For Author's note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 13

Entering the stable Théoden, King of Rohan walked past the stalls with horses without really paying them any attention. Heading to the far end where the boxes were larger and more luxurious. The horses for the royal family, his own, Snowmane. Brego, belonging to his son Théodred, wickering restlessly as he paced in his stall. The gate into the stall was closed but not locked. It was loyalty and training that kept the horses here in their stalls, not force or locks.

His son met his eye where he stood leaning against a wooden beam, the carved horses heads by the ceiling gazing down upon them and the stall next to Brego's.

The horse in the stall was a young horse, a magnificent grey stallion of the sadly thinning bloodline of the Mearas. A horse only for the royal line and one that had not yet grown into his full potential.

"I would not advise it father," his son greeted him as he put his hand on the gate into the stall. "I attempted that, and I will not do so again."

"I think I will take your counsel," Théoden mused, noting the tear in the shoulder of his son's tunic, and the dark stain there. Evidence of the powerful teeth of the grey stallion. "Did the stable master tell you how long he has been here?"

"He said he was here when he came to feed the horses in the morning," Théodred shrugged. "So I would say he came in here during the night. I wish you all the luck Father, but I strongly advise caution. I would not want to anger that beast further…"

He stepped back, walking to the other end of the row as Théoden stood by the gate into the stall, but made no move to enter. He kept his eyes on the big grey, noting the ears slicked back into the mane and the teeth barred as he pawed at the straw covered stone floor.

"Éomer…" he directed his words to the small figure squeezed into the far end of the stall, between the wall and the manger. "May I speak to you?"

"You are the King…" the youth had his knees pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. Head down, his voice was so low that Théoden could hardly make out the words.

"Aye, so I am," he noted. "But if I were to enter without your permission right now, I do not think your steed cares any for the authority of the crown. I would not risk his ire, as it seems my son has done. So, I ask again, may I speak to you?"

"You may, but I have naught to say for myself," the head tilted to the side as he pressed further into the small crevice. It should not have been large enough a space for him, Théoden mused, but the boy was determined he was not reached against his will.

In front of him the horse neighed loudly, tossing his head and giving Théoden a menacing look. He was dangerously close to facing the full ire of the horse he knew, but he stood his ground. Éomer had trained his horse and done so extraordinarily well for his age. The horse recognized his king and leige lord, and would on the battlefield give his life to protect him. Just as he had been trained to protect Éomer if his rider had fallen.

That however was on the battlefield, this was in the stable and here Firefoot was concerned only for his master. Had Théoden sought to enter the stall he had no doubt the horse would attack him, and at the very least strongly discourage him from reaching the youth he wished to speak to.

No wonder Éomer had sought refuge where he had, for nowhere else would he be so unapproachable as with his beloved horse.

"Éomer, can you not come here so that we may talk?" he asked and Firefoot blew a hot breath of air at him, a sound almost a growl escaping the horse as the youth in the stall gave a shudder and a choked sob.

Moving back a step from the gate, to be on the safe side, though he gave no sign of fear Théoden had to contend himself with watching for the time being. Firefoot was indeed most loyal he noted. At the distress of his master he guarded him fiercely, and now that Théoden had stepped back, Firefoot moved closer to Éomer, nudging him with his nose, blowing a hot breath in his hair and nuzzling his neck where he could reach it.

"I have naught to say," Éomer stated again, his voice thick and weary. He would not have slept Théoden knew. From the time he had left his chambers to when he had been found in the stable he would not have slept though he should by all rights have been exhausted.

"You need not say anything, but I wish you would listen," Théoden sighed. "Sister son, I would not see you suffer thus, but there is little I can do if you will not let me. Am I to leave you here like this? And pretend I cannot see you hurting? Do you truly wish for me to go and not care?"

"Please Uncle, is it not enough what I have already done? Do I really have to add to my shame?"

Shaking his head Théoden sighed, gazing at the steed that stood between him and the son of his lost sister. He could only hope that the horse recognized that he meant no harm as he opened the stall. Firefoot bared his teeth and lowered his head menacingly but Théoden met his stare. The horse was trained to accept his commands as readily as those of Éomer, but with the youth hurting so much and hiding in the stall, it would be harder to get the horse to accept this. He was not a king of the horse lords for naught though, and he stood his ground, but made no move forward until Firefoot seemed to relax somewhat. Reaching out a hand slowly he spoke softly to the horse, and it would seem, gained his permission to approach his master. Firefoot was weary, and did not yield completely. He stood on guard still and it was on his suffering alone that Théoden was allowed deeper into the stall until he sat down by the boy.

"You have done naught wrong, and there is no shame in my eyes," he stated softly. Sitting partially in front of the boy, though to the side so that Firefoot would clearly see he made no move to harm the lad. "You are young, that is the only crime you are guilty of, and naught but time will see that to an end. I wish it would be long yet before you had to learn these things, but these are dark times and I had to cast you into the cruelty of it all. Even so, Éomer, you did nothing for which you would have to suffer thus."

"Faranfael is dead, and it is because of me," Éomer's voice came muffled.

"Faranfael has gone to the home of our ancestors," Théoden nodded. "He fought valiantly and died bravely doing his duty. It was not by your hand, nor was the fault yours."

"It should have been me…" Éomer's voice was filled with such pain that all Théoden wanted to do was to wrap his arms around him. It would not do act as if that would put all to right though. He needed the boy to see the truth. Also, had he tried he felt that Firefoot would have taken his actions for hostile and attacked…. "I wish it had been me!"

"Would you really wish to belittle his deed such?" Théoden asked. "Faranfael knew his duty, would you take that honour away from him?"

"There's no honour in a needless death," Éomer refused to look up still, his voice thick and choked.

"It was your first true battle Éomer," Théoden sighed softly. "No one can truly know what that is like before they face it. Many a man, older than you, have been overwhelmed by such matters. I have heard nothing told of your actions to think less of you, truthfully lad, your Captain speaks highly of you…"

"He shouldn't," Éomer sniffed.

"If you think so, then tell me why," Théoden urged him. "For it is true that your Captain could not see you all the time. Tell me what you did, and I shall lay my ruling, and you know I will not spare you for being kin. If you are guilty of anything, I would know it so that I can take whatever action needed. If you acted out of cowardice, I would know, but if this is naught but misguided grief, I would know that as well."

Éomer hesitated, but the desire to confess was greater than his fear to told his belief was true. "I was riding next to Gearing, he needs the guidance, he's far too inexperienced," he stated.

"He is also four winters your senior," Théoden shook his head. "But his skill is far from your equal, and he would no doubt benefit from having had you at his side."

"When the Orcs fell upon us, he froze," Éomer stated. "I thought nothing of it, for he has not faced an onslaught such before. He may have ridden with the Eored longer, but he has not the heart for it and would not have ridden with the Eored if not for his will to do his duty. I know this, and I know he only needed a moment, so I moved ahead of him. He did rally to the fight, and he truly gave his best, but it was not enough, he was unhorsed, and they fell on him like the filthy scum they are. I could not let him be slain like that, so I moved his way. I, I failed to see the ones from behind my Lord. I failed to see how they would fall on me the same as I sought to aid him. I, I never realised I had a sword at my back before Faranfael rode past. He guarded my back, and they killed him…."

"He sought to protect you, as you protected Gearing," Théoden drew a deep breath. "What more, he did his duty in doing so. To one of the Eored, and to one of the royal family. It was his duty Éomer."

"Well it should not have been!" now his head snapped up. "It should not be his duty to die because of my blood! I am not the heir, that is Théodred. I am nothing! I should be nothing! He was too far away to protect me without leaving himself open, he would only have acted as he did because I am the son of your sister, and that should not have been reason enough for him to die!"

"Éomer, you 'are' of the royal blood," Théoden sighed. "You may not think it is enough, but it is, and it is a burden as much as it is a privilege. Should anything happen to Théodred, then you would be my heir, and that alone is enough for the men to protect you. They are sworn to do so, just as you have sworn to do the same for my son. Would you not have moved to protect Théodred?"

"Or course I would, but he 'is' the heir," Éomer stated.

"And to an extent, so are you…" Théoden shook his head. "And if you are to ride with the Eored, you musc accept this and what it means. Do you truly think it is easier for Théodred, to know that in battle you might die for him?"

"It is not the same, that is my duty, my oath!" Éomer glared at the straw by his feet.

"It is no different than the oath all the riders take," Théoden shook his head. "And if you can not accept this, then perhaps it was my mistake for allowing you to join the Eored so young. You are very skilled, sister son, and you have courage. I felt that this outweighed your youth as did your Captain. Truthfully we allowed it in spite of better judgement because your sword was needed. Your arm is strong, and I would not want to remove you to let you grow a little more yet, for I fear there is no way to do this without causing you shame. But then you need to see the truth as it is Éomer, if you wish to or not."

"I do not," the youth gritted out the words, and in spite of his petulant scowl, Théoden smiled.

"And yet you already have," he shook his head fondly. "Éomer, you have in many ways proven yourself worthy. You are young, much too young and your youth shall cost you yet. But you have the heart and the courage, and that you can not put aside even if you wished. Men, ten and twenty years your senior look to you because of your skill and courage, that is of great value to your Captain. To have the king's nephew showing such valour. For if a boy of your age shows such courage, how can they offer less? Aye, there might still be times when the men lay down their lives for you, and I gather it will never hurt you less than it does now, but do you not see sister son, that the men gain courage from seeing you among their midst? To see the helm with the white horsetail at the head of the charge, do you not see how that strengthens the heart of those who might have faltered?"

"Tis how I look at Théodred, and my captain…" the boy grudgingly admitted. "But they should not look to me that way. You say always I'm too young uncle, am I not then too young to not lead them to ruin?"

"Nay, I do not think you are," Théoden shook his head. "Lad, the words I will tell you now are the truth, we have many capable captains with much experience who know how to best use their men. We have our riders trained so well that a mere handful can take on five and six times their number of Orcs. We have my son, my heir and I hold him in the highest regard, by the love of a father and by knowing his skill. We also have you, with too few years to even show a beard. And yet, if Edoras came under attack I would want you for our defence as much as I would want either one of our captains and more than some of them. You lad, have cunning and courage, the instinct and the heart for it, and the men would follow you to the very halls of our ancestors if you asked it. Aye, experience you need more, and it will cost you dearly. The pain you feel now I wager you will always feel, the pain of the death of our people, but you must let it make you stronger. Strengthen your resolve, remember them all, never forget the lives that paid for our victory, but take courage from their strength. Do you understand me, sister son?"

"Aye, even if I do not want to, I think I do…." he bit his lip as he looked up to meet Théoden's eye for the first time. His eyes were red, but his cheeks were dry.

It did Théoden proud to know that he had not cried.

A Temporary Ending

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