His Humble Opinion

by Elenhin

Firefoot may be a horse, but he is a wise horse and he knows what he wants and thinks. In his humble opinion, Éomer is a good master who is quite easy to train to be an even better master. In his humble opinion, Éomer is smart enough to appreciate a good horse and not get any foolish ideas. In Aragorn's opinion, if not Éomer drives him mad, Firefoot will surely do it, for the hors

4. Chapter 4

For Author's Note and Disclaimer, See chapter 1

Chapter 4

Sauron's army was defeated, but that did not mean the threat it had posed was completely over. There was no lack of danger to the people. Sauron had scattered Orcs and troops all over Arda, and many parties, large and small still remained to be defeated after the battle by the black gate. Uruk-Hai, Orcs and wild men sought to find places of refuge in the land where they could strike against small villages and farms scattering the countryside. They had yet to be sought out and destroyed, and Aragorn worried of the damage they would be able to rein unto the land before then.

The country rejoiced, they had a king and a queen in his beloved Arwen. They had also cheered when their young Steward had wed the Shield Maiden of Rohan. Not only for his happiness but for the strengthened bond between the two countries that it had created. For surely Rohan would never hesitate to the aid of Gondor if their own lady resided there. The people were happy and flourishing though stores were low and food had been scarce for some time. Rohan had made a bridal gift of horses to the couple, and Aragorn had found the wedding to be most pleasant. Not only had he been happy for Éowyn whom he had come to treasure, and for his young steward whom he already counted as a dear friend.

While his own wedding had been a somewhat more stiff and formal affair the one between the two had been somewhat more relaxed. The Prince Imrahil may have been in attendance, somewhat apprehensive over the attention his daughter was garnering. Éowyn had been smiling and laughing, unhappiness no longer weighing her down.

The only newly king of Rohan had been staying in Gondor for the time as they ironed out the new ties between their countries. Seeking to find the ways where both countries could flourish. Rohan had the lure of the horses, and Gondor had the more land and the sea. He had known Éomer to be fair and of honourable since they had first met, but it had been clear the young king might be in need of guidance. He was intelligent and courageous, but he had never been taught the workings of the court as had his cousin, the king's true heir. Théodred's death had put Éomer in a place he never expected to be. He knew what his country needed, but not how to word himself in the game of politics. He was sombre, hesitant and guarded and none was happier than Aragorn when this seemed to earn him the attention of Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. The princess spent her time with her cousin, Faramir, and his young bride, and thus never lacked for opportunity to engage the Rohan king in conversation.

Aragorn had also come upon the ladies sit with their heads together and laughter ringing through the hall as Éowyn sought to prepare the girl for what she needed to know in order to wed her unsuspecting brother.

He might have warned the blonde warrior, but that might have earned him the annoyance of his own queen, better to not interfere. It was clear to him that Lothíriel did not just covet the position, she wanted the man for himself, and as he wanted Éomer's best it seemed advisable to let the courtship progress until the king himself realised he was courting the lady. Though it seemed to progress satisfactorily he suspected the young king himself was still unawares of his affection for the lady. As long as Éomer was informed of the event before the actual wedding date he felt it did no harm to leave things in the hands of the ladies.

Truthfully he felt it was for the best, for otherwise he was certain Éomer would soon succumb to the lonely position of his throne. With his uncle and cousin fallen, and his sister wed the throne could be a lonely place indeed and Aragorn did not wish such an existence on him. Éomer had proven his courage and loyalty many times over and Aragorn would he was granted a happy life.

Faramir who was also mourning the loss of his brother seemed to find some comfort in Éomer who felt the same loss after Théodred. While Faramir had grown under Boromir's guidance and protection, and Éomer had done the same under Théodred, Faramir seemed to have taken the role of protector towards the younger man. In battle Aragorn would be inclined to say that Éomer was the firecer of the two, but off the battlefield he turned sombre, quiet and even hesitant at times. Reminding Aragorn to some extent of a young colt, gangly and a little awkward but about to grow into a magnificent stallion.

On a horse in battle not many could match the Rohan king, with minimal armour to spare the horse the weight the Rohirrim were fast and ferocious.

Now tracking a number of men through the countryside he was glad for Éomer's company. He did not know much about the men they sought aside from that they had laid waste to several farms, killing two men and leaving the people there to starve. Judging by the statements from the farms they were a band of twenty strong who sought to make easy plunder of the war plagued people. Knowing the poor farmers could offer little resistance they had terrorized the countryside and Aragorn felt it was best to take swift action. With ten of his own men, and ten of Éomer's Eored they had felt their numbers strong enough to deal with the threat. With the added benefit of getting away from court and the game of politics for a few days.

"They would head east afor long," Éomer stated, remaining on horseback while Aragorn had dismounted to study the tracks.

"They seem to want to carry north," the former ranger mused. He knew that he read the tracks better than did Éomer, even if the Rohan was skilled in his own right. He had also come to know that while he read the tracks with more skill, so did the Rohan know the horses they were tracking. A number of twenty prints, and Éomer seemed to have given them all different traits.

"Aye, they would," the blonde now nodded. "And they would have us think so, but one of their horses is tiring badly. An old one, needs water much more frequent than the others. The gait has picked up each time after they've crossed streams, but to the north there are none. East, there is water a plenty and they will make better time."

"You may very well be right," Aragorn agreed. "If we were sure we could cut across the hills and save time, but I do not know if we dare risk it."

Standing in the stirrups Éomer scanned the land around them. "The terrain north would be very hard for them, I do not think they will want to go there. If we follow their tracks a few more leagues we should know for sure, then we can still cut across the hills and we should be able to intercept them."

"Aye," Aragorn nodded. Knowing horses and how they liked to move better than anyone Éomer knew well where they would seek to make the best time. In this he was more than willing to defer to the young king, if he had not Aragorn's skill as a tracker.

Shortly before nightfall it was clear that Éomer had been right and their company steered through the hills. Had he ridden with Gondorian men alone Aragorn would have made camp, but the Rohirrim moved swiftly through the scant forest. Their horses as sure footed as ever, and the Gondorians followed. Moving closer by far through the moonlights eerie shadows. Only striking camp by a stream shortly before midnight. The Rohirrim taking great care to tend to and settle their horses while Aragorn was amused to note his own men worried about filling their bellies.

Hardtack, bread and cheese as they would not risk a fire saw the men content if not happy, Aragorn gazing at the boulders surrounding their small camp decided that he could risk one pipe as the glow was not likely to carry. Shortly after he had lit it, a few of his men doing the same, there were soft whining from the horses as they shifted restlessly. The Gondorians had set a picket line, but the Rohirrim allowed their horses to move freely around the small camp as they laid out bedrolls on the ground. Firefoot came over to nudge Eomer's shoulder, and the Rohan gave the horse the last of the bread in his hand.

Aragorn knew well that should food have been scarce, the man would have given the horse more than his share and found it fascinating how the huge creature sought out his master. With no tents to shield them from the weather, the Rohirrim lay beside their horses, in the shelter from their larger forms. As Firefoot had settled, Éomer stretched out on the ground beside his horse, trusting both the guards they had set, and his horse to wake him if there was danger.

The next morn they broke fast on hardtack in the saddle, moving swiftly though the Rohirrim slowed their pace for the Gondorians to keep even stride with them. It was another full day before Aragorn's keen eye told them they were getting close. He and Éomer moved their horses together to confer.

"I shall take my riders around them," Éomer decided, having once more stood himself in his stirrups to survey the land. "We shall make good enough time without having to move so close as to alert them. If they are unawares of us, as you say they are, they have no reason to be alert."

"I see no indication they know they are followed," Aragorn stated firmly. "How long do you need to come around them?"

"Five hours should suffice," Éomer decided, a hand stroking his short beard thoughtfully. "We should need no more than four, but I do not want to have to move recklessly."

"Five hours then," Aragorn nodded. "We shall be ready."

"Rohirrim…. Hiya!" Éomer wasted no time on meaningless talk, he wheeled his magnificent horse around and his riders followed him while Aragorn moved forward cautiously. The Rohirrim had the harder task, in that they needed to move swiftly and quietly, while Aragorn and his men could take a moment to sit on the ground and eat. The Rohirrim he knew would eat in the saddle and be ready when they said they would be.

Once he moved his own men forward, a group of twenty riders coming in sight over the hills he knew that Éomer and his men would be ready to come from the opposite direction though he could not see them. He gave the signal, and his men galloped across the plain. A horn sounded in the distance and he knew he had been right, Éomer and his Eored were coming towards them at a gallop.

The twenty men between them would not have been able to offer any great resistance to the trained warriors and Aragorn drew his sword at ready.

The distance for them was about the same, but the Rohirrim moved so much faster and that was when Aragorn saw it, on his left, coming from the side of a scant forest were another band of riders. They had been tracking a mere twenty men, but four dozen more had been in what was evidently a larger band.

"Hurry, to Rohan!" he cried. The Rohirrim were now badly outmatched, and while some rode ahead he saw a group of twelve remain behind with bows. Two of the Rohir fell before they even reached their enemy and Aragorn's men were yet too far away to aid them. The clash of swords rang as the warriors did not give and Aragorn did not care he left his men behind as he rode to aid his friends.

It was no mere skirmish, but more akin to a battle as the Rohirs were badly outnumbered and he searched for Éomer on the field. Horses were neighing and the men were screaming, the swords clashing loudly and he struck one man down with his own as he tried to find the helmet with the pale yellow horse hair.

He could not see it, but then the loud cry of a horse and the loud ring of steel shoed hoves on metal drew his eyes and he saw the magnificent grey beast.

Firefoot was without rider…..

Swinging his own horse around he made for the riderless horse, Firefoot had not surrendered. He stood over his fallen master, rearing up on his back hooves and striking at anyone who got close. Moving beside him Aragorn was thankful the horse could tell friend from foe and did not attack him, though he dealt a brutal kick to one man who got too close to his master.

Not knowing if the young king was alive or not Aragorn swung his horse around to meet an attack. Never more relieved than as he heard a groan from the man. Wavering and in obvious pain the Rohan warrior was struggling to his feet, almost falling and Firefoot moved in front of him to protect him from enemies, dodging a sword himself and crushing the skull of the man who dared raise it at his master.

With Aragorn shielding them Firefoot bent down, lying down so that the injured man could pull himself into the saddle, sword clutched tightly in a weak arm as his horse got back to his feet.

"Èomer, how fare you?!" Aragorn cried as he had to wheel his horse again to fend of an attack.

"I am well," the obvious untruth did not sit well with Aragorn, for anyone who laid eyes on him could tell he was barely keeping himself in the saddle, and Firefoot was moving to protect his master while the Rohirrim rallied to their king.

They may have been outnumbered, but the larger force was not enough to win the bandits the battle and soon the remaining few of them attempted flight. They were not able to evade the Rohirrim in pursuit though as the riders swiftly bore down on them and demanded their surrender.

Leaving them to the task Aragorn had reined his horse in beside his friends, Firefoot whining and sidestepping as he tossed his head. Now looking at Éomer, Aragorn could see the blood streaming down his face, colouring his fair hair dark and red.

"Éomer, let me tend to you," he urged.

"See to the men, I need it not," the young King groaned and Aragorn sighed. He could see a bloodied wound on his leg and gritted his teeth. He knew Éomer feared appearing as weak, but this was not a time to let it rule your actions.

"We will need to make camp to tend to the wounded," he decided. "I will make sure all can travel that far, then we will move to the stream of before. There we will have water and firewood and I will be able to tend to the wounded better. And you my friend, will be one of them if you like it or not."

"Aye, we will move to the stream," Éomer agreed, and Aragorn ignored the fact that he said nothing of his own condition. As the men gathered again and Aragorn quickly ensured their injured would make it so far they moved to the creek. Two of the Rohirrim moved in to flank their king and he was glad as he felt the older more experienced warrior might make his king see reason.

As they struck camp by the stream their prisoners were secured and Firefoot knelt again the easier for his master to dismount. As Éomer sank to the ground, holding his head, the horse stood over him. His ears were turned back over his head, and when anyone not Rohan or Aragorn moved to close the horse would bare his teeth in warning. No one touched his master unless Firefoot allowed it.

Cleaning an arrow wound, and setting a broken arm Aragorn was worried when the young Rohan turned and retched. The blow to the head had been severe then, and would no doubt pain the man. Requesting a fire and water to be heated he noted that Éomer was still demanding a report from his man, who eyed him with unconcealed worry as Éomer nodded and gave the order for sentries to be posted.

"I will tend to him, have no fear," he told the man who nodded somberly.

"He will not yield to your care easily," Gamling rubbed his chin. "And I can not command my King."

"I will tend to him, but if you would aid me, I would need some clean cloth for bandages," Aragorn dropped a hand on his shoulder.

"Aye, I will see to it," Gamling nodded, going to one of the packs. Soon all the rest of the men were tended to, only a few shallow scratches that the men cleaned and bandaged themselves remaining. Filling a cup with hot water Aragorn added the dry leaves to let them steep to a brew that would ease the pain. Taking more hot water in bowl to clean the wounds. He moved to his friend and pressed the cup into his hands.

"Drink, it will ease the pain," he urged as he took a cloth to clean the wound at his scalp. It was a deep cut, and bone was showing but he deemed his skull to be whole. Cleaning the blood away from the wound and noting that Éomer's eyes could track his hand he wound a bandage around his head and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You will no doubt feel the pain of a dozen dwarves with hammers my friend, but your skull is whole. Drink, it's a slightly bitter brew, but it will ease the pain."

"I do not need it," Éomer gritted his teeth and as Aragorn cut the fabric of his rough trousers to reveal the deep jagged wound from a sword, he put the cup down on the ground so that a measure spilled.

Firefoot nudged his masters shoulder and Éomer lifted a shaking hand to scratch his nose.

"It is no weakness to want to dull the pain," pouring warm water on the wound Aragorn washed it out, Éomer giving a hiss of pain as he did so. "Éomer, I would not see you suffer unduly. 'Tis a simple brew to ease the pain."

"Spare me your healers potion, I will not need it," Éomer gritted his teeth and swayed as Aragorn used a cloth to clean the wound, dusting it with a dry herb before placing a compress over it and tying a bandage around the leg to hold it in place.

The Rohir's breathing was harsh and ragged, his hands clenched into fists and Aragorn took the cup again. "Please, drink," he urged but Éomer pushed his hand away, turning his head.

Looking up to Gamling, Aragorn saw him shaking his head.

"My lords," Gamling came to stand before them. "If it pleases you, we may ride south and leave the prisoners at the Keep of Salines Creek. It shall be half a day, but if we do so, we will not have to worry about keeping them under guard while tending our wounded."

"Sounds like a sound plan," Aragorn decided. "Èomer, have you any objections?"

"Nay," the King of Rohan started struggling to his feet.

"Èomer, please do not subject yourself to needless pain," Aragorn urged him, holding the cup to him once more.

"Firefoot!" Éomer pushed the cup away more forcibly from himself and grasped at his horse to steady himself. "We shall ride now, and we shall be on our way back to Minas Tirith afore nightfall."

Aragorn was tempted to attempt ordering him to take the brew, but he was stopped by Gamling's hand on his arm. "He hasn't willingly taken anything from a healer since he was a child," Gamling spoke in a hushed voice. "He will not now, unless he is too sick to know he is doing it. My Lord, better we make for the Keep, and for home."

"Very well," Gamling knew the young King well, and Aragorn knew it would be foolish not to heed his advise. If Gamling, who had helped to raise and guide him, could not convince him, then what chance did Aragorn himself have? "We will mount up and make for the keep, will the wounded be able to ride?"

"They will, my Lord," Gamling nodded.

The Rohirrim and the Gondorians had already started gathering their brief camp and stoved the supplies. The uninjured ones helping their wounded friends and Aragorn looked to his friend. Firefoot had once more knelt down to allow Èomer to mount with more ease, though Aragorn noted he swayed in the saddle.

They had to move slowly with the wounded, but still made good time to the Keep as the horses were all well rested. They did not tarry there, but Aragorn promised to send a detail to collect the prisoners once they reached Minas Tirith, and they continued onwards. Éomer was swaying in the saddle, silent as it seemed to take all his strength to remain on his horse. Gamling rode on his one side, and Aragorn on the other.

As they struck camp for the night Aragorn shook his head when it seemed a moment before Éomer realised they had called halt. It was another before he had collected himself to slide out of the saddle. Firefoot nudged his shoulder as soon as he was standing on the ground and the blonde Rohir slung an arm around his neck. In part to comfort the creature, in part to take comfort himself, and in part to hold himself upright Aragorn decided.

He was glad for Gamling's help in setting up the camp, the Rohirrim more used to this than the Gondorian troops were. It was mere minutes before the fire was blazing and blankets and cloaks were spread on the ground for the wounded to lay on as their comrades tried to see to their comfort.

A kettle of water was brought to him, in that he would better be able to ensure none of the wounded were worse though most of the sword and arrow wounds had bled some during the ride. While the King of Rohan attempted futile protests he was led to the rest of the wounded by Gamling, and made to sit on the ground where he cradled his head in one hand. He remained thus until Aragorn had seen to the rest of the men. It was their fortune that none seemed seriously injured though he worried about infection in the wounds. The men they had fought with had used weapons crusted with dirt and old dried blood. The wounds would be unclean and there would only be so much to do for the men until they reached Minas Tirith.

He wrapped an arrow wound as he noted that the Gondorian men had put one more pot over the fire, while one of the Rohirrim came carrying a brace of coneys. It was not a lot of food, not enough to go around all the men, but it would save the wounded eating naught but hardtack and Aragorn was glad for it. The thin stew made would be hot and nourishing.

The fragrance from it was appetising, but then he noted how one man found a small box of spice in his pack, while another carried a pouch with a few dried herbs. It was obvious that the Rohirrim were well used to travelling this way, and what one had would benefit them all. Hard bread was broken into pieces and allowed to soak up the broth to soften.

Aragorn, cheese and bread in hand watched as Gamling took a bowl to his king and lord, it would seem he had better luck with the task than Aragorn had, for at least Éomer took a few spoonfuls of the food. It would have been better for him if he had taken the tea for pain and fever that Aragorn brewed, but that he refused and with a bemused smile Gamling shook his head over Aragorn's fruitless efforts. Accepting finally that he would get nowhere with the young king Aragorn sighed as he sat beside him.

"You should rest," he stated softly. "We will need to travel long on the morrow, so that we may get our wounded home as soon as we are able, to better care than I may provide here."

"I am well enough," Éomer ground out through gritted teeth and Aragorn once more shook his head with a smile. He felt he understood how Gamling felt, for if he could not remember the fondness he felt for a friend, then he would surely lose patience with his stubbornness.

"You my friend, are in pain and with a fever if I am not mistaken," he mused. "And if you will not let me give you the tea to aid you, then I bid you, lie down and rest. Gamling is seeing to your men, and he would have an easier time if he was not worrying so for you."

"He has no cause to worry," Éomer mumbled, bracing his head in hand and Aragorn noted the fresh bloodstain on the white cloth wound around his head.

"I would say he has ample cause for concern, with his king and lord injured," he mused. "Èomer, I know well the heavy burden of command, but you need not carry it alone, nor suffer so for it. I've willow bark and fever lilies, and I've heartspur for the pain. It would allow you a more restful sleep."

"Do not think to force your potions on me," Éomer dropped his hand and raised his head in anger, a flash of pain coming over his pale features as he regarded Aragorn. "I am well enough without them, and I do not require them." Beside him, Aragorn noted how Firefoot laid his ears back, noting the shift in his master's mood, and not liking the cause of it. It seemed that if Aragorn was to push Éomer, he would find himself facing his horse as well and he doubted he would get far with either.

"Very well, but then I do insist you lie down," he stated, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He did not know why he was so opposed to the herbs that might aid him, nor could he understand why he would rather suffer, but now was not the time to fight him on the subject. He would have to seek out his answers later, so that he was better prepared another time. If it was because he saw the reason behind the urging, or if he was just too weary with pain Aragorn did not know, but he laid down on the cloak spread under him, and a few moments later Gamling went to spread another one over him.

The rider looked tired and weary with worry as he sat close to his King, and Aragorn would have to admit to feeling the same concern himself. He had not known Éomer long, but he counted him as a valued friend and would not want to see him suffer unduly. He could however not seek to assert authority over him.

Instead, he allowed him to rest out the night, shaking his head when it was to him evident the young king was still suffering in the morning. One of the men seemed mostly recovered, another had infection setting in in his arm in spite of Aragorn's ministrations. It would be one full day, and most of another before they reached Minas Tirith, and the further they rode, the more Éomer slumped in the saddle. Gamling rode by his side, but said nothing as Éomer clutched the pommel of his saddle, leaning heavily on his arms, eyes half lidded as the horses trudged on. Aragorn steered his own steed to his other side, and noted how Firefoot laid his ears back in a clear warning. He knew his master was ill, and he would not allow anyone to do him harm.

As they struck camp by a stream that night Éomer did not even try to do else but sit down, Firefoot grazing close by him. Aragorn had made tea for the wounded, but knew not how to make the Rohir take it when Gamling reached his side, two bowls of the thin stew in his hands. One only half full, he gave the other to the King of Gondor, and nodded to the steaming cup Aragorn held in hand. "Am I right that is what you gave the others?" he queried and Aragorn nodded.

"It is, though I know not of what use," Aragorn sighed. "I doubt my effort will be appreciated more this evening than the last."

"He's my King and lord," Gamling stated. "But when first he came to Meduseld he was naught but a wee bairn," so saying he took the cup from Aragorn's hand, and poured half the steaming liquid into the stew. "I know some of the reason behind the matter, but it is not my place to tell you aught of it. Théodred had his own way, they were like brothers, and no brother of the same womb could have loved him more. I can offer little in his place…"

"I think you offer a great deal, and if he would allow me, I would want for nothing but to do the same," Aragorn stated. He was no fool, he knew the trust Gamling had just placed in him, in sharing something very private about his King. A way to aid Éomer when the young warrior did not wish to let him.

Gamling now only grunted a reply, then took the bowl to his King and friend to attempt getting sustenance and medicine both into him.

Aragorn made his bedding next to the two Rohirs, and found that Firefoot did not allow him to do so without question. No, the horse laid his ears back flat against his head, and only a quiet word from Gamling calmed the animal to allow it.

Aragorn was worried, for not only did the incoherent mumbling of fever dreams disturb his sleep, but it was evident in the morning that his friend was worse. Even so, Éomer roused enough to refuse aught but to mount his own horse, and all Gamling could do was to shake his head and ride beside his King as they made for Minas Tirith. Aragorn, flanking him on the other side found it hard to hide his concern. Lost in thoughts of worry when the stallion next to him gave a loud whine.

"My Lord!" Gamling's cry alerted him, but even as he spun around he was not in time to catch the Rohir as he fell from the saddle to land on the ground with a heavy thud. Aragorn instantly threw himself from his own saddle, Gamling hitting the ground a few seconds before him to crouch beside the King. Aragorn reached for him, and found a hoof firmly planted between himself and the injured King. Firefoot stood himself between the man he did not know well and his master, neighing, and stomping his hooves.

"Firefoot, peace, mellon, I only want to aid your master," he started softly, reaching a hand and the stallion snapped at his hand.

"Firefoot!" Gamling stood. "He will not harm Éomer, you need let him see to him." Firefoot looked to the older man, and to Aragorn, then turned to Éomer, bending his head to nudge his shoulder and the Rohir moaned.

Firefoot nudged him again, grabbing the fabric of his cloak in his teeth to tug at him.

"Firefoot, peace," Aragorn grasped the bridle. "You need let me tend to him," he repeated the words in the Elven tongue, soothing the horse who whined loudly but allowed it as Gamling added his own Rohirric to the soothing words of the Elves.

"We must get him to Minas Tirith, there's too little I can do here," Aragorn shook his head, placing his hand on the King's brow. "He is fevered and the wound has festered."

"Aye," Gamling nodded somberly. "You will travel faster if you go ahead. Brego can carry you both the distance. He will not falter."

"It will be for the best," Aragorn agreed. The wound might bleed afresh, but the infection worried him more. He stood to mount his horse again, and Gamling helped him to take the unconscious Rohir in front of him in the saddle. As Aragorn wrapped his arms around his friend Firefoot danced beside him. Snapping once at his leg though Aragorn could tell it was a warning and not malice. Firefoot would allow him to take his master, but he would not let him think he may do as he pleased. Éomer belonged to Firefoot, not to some king of Gondor….

"He'll go with you," Gamling removed the reins from Firefoot's bridle. "You need not worry about him, should any danger arise, Firefoot will protect his master at all cost. Had it not been Brego, he would not have allowed you to take him now as you do."

"He is very loyal," Aragorn agreed as Firefoot burrowed his nose into Éomer's knee.

"He trusts Brego, if he is still unsure about you, he'll see you there safely," Gamling offered with a wry smile. "And we shall endeavour to make good time behind you. Now ride, see our King safe…"

Nodding, Aragorn urged his horse into a motion, and as if to sense the need Brego moved into a gallop. Brego had belonged to Éomer's cousin, Théodred, and no doubt the horse had been as protective of his master then as Firefoot was of Éomer now. Aragorn would assume that Brego would also protect the Rohan if the need be. The two horses were of the same line, as their masters had been, and Firefoot now galloped at his side.

The two horses moved faster than the company had been able to, though to Aragorn it still felt too long. He had thought the horses would be tiring, but they continued their gallop without faltering, and as Minas Tirith loomed in the distance they both seemed to increase their speed as if sensing the need.

Firefoot took the lead, charging through the gate and making for the upper tier with Aragorn all but shaking his head. The horse was magnificent, and he knew to be heeded. Neighing and stomping hooves on stone so that sparks flew when they reached their courtyard. Arwen and Éowyn having heard the commotion came upon the step, and seeing Firefoot without rider, and her beloved brother in Aragorn's arms she gave a cry and ran forward.

"He's alive, he needs care but he can make it," Aragorn stated as he allowed two guards that hurried forward to take his burden.

Firefoot moved in, teeth bared and he had to take the bridle by his hand.

"What happened? What ails him?" Éowyn cradled her brother's face in her hands.

"Tis a sword wound, it was not too deep but it started to fester," Aragorn told her. "He needs the healers, but he would not let me give him anything."

"Take him to his chamber," Éowyn looked up from the pale face, her own ashen with fear and anguish. "You can tend to him there. I shall see Firefoot to the stable, he will not let anyone else, not now."

"Aye," indeed the stallion was dancing threateningly in front of the guards who were to carry the king. Éowyn though took the bridle and led the horse, tugging the bridle as the huge equine tossed his head and sidestepped as he wished to go with his master. Only allowing himself to be taken to the stable by Éowyn's insistence.

Arwen was already ordering for hot water, clean linen and a healer to be brought as they took the young man to the chambers he had been given.

The healer, arms laden with pouches and jars seemed to wonder why the man had not been brought to the houses of healing, but given Éowyn's words from before, and Èomer's own refusal of the healing tea Aragorn surmised it was best if the king was in his own chamber.

Using his dagger Aragorn cut away the fabric of his trousers so that the healer would better be able to tend to the wound. It was festering, with pus oozing from red inflamed flesh.

"This needs to be lanced, and cauterised," the healer looked up. "Before the wound turns so foul as to cost him the leg."

"Then I bid thee, do it," Aragorn urged. Unwinding the bandage around the blonde hair he found that wound to be festering as well, but it should be easier treated.

A fire was started in the hearth, and a blade was placed on the coals. Éowyn came to clutch her brother's lax hand as the wound was lanced, foul yellow pus seeping out as the healer pinched the inflamed flesh. Wiped away and the wound was cleaned with wine before the reddened knife was brought.

Aragorn grasped his friend by the shoulders, gritting his teeth as the young Rohir cried out and struggled weakly. Torn from his unconscious state by the force of the pain. Éowyn had tears trailing down her cheeks, and Aragorn turned to find Arwen with her arm gently around another woman. He had not paid any heed to when Lothíriel had entered the chamber, but he felt her worry and pain at seeing the man who had only just started to court her injured so.

Using mortar and pestle to crush herbs into a thick paste the healer spread it thickly over the wound before winding a clean stripe of linen around it. "That will ensure to draw the poison out," he stated. "He will be well, as long as the wound is not allowed to fester again. The wrapping must be changed and the wound kept clean."

"Aye, I will see to it," Aragorn assured him as the man spread the same paste on the head wound. Wrapping it with a second strip of linen. "And I will see him cleaned and changed." The chainmail he still wore needed to be removed.

"Brew this into a tea for the fever," the healer placed a leather pouch onto the table. "One spoon for one cup of water. Then mix this with wine and it shall ease the pain." He placed a clay jar on the table beside the pouch. "Two spoons for one goblet of wine."

"We shall do what we can," Aragorn had to admit to feeling some apprehension, if Éomer should refuse as he had like before.

"Send for me if he worsens, but as long as you tend the wound properly, he should not," the healer stated as he gathered his supplies again.

"Thank you, your service has been most appreciated," Arwen smiled softly at him, then took Lothíriel by the hand, turning to Éowyn as well. "Come, I know you're both distraught, but let us find a little sustenance. My husband will see to it that Éomer is cleaned and made comfortable, then we may return. I will find Faramir and send him to aid you," she added for Aragorn.

"I will stay," Éowyn stated firmly, remaining by the bedside. "He is my brother, and I have tended to both him and our cousin afore."

Aragorn hesitated, but he knew that when the shield maiden had her mind set on something, it would take a stronger man than he to change it. "Very well, I will have more warm water and cloth brought," he decided. "We need to wash him and dress him in a clean tunic."

"I will see to the water, and soap," Arwen smiled softly as she once more took Lothíriel by the hand. "Come my dear friend, we will see to this, and to bringing sustenance for them as well as for Éomer. You will feel better for it I am certain."

Moving to remove Éomer's boots Aragorn hesitated once more over Éowyn's presence, but the Rohirrim took care of their own he was very much aware. She showed not a second of hesitation as she removed vambraces and shin guards, helping Aragorn to sit him up so leather jerkin and chain mail could be removed. Unlacing the tunic and removing it though Aragorn bade her turn around to protect his modesty when he removed the bloodied and dirtied trousers. Noting the bemused smile on her face as he allowed her to turn around, decency arranged for the moment by a blanket as Éowyn made to find a clean tunic from the chest. It might be that Éomer would not have been surprised over his sisters insistence that she was allowed to care for him, but to Gondorians it would seem strange that a woman, even a sister, would tend so to a man in such a state. Which was why he once more bid her to avert her eyes as he donned the long tunic on his friend and pulled the blankets to his chest. It had to be so, that a man unable to care for himself or his wounds needed aid, even from the women. It might even be that Éomer as a Rohir would not fret about the matter, but he'd rather risk their amusement for his caution than to embarrass the young King and his friend.

Éowyn was washing her brother's face with a cloth when Arwen and Lothíriel returned, Faramir with them. The young princess pale of face and slightly shaky of voice as she put a tray she had been carrying on the table. Éowyn went to take her hand, concern for her brother was clear on her face but the healers words had soothed her fears.

"He'll be well," Éowyn tried to sooth her friend. "The wound has been drained and cauterised, and Éomer has been injured before. He's far too stubborn to surrender to illness long."

"What foul turn of events caused this?" Faramir asked his friend and King.

"We only knew about the company we were following," Aragorn sighed. "We thought our numbers ample for the task. Éomer led his Eored around to attack from the other side, we were unawares there were a second, much larger group. They fell upon the Rohans as we were farther away. By the time we caught up to them, they had already taken losses. Éomer was wounded by a dirty blade, that's why the wound turned foul the way it rest of our group should be returning before long. We rode ahead."

"I will ensure they are ready for them," Faramir nodded briefly. "Then I'll return here," he stepped out of the room and Aragorn was grateful as he started to brew the tea for the fever. As long as Éomer was not fully conscious he imagined it would not be too hard to give it to him.

Indeed, as Aragorn eased him up, and Éowyn gave him the tea by spoon he mumbled incoherently at times, but was not awake enough to offer objections.

Lothíriel sat on the side of the bed, closer than many noble women from Gondor would have thought proper but it made Aragorn smile. If Éomer had not yet begun the formal courtship, it was for the best that Lothíriel gave him no choice in the matter.

As she was watching over the young King, Aragorn pulled Éowyn to the side. "I would ask you a question, and I mean no transgression, but if you are able I would wish an answer, for your brother's sake. I tried to give him medicine, for pain and fever on the way here, but he would not allow it."

"No, he would not have," she mused softly, giving her brother a worried look. "Is that why he is so ill now?"

"It is not the only reason," Aragorn decided. "Thought it might have helped, but he would not allow me. Do you know why? I only ask because I think of Éomer with great friendship, and I would not see him suffer unduly."

"I know, some," Éowyn bit her lip, torn between protecting her brother, and providing the aid he might need. "When we were children, mother was weak and frail even before our father died. She had not the strength to care for two children, I had a nurse. And Éomer was deemed old enough, as he was seven winters. Though when he was ill, she would care for him as well. She was old and firm, but I liked her. There was a fever that year, all the boys in the village around the keep were stricken, though only a few of the girls. My nurse said it was because the boys were naughty by nature they were the ones ill. There was a fever and rash, and with so many children at the same time the healer was just by with the herbs, midwinter ring blossoms, my nurse brewed them into a tea. The first time Éomer just spat it out, I thought it funny at first, the faces he made," she smiled faintly at the memory. "But though she tried to make him drink it, he would just spit it out again, she had to get father's strap to force him to swallow. I was scared at that, and the next time she tried to make him take the tea, he would still spit it out 'til she fetched the strap." Now her eyes grew sad and weary. "Mother said she must make him take it, she was worried, so Nurse took a birch twig bundle, soaked it in vinegar, wine and willow ash, and she would use it on his backside, she said it was to drive the wicked naughtiness out of him, that it was the only way as boys were. But the other children were all well in a few days, and Éomer was sick for so long. It scared me, he cried so when she whipped him that way, and I did not feel it was right, Éomer was not wicked, but she said he was sick longer because the gods were punishing him for his naughtiness."

"Midwinter ring blossoms," Aragorn breathed the word. "Are you certain beyond doubt it was what she used?"

"Aye," Éowyn nodded. "They grew by the stream outside the keep, I was always fond of their bright colours, I know them well. The healer brought them, but it was Nurse who brewed the tea."

"Midwinter ring blossoms are poison," Aragorn gritted his teeth.

Éowyn's hand flew to her mouth. "But they can not have been, mother would never let me pick them, but the healer brought them. If they were poison she would never have done so."

"When boiled, cloth should have been soaked in them and applied as a warm compress to the rash, they would have eased the discomfort, but they should never be consumed, for they are poison to eat, any part of them," Aragorn shook his head, jaws clenched. "They cause abdominal pain, fever and rash. He would never have been able to get well if he was made to drink them."

"I was not sure, but later I thought it might have been something such," Éowyn lowered her eyes. "She drew blood with the birch whisker, and I was angry mother would not come see, I told her he cried. But father was away with the Eored and mother did naught but sit by the window most days. She said if Éomer was to be a man, he needed act like one. But I was scared for him. I cried for I thought if father had been home, Nurse would not have treated Éomer so harshly."

"She might not have known, she might have misunderstood the healer." Aragorn tried to offer what comfort he could think of.

"If she knew she was making him drink poison or not, she still beat him for having taken ill," Éowyn shook her head. "She was always kind to me, when I found the healers brew bitter she always had honeycomb or boiled sweets for me after, but she did not care for boys. Even if she did not know she made him sicker, she would have treated him harshly for the crime of being born male."

"I am sorry, Lady Éowyn," for he knew that she was hurt by the knowledge. "I would not have pressed, but for the wish to help. I can aid your brother better if I know how."

"Théodred would put it in watered down ale, or mix it with broth and soak bread in it," Éowyn shook her head. "But he trusted Théodred, always. Our uncle once ordered him to take the brew, and my brother would never disobey his lord and King, but Théoden said he would rather cut off his arm than see such a look of hurt on his face again. He left it to his son."

"I can never replace Théodred, but I will do what little I can in his place," Aragorn offered. It did not seem like much. He would have wished to do more, but at least in possession of the knowledge he did not blame Éomer for his refusal. That a woman would treat a child so was distressing, to know it might have been a deliberate act. On a child who had committed no other crime than his gender… No, it was no wonder that the young warrior had refused his brew, and it was no wonder Gamling had felt it was not his right to say.

As Éomer lay for three days, never fully conscious, he was not aware of what it was he was given to drink, but as he finally opened his eyes, and looked about with a pained groan, Aragorn smiled softly to himself as he mixed the brew with warm milk and a little honey to mask the taste.

"Easy my friend," he stated softly. Standing beside the bed he laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. Éomer's eyes came to rest on him, half closed and weary, but with the knowledge whom he was seeing instead of clouded with fever dreams. "Do not seek to move too soon," Aragorn urged him.

"When did we arrive here?" Éomer's voice broke, dry and hoarse it had barely been more than a whisper.

"We have been here for nearly four days now," Aragorn smiled softly. "Your wound festered, it's been cleaned and cauterised now, and your fever broke during the night. I got milk for you here, you've had nothing but a little broth this time and you'll be weak. Allow me to help you drink."

"Milk?" Éomer blinked as he strove to focus on the mug.

"Aye, it is a pitiful excuse for a meal, but after so many days without any real food, I do not think it's advisable with anything too solid," Aragorn nodded. "Try a few mouthfuls, and I will have some broth brought later."

"Broth…" Éomer sounded somewhat displeased with the fare, but once Aragorn had helped him to sit enough to drink, it was clear he was far too exhausted for much else. A few mouthfuls of the milk was all he managed afore he was asleep again.

With a gentle smile of fondness for the younger man Aragorn settled the cover around him to let him sleep.

He was not alone next time the King of the Mark awoke, Arwen, Lothíriel and Éowyn were sitting in the light from the window with needlework. While it was clear that Éowyn was not fond of the task, she admitted it had the merit that it brought some peace to mind.

The soft groan and rustle of blanket had all three of them lower their works so that they might turn their heads.

Èomer, blinking raised a hand to rub at his forehead, then groaned again as he touched the still healing wound.

"My friend," Aragorn approached him. "I hope you feel improved?"

"I am, unsure of how I felt before, but I think I recall feeling worse, though now I do not see how it is possible…" he mumbled quietly. "How fares the men?"

"Your men are all well, the few injured are recovering well," Aragorn assured him.

"That is good news," Éomer stated softly, his eyes falling closed for a moment.

"Equally good is to see you recovering," Arwen stood as she spoke and Éomer's eyes flew open as he turned his head, a groan escaping him at the spike of pain.

"Easy," Aragorn laid a hand on his shoulder to keep him from moving unduly. "There is no cause for alarm."

"Forgive me, my Lady, I had not noticed your presence," Éomer breathed as his eyes tracked the Queen of Gondor.

"That is not all you have not noticed, brother…" Éowyn stood and Aragorn had to bite back a smile at Éomer's confused expression as he realised how many were in the room. "Hard your head may be," Éowyn continued. "But it would seem you may have tested its limit once too many."

"Given half would have been by your hand…" he started and Aragorn was unable to hold back a chuckle as the lady bethrooded to his steward glared at her brother. King of Rohan he might be, but under his sister's ire he fell silent.

Arwen had filled a small bowl from a pot keeping warm by the fire and Aragorn accepted it as Éowyn took it over to him. "Tis broth," he said as he put it on the bedside table and started to help his friend sit up in bed. He had already put some of the herbs in a goblet, and now he poured a small measure of wine into it.

"Nay, I think not," Éomer started and for a moment Aragorn thought the young King had detected his treachery, then he noted the weary eye the same king gave his sister.

"I think our chef would be disappointed," he started slowly. "He claimed it a good nourishing broth, it's been kept warm here for you."

"From the kitchen?" Èomer asked warily, his eyes on his sister who was scowling at him. "Aye, should be safe enough then."

"If you were not already injured brother, I might very well have tested how hard your head really is for that," Éowyn stalked back towards the window though Aragorn noted her brother looked not in the slightest contrite.

"I do not blame you, my friend," he mumbled, only just loud enough for him to hear as he held the bowl for him but allowed him to take the spoon. Though his hand shook, he understood he would not want to allow himself to be fed in front of the ladies. Éomer's boyish grin told him his friend knew exactly what he meant though, and he ate half of the broth before weariness seemed to overtake him.

"It would seem we are not the only ones relieved to see you healing," Aragorn started softly as he took the goblet of wine, steadying Éomer's hand as he watched. "I hear your horse has been making something of a nuisance of himself in our stable. He broke down the door to his stall twice, and was halfway into the great hall before Gamling was able to convince him to go back out. A number of our nobles were quite horrified over the intrusion in our meeting, I assure you. A few of them considered leaving in their distress..."

"If Lord Fansworth was there, I should have urged you to take Firefoot instead," Éomer mumbled. "He's twice the sense, and twice the manners to if it comes to that."

Behind them Lothíriel placed a hand over her mouth as she laughed, and Éomer turned his head that way, wine forgotten as a soft smile came over his weary features.

"Be that as it may, I would not want to subject your noble steed to such tedious meetings," Aragorn called his attention back and gave him the rest of the wine. He would be in pain still, and needed the relief if he acknowledged it or not. It would allow him to sleep easier, and sleep was what he needed to heal. "Your horse worries for you, Horsemaster," he smiled. "And I shall be glad when you can assure him you are well."

"So shall I," shifting as if he was testing his limbs Éomer winced at the pain still in his leg.

"Would it be alright if I took him an apple, though I do not know what comfort he might take from me," Lothíriel spoke up shyly.

"I say he would like it very much, though best if Éowyn was with you," Éomer decided. "Firefoot is a most loyal friend, he may indeed be agitated, though he would never intentionally do any harm to such a vision of beauty."

Lothíriel lowered her eyes shyly and Aragorn chuckled. "Whomever can calm him, afore he climbs the trellis shall have my gratitude…." The guard by the end of the throne room had not looked pleased in the very least as the horse had started to make his way inside. His words drew an amused giggle out of Lothíriel, and he was glad. She had been as worried about Éomer as Éowyn had been, but tried to hide it as she felt she did not have the right. He was glad for their sake for he felt they were well suited to each other. Lothíriel shy and diminutive most of the time, but confident and self assured in her own way. Èomer, brash and confident in his position as Third Marshal, but not yet grown into his position as King. Uncertain and a little worried he was not worthy of the throne. Truly the two of them were indeed well suited for each other.

Then one must not forget Firefoot, for never was there a horse more loyal to his master...

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.