For main Author's Note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Additional Author's Note: While I have tried, and continue to try and keep these as correct as possible according to the world of Tolkien, there will be errors. For one thing, I was unable to find information on when Thengel King passed, and therefor wrote him as still alive for the first few years of Éomer's life. While I am thankful to have received help and tips here, I have chosen to in some parts, leave it as it was, as I like what I have already written and do not wish to change, or, completely remove it. Please see this as artistic license and no intentional disregard for Tolkien's work.
Also, as Tolkien frequently used Old English as the language of Rohan, so have I. Both when naming characters, and when writing the language. As I feel that while a glossary at the end has uses, it does interrupt the story, I have chosen not to do this. Instead, I try to make very clear in the text what the meaning is. I hope this is works as I feel the story flows better.
Lastly, I was raised in a country where ratings were not something many considered important. We were shown 'brain dead' on a school trip, and Jurassic Park as a school holliday activity. While I try to keep the rating appropriate, it may be some readers find it unlike what they are used to. I do not mean to discourage anyone from reading, just please, be advised it may not be correct according to everyones point of view.

Last, and very important, thank you all for reading and leaving Kudos, I appreciate all reviews, even anonymous though they are harder to reply to, so thank you each and everyone who reads this, and I hope you enjoy it.

Sincerest Regards, Elenhin

Chapter 12

Théoden King stood on the front step of Meduseld and watched as his son and his nephew made ready to ride. His son had done him proud, standing tall in armour well used and well cared for. Tall and with blonde hair and a neatly trimmed beard he was a sight to behold. His magnificent stallion standing beside him, coat glistening in the sun. The stablehands had brushed his coat until indeed it shone and the mane was silken. He wore his sword on his belt and his shield on his back. The spear was strapped to his gear on the saddle. Bridle and saddle were decorated. The pride of all of Rohan, the heir, riding tall and proud.

Éomer, his young cousin beside him was too young for such a display. At a mere thirteen winters there was not even a hair on his chin and Théoden felt he was not yet fully grown. Indeed he hoped so, for his nephew was smaller than many of the boys his own age. Quiet of nature and sullen in his manners. Brooding when the other youths were laughing and singing he paid no heed to the men around him as he sought to calm his young stallion. He wore only a short sword and a dagger on his belt, one not much longer than the other. Too young and too untrained for a full weapon Théoden knew he did not lack of courage.

With his saddle and bridle simple but sturdy the only thing that marked him as of royal blood was the cloak of green wool and the tunic of finest green with golden embroidered on the collar. Ankle high boots too small Théoden knew, for he had grown since they were made and there was no use in a new pair with winter so close.

He had no armour like his cousin did, only a pair of soft leather vambraces that Théodred had ordered for him knowing how much his young cousin longed to join the Eored. Théodred doted on his cousins, to the dismay of many of the nobles who would have seen that honour bestowed on their own spawn.

Indeed the horse dancing as it shied away, unsettled by the noise and the bustle had been the cause of many raised voices and harsh words when Théoden pledged the unborn foal to his nephew. A descendant of the Mearas, of a direct line of Théoden's own horse and the horse of his son, it was a horse only for the royal blood. With Éomer being his nephew and not his son some would claim he was no legal heir and had no right to the horse. Had it been Théoden's sibling had been male instead of a woman it might have been different though Théoden would not acknowledge any such foolishness. His nephew was of the same blood as he, and more to the point, Éomer was proving to be worthy of the name given him. Théoden had heard much praise of his nephew's skills with horses, and not even Théodred though older could surpass him.

As the King he could have gifted the horse to his nephew out of fondness for the child alone and might have done so if he was to be honest. It was not the sole reason for it though, for he truly felt that Éomer was the one who would see the full potential of such a creature. Had not the boy slept in the stable for many nights when he knew the foal was soon to be born, had he not refused to return to his bed for as many days after. Insisting that he was there to know if the foal and mare needed ought. He had been relentless in his training of the young colt, and never had he placed his own comfort first. The young stallion was named Firefoot, a credit to his race already though he had not worn saddle long. Théodred had overseen his young cousin as he trained the horse, claiming with pride that Éomer had not shunned any work nor any bruises as he did so. Indeed Théoden had seen him come in for the late meal, near more mud than boy…

"You should not let the child ride that horse," Kaering, cousin to his own father told Théoden as they watched the men get ready. Impatient with all the last minute preparations Firefoot snapped at a man passing too close to him. Éomer shushed his horse, skillfully keeping him under control though the horse fought him somewhat about it. Éomer did not shy back from either teeth nor hooves but stood his ground and soon Firefoot burrowed his nose into his shoulder.

"Éomer has the right to that horse by blood, and he has the skills to master it, your son would not be able to do so," Théoden shook his head. It was with pride he watched the son of his sister. He was young and far too rash, impulsive enough to be a danger to himself as well as others, he did however have a true and noble heart. He was loyal to a fault and while he would have the lad was more experienced before he allowed him on such a journey, his own son had insisted. Claiming rightfully so that if the boy was to gain experience he needed to find himself where he could earn it. Taking him along on a routine trade journey to Minas Tirith should serve them both well. Éomer would learn what he needed to know, and there would be no true danger to his life if his less desirable impulses won over what good sense he had.

"He is far too young to know what it is he has," Kaering argued. "Mayhap in another twenty and so years he might have the knowledge, now, he is naught but a bairn."

"He is the son of my sister," Théoden turned a stern look to his cousin. "He is the last male heir of the house of Eorl, after my own son and heir. He is also more skilled on horseback than is your son, and you will speak of him with the respect he deserves."

His son, standing by the standard bearer looked up, hearing his father's voice, and gave a nod as he noted his fathers eye resting on his cousin. Èomer was paying attention to naught but his restless horse. Théoden had been unsure about allowing him to ride the horse on this journey. No matter how much he trusted the boy's skills, the horse was barely old enough to suffer saddle and rider. A man heavier than Éomer would have been far too much for him, but the boy had trained the horse well and Firefoot was ready where another horse of a lesser line would not have been.

As he mounted, the horse danced and wickered, tried to bite his foot in the stirrup and Éomer easily avoided the powerful teeth, giving a firm command that settled the beast enough to stand beside Théodred and Brego. Again he danced impatiently, and this time Brego snapped at the younger horse. Firefoot at the sharp sudden pain of the bite at the neck bucked, Éomer not unbalanced even for a second as he brought the horse back in under his control.

Tightening his reins he held the horse close a moment to ascertain his authority before he relaxed the reins enough Firefoot could shake his head.

Kaering snorted and turned away, but Théoden felt only pride for the way his nephew handled the horse.

Théodred felt no irritation either as they rode out the gates of Edoras. He could recall well when his own horse was young and would combat him. The more spirit the better the horse provided the master did not give in and became the servant. With his young cousin, that would not happen. He would be surprised if Éomer was not thrown at least thrice on their way to Minas Tirith and back, for Firefoot did indeed have a lot of spirit and one moment of inattentiveness was all it took. Éomer was skilled, but he was want to be distracted at times when something caught his attention.

Now as they made their way down the road he threw a small pebble at his cousin's head, and when the youth turned around to glare he tossed him a small velvet pouch that clinked merrily as it was jostled. "That is the coin for our expenses," he stated. "Be very certain there is enough to buy us what provisions we need for the way home, and something for your sister, or else she shall surely have both our heads if we bring her back naught. The rest, you may spend as you please."

"I have nothing that I would need spend it on," the boy tucked the pouch inside his tunic. Théodred had done this before, and he knew Éomer would be careful with what he used. His father had thought it a heavy responsibility for one so young, but money was of little use in Edoras as well as in the rest of Rohan. Until his sixth year of age Éomer had never even held the smallest coin of copper in his hand, and he had not known their worth. The boiled sweets in a market stand had captivated him, bright colours he had never seen before, a treat he had not yet tasted as honey cakes were the treats he was used to. As he had tentatively asked Théodred for the means to try one, all too many boys his own age around the stall had laughed aloud at him and he had stalked away in anger. It had been the Steward's eldest son, Boromir, who had taken the child later to procure some of the sweets for him. Since, Éomer would always spend a few copper on the coloured sticks. Théodred would let him manage their purse the better for him to learn the value of the slivers of metal and the way negotiations were done. It was no good telling the boy that one silver coin had the worth of so or so many coppers, and what he needed each time. Better he experienced it and found for himself if the price had been worth it or not.

"They have fine steel, better than you will easily find at home, and more than enough coin there for a dagger should you wish it," Théodred prodded. Éomer while usual a quiet and almost sullen boy had been even more so since they started making their preparations for their trip.

"I have a dagger," biting his lower lip and giving his cousin an angry glare the child rested his hand on his belt. The dagger was his pride, it had been an ornamental piece made for Thengel King. To match his sword, and the king had given it to his grandson a short time before he passed. Éomer treasured it as well he should, but it was not a weapon meant to be used Théodred knew.

"Éomer, what has you in such poor spirit?" he queried. "I will not order you to buy either weapon nor sweets, but I would have you tell me what the matter is."

"I have nothing I wish to say," biting his lower lip harder the boy turned his head away, looking towards the far hills and Firefoot sensing his lack of attention took a quick sidestep and bucked. This time Éomer was not ready and was thrown from the saddle to land on the ground with a thud. Sighing Théodred waited for him to get to his feet, wiping blood from his lip where he had bit through it as he was thrown.

"Are you hurt?" he asked as his young cousin took the reins of his horse again, swiftly mounting at the same time as he wiped his lip on his sleeve. Leaving dark streaks on the green fabric of his tunic.

"Nay," their guard all acted as if they had seen nothing, the Eored were not so petty as to laugh at a child thrown. Especially not one who rode as well as Éomer did. They knew very well the spirit of the horse, and knew they would not have fared any better. Even so, Éomer ducked his head in shame, knowing it was his lack of attention to his horse that had caused him to be thrown.

"If you do not tell me the matter, I will ask your sister once we get back," Théodred stated matter of factly. "I am quite certain that she will be delighted to tell me."

"She could not tell you what she does not know," as his lip was still bleeding Éomer wiped at it angrily and Théodred passed him a piece of cloth that he pressed against the cut.

"Are you that certain she has no knowledge of anything at all that you might prefer me or my father to be unaware of?" Théodred allowed himself a smile. Éowyn followed on her brother's heels whenever she was able, and oft when the boy would prefer she did not. If one wanted to know anything about what Éomer had been doing, his sister was always a good source of information. "I imagine that if I were to ask her, she would know of at least three or four things that I did not know, and as many that I might have guessed at…."

"That is not fair!" Éomer's head snapped around as he glared at his cousin.

"It is not," Théodred agreed as he met his eye. "Which is why neither I nor my father would do so lightly. You're growing into a young man Éomer, but you are a boy still. You should enjoy whatever mischief you may still get away with for it won't be long now where you may do so no longer. I wish you would enrage our cook by raiding the pantry, there is a jug of real fine ale I wouldn't care if you sampled. Cut off master Hildengard's braid when he sleeps on duty next time if you wish, you only have another year at most before you must seize such activities and to my knowledge you have not even started. Instead I get this sullen brooding where I know something is wrong, but you will not tell me ought."

"I do not care what you wish, I will not go into the pantry," Éomer gave him a sullen look. "Last time I went there she near took my head off with that ladle and I was there on uncle's request…."

"And you are avoiding answering me," Théodred shook his head. "I do not make empty threats Éomer, but I do not want to go to your sister for I do not want to know what she might tell me more."

"Lord Kaering wants Théoden King to take Firefoot away from me," Éomer finally admitted.

"And since when did that pompous bag of horse dung hold any sway over my father and our King?" Théodred demanded, earning a look of disbelief and then an amused snort from the boy. "Èomer, you know father would do no such thing. Now, Lord Kaering might think he is powerful, but not more so than the King, and his son is not of the line of Eorl, he has no right to the horse even if Father had not given him to you.

"I know that," Éomer nodded slowly, patting the neck of the horse that sensed his unease and wickered nervously. "But I also know his son, and he's a coward as well as petty. I know my Uncle will not go back on his word, but Finegael is always taunting me and saying tis only a matter of time…"

"And this would not have anything to do with why your swords instructor dragged you in to my father by the scruff of your neck about a fortnight ago?" Théodred asked, earning a smile from his cousin.

"I punched him in the nose," Éomer told him proudly. Proving that whatever disciplinary action the king had taken, he was not overly bothered by it.

"Finegael has almost three years and sixty pounds on you," Théodred mused.

"He is a coward, there was no honour in the victory," Éomer shrugged again. "Théoden King said as much and told me I may not do so again. I would not care if he had any honour himself, but he does not. Tis is of no matter if he tries to hurt me again, but what if he tries to do the same to Firefoot?"

"I should think Firefoot would maim him if he got close enough to try…" Théodred decided. "And if he did, even his own father would want to disown him. You need not worry about your steed, and if I find he does anything to you, I shan't spare him either." He paused, frowning. "Or, would this be related to why he was a'standing the whole evening during the feast a few days ago?"

"He tried to strike me from behind, Firefoot bit him in 'his behind,' it was splendid," Éomer laughed. "He was howling and crying, but the stable master saw and would not take pity on him."

"As well he should not," as the heir it would be improper for him to laugh at such an occurrence, but he allowed himself to smile. Trying to strike Éomer from behind when his horse was watching, the fool deserved it. Firefoot was trained already to protect his master. "And certainly you must see now that you have naught to worry about, why do you allow it to bother you?"

"Because it angers me," Éomer stated, mirth forgotten. "And Théoden King will not let me punch him as he deserves, because I have to be better as his nephew, and I don't want to be better all the time. I want to punch him in the nose…."

"Aye, but you may indeed not attack the son of a lord," Théodred sighed. "For one thing, older and bigger than you he may be, but he would not last long against you. Aye, this a pickle indeed, why can't you just be content to steal that ale? T'would be much more simple if you did…"

"Why would I need to? All I have to do if I want ale is to go down to the barracks," Éomer snorted. "They like to talk and they like to drink, and they like to have the son of the old Marshall with them when they do both…"

For a moment Théodred looked aghast, then he laughed loudly and merrily. "So, there is something you would not wish my Father to know then, I had wondered sometimes, my dear cousin…. Aye, it pleases me there is more to you than brooding and sulking."

"I can drink and sulk at the same time," Éomer shrugged. "But if I took Uncle's ale, I would only be able to do so once… I think going to the barracks makes more sense."

"Aye, it does indeed," Théodred agreed. "So, we have established you need not worry about your horse, and indeed that your horse will act to protect you… Do you wish to tell me what the cook did to you?" As his younger cousin groaned and dropped his head knowing he would have no choice but to tell him, Théodred laughed at his face of long suffering….

It was good to be able to order your cousin for his own good.

A Temporary Ending

Thank you for reading, please review, the Cricket is hungry...