be cruel or wish ill upon a friend, but if the action of a horse to his master allowed the sometimes overly cautious man to accept some comfort from his wife, instead of worrying how it might make him seem, then perhaps Aragorn ought to take him an apple as well…

A Temporary End...

Thank you all who's read and reviewed, the Cricket is thrilled...

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.