For Author's note and disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 10

Though there was peace in the land at last with the threat of Sauron no longer hanging over there people, there were still at times unrest. No longer did a dark evil army of Orcs threaten to overtake the small villagers, but there had always been and always would be those of evil mind that sought to take advantage of the weak.

Hardly had the crown rested upon his head for even a week, and Éomer had not yet donned his afore the two men swore to support one another. Éomer's coronation had to be in Rohan, in the Golden Halls of Meduseld where his people could see it, but his title and duty had been clear before then. With Théoden fallen on the plains of Peallanor and no other son beside his already perished son, Èomer was his heir. While Aragorn knew he feared being unable to fulfill the duty as well as his cousin would have the king of Gondor did not share his doubt. He had long seen the sense of duty and honor the young man held, and trusted he would do well.

They were both well aware that just because the enemy was defeated, order would not naturally follow the chaos, and to truly vanquish the evil they needed to stand strong and stand together.

Éomer had renewed the oath of Rohan to always come to the aid of Gondor, and Aragorn in turn had sworn to do the same. There was a kinship between the countries now that had not been there before. When Denethor's mistrust and poisoned mind had come to see their neighbour as a threat. Théoden, brought down by the spell of Sauruman had further weakened the bond that might have aided them both, and at the time while he saw it, there had been nothing Éomer was able to do about it. If not the King's own son and heir was able to reason with him, what hope did his nephew then have, though Théoden had never seen the orphaned boy as any less than his own son.

With the blood of the old kings giving him an unnaturally long life, Aragorn had already lived long enough to see Éomer's youth even though he was well aware of his wisdom. The Rohan was no fool, though often scorned as no better than a peasant for their culture. He was cunning and sly, capable of a dry wit and endless courage that had served him well. Mayhap the blonde warrior would rather spend his evening sharpening sword and dagger, than to sit with a book in his hand. Only a fool would however think that made him a lesser force to oppose.

The Rohan's did not often use their language in writing, and only few of the people were able to do so, and then at least in Éomer's case most reluctantly. He did not care for dusty tomes and dry documents when his word was binding. Likewise they used trade rather than they used coin, and most of the silver and copper passing around the plains of Rohan were from Gondor. As a King he was forced to carry a small pouch at his belt when travelling, though it amused Aragorn to know he would just as well strike camp by a creek as to find an inn where he claimed the beds to be lumpy and the ale too weak.

The King of Rohan might ask for refuge from the weather in the barn of a farm, and split wood as payment for the hospitality. No noble born from Gondor would even contemplate doing such a thing, in Rohan though it was not so strange.

The unrest they sought to deal with now did not seem to involve either bandits or wild animals. Instead it would appear one of the nobles near the border thought himself safe and above reproach as he enforced inhuman taxes on the subjects living on his land. While learning of this had angered Aragorn, the rage of Éomer had surpassed him. The Rohan had gripped the hilt of his sword as he cursed, causing Aragorn to feel it was best if the matter was dealt with by both of them. As the land lay on the border it could have been considered to fall under the jurisdiction of either country, and no doubt the disagreements between the two was what had kept the lord safe before. With the two reigning figures of each land not in the habit of cooperating, and the man being able to play one against the other, he would indeed have been quite safe.

This however had ended the moment the King of Gondor and the King of Rohan not only merely accepted one another, but were good friends. While there were a few difficulties at times, matters to overcome that might have caused heated words, they were indeed friends.

Aragorn felt a certain amount of pride when he regarded his friend and fellow ruler. He had not known him well when the king was a toddler, but he had been there for a short time as Thorongil, riding under Thengal. He remembered well Théodred, prince and heir of the kings son. He also recalled the small toddler of barely two years of age. Fierce and fearless as he followed on Théodred's heels, or demanded a seat on the lap of the King. He knew to be quiet and respectful of his elders, but when set free on a mission, there was no one to stop the fury of the tiny whirlwind.

He showed the same stubbornness now that he had then, and bewoe whoever sought to overpower him for Éomer feared no mortal enemy.

His anger sometimes gave Aragorn cause to worry though he knew the trouble the young man took to keep it in check so he would not speak or act in haste. Experience would aid him he knew, and until then Éomer was certainly doing well enough, wise enough to seek counsel when he needed it, strong enough to stand by himself when there was no other. The young King had never thought he would come to rule, but he would have made Thengel proud, and this was something Aragorn knew with certainty.

He paced, and he cursed as he learned about the transgression against their people, and there would have been no stopping him from acting, Aragorn knew this. Together though, they would be able to show a strong joint of force, and Éomer knew this to. It was better they rode together, one Eored and one squad of Gondor's troops. Riding under joint banners they were an impressive sight to see though the contrast in appearance was never more clear. The men of Gondor, on their small but strong horses, all in their shining armour, riding in clear lines. Then the Rohirrim, their horses stronger and their armour never unison. Èomer with the white horsetail on his helm, Gúthwinë on his belt and battleworn armour led them. He bore the armour with a man used to it by many years, his men in mail shirts as well as chest plates following. No two men seemed to wear the same, aside from the green cloaks they all carried.

In themselves though, and in the control they had over their steeds they were a most impressive force and Aragorn rather felt he would dread to meet the Rohirrim in battle, even more so than his own men though he was ashamed to admit it.

Now they had entered a small city to acquire provisions and ask counsel from a nearby lord that they knew to be sympathetic to their cause. Since the poor oppressed men from his neighbour tended to attempt to flee to him, straining his resources he was as eager as the two kings to put an end to the situation.

Standing in the market they were speaking to the Captain of the lords guard, and Aragorn noted Firefoot, the magnificent grey stallion of Éomer to be unusually restless. The land around the town had been poor, not leaving much grass for the horses to grace upon. Firefoot, an extraordinary beast of unusual intelligence and cunning was now nudging his master from time to time. It had amused Aragorn the longing look the horse gave a vendor of fruit and vegetables as they passed, though he was much too well trained to even attempt helping himself as some horses might have done.

Indeed, Brego as well was slightly restless though not to the same extent. Firefoot pushed his nose into the nape of Éomer's neck, huffing a puff of air that had the Rohan king push his nose to the side. He was not making that much of a nuisance of himself, but it was clear that it was something he wanted.

Resting his chin on Éomer's shoulder, earning himself an od look or two, snorting another huff of air into his ear as some more time passed.

Finally the horse lifted one hoof and pawed lightly at Éomer's foot, turning his head the blonde scratched him behind the ears with one hand, and dug into the pouch he carried on his belt with the other. As he held out the larger copper coin to his horse the man they spoke to gave a gasp and even Aragorn gave a start.

Firefoot however gave a delighted snort before taking the coin in teeth, and turning around in a tight and graceful circle to move down the street.

"My lord, your horse…." the captain they had been speaking to gasped.

"Aye, what of him?" Éomer did not even bother to look where his horse went.

"He is loose," the man sounded quite worried.

"He's well trained, he won't stray far," Éomer shrugged, and indeed Aragorn could see out of the corner of his eye how the stallion moved down the street. Down to one of the vendors he made his way, and appeared to drop the coin on the wooden counter of the stall. Pawing at one of the barrels of apples with one hoof he gave a mighty snort, and turning his head a little Aragorn could see how the stunned vendor, mouth open, offered the horse one of the apples…

Firefoot took it, and one more, then shaking his head he kicked lightly at a crate of carrots tied together in bundles, receiving one of them he appeared to be content he had received full value for his money and made his way back to where the men stood.

Though he had not expected it Aragorn felt he was not surprised by the action. Firefoot had done the unexpected far too many times. Now, carrots in mouth, he dropped them on the ground where Brego as well was able to share and enjoy the treat with him.

"My Lord…...your horse….." the captain was shaking his head, stunned.

"Has been spoiled rotten by my wife," Éomer sighed. "She's always plying him with apples, or he would not be so horrible, though I suppose it does no harm."

"At least he is generous," Aragorn mused, a horse who could do his own shopping…. He might not have a full understanding of the value of the coin, but he felt there was no need to worry about the vendor being short changed. Should it have happened, it would be because the man had given it up freely, and like as not the story of the horse coming to his stall, with coin in mouth, would earn him many customers wanting to hear the story.

The two horses made short work of the food, and by the time their owners were ready to move on not a morsel remained of the carrots. Firefoot leaned forward and rubbed his head against Éomer's arm. Aragorn could only assume that the beast was giving thanks for the food. He wondered idly what the two horses must have been like when it was Théodred who rode Brego, though certainly when the two cousins rode together they must have made a magnificent pair. He knew Théodred had taught Éomer much of his riding skills, though he had also been told that Éomer had been a natural and even more advanced than many of his people. His skill with the horses were said to be unsurpassed, it was one of the reasons why he had been gifted a horse of the Mearas as young as he had been.

Outside the city gates once more the grey stallion shook his head with a neigh, eager to stretch his legs over the wide open plains. Forced to pace himself with the slower moving horses he tossed his head and almost danced as they moved on.

Brego fell in beside him as if it was the most natural thing for the large bay to do, and Aragorn knew he would have done so before. He just wondered if it ever felt wrong for Éomer to glance to his side and see dark hair instead of blonde, the wrong man riding by his side.

He hoped not, for he would not want to add to the pain of his loss. Èomer did not let any of his grief show as he steered his horse across the plains. He was born for the freedom of the wide open plains, just as much as Firefoot was.

The two of them were indeed well matched he mused as he watched them, while they complimented each other, they also challenged each other just enough so that neither one would ever fully know what to expect.

A perfect match indeed.

The Temporary End

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