For Author's Note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 8

When traveling with no one but Éomer and Faramir, Aragorn enjoyed the freedom it brought him. When their wives were with them, he was able to enjoy some of the comforts he had been used to in addition. Each of the couples had their own small tent with furs on the ground and a wrought iron brazier for warmth in the night that tended to get chilly. It was with some guilt he felt he was far happier to indulge than were either Faramir or Éomer though he would not swear to it. Faramir while serving as a ranger in Ithilien had been fortunate to have a good camp where such items as food and bedding could be stored. Éomer on the other hand as one of the Eored, and Third Marshall of the Mark was more used to traveling light and fast. When they struck their camp to gather the army, he had a bedroll in his uncle's tent. When with his own men he slept rolled up in his cloak as did they, ate with his dagger and worried not about a plate for the food.

Lothíriel had adapted well to the life in Rohan, but she drew the line at eating a meal off a spit by the fire. She would have a plate, silverware and a goblet for the wine and Éomer had never said a word about it.

Éowyn who unlike her brother had always travelled with the court was used to the comfort from the tents and Faramir had done nothing to dissuade her either.

It was however their habit whenever they travelled together to keep their own part of the camp and tend to their own chores rather than to use maids and servants. Though he loved her dearly for the joy she brought his steward, Aragorn was glad as long as Éowyn was kept from the chore of preparing the food. Something she oft seemed intent on doing as she claimed to care that the king of Gondor and her husband were properly fed. With the bickering of siblings she would not include her brother in this, and Aragorn had to admit some envy of the blonde King of Rohan.

Éomer would only ever prepare the simplest of food if the chore was his, and yet he was far better at the task than was his sister. He'd roast fish, rabbit or a quail with a light sprinkle of salt and possibly some herbs if he had them at hand.

If Aragorn was allowed his say, he would however take his two male friends with him to gather wood and water and allow Arwen and Lothíriel to see to the food as they were the ones to prepare the most delicious meal. Though the elven dishes they were both fond of would put a frown on Éomer's face as he poked the delicate meat and sweet bread with his dagger. The vegetables prepared in a light sauce, and the thin soup made for flavour and not for substance did indeed seem to confuse the Rohan. The first time Aragorn had brought elvish way-bread that he shared with his friend he had not paid attention enough and only afterwards discovered Éomer true to habit had piled a thick slice of roasted meat and cheese onto the bread, and soon came to regret the much too robust meal. Arwen had chided him for his neglect as she reminded him the Rohan king would never have had anything like it before.

Since this incident they had both taken to explaining the tradition behind the dishes, and Lothíriel who delighted in the elven food often enjoyed in her home always strove to make him eat. She was a master at fish and seafood in her own right, again the sauces to lend flavour to the tender flesh seemed to have Éomer at a loss of their purpose, though when it was made by his wife's hand, he would devour it without question. Many a time had Aragorn caught his own wife gazing at the two and give a fond shake of the head as she took in their interactions. Éomer though by habit blunt and earnest in his manners could be surprisingly gentle and attentive to his wife.

This time he dreaded the meal, for Lothíriel had suffered a light headache during the day and they had urged her to take rest in the tent. Éowyn had in her place insisted on helping Arwen prepare the food, and Éomer's objection when he brought them an armful of firewood had only earned him a sharp reprimand and a threatening wave of the ladle.

Faramir who had been tasked with the water had seated himself on the ground as he searched through his pack for a pair of dry stockings, his wet ones placed on a rock to dry. The shallow river had proven to have a rather treacherous bottom, causing the Steward to trip.

With Arwen distracted by her concern for Lothíriel, making a tea that she claimed would ease the headache, and Éowyn chasing her brother away from her cooking with threats of vicious violence while the carrots charred, Aragorn had to admit he felt some apprehension of the meal.

"Éomer, take this to Lothíriel," Arwen stated softly as she filled a clay mug with the tea. "It should ease her headache." In Aragorn's mind giving him the task as much to keep him away from Éowyn and her heavy ladle as for the fact he was her husband.

Nodding after but a brief moment of hesitation Éomer took the mug from her, giving a frown over the fragrance. Aragorn was almost surprised that he would take it to his wife. When the young king had been injured he had refused any brew Aragorn tried to give him for the pain and fever. Éowyn had offered an explanation of the cause, and Aragorn could not blame the Rohan for his refusal. when they were both children and Éomer was unwell, Èowyn's nurse had out of spite or ignorance given him to drink a brew that was poison and not healing. At the child's attempts at refusal, he had been beaten with a leather strap and a birch whisker until blood was drawn. It was no wonder in Aragorn's mind that he refused them now, but he was glad he knew Arwen would never risk hurting his wife.

He had learned from one of the young King's own men to sometimes put a little of the healing brew in a bowl of broth, or even some herbs in a mug of ale or wine, though the subterfuge did not sit well with him. He would rather he was able to earn his trust in the matter though he knew it would not be easy. He was hoping with time it should get easier.

As the Rohir disappeared into the tent he turned his attention to more pressing matters, such as the fact that a mere glance told him Éowyn was ruining the meal in a most horrible way. If it was at all edible it would be a surprise to him and he sighed, turning his glance to his wife. Movement out of the corner of his eye took him by surprise and he noted Firefoot straying from Brego's side and making his way over to them, pausing here and there to sample the grass in search for the sweetest foliage. Having learned at one point that Éomer had trained the animal to overturn pots when his sister was making food Aragorn decided to leave him be where he might otherwise have tried to persuade the animal to go back to the other horses. Firefoot was a marvellous beast and Éomer's love for the animal was plain for everyone to see. He had trained the horse to do many a feat Aragorn would never have thought a horse could do. He would judge that some of it came from boredom out on the long patrols, and he expected there was many a thing he had not yet seen.

Watching with some curiosity he saw the horse making his way to Faramir, nudging his back for a good rub between the ears by the young steward he then proceeded to sniff the discarded stockings. Snorting and shaking his head with some distaste he drew a light laugh from the steward, then took the two items in his mouth once Faramir was momentarily distracted by donning the fresh ones.

Éowyn who had turned to find a couple of potatoes never noticed when Firefoot moved over to the pot and promptly dropped the stockings into the stew.

"Firefoot!" turning around and seeing the animal Éowyn snapped his name sharply. "Don't even think about coming closer, I won't have you ruin my work, go away!" she commanded and the horse bobbed his head before making his way over to Aragorn.

"Thank you, mellon nin," scratching the forehead he was content to let the horse rest his nose upon his shoulder. He suspected it was for Brego's acceptance of him, and Éomer's friendship that the beast accepted him as he did, for Firefoot was not an easy horse to woe and he only had one master. "I'll find an apple for you later," he promised and the horse perked up his ears at the word, giving a content snort.

Faramir was looking around himself in utter confusion as he could not find his stockings, but Aragorn caught his eye and shook his head to keep him from questioning the matter. It was better to let it be for the moment. Faramir loved his wife dearly, but he would not suffer her cooking with any more pleasure than Aragorn did.

It was a few moments before Éomer came out of the tent again, empty mug in hand as he made his way over to Aragorn, at the same time a Rohirric curse sounded as Éowyn fished an item out of her pot, glaring at it she flung it back into the pot, scowling towards Firefoot. Aragorn presumed the beast safe, for Éowyn would never raise her hand to a horse.

"Éomer, come here!"

Her brother though was another matter Aragorn mused as Éowyn snapped his name.

Obviously confused about what he could have done to evoke his sisters anger the blonde warrior put down the mug next to Arwen, and walked towards Éowyn with some apprehension.

"Try this, brother of mine…" her voice like steel Éowyn held up a ladle full of the stew and for a moment Aragorn debated interfering, though it would mean he admitted knowledge about how the events had unfolded. In doing so, he would no doubt draw some of her anger towards himself.

With a tortured look on his face that was almost comical Éomer did sip the stew from the ladle and his face changed from apprehension towards surprise. "Sister, you are improving," he declared cheerfully. "Tis not half as bad as your food usually is."

Éowyn who had just fished the offending object out of the pot and started to wring it out froze at his words. With the finest poise a sword master could hope to gain she swung around, steam still raising from the hot liquid as a sharp smack sounded where the stocking struck her brother a hard blow against his cheek. The material twisted and broth laden Aragorn knew it was a blow to cause pain.

"Bema's beard!" Éomer cried out as he stumbled back. "Tis a compliment!"

"It is no compliment to have all my hard work ruined by that horrid beast of yours, look what he has done!" she flung the stocking at his chest.

"If dirty stockings improves the taste, I should say you should be glad for his help!" Éomer snapped at his sister, his cheek stung red and Aragorn started to get to his feet.

"You are the most wretched, horrible creature of this land, Éomer son of Éomund!" his sister flared as she picked up the pot to rid it of its content. "A troll would have better manners than does you!"

"And like as not cook better food," Éomer snorted. "Did you see Firefoot commit the crime I wonder, for if not I should say you put them there yourself, mistaken for a stick of carrot no doubt."

Not wanting the argument to escalate Aragorn stood, for it was clear to him by now that it would not end well. Éomer was unknowing about what his horse had done, and Éowyn far too angry to wish to listen to any reason. Faramir looked as concerned as he felt as he too stood, pondering how to placate his wife.

"You horribly, disgusting, wretched cur!" angered and feeling humiliated Éowyn flung the pot down and Éomer stumbled back with another yelp of surprise and pain alike as the cast iron struck his feet, and hot stew splashed up over his trousers. Éowyn still holding the ladle swung out a blow he barely was able to block with his forearm and at the dull slap that could be heard Aragorn hurried forward.

"Éowyn, peace," he urged. "Your brother would not know how such a thing could have happened, he was seeing to Lothíriel."

"And I wager he put that horrid beast up to it…!" she snapped.

"Do not speak of Firefoot that way," Éomer was not prone to anger towards his sister, though when his horse was insulted his ire would flare. Now he stepped forward angrily, pot on the ground by his feet forgotten. "It is not his fault that a pair of dirty stockings improves the taste, but perhaps you should leave the cooking to him as he seems more apt at it…"

Wincing over what he knew would come Aragorn shook his head, as a King he would call Éomer wise and just. He had known him to be cunning and clever when there was need, though when it came to an enraged sister he had very little sense of self preservation.

The crack of the ladle against his temple as he failed to block the blow was audible before the young king dropped to his knee with a gasp, Faramir, exchanging a look with Aragorn followed his wife as she stalked off. Aragorn in turn knew it was best to give the man a moment before he sought to impose on him.

"Tis in part your doing," Arwen shook her head as he went to his wife, searching through their pack for the herbs he wanted.

"I had not thought it would escalate as it did," Aragorn admitted. "Éomer was unaware of the matter, had he known, it is my belief it would have gone better."

"Any woman would have been hurt and angered, to find dirty garments in your pot and be told tis an improvement," Arwen shook her head. "I know he would not have meant to wound her, my husband, but it was no kindness on your part to hold your peace."

"I will give him a minute, then I will see to him," Aragorn promised her. He knew well that though the young king would be in pain, there was little he would be allowed to do for him. The herbs he had selected he crushed with a small measure of hot water into a thick paste that he placed in a clean piece of soft linen cloth.

Éomer was by the waters edge, using a none too clean cloth of his own to dab at the stinging redness on his cheek when Aragorn joined him. Neither man spoke as Aragorn took the cloth from him, soaking it and using it to clean broth and small pieces of carrot and potato from his hair and cheek. Feeling the lump at his temple from the ladle. satisfied there would be no damage except a headache he picked up the linen with the herbal poultice. Placing it against the red swelling on his cheek. "Hold it there, tis will help," he stated.

Éomer said nothing, but he did take the cloth in his hand to hold it in place.

"I owe you an apology my friend," Aragorn started slowly as he sat back on the ground. "For I saw Firefoot commit the act, but I had hopes of Éowyn simply seeing the stew as ruined. I had not thought she would be so angered."

"Tis no matter," Éomer waved the apology away though he did not look any happier about it as he shifted the poultice and winced. "Had I known, I might have chosen my words better. My sister has always been volatile of temper, even more so than I. This though, is a privilege reserved for me alone, she will not treat her husband this way, you need not worry for your Steward…"

"I would have preferred to worry about neither of you, but aye, I take your point, I do not think Faramir would have taken it so well," he nodded. Faramir had lived with Denethor's scorn, a hand raised to him, even by his wife would have truly hurt him. Éomer seemed to think nothing more of it than a younger sister venting her rage. While Aragorn did not care for the casual way the blonde Rohir took the blows, he was glad to know it would never drive a wedge between the two. Èomer and Éowyn were close, even though a few years separated them. Though Théoden had taken them in when they were orphaned he knew they had both had a hard childhood. Éomer had always been meant to be a rider of Rohan. It had always been expected of him to put his country first, before anything else in his life that might matter. It was fortunate that he was good at it and thrived in this position for there had never been any choice for him.

Éowyn, having already lost her father to Orcs and her mother to the grief was then forced to watch as her brother donned the armour and rode out, risking the same fate. Staying with a king who in the end did not know her, poisoned by the words of one of Saruman's henchmen. Never able to feel safe even in her own home she could only wait and pray for Éomer to return each time.

He did feel some guilt for his part in this argument, but beside him Éomer gave a laugh. "There is no reason to worry about me my friend, tis only an enraged younger sister, and I should think I have faced far worse. She shall forgive me, she always has and always will."

"I am glad for your forgiveness my friend, but Éowyn's anger does not seem like something that should be taken lightly," he mused as he prodded the swollen cheek, noting how Éomer pulled back with a wince. The bone under the skin was whole, but he would show the evidence of the blow for many days. "It would seem her sword hand has suffered none for her marriage. You my friend, have been known to fare better against Orcs….."

"For the simple reason that Orcs I may slay as I wish, I will never raise hand against my own sister," Éomer told him with conviction. "Though in truth, that was one of the grudges she would hold against me, that I did not treat her as a warrior. You my lord, are a formidable opponent, but I would rather face you one handed than the slip of a girl she was at eleven summers when she stole my cousin's sword…."

"I…..feel I will agree with you on that, though that she would commit the act does not surprise me." Aragorn had to shake his head, remembering how well she had wielded the blade in Meduseld when they were leaving for Helms Deep. "Though I had not expected her to take another man's weapon."

"T'was the only time both our cousin and uncle truly were enraged with her," Éomer nodded. "Which in turn was why she turned on me afterwards, though I had had nothing to do with it. I was only made aware when I entered and was met by her full fury," he shook his head fondly. "Éowyn always was like the storm, be it anger or kindness, I do not mind her anger, for I know her love. Better she burns off her anger at me, for she has a sharp tongue when she is angered, and I would not have her speak harsh words of misplaced anger at her husband."

"A noble sentiment," Aragorn decided, feeling that he saw some of the reason behind Éomer's actions. The elder brother trying to look out for his sister, though he only knew one way to do so and it was perhaps not always the best method. "If not necessarily a safe one," he added in a light chiding tone. "I would that you used more caution sometimes my friend."

"Aye, perhaps," Éomer shrugged. "Or at least so Gamling counsels me, though with Éowyn there is hardly any need, and should I suddenly speak with nothing but caution and patience, she would not know me. There is no reason to fear Aragorn, she may be raging at me now, but she is still my sister and she knows I would do all in my power to protect her should need be. Just as I know that she would forgo her anger and stand by me should I need her. Tis just a quarrel between siblings, and in truth not so different from when we were children and she would pull my hair and kick my shin to make me surrender my honey cake to her."

"I will trust your judgment on the matter," Aragorn pushed to his feet. "Though for now I think I best help my wife with our supper, for I don't think hunger will improve Éowyn's mood."

"It most certainly will not," Éomer agreed as he to stood. "I'll help you."

By the time the dinner was ready Éowyn was calmer though she would not speak much to her brother, Lothíriel who felt improved enough to join them glanced between them as she wondered what had transpired. The bruise on her husband's face did not escape her notice, but as Éomer said nothing and was as calm and attentive as always she did not query about the matter. She had learned long ago that while her husband and cousin by marriage loved each other beyond question, their relationship could appear strange to others.

Even more so if one included Firefoot into the mixture, and the horse for one reason or another seemed double intent on drawing Éomer's attention to himself as the evening wore on, even entering their camp to settle down close to him by the fire, rubbing his shoulder with his nose until he was given a good rub between the ears and an apple.

Sitting on her husbands other side, she felt most content.

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.