For Author's note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 14

Glancing up at the sky Aragorn sighed as it was already late in the day. It seemed being the King made it impossible to get anything done as he wanted to. He found it frustrating how many of the nobles had to constantly pester him about the smallest of detail they should easily be able to handle for themselves, and it did not help matters any to see the way Éomer, King of Rohan would smirk at him as he ran a hand over his face.

He had intended for himself, his steward and his fellow regent to be on their way shortly after the break of fast that morning, instead, it was approaching midday, and they had only made it down to the third circle. It was frustrating beyond words, and Éomer who seemingly never had quite such problems when he sought to leave Rohan seemed to enjoy his predicament. Though he knew the young king was getting near as impatient as his stallion. Both wanted to be on their way before the day was all gone.

Placing his hand in the pocket of his coat Aragorn frowned. In his haste attempting to escape the nobles he had forgotten about one very important thing, and as the man who was now detaining him insisted he waited 'a mere moment' while he enquired with the captain of the guard, there might be a way to rectify his oversight.

To his side stood Faramir and Éomer, both as eager to get on their way as he was. Their mounts suffering silently though he could tell even the horses were bored and annoyed with the delay.

Faramir was too well used to the workings of the nobles of the court to be much aggravated, but Éomer who was used to a different sort of court had less patience for it. In Rohan, if he wanted to leave he was oft able to tell any lord to cease and desist, and then simply would mount his horse. Or, Aragorn would imagine he mounted the big grey first, and no one would dare to approach him unless they were wearing full armour. Firefoot was not known for his pleasant and gracious manners to anyone who did not please him. He suffered Aragorn by kinship to Brego and the easy way Éomer saw his friend. He did not mind Faramir for much the same reason, the steward was married to Éomer's sister, and therefore to be tolerated and accepted as Firefoot saw fit. Should either of them ever move against Éomer in a way Firefoot did not care for, he would however let them know. Not even Éowyn was safe should Firefoot deem she took her ire on her brother too far. He would never harm her, but he would most certainly intervene to protect his master.

Now the stallion showed some amount of ill temper as he was forced to stand idle in the street, and there was a chance that Aragorn could rectify his own oversight and appease the animal's lust to move at the same time.

The lord was still conversing with the captain of the guard, and he turned to his friend. "Éomer, do you think I might ask a bon of your horse?" he asked.

"T'might not be impossible," the horse lord mused as he scratched the grey stallion between the ears. "He's restless, he does not care for these streets and walls of naught but stone."

"I recall once you let him purchase his own carrots, it would seem in our futile attempt at haste, I neglected to bring more pipeweed. Do you think he could be imposed upon for a quick errand?" Aragorn queried, well aware of the look of disbelief that his steward was giving him. "Could he buy pipweed as well as he bought carrots?"

"Certainly, if he was so minded," Éomer nodded, earning another look of disbelief from his brother by law.

If nothing else Aragorn felt it would be worth it for to see his normally so well composed Steward in a state of confusion. His pouch held only enough tobacco for one bowl full, and that was not near enough for their trip. Taking the pouch, and a silver coin he held the coin to the lether and allowed the horse to take it in his mouth,softly giving him instructions in Rohirric while giving him a last good scratch on the forehead that had the horse give a content snort before moving down the street.

"I think, that our dear master Benefield shall be most disconcerted by a horse at his stall," Faramir mused as the big grey moved down the street at a leisurely pace.

"It would not hurt him if he did," Aragorn mused with a smile. "He spends too much time on his seat and not enough on his feet as it is. At least he has the wit enough to understand the purpose."

"I should hope so, Firefoot is not one to have much patience with fools," Éomer shrugged. Bereft of his own stallion he had turned his attention to Brego, and Aragorn had to admit he was amused by the easy way the horse turned to his old companion. Aye, Brego had not forgotten where he came from, nor the fact that Éomer when he was young had spent many hours grooming the horse of his cousin. The mighty war horse was most particular with whom was allowed to tend to him in the stable, and he would let no other but Aragorn ride him. At least no one aside from the King of Rohan. He had a feeling that should Éomer seek to do so, Brego would never even think to hesitate but treat him as if he had been his master.

It was however clear that the young king was soon to reach the end of his own patience with the delays, and Aragorn woved to redouble his efforts to get on their way. As soon as the lord came back he hurried to reassure him, while not really giving in to him, and at the moment Firefoot arrived with a wrapped parcel in his mouth he grinned as he took it from the horse and put it in the pocket of his coat. Fishing out an apple his wife had packed for him in his saddle bag he passed it to the stallion who devoured it instantly.

It was with some satisfaction he noted the lord who had delayed them so seemed to absolutely lose his faculties from seeing the horse return with the requested item.

"Thank you for bringing the matter to me," he stated. "I shall endeavour to give it more attention on my return, but I fear we are rapidly losing the day, so I must bid you farewell."

"My liege, my lords…." the man stammered, his eyes on Firefoot who was nuzzling Éomer's shoulder as if wondering why his master had no treat for him for the errand.

"You horribly spoiled beast," the blonde king shook his head. "I should never have urged you to take Lothíriel's offerings, she has spoiled you rotten and you know it." Grabbing the pommel of his saddle he swung himself up on the back of his horse, and was pleased to note the man in front of them dropped his chin over the swiftness of the action.

Faramir mounted his own horse, and Aragorn followed suit as they once more started for the main gate of the city. This time they were able to pass through it, though Aragorn thought it might have something to do with the scowl Éomer directed at the one man who dared to attempt approach them. The blond King could look most intimidating when he so wished. Tall and fierce looking, with the blonde hair so unusual in Gondor he tended to unsettle most of the nobles. It was not something that Aragorn was really aversed to he mused as they exited the city and finally started on their way.

Having got a late start, much too late, they chose to eat a quick meal in the saddle, and stopping late to strike camp. In this Aragorn had to admit he was amused to note that Lothíriel had no doubt had something to say about the way her husband travelled. He had known Éomer many times to travel with naught but the clothes on his back and the sword on his belt. He cared not for either bowls or blankets, if he might carry a hook for to get fish and a dagger to cut his food. This time though he noted there was not only a bowl and a mug in his pack, but a delicate knife in elven design that no doubt had come from Dol Amroth. Aye, his wife would have been the one to arrange for that he mused as he also noted there was a spare tunic. Most unusual for Éomer who valued little as much as he did travelling light.

They had caught a couple of rabbits, prepared by Éomer with the spice and herbs that Faramir had carried with him. The Steward though by no means burdened down by heavy necessities still carried a far deal more with him than did the king of Rohan. A small pot and pan for that matter, as well as both bowl, plate and goblet. Aragorn took the wineskin from his own pack, a mug for each of them as they enjoyed the meal and the crackling fire.

Faramir had not tied his horse, trusting the other two to make sure the animal did not stray. Brego and Firefoot did not need to be tied at night, though the later had sought out his master and was grazing close by to them. It was late, but they had another half hour or so before they needed to seek their bedrolls for the night. True to habit Aragorn pulled out his pipe while Faramir had found a book in his pack and Éomer was content to lay back. The Rohir saw little use for books, their tales were told in stories and songs. They were not written down on paper and while well educated in the Westron tongue, Éomer had not taken to books as a pursuit.

Nor was he interested in pipeweed and cared little for it, so Aragorn had true to habit settled down downwind from his companion. Taking what little of the tobacco there was in his nearly spent pouch he enjoyed the quiet of the night, the rustling of pages and the soft breathing from the dozing Rohir.

The pipe empty he scraped it out, and pulled out the package that Firefoot had procured for him, absentmindedly making to stuff the bowl once more as he contemplated the two younger men with him. Faramir was absolutely engrossed in his book, though Aragorn could not tell what it was it clearly held his interest. Firefoot however had seized grazing and now stood watchful beside his master. The way his ears were twitching and he tilted his head had Aragorn thinking the horse was watching for something, but he could not tell what it was, and Éomer clearly did not think it was any danger as he was paying the steed no heed.

"While I see no use for smoking a pipe at all, I must say I find even less use in stuffing it full of that…." the blonde king stated in a half sleepy drawl and Aragorn paused, fingers over the bowl of his pipe, and gazed at the bright blue and red boiled sweet he was holding….

"I had thought it was pipeweed…." turning the package over his palm he tipped several more such lumps into his palm. The entire package was filled with boiled sweets, and not even a fleck of pipeweed between them.

Looking up from his book Faramir regarded them with a bemused look on his face while Firefoot strove over to Aragorn, nudging his shoulder until the King of Gonder gave him one of the sweets in his palm.

"I do not even think Hobbits, or Dwarves would attempt smoking those," Faramir mused. "Though I should say I would not mind one of them for myself, if to consume in the more traditional way, of course."

"Of course," Aragorn sighed wearily. If the package was full of sweets it was no use attempting to fill his pipe with them, and loathsome as it was he would have to make do until they reached the next village on their way. Giving one more to the horse, and setting aside one for Brego he tossed the rest of the package to his steward. "Éomer, I thought you said your horse would be capable of procuring pipeweed, t'would seem you were wrong."

"I believe my words were that he would be capable of performing the task, if he was so minded," Éomer offered with a wry smile that was unusual for the oft sullen and quiet young man. "Whyever you would think a horse had any interest at all in pipeweed is a question I saw no reason to ask…."

"I take your point…" indeed, put that way he had to admit the horse, while more than intelligent enough for the task, would have no interest at all in the matter. Why would Firefoot have wanted to procure pipeweed, when such a splendid assortment of treats were within his reach….? "Tis my own fault it would seem, for you speak the truth. Your horse would have no interest at all in pipes."

"But he has excellent taste when it comes to the finer treats," Faramir decided. "I know these well, only master Bredegon makes them this colour. To procure them your horse must have walked past a stall of far less quality. Do you not remember these, Éomer? I believe this was where my brother took you during your visit with Théodred."

"I recall them well enough, and Boromir was near as bad as my wife in spoiling my horse, t'would seem Firefoot recalls them as well," Éomer gave the horse a fond scowl. "Though indeed your brother plied me with them as well, and at the time I can not say I minded much. I have not had them for many years though, tis not what a warrior can afford to worry about."

"Mayhap it is not, but it would seem Firefoot does not mind sharing in his good fortune, and I do not think it is advisable to let him have them all for himself either," Faramir smiled. "So, as our friend is doomed to suffer the loss of his pipe, why do we not enjoy this unexpected treat instead?" He smiled wistfully to himself. "I believe my father was not pleased upon learning Boromir bought sweets for you. He believed it to be most undignified."

"I do not think your father was pleased at all that I was with Théodred," Éomer still accepted a few of the hard coloured sweets. "He did not consider me to be a worthy member of the royal family."

"My father, regretfully, was not known for his patience and understanding," Faramir sighed softly as Aragorn put the now useless pipe back into his pack. "Boromir, I feel, was wiser in this regard."

"If by wiser, you mean he thought it was amusing to see what mischief he could get up to with a young fool at his disposal, then aye," Éomer offered one of his rare smiles and seeing that Aragorn thought that perhaps sweets instead of pipeweed was not such a poor trade after all. Éomer did not smile often. He accepted one of the hard rock like candies from his steward just the same, they were not bad. They were very sweet as they should be, but they were indeed of the better quality. Perhaps, he mused, if the owner of the stall had been familiar with Boromir taking a child from the foreign royal house there, he had recognized the horse that now came with coin in mouth. It would not surprise him, for blonde hair was most uncommon in Gondor and the straw haired youth would have been memorable for that very reason.

"There might be some truth to that," Faramir admitted now. "Boromir did enjoy causing mischief, especially if he knew there would not be much father could say about it at the time… Odd though," he held up one of the boiled sweets. "I do not know how they proceed to make those, but odd that what is little more than lumps of sugar can taste so pleasant…"

"Speaking of lumps," Éomer mused. "I would not advise letting your wife know you have had those, if you do not bring her back a fair share of them. While she would not bestow on you the lumps she did on me for it, it would not go well for you…"

"I will take your counsel," with something of a wince Faramir folded up the parcel. "She does have a sharp tongue when angered…"

"And heavy fist and sharp sword," Éomer added. "And the fault was not even mine, though she accused me of both forgetfulness and gluttony… There had been heavy rain and the river was swollen when we crossed it. Firefoot was not used to it and lost his footing. My sister though would not listen to any such excuse and took strong offence at my perceived neglect."

"Regretfully, I can imagine that," Faramir winced softly, well aware of the temper of his wife. "At least it would seem you survived it…"

"Aye, Théodred came to my rescue," Éomer nodded. "Once he was through laughing of course, he found it most amusing, as he would since he never needed duck her blows himself. Éowyn would never raise hand against the heir, so he always thought it was immensely funny, at least he thought so until she pushed me down the steps of Meduseld..."

Faramir gave a wince at that, and ensured the sweets were tucked away safely in his pack, a wise precaution Aragorn felt. He knew the strength of her sword arm, and though he knew she would never raise arms against her husband, they would greet her together upon their return, and she might very well decide that Éomer was at fault for the loss and take her anger out on her beloved brother.

"While I know my wife to be capable of quite the temper, I feel I count myself lucky I have never experienced it to that extent," Faramir decided. "Though I wish I had known how she favoured them, and I could have brought them to her many a time before."

"She tries to be a stiff and boring Gondorian wife, to suit the ladies of the court," Éomer shrugged. "She will not say it, nor do I feel my own wife tells me all she desires, for to fit the image she feels she should hold herself to. If you know aught I could bring her to give her joy, I would be in your debt. She may not take the vengeance on me that Éowyn would have done, but that does not mean I do not care for her happiness."

"I think my friend, that if we took some care we could both make our beloved wives very happy," Faramir smiled. "For indeed I know a thing or two about my cousin that may benefit you well to be aware of."

"Aye, it would be appreciated indeed," Éomer nodded. "And you shall have no more of that…." he pushed away Firefoot's nose as the great stallion nudged him and nibbled at his sleeve in search of more treats. "What you think you'll do when your teeth falls out I do not know, but it is bad enough my wife and my sister both bribe you to their will, I will not do it, go eat grass…."

Chuckling to himself Aragorn watched as the horse sought to convince his master, then once it was clear Éomer would not surrender he moved over to Faramir in the hope for better luck. His steward however it would seem feared the wrath of his wife more than he feared the might of his friend's horse. With no luck with either of them Firefoot went back to gracing and Aragorn took out his blanket. Deeming that Éomer was already asleep, or at least halfway so. He had not bothered to take his blanket but lay on his cloak. With a bit of luck they would have an undisturbed nights sleep, and be able to travel far enough to reach a village the next day.

This time, he would make certain to procure his pipeweed himself….

The Temporary End is Placed Here

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