For Author's note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 9

With Faramir in Minas Tirith to discuss matters of state Aragorn had thought he would be able to enjoy his company for a couple of days. Éowyn was in excellent health though she had remained behind, so there was no pressing need for his steward to return the very instant the business had concluded. Though their business was dire Aragorn felt that it would be a pleasant opportunity. He truly enjoyed Faramir's company, though the man tended toward quiet somberness. Éowyn had been good for him, she had drawn out an easy relaxed and content mood out of him. The shield maiden of Rohan was passionate and fierce, yet gentle and loving. She had lived a lonely and depressive life before the Ring was destroyed.

Living under Saruman's influence over her king and uncle, constantly having to be weary of Grima Wormtongue, Aragorn had not found it so strange that she fell in love with what would have been a mean of escape. He had felt like a cur for neither being able to give her what she so desired, nor really fully deny her. When she nearly perished in the houses of healing it had been her brother's love that brought her back.

Éomer the new king of Rohan and recently wed to Faramir's cousin Lothiriel. Before he came to take the throne Aragorn had only known him for a short time when he was a wee bairn of barely two summers. Already then he had been fierce and loyal, a serious almost somber child who was devoted to the crown and his grandfather, though horribly impulsive at the same time. His serious nature combined with a fearless attitude had landed the boy in more than one scrape at the time.

Having known him then, Aragorn was not surprised that he made a good king now. Éomer was fair and lust, and had learned to temper his impulsiveness with patience when he had to. He had learned to focus his anger and was attentive to the happenings around him.

There had been trouble rising along the border, and Éomer had sent a messenger to his friend and neighbor about the matter. It had arrived only shortly after Aragorn had noticed something amiss himself. Sending a reply that he would investigate the matter and then would like to arrange to meet and discuss it, Aragorn had also called Faramir back to the city. Together they had been pouring over reports from attacked villages, hunters killed as they sought only to find the game to feed their families.

A serious matter and unfortunate circumstances and yet he found some comfort in seeing his friend and the way he was starting to show a lust for life that had not been present for a long time before.

They had just finished and meant to retire to the garden for an evening meal with Arwen when a knock on the chamber door sounded.

"Come," Aragorn called, taking note of the guards breathless manner and uncomfortable air. "What is the trouble?" he queried.

"I beg your pardon, my lord, but it is a horse," the guard appeared reluctant to admit it.

"A horse?" Aragorn frowned, there seemed no reason why the guards should be troubled by a horse.

"Aye, my lord," the guard nodded. "He came in through the city gates this morning, riderless and without saddle or bridle, and so the guards thought he was belonging to one of the merchants."

"And this was not so?" Aragorn asked.

"It would seem not," the guard nodded. "Later the horse was seen to move up the city, though no one did realize that he was alone, it, it is rather unusual my lord…"

"It is," Aragorn agreed. "Proceed, what of this strange horse?"

"Sir, the horse was able to get to the royal stable before the guards attempted to stop him, then, sir, the horse attacked the men, they were unable to get close enough to capture him and were loath to use arrows my lord, as it was only a horse…."

"A horse that attacked the guards?" it sounded strange to Aragorn's ears. A war horse would attack an enemy, even on his own violation if his rider was in danger, but he had never known a horse to go to an unprovoked attack.

"Aye sir," the guard now nodded. "One man has a broken arm, the others took caution, they were hoping to rein him in by the stable, though the horse went into the stable. They tried to pin him in a stall…"

"And I would assume this did not work?" Aragorn leaned back, arms folded over his chest.

"No my lord, he kicked down the door to the stall, sent two stable hands running for their lives, bit one, afore he broke down the door to another stall," the guard swallowed. "It was your horse's stall my lord, your horse was not harmed, I assure you, though he did join the strange horse exciting the stable, the stable hands were unable to stop him. One of the fountain guards was able to lay a rope on him, though he would not stop and the man was unable to hold him long."

Aragorn rubbed his chin, Faramir beside him having a most serious look on his face as he contemplated the situation. It seemed to him unlike any random act, and the fact that Brego who was fiercely loyal would have joined a strange horse seemed impossible. Unless the intruding horse was Rohan, and one that Brego knew, he would not have acted thus.

"Éowyn would not have sought to join you?" Aragorn asked solemnly and Faramir shook his head.

"She spoke of no such intention," he stated. "Though I would think Brego might in truth have responded to her horse in such a manner, as would he have sought out Brego. Could it be another messenger of Rohan? Èomer might have had further information he wished for us to have."

"Where is the horse now?" Aragorn demanded as he stood.

The guard swallowed, the look on his face of real pain. "In the throne room my lord, there was no way to stop him save to use arrows…."

"In the throne room…" Aragorn echoed. No ordinary horse would act such.

"Aye my lord," the guard swallowed. "The guards would have used their bows, but they were hesitant for fear of injuring your horse, my lord."

"A horse seeking an audience with a king," Faramir shook his head. "I should hope he had a serious matter to bring to your attention."

"I would think a horse forcing his way into the palace had a purpose," Aragorn nodded. "Very well, let's see this strange horse…"

Following the guard he was able to tell when they neared the horse, for a loud crash echoed through the halls. Entering a corridor he saw the great stallion, buck, kick, and send a guard flying into the stone wall as the man had sought to restrain him. Brego reared up on his hindlegs in turn, discouraging a man with a spear from getting to close.

"Firefoot!" recognizing the magnificent beast Aragorn ran forward with Faramir on his heels. "Firefoot, peace meldir nin, you are with friends now…" Stopping a few yards from the horse he held up his hand, the stallion neighing and rearing up, bucking and spinning around to bar teeth at the soldiers trying to surround him. Sparks flying from his steel shoed hoves as they struck the floor.

"Back off!" Faramir ordered sharply. "The horse is no threat to the king…"

Reluctantly the men fell back, and Firefoot spun, neighing, then as there was no immediate threat he moved forward towards Aragorn who held out a hand to him.

"My lord!" one guard cried and Firefoot spun around, giving a loud pained neigh he bolted forward into the man, sending him crashing to the ground and sliding across the floor.

"Firefoot, come here, where's your master, meldir nin," Aragorn called his attention to himself again and Firefoot came forward, obviously distressed. Reaching Aragorn he pushed his nose into his shoulder.

"He's been running hard," Faramir noted. "And with no saddle, but he would never have left Éomer behind unless ordered to do so."

"And Éomer would not have sent him unless the need was dire," Aragorn agreed. "I want ten men, ready to ride within the hour," he ordered the guards. "We shall have to hope Firefoot can take us back, though he needs food and water first."

"I shall take him to the stable," Faramir stepped forward, reaching his hand out and allowing the stallion to come to him, pushing his nose into his shoulder as he had done with Aragorn. "He will not suffer anyone he does not know, I think however he trusts me enough that I may give him some feed."

"Aye, he does," Aragorn agreed. "I shall let Arwen know, she will make arrangements as are needed." If they found Éomer within the day, and found him well, there would be nothing that needed doing, if their search should take longer, Éowyn and Lothiriel needed to be informed.

Firefoot objected, dancing and sidestepping as Faramir led him away, though he did suffer himself to be taken to the stable, Brego with him, where he was given feed and water. A true warriors horse he ate of the food provided, though Faramir would have guessed he ate for strength and not for hunger as he ordered his own horse as well as Brego saddled. Firefoot would let no other attend to him, and they had no saddle for him.

An hour later he took the horses to the stable yard and Aragorn came to join him, wearing light armor. Faramir gave over the horses into his care, and hurried to don the same light armor himself as they did not know what to expect. It was evident that Firefoot was eager to get going, for he was dancing about, snapping at anyone who wasn't Aragorn or Faramir.

"My lord, how will we know where to go?" the Captain of the men spoke up.

"We will follow Firefoot, he should lead us to his master," Aragorn decided.

"I beg your pardon my lord, I know horses has been known to make their way home, but certainly he will not know to lead us back where he came from," the man shook his head. "Like as not, he shall take us to Edoras."

"Firefoot is no ordinary horse," Faramir cut in as they rode down the stone streets of Minas Tirith. "He is fearfully loyal to his master, and very intelligent. I should imagine he came here as we were closer, and he knew here he would find aid."

"But he is a horse…." the captain shook his head. "Horses are just dumb beasts…"

If he understood the words or not, Aragorn did not know, but certainly Firefoot understood the man's intent for he spun around and bit the man over the thigh. The captain gave a howl of pain as his men laughed.

"I think he does not appreciate your tone Captain, and neither do I," Aragorn declared, his voice icy. "The horses of Rohan are better trained than most, and Firefoot even more so. King Éomer is the most skilled horsemaster I know, and I trust his horse as much as I trust him. I would think you'd give more credit to a horse that managed to evade our troops and gain access to the palace. If you have any further doubt, I would suggest you keep them to yourself."

"Aye, my lord," the captain reluctantly agreed, rubbing his thigh.

At nightfall Firefoot did not wish to stop, he roamed the camp restlessly, shoving his nose into Aragorn's shoulder.

"Peace my friend," Aragorn rubbed his forehead, speaking soothingly to him. "We will find your master, but our horses do not have your endurance, they need rest…"

It was clear Firefoot was not happy, and when the Captain of their men got too close, the horse seemed to take delight in trodding on his foot before moving over to Brego.

"Tis not natural, a horse acting that way…" the man shook his head, standing on one foot. "My lord, would it not be safe to assume that if King Éomer had been coming to Minas Tirith he would have come from Rohan? This is not the way he would have taken."

"He might very well have had cause to take a different way," Aragorn gave his man an icy stare, displeased with his pessimism.

"The men have made some stew," the Captain sighed, knowing he had pushed further than was advisable, scowling as he glanced at where Firefoot laid his ears back, barring his teeth as he stared back. "Will you eat with us?"

"We will," he nodded. "And I would counsel you to give Firefoot his space, as you have displeased him."

"Aye, my lord…" the captain sighed again.

They ate hurriedly and laid out their bedrolls, wanting to be ready to leave at first light. Even then Firefoot was displeased with them for dallying. On the third day of traveling he went as far as to even snap at Aragorn. Breaking away from them to gallop ahead, only to stop and neigh at them. The other horses grew restless by his agitated behavior and Brego fought Aragorn in a way he had never done before.

"I wager he knows why Firefoot is acting as he does," Aragorn mused as Brego reared up. "He may suffer me as his new master, but he has not forgotten Théodred nor Éomer."

"If I were to venture a guess from his behavior, I should say we were getting close," Faramir decided as Firefoot galloped to the crest of a small hill where he reared up. "I do not think he will wait for us much longer."

"Indeed not," Aragorn agreed. "And whatever the trouble is, I do not wish for him to face it alone." He looked over his shoulder at his men, aside from himself only Faramir would be able to keep up with the stallion. There did however not seem to be much of a choice. "We will ride ahead," he told his captain. "You will follow as quick as you can. If there is trouble, we will await you, otherwise we will see what we find."

"My Lord," the Captain cried aghast. "You can not go without an escort, tis not safe."

"Whatever the matter is, Firefoot knows it's near, and he shan't wait for your men. I will not leave him to it, you have your orders," so saying he kicked his horse into a gallop. Even though he and Faramir spurred their horses on Firefoot was far ahead of them.

When finally he pulled up they had reached a small hovel with a half collapsed shed and a ramshackled barn. What had been a corral stood to one side and a well in the yard with a bucket thrown beside it. The only thing of note was Firefoot dancing around a patch on the ground covered with branches, neighing and stomping. The noise he made had a dirty, bearded man come out of the small hovel, frowning as he took them in.

"What do you want?" he demanded, throwing uneasy glances to the stallion in his yard.

"We are looking for a friend of ours, we think he might have come this way," Aragorn declared as he dismounted. It did not escape his notice that Firefoot was pawning at the branches. Obviously they held some interest to him. "Have you seen a man, blonde, tall, he would have been riding that horse," he nodded to Firefoot.

"There hasn't been anyone here," he shook his head. "And I would ask you to leave."

"Are you certain?" Aragorn pushed. "His horse led us back this way."

"There's no one here, now go," he fidgeted, licking dry lips as he looked to the horse. "There's no one here, go…"

Giving a loud neigh, Firefoot abandoned the branches and rushed forward towards the man. For a moment Aragorn feared the horse meant to kill him, but he reared up, striking a hoof in his shoulder and knocking him down. Stomping he bit his wrist, pulling at him as the man cried.

"Firefoot!" Aragorn rushed forward, seeking to dissuade him from the attack though he doubted it was unprovoked. "Peace Firefoot, he needs tell us where Éomer is…"

"I would advise you to do so," Faramir's eyes were icy cold and he had a look of barely controlled fury on his face. "For it would seem Firefoot believes you to know."

"It wasn't my fault…." the man wailed, clutching his wrist to his chest. "It wasn't my fault, he came asking to use my well, I didn't know why he would want it for, it's gone dry, I've been digging a new one, but I had no quarrel with him using a dry well, but he fell into the one I was digging."

"Where is it, the one you're digging?" Aragorn looked around.

"There," he pointed, whimpering over his wrist. "I put branches over it so I wouldn't forget where it was and fall in, but he stepped right out onto the branches…."

"You covered a hole with branches, to keep people from falling in?" Aragon looked aghast as Faramir ran for the hole, tearing the branches and flinging them aside he fell to his knees on the ground.

"Aragorn, he's here," he cried.

"Firefoot, do not let him leave…." Aragorn snapped, hoping the horse understood him as he rushed to Faramir's side. Peering down into the hole, he judged the depth to be nearly twenty feet deep, and on the bottom lay the crumbled figure of the King of Rohan, unmoving.

"We need a rope," Aragorn looked to Faramir. He could not tell from where he was if his friend was alive or dead, but it was clear he had made several attempts to climb out of the hole. the side was partially crumbled as he had dug into them, his clothes were caked with dirt and his sword was thrust into the wall as if he had tried to use it to climb on.

Nodding Faramir ran to his horse, finding an elvish rope, thin and strong, in his pack. He secured it to Brego's saddle and that of his own steed as well. The two horses would be more than strong enough to hold them. Taking the rope, Aragorn lowered himself into the hole, the side crumbling to rain down a shower of dirt on the man collapsed on the bottom.

As he crouched beside him, Aragorn noted the faint and labored breathing, he was not dead then. Drawing him against him he tried to take quick stock of his injuries, even through the thick trousers and boots he could tell one knee and ankle was badly swollen. His hands were cut, abrasions caked with dirt where he had struggled to climb the walls and when Aragorn moved him, he gave a low moan.

Tying the rope around his own waist he pulled Éomer against his chest, and secured the rope around him as well. "Pull us up," he called. "He is alive, but he will not be for much longer unless we can care for him."

"Aye," Faramir took the bridle of his horse, and slowly the two horses moved forward. Allowing Aragorn to use his feet to steady himself against the dirt wall as they were pulled up. Éomer gave another moan as he was lifted up by Faramir, and laid on the ground. His cheeks were gaunt and flushed with fever.

"How long has he been down there," Aragorn snapped at the whimpering man who was still cowering under Firefoot's guard.

"Nine, maybe ten days now," the man whimpered. "I gave him some food and water, I would have let him up, but he was so mad I was scared to. He kept cursing at me, it wasn't my fault…"

"Covering a hole like that, I should say it was your fault," Aragorn snapped. "If you gave him no warning, it would be, and why would you dig a new well so close to one gone dry?"

"It's only the one gone dry, doesn't mean another won't work, will it," he defended himself. "Besides, it means I haven't got so far to go to get rid of the dirt I dig up. I just threw it in the old one…"

Faramir, who had gone to take the water skin from his horse paused to gawk at the man as if unable to comprehend the foolishness. Handing the waterskin to Aragorn he ran a hand over his face, his hands trembling as he sought to control his rage. This was the brother of his wife, a man he considered a brother in his own right. A man he cared for and respected and had felt a kinship with he had not thought he would ever share with anyone after Boromir's death. Éomer reminded him in many ways of his brother, though the younger man was more somber and even sometimes insecure. He had met Èomer a few times as a youth when Théodred visited Minas Tirith on matters of state. The quiet somewhat ill at ease boy with him envoked a protective streak in Boromir who tended to gather in strays. Èomer had been quiet, serious and even sullen though he had always been polite and well mannered. Brash and prideful when his insecurity showed, a trait he still showed but now had under control.

Boromir had indeed adored the blonde little warrior, and having lost his older brother and protector, Faramir had found himself soothing some of the pain with his brother in law. To think of his friend, trapped for ten days in such a way he reacted much as Boromir would have done and his fist exploded in the man's face.

Seeing this, Aragorn allowed himself a small smile as he used a handful of water to splash on the young king's face, seeking to revive him a little before he tried to get a few drops into his mouth.

A weak cough told him he had been in parts successful and he gave him a little more, this time the cough was stronger, and followed by a hoarse string of Rohirric curses.

"Èomer, meldir nin, do you understand me?" he queried, brushing the dirty hair back to reveal a bruise on his forehead.

"Aragorn?" dark eyes fluttered open as the weak voice sounded.

"Aye, I am here my friend, your horse was most insistent of my presence," he mused.

"Firefoot?" the gasp came as Èomer struggled to look around himself.

"He's here, and most eager to see you," Aragorn assured him. Indeed, Firefoot was pushing in, nuzzling his neck and Éomer struggled to reach a hand to stroke his nose.

"I have water, try drink some more," Aragorn urged. "Then I need to see how badly you are hurt my friend." He helped him to raise his head, supporting him as he drank a few small sips, much running down his chin as he found it difficult to swallow. The water did however seem to revive him. He did not appear seriously injured, and Aragorn would have judged that it was only lack of food and water that had robbed him of his strength.

"I came to ask for water, I was walking towards the well, then the ground disappeared from under me," he managed after Aragorn had helped him to sit up, leaning against the side of the old well.

"It would seem it was a new well being dug, covered with naught but thin branches," Aragorn sighed as he examined his friend. Badly bruised ribs if not broken, he thought the ankle might be but could not tell before he cut away the boot which he was loath to do where they were. The knee was indeed badly swollen and he would have to splint the leg either way, better then to leave the ankle as it was and tend to it when they could put the young king in a comfortable bed.

"What idiot would dig a new well a mere few feet from a dry one?" Èomer gawked, less interested in Aragorn treating his leg, and more in the apple his friend had found in his saddlebag. "There would be no more water in the new one."

"Apparently, the main reason was easy access to somewhere to dispose of the dirt," Aragorn shook his head, cutting thin wedges of the apple and giving them to him one at time. Èomer was too hungry to fully be able to pace himself, and the food would do him no good if he was not able to keep it. "Firefoot came for us, you will be pleased to know he forced his way inside the palace, and took Brego with him to ensure safe passage.

"I tried to climb up, but I was unable, I could hear Firefoot, I ordered him to go but at first he seemed not to want to, then that man took him," Èomer scowled towards the man who was standing whimpering under Faramir's guard. "What did you do to him?"

"I did nothing, it was not my fault," he cried. "I did nothing, I only thought since the horse was here and I knew not what to do with him I'd have some use of him. I thought he could pull my plow though he seemed much too weak. So small and gangly, but when I tried to put the harness on him he bolted. I thought it just as well, he would never have been able to pull a plow….Too weak the poor old nag…."

"Too weak!" Éomer roared with rage as he managed to pull himself to his feet in spite of Aragorn's objections. "Firefoot is of the line of the Mearas, a war horse of the best lineage, and you sought to make him pull your plow?!"

"He's nothing like any work horse I ever saw, but I thought I'd have some use of the poor creature if he was able to at all," the man whined.

The Rohirric curses emitted from the King of Rohan caused a faint blush to appear on Faramir's cheeks, and there was no doubt in Aragorn's mind that his young friend was much too enraged to pay heed to anything but the fact his noble horse had just been insulted in the worst way.

"Well, how should I know if a poor nag like that was of any good…" the man cried, his voice shrill with fear, as well it should be Aragorn mused. For Éomer shook off Aragorn's hand, and by fury alone hobbled forward. Attempting to hide behind Faramir did the man no good at all, if for no other reason than that his friend felt no need to protect him. Had not his friendship with Èomer been enough, Aragorn felt his marriage to Éowyn would have influenced Faramir's opinion. He would not let a horse like Firefoot be insulted.

For a man who had been imprisoned, injured and starved, and was thus barely able to stand, Éomer had an impressive punch, Aragorn noted. He knew well the stubbornness of the Rohirim, and the dodged determination that Éomer had shown himself capable of many times. He had however not seen such a rage from him before and was therefore impressed by the level of control he felt.

Éomer, even the state he was in might have killed the man, instead the first blow only sent him reeling backwards. The young king followed with two more, driven into his ribs where they would cause no permanent harm but a great deal of pain, only the fourth was what laid the man out, unconscious on the ground as Éomer staggered. Strength gone the pain threatened to overwhelm him and Faramir hurriedly grabbed him to help him back to sit leaning against the well.

Firefoot, seemingly satisfied that the man responsible for harming his master had been found planted a firm hoof in a place where it would likely pain the man for a long time, before going back to his master. Nudging him and nuzzling him with his big head until Éomer reached up to scratch him.

"Our troops should be catching up to us soon," Faramir mused as Aragorn debated how best to proceed. If he was to venture a guess he would have assumed that Éomer wanted to simply proceed, but they most certainly needed to deal with the worst of his injuries. The abrasions on his hands had started bleeding afresh as he punched the man, and said man needed to be taken along to be dealt with. His carelessness and his actions could not go unpunished.

"I know the question may irritate you, my friend, but are you able to ride?" Aragorn queried of his friend. "If there is no water here, there is not much sense in us remaining. Better then we move to the stream and strike camp. We can tend to you better then."

"To be away from here, I can walk," Éomer snorted. "Aye, I can ride, my saddle should be in the barn. But I would be grateful if you had anything to eat first, all I've been given is stale bread, and hardly any at that..."

"I'd love nothing more, but you need to pace yourself for that very reason, a moment, then I'll find you something more," Aragorn promised as Faramir went to find the saddle and tack in the barn. He felt it best not to tell Èomer that the Rohan saddle had been used as a stepping stool, for it would surely have angered the man further to have his gear mistreated in such a way. He saddled Firefoot as Aragorn gave Éomer more water to drink, smiling softly over the man's objections that he needed food, not just mere water. Given how his attempt to once more stand failed as his injured leg gave out completely and his good one buckled, Faramir did not think he'd manage much before they were able to put him to bed in a real bed where someone could care properly for him. His own home was the closest, and had the added advantage that Èowyn would be there, and if anyone could bully the stubborn young King into staying in bed to heal, it was his equally stubborn sister. Lothiriel would be horribly upset over what had befallen her husband, and it might be for the best that he was given a few days before his young wife joined them. The way he clutched the apple slice Aragorn gave him in a white knuckled fist, crushing the fruit for fear of losing it, would upset Lothiriel far too much for his liking.

The men they had brought with them could be sent on to Edoras to fetch the queen, with one of his own men of course, he was not sure if the Captain could find his way to Edoras without help. The rest of the troop really should not have taken so long. He was proposing the plan to Aragorn just as the men pulled into the yard, trying to ignore the muttered explicatives from his brother in law. Obviously Éomer considered his injuries to be of the embarrassing nature, and some of the phrases he used in regards to the farmer was enough to send a heat rising in Faramir's cheeks, though he had though he had heard near everything from Boromir and his men already. It would appear he had been wrong…

Leading the saddled horse over Firefoot barely needed even the slightest command before he knelt down so that his master was able to pull himself into the saddle. An angry scowl on his face as Aragorn bade him wait before he tried to eat more, and Éomer clutched at the pommel as Firefoot climbed back to his feet. He held on though, staying in the saddle by sheer determination, swaying slightly from time to time.

By the time they had reached the creek he seemed to have come to terms with the fact he would not get a full meal. Content to slide to the ground and lean against a boulder. By now, Aragorn knew well it was useless to offer him any herbs for the pain. He would allow polutices and healing salves, but if he thought Aragorn was trying to force a healing tea or brew on him, he would refuse all until he was certain so was not the case.

Rather than risking thus when he so badly needed food Aragorn instead readied a bowl with food for him. An apple, some bread and cheese broken in pieces that he placed in a bowl. No doubt not near as much as the man wanted, but a good start. Giving it to him also served as a distraction as he sought to take care of his injuries. He knew that would earn him several objections, and the more distracted Éomer was, the easier it would be.

There were limits to what he could do with what little supplies he had, and Éomer at first seemed to have little interest in what he was doing. When the bowl was empty though, and Aragorn cut open the leg of his heavy pants, laying the material open so he could examine the knee the young king grit his teeth. Sighing as he probed the badly swollen joint there was as far as Aragorn could tell no lasting damage, though when falling into the hidden pit he had obviously landed badly on the leg.

As Aragorn cut away the thick leather of the boot his friend had a white knuckled grip on the bowl as he sought to ride out the pain. His fists so hard around it Aragorn feared the wooden bowl would split in two. The muttered curses in his native tongue seemed to give at least some measure of relief, though a few of the men close enough to hear as well as able to understand seemed uncomfortable. Aragorn himself from his time in Rohan knew it well enough to smile softly, it was no words of fondness and adoration the young king offered. With the ankle broken and nothing at all to dull the pain Aragorn did not blame him for his bluntness. It left the younger man breathless and trembling, forced to turn to his side to retch and Faramir moved forward to take his head and shoulders. Wiping the sweat and dirt from his face with a cold cloth as his brother by law lay back breathless. Knowing that it was better to get through it as quickly as possible so that his friend might find relief from the pain he had splints made. Securing the injured limb from foot to thigh so that he could not move it at all.

Cold compresses on the injury was the only respite he could offer, cloth soaked in the stream to chill and laid over the red inflamed flesh, for even if he had herbs that would have taken the worst of the pain, he knew Éomer would not take them. Better not to push him and anger him, though it made his own heart ache that no more could be done. Such a far cry from the tiny blonde child that had run wild in the hall of Meduseld. Skinned knees had been the worst of his worries then, bumps and bruises as he charged ahead much faster than he looked. Seated before his grandfather, the king, in the saddle of his magnificent war horse. Holding the reins with reverence and respect for the steed, but never showing even an ounce of fear.

At his pained breaths now, Firefoot moved forward, barring teeth and stomping a hoof in the ground. Knowing Aragorn well enough to allow him to tend his master, but not wishing him to forget that Éomer belonged to Firefoot first and foremost. Should he even suspect Aragorn of hurting his master unduly, Aragorn had no doubt Firefoot would intervene. At least the beast understood enough to know Aragorn only hurt when it was needed to heal, and then sought to offer his own form of comfort. Burrowing his big nose in his owners neck to both offer and seek reassurance. A weak shaky hand reaching up to rub the velvet nose doing the same.

Faramir had suggested that they made for his home, which seemed advisable. The distance needed to travel would be shorter and in this matter Éowyn's presence would be to their benefit. No one was quite as adept as ordering the Rohan king around as was his sister. While Éomer thought nothing of drawing his sisters anger when it came to insulting and spoiling her cooking, he was less eager to do so when she was fearful for his safety. They both remembered Théoden's declining health and how it had hurt them as well as their cousin. He knew how it pained them both when he brought home the badly injured heir, their cousin that had always been as a brother to them. He would not willingly incur such suffering on her, even if it meant acting sensible and staying in bed when he was ill.

Watching him the next morning Aragorn thought it was indeed a sound idea, for Éomer would not be deterred as he insisted on riding his own horse. Never before had Aragorn seen him struggle so to mount a horse, as with the leg splinted and unable to move it at all. Even though Firefoot knelt for him, it was a struggle for the young man to pull himself into the saddle, and once there, his face was white with pain.

The steward's home it was, where there would be a warm bed and vengeful sister to care for the warrior, and a warm stable full of fresh hay and plenty of feed for his noble steed….

A Temporary Ending Temporarily Placed

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