His Humble Opinion

by Elenhin

Firefoot may be a horse, but he is a wise horse and he knows what he wants and thinks. In his humble opinion, Éomer is a good master who is quite easy to train to be an even better master. In his humble opinion, Éomer is smart enough to appreciate a good horse and not get any foolish ideas. In Aragorn's opinion, if not Éomer drives him mad, Firefoot will surely do it, for the hors

16. Chapter 16

For Author's note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 16

In many ways Aragorn counted himself a patient man, as a ranger one had to be. Long hours on watch, long nights on patrol and long waits with nothing to do but to wait for something more to wait for. He considered himself to be patient in his dealings with most people, be they rough warriors, or young hobbits with far too big appetites. Even so he found his temper fraying around the edges. The weather was turning chill, and it seemed every little matter was turning into a disaster only the king could solve. He had ridden out with a large troop to save a small settlement of farmers from a horde of wolves, only to find three gossiping men more interested in the ale in their tankards than the sheep on their field, and a little half starved stray pup sheeps dog….

Taking the pup back with him where he knew he could find someone to take pity on the creature he came back to Minas Tirith only for to hear of yet another disaster. Ascertaining that the band of thieves operating on the lowest level of the city was in truth three orphans whose families had been killed when the city lay under siege by the army of orcs. Finding one smith, one cobbler and a weaver to take them in as apprentices was not too hard, though it only meant that there was yet another absolute disaster waiting in line.

As the day wore on he attempted to take refuge in his study, even Faramir was showing the strain, and he was the only one Aragorn felt had more patience than he did himself. That was, aside from his wife, but as she generally did not have to deal with the people he did, it was of little use to him.

He had not sat down for more than a minute when there was a knock on the door and he dropped his head in his hand.

"Do you wish for me to send them away?" Faramir asked, a true testimony that he was as weary as Aragorn felt himself.

"I must say that indeed I do, but it would not be proper…" Aragorn sighed. "As infuriating as these few days have been."

"Éomer said before he had thought to be here a few weeks ago for the negotiations of the road," Faramir sighed. "Though he felt he might be hindered, I wish now it had not been so. Not only could we have escaped the city for a few days, inspecting the roads, but we could have allowed him to discourage some of those fools."

"Aye, it might have worked indeed," Aragorn smiled softly. He was not surprised that Faramir would have wished his brother by law to be present for the task. Èomer was oft too sombre and sullen of mood, or so the King of Gondor felt. The young man that was his fellow regent rarely smiled, his dark eyes oft weary and glum. Life had been hard for the man, and it showed. He was not a cruel or hard man, not by any means, but he had little patience for fools and a scowl that would cause most of them to think twice about burdening him with their petty problems. Éomer would have easily sent one or two of the recent men claiming their time away with but a glare, and Aragorn would not have minded overly much he felt.

Even so, obviously Éomer had been forced to deal with matters in his own land and they would have to discuss how to best improve the roads later.

Allowing the man to enter he pulled himself up, "well, what is the matter?" he queried.

"I'm sorry to bother you with this my lord," the man, one of the guards, stated. "But there has been some trouble in the royal stable."

"What kind of trouble?" that had his attention, for there was where their own horses resided and Brego was very dear to him. As was the horse his wife had gifted him.

"The day before yesterday the stable master reported there was a horse too many," the guard explained.

"Were he out of stalls?" Faramir frowned. "I had thought there were at least a dozen free."

"Nay, there was a horse more than there should be, lame to," the guard went on. "We thought a stray horse had wandered in, and when questions were asked, one horse master claimed the creature as his, so he was simply returned to him. Only, the very next morning the strange horse was met in the stable again, in Brego's stall my lord, though your horse did not seem to mind. However, he would not be moved, we tried, but he would not move, and the stable master even tried to lure him out."

"And what of this horse merchant, did he not return to claim his horse?" Faramir frowned.

"Nay, it would seem not, but when one of the stable hands tried to move into the stall, the horse bit him, and the stable master tried to lure him with apples, the horse pulled a torn rag and a purse of coin from the hay, they think the horse is half bewitched my lord. The rag was recognized as the merchant's coat, and the purse as his as well."

"I wouldn't put it past an angered horse to tear a piece off a man's coat," Faramir shook his head. "But very few would know to keep a purse."

"And fewer still to use it," Aragorn furrowed his brow in heavy thought.

"Well, at least if he's taking up a stall and eating our grain, he's decent enough to wish to pay for it," Faramir gave something of a wry smile though concern was on his face. "The horse was lame?"

"Aye sir, he favours one leg," the guard nodded. "And we do feel there is something quer about it, for if the merchant did indeed own him, why would he not have returned once more for him, and his purse?"

"Indeed, it would seem he was possibly dishonest enough to see a chance to procure a horse for free," Aragorn sighed. "Though it is a shameful thing to do. Tell me more of this horse," for he was starting to feel a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. A sick feeling of foreboding. "Is it perhaps a stallion, grey, with the bearing of a horse of fine blood?"

"Tis is a grey stallion," the guard gawked at him. "Sire, how did you know?"

"Because I know of only one horse that might act this way, and if that horse is here, without his master, then that is worse than any other news you could have brought me," Aragorn leapt to his feet, Faramir on his heels. "We must get to the stable so that we may know for certain."

As they hurried to the stable, the guard followed behind them breathlessly. Aragorn prayed he was wrong, but in his heart he expected he was not. Therefore entering the stable and laying eyes on the magnificent grey horse was not the shock it could have been, even if it was indeed a hard blow that sent him reeling.

"I'd say that whomsoever that merchant was, trying to lay hands on this horse, he was lucky to escape with his life," Faramir breathed beside him. "Had he not been lame, I imagine he would have tore the man to pieces."

"He has been here since the day before yesterday," Aragorn breathed. "Valar have mercy on his master, but where then is Éomer…?"

"Sire, you know the horse?" the guard asked, shocked.

"The horse belongs to the king of Rohan," Faramir answered in Aragorn's place. "And the horses of the Mark do not leave their masters behind lightly."

"Indeed they do not," Aragorn agreed. Once before had Firefoot arrived at the white city without his master, and that time still haunted him. Searching for Éomer only to find he had fallen prey to the utter stupidity of a fool of a man. One who had dug a new well on his farm, and covered the hole with thin branches so it could not be seen. Who did not warn the stranger that came asking for water for his horse, so that the young king never knew the danger before it was too late. He stepped out onto the branches, and when Aragorn and Faramir arrived they found him at the bottom of the well, barely alive. Such stupidity seemed beyond comprehension, but it was true. Adding insult to injury, he had then tried to put Firefoot to ploughing his fields, and the horse had escaped, actually forcing his way into the palace. That he had not done so this time surprised Aragorn, but then it was evident the horse had not fared well. He was most certainly favouring one front leg, and had several shallow cuts along his hind quarters. He seemed to Aragorn to be exhausted, and if the dishonest merchant had thought to get away with him, it was possible Firefoot had needed to gather his strength before moving on. He would also have known that Aragorn would come to Brego eventually.

While he pondered the situation, Faramir had entered the stall and was examining the horse. "At least these wounds were not caused by any blade," he mused. "They are not clean cuts, I'd say he has fallen somewhere, though I would not have thought it likely."

"Knowing Éomer and his skills as a rider, I would not either," Aragorn agreed. "But we were intending to talk about the roads for some of them have suffered far more neglect than should be allowed. It is possible he decided to examine one of them on his way here, it is not something I would deem too unlikely."

"And it is also possible that it proved more treacherous than he expected, aye, that might indeed have been the cause," Faramir sighed. "Though how we are to guess which one I do not know, there are several he might have taken, and not knowing we could waste time we do not have. Firefoot has been here for two full days, Éomer, if he is injured might not have that much time afore it's too late."

"I do not like to take an injured horse out, but without Firefoot I do not know if we have any hope of finding him," Aragorn sighed. "Though if we find Éomer well enough, and cause his horse permanent harm, he shan't forgive us."

"And yet I do not see we have a choice," Faramir sighed. "Aragorn, I do not wish to cause the horse pain anymore than you do, but without him, what hope do we have? Can you follow a trail that old, on a well used road? For I know that I can not."

"We'll aid Firefoot the best we can for the night," Aragorn decided. "And leave on the morrow at first light. We'll care for him and spare him as much as we are able. But if he came here for help, and we try to leave without him, I do not think he'd let us."

"He would not," Faramir agreed. "And we shall need him." He picked up a brush from a shelf nearby, to groom the horse while Aragorn stepped up to examine his leg more closely. "How many men do you wish to take?"

"Twenty should do," Aragorn ran his hands over the leg, noting the swelling. Firefoot had certainly been harmed during whatever circumstances had caused him to be separated from Éomer, but the injury was healing. There should be no permanent damage for them taking him along, as long as they did not force the stallion to gallop. Smiling softly over Faramir's care as he brushed the grey coat he headed for the saddle chambers where other supplies were kept. A stove, water, bandages and herbs for treating the horses. He soon had water heated for a poultice that he spread on a soft white cloth and folded over. Returning to the horse he applied it to the injured leg, and saw the big grey dip his head in relief.

Firefoot would not have let just anyone who ventured into his stall to treat him, but he knew when someone was trying to care for him and he knew to trust the King of Gondor and the husband of his master's sister. Dipping his head he rested his chin on top of Faramir's shoulder, nudging his cheek gently until the steward reached out to stroke his forehead.

"Aye, I know you miss your master," Faramir mumbled quietly. "We worry for him to, but we shall do our best to find what has befallen him…" He continued in Rohirric to Aragorn's amusement, but then the horse would listen to it more closely than he did anything in Westron, and Faramir who had an aptitude for languages would easily have learned it from his wife. It certainly helped to relax the stallion.

"I shall need to tell Arwen," Aragorn finally decided as he rested his hand on the back of the horse. "But I shall return and spend the night here."

"The stable hands are more than capable of changing the poultice," Faramir offered a small smile, but no real objection. Only a token of what would be expected of him if the King of Gondor suggested sleeping in the stable.

"They are, and Firefoot is more than capable of taking a pound of flesh if one of them makes a mistake," Aragorn smiled softly. "Better I stay here, we do need him."

"Aye, I shall ensure the men and what supplies we need to take are made ready, and then I shall return as well," Faramir agreed.

Aragorn nodded, he would have expected nothing else. For indeed Firefoot seemed more at ease with the two of them than he would have been with the stablehands.

Indeed, when they both returned, Faramir had brought two apples with him, and the great war horse nuzzled his shoulder as he would have done Éomer himself after he had devoured the treats. "Aye, we'll do our best to find your master, you rest easy for the night, and we shall search for him on the morrow," Faramir assured the horse.

Spreading a blanket in the straw Aragorn smiled softly at the melodious Rohirric that was certainly helping the horse to settle. It would certainly seem as if Faramir was learning the ways of the horse lords from his wife.

Everything was ready for them the next day, the men waiting for them in the stable yard as they exited the stable. Firefoot between Brego and Faramir's own horse, favouring his leg noticeably but not as badly as he had done the day before. Aragorn knew the leg would pain him more as they moved, but he truly saw no other way. They did not even know which way Éomer had come from. They could not trust he had come straight from Rohan. He might very well have decided to travel past Emyn Arnen to visit his sister on the spur of a moment. The nobles of Rohan had found that it was no easier to tame their free spirited King than it was their horses. Éomer would listen to advise given, and take counsel as he saw fit, but he would not be tamed completely. He would never neglect his duty, the people knew this, but they were in a time of peace. There was no danger to his land for him being away two days more than he had thought.

It was clear the slow pace troubled the mighty grey, for he hung his head as he limped, shoving his big head into Faramir's hand or Aragorn's thigh whenever they stopped. A few times Aragorn needed to use Brego to rein him in for fear he would injure himself worse by pushing ahead too fast, and at camp one night there was nearly a fight between the stallion and a Gondorian gelding. Firefoot was impatient and restless, and the gelding strayed too close, Aragorn shot to his feet as soon as he heard them, but it was Brego that intervened, barreling in between the horses and baring his teeth at the gelding to protect his injured friend.

"He worries for Éomer," Faramir looked up from his bowl of stew where he had been busy eating all but the carrots. Not having known his steward to have any form of aversion to the vegetable Aragorn had been surprised by the act, but the restless horses demanded all his attention. "As I admit do I, he is a good friend…"

"Aye, and a good King," Aragorn confirmed, his eyes on the horses as he filled his pipe having finished his own share of the stew. "Though I had thought him both too quiet and sometimes too loud for the two of you to get along quite as you have done…" he mused. For Éomer was often sullen and brooding in appearance, sombre and quiet for those who did not know him. With a quick temper if he had learned to hold it well enough and rarely let his anger affect his actions. When the ale flowed freely on a feast he would join in the merriment gladly, and give a dwarf a run for his money in how much ale they could consume. Not quite what he would have thought would suit Faramir with his gentler ways and serious if cheerful deposition.

Faramir now gave him an amused smile, shaking his head fondly. "You forget Aragorn, that I have known him from before. He reminds me at times of Boromir, and indeed Boromir doted on him the few times he came with Théodred for negotiations for their horses and our steel. Would that Boromir had lived to see these days of peace," his face fell somewhat as he mourned his lost brother. "But as it was not to be, I take some comfort in knowing he would have been overjoyed to see a King again on our throne, and a renewed kinship with Rohan. If Théodred had to be lost, Boromir would have been glad that Éomer was saved. He was barely twelve winters the first time he came with Théodred, and had Théodred allowed it, Boromir would have offered well over a hundred swords to keep him I'm certain…"

Remembering how well Boromir had taken to Merry and Pippin, Aragorn could well believe he would have taken in a young Rohir the same, and in spite of how serious their situation was, he found himself laughing.

Indeed Aragorn felt he had not known just how serious their situation had been until days later when the land around them became increasingly familiar and a sense of dread once more settled in the pit of his stomach. Beside him, Faramir's face was grim and his eyes weary as Firefoot neighed and tossed his head unsettled.

"I do not like this," Faramir breathed. "Why would he have been here, what could possibly have made him want to go this way?"

"There was a section of the road the other way that was damaged badly," Aragorn sighed. "All the rain caused it to sink, it could be that he thought it would be better to have this stretch reinforced, than to repair that part. At the intersection, it's only a detour of a mile or two, and if one took care to cut through the hills, one could quite easily get back to the main road."

"At the very least, it would work while the main road is repaired," Faramir nodded. "But I do not care for the thought of him having gone this way…." He allowed his eyes to roam over the scarce farmland, the river in the distance and the hint of a settlement ahead. "I do not care for the thought at all, Aragorn, do you think it's possible that Firefoot has led us astray? That old trouble haunts him?"

The King of Gondor reached up to rub his chin as he pondered the statement, and he knew well why Faramir asked it. "Nay, I do not think so. I wish it was so, but I do not think so," he sighed. "I find it far more likely that Éomer, the young fool, thought naught of old troubles and went on this way."

"One would hope he at least was cautious," Faramir stated, his mouth a thin line and his brow furrowed with worry. The last time they had been this way was when Firefoot had appeared in the capitol in a similar fashion, with his rider missing. A farmer, a fool of such magnitude as to defy description had been the cause of his plight then. It was the first time Aragorn knew of that a man had ever been punished for an act of idiocy. Digging a well and hiding the hole, not warning the man who stopped at his farm but allowing him to fall into the barely covered hole. He had been sentenced to two months of labour in the Gondorian army. Any more and it was deemed he might have lost the chance to plant his crops, and any less it was judged he might not have taken the lesson.

Éomer, who had been left on the bottom of the pit, as the man claimed to be scared of his, as he claimed it, unreasonable anger over the incident, had barely been alive when Aragorn and Faramir found him. It had been nearly the same two months before the man was fully recovered from the ordeal. Now that Aragorn knew they were nearing the lands of the very same farmer and Aragorn could see how Firefoot's unease grew he felt his own rise in turn. He did not know if it was the memory of the incident that plagued the horse, but Firefoot was agitated and restless, giving loud pained whines as he forgot himself and tried to move faster than his injured leg allowed. At one point he reared up on his back hooves, next he pressed so close to Aragorn as to cause Brego to stumble.

Aragorn felt a moment of relief when they passed the outskirts of the farm where Éomer had been injured before, never going to the farmyard though he could see it in the distance. Coming to the river he noted how swift it was flowing, the heavy rains having caused it to rise. With the riverbanks steep and high, a bridge had been constructed though it was not the most well travelled road. Stone pillars standing in the water supporting heavy logs and thick wooden planks being laid across with a sturdy railing.

The first thing he noticed was the well travelled path coming from the farm, and the rope tied around the wood of the railing, a bucket tied to the bridge for lowering into the water. It would seem that after he was allowed back to his farm the man had still not managed to get a working well and was still getting his water from the river.

From behind him Faramir let lose a curse that would have earned him a nod of approval from Éomer, leaping from his saddle and running out onto the bridge without a care. Spotting what had drawn his attention Aragorn allowed himself a heartfelt curse as he slid from the saddle. "Firefoot, stay!" he commanded as he hurried out after his steward onto the bridge.

On the bank where they stood the bridge was whole and sound, but near the other side, a gaping hole in the wooden planks could be seen. Faramir had stopped by it, and Aragorn halted beside him.

"I can not believe this..." Faramir swallowed thickly. "Valar, if he came this way and did not see…."

"With the evidence at hand, I would say it most likely," Aragorn breathed, shaking his head as some of their men had followed them out. "What more, it's a deliberate act."

"Valar...!" Faramir studied the planks. A large section had been demolished, the planks had been sawed through in the middle of the bridge, a straight line spanning several yards. Half was left attached still to the log on one side, the other half of the planks had been pried up and were missing. In the middle of the damaged section several more hung half torn from their nails, leaving a gaping jagged hole, more than large enough for a horse and rider to fall through. A man knowing of the damage might have walked close to the log on what remained of the planks, and been able to cross safely. A man who did not know it, and rode out without seeing the damage, would have travelled just where the planks were the weakest, and without a doubt, fallen into the rapidly flowing river several yards below them.

"Why would anyone do this?" Faramir raised his eyes. "It would be of no use to bandits, they might stop someone, but if whomever it was fell through, they'd never get anything of value for it."

"Begging your pardon sir, but the planks appears to have been used to mend the railing further back," one of their men stated. "They're much thicker than the rest of the railing, and a bit longer, they stand out, there's no doubt that's what they were used for."

"Cutting up the planks of a bridge, to mend the railing… Sweet Eru, a fool, fool enough to cover a well with naught but thin branches would be fool enough to do this…" Aragorn studied the gaping hole closer, and tore a tuft of horse hair from the broken end of a plank. Horse hair exactly the colour of Firefoot's flowing tail…. "And Éomer came this way, he did not see the damage, and Firefoot fell through into the river. If he's alive he's injured for certain, or Firefoot would never have left him. We must search the riverbanks. If Firefoot was not injured worse than he is, there is a chance Èomer is still alive, but was unable to make it back."

"Crossing the river won't be easy on horseback, but it can be done easily on foot," the captain of the men spoke up. He had learned long ago that as long as one had something useful to say, the King prefered if one spoke up. "I can send men over to search the bank, and we only take the horses over if they find something. It will take as long to find somewhere were they can cross with the horses as it will to search on foot."

"Do so," Aragorn saw the wisdom in his words. "We'll keep the same pace on this side, there is no use in losing a sign in haste."

The captain gave the order, and several men moved across with the uttermost care, a few more were assigned to construct warnings on either side of the bridge to keep anyone else from meeting the same fate. Aragorn himself led the search party on his side of the river, with Faramir beside him and one man keeping their horses back. A carelessly placed hoof could destroy a valuable sign.

It took them a little over two hours before they found the first signs, the bank was not so steep anymore, dirt as well as rock leading down to the water. Spotting several rocks dislodged Aragorn rushed forward to study them, frowning over the dried brownish stains on several of them. "They were both together here," he stated as he studied what looked like a partial hoof print.

"I think Firefoot pulled him out," Faramir had stepped into the shallows, were the hoof prints were deeper in the mud, and a torn piece of green finely spun and woven wool lay. "This looks like it was torn from his tunic, I would guess that it was torn when Firefoot pulled him out of the water, I can not be certain, but it looks like the marks of teeth on the cloth."

"Aye, it does," Aragorn agreed as he studied the fabric. There were shallow drag marks on the ground, so Éomer had been unconscious, or unable to walk. "Firefoot laid him down here," he followed the marks, and the indentation in the ground, the multitude of faint marks in the ground around him. Firefoot had not wanted to leave, so Èomer would have been alive then. He was not still there, which led Aragorn to hope he had not succumbed to his injuries at that time. "He stayed here a long time, and Firefoot laid down, see here," he pointed to a dent in the soft ground. "He pulled himself on Firefoot's back, he was able to move, and Firefoot started for the road…" climbing back to his feet he followed the tracks, Faramir right on his heels with their horses. Firefoot was pawing at the ground as if he picked up the scent of his master. Then Aragorn stopped so suddenly Faramir near walked into him before he could catch himself.

"There is another set of prints here, a man, on foot, Firefoot did not want to follow, but he must have been exhausted, too weary and in too much pain to resist," Aragorn studied the prints. "The man led him off."

"Aye, and Firefoot would not have taken him there willingly," Faramir agreed, for the direction indicated by the bootprints would leave them back to the farm they had been to before. "Even if he would have wanted for Éomer to get help, he would not have wanted to take him there."

"If Éomer has come to harm from his idiocy, I shan't be so generous this time," Aragorn growled as they started for the small ramshackle farm.

Just as last time, farmer Maedowel came out into the yard as they approached, and just as last time he looked decidedly nervous.

"I did what was demanded, I spent two months there," he cried. "I did what was demanded and they said I was free to go back to my farm…. I haven't done anything wrong!"

"That is not what this is about," Aragorn found it hard to control his temper. "We saw the bridge, do you know what has happened to it?"

"The railing broke, I was afraid I'd fall in," farmer Maedowel seemed to relax. "I took care of it though. I only did what any good citizen would do. I get my water from there, since I do not have a well. I need water, and the railing was broke, so I fixed it," he puffed out his chest.

"You cut up the planks of the bridge, to mend the railing?" Aragorn's voice was low and dangerous.

"I had no wood," he shrugged. "But I only took a few pieces, there is plenty enough to cross over on."

"And did you think what would happen if someone came across the bridge, and did not see the damage you had done?" Aragorn demanded. His voice deceptively calm. "Did you think that leaving half of the planks would not be enough, and that someone might come to harm?"

"But it's clearly visible," he frowned. "Who'd be fool enough to go out on the part that is not there? I left plenty, half of it all, that's more than enough for anyone, is it not?"

"Obviously it was not," Aragorn growled. "As you would know, or did you not find a rider? One on the riverbank?"

"I found a man, yes," he nodded. "But that was a mile and more away from here, what would it have to do with the bridge?"

"Where is he?" Aragorn demanded. "Where is the man? Is he alive?"

"He's alive," the farmer took a surprised step back over the anger directed his way. "I put him in the barn, I did not know what to do with him, he hasn't said much, I didn't know where he came from or what to do with him, I found him miles from here…"

Aragorn spun on his heel and ran for the shabby looking barn, throwing the door open so hard it nearly came off the rusty hinges. In the dim light he saw a crumpled heap on a pile of mouldy hay.

"Éomer!" he threw himself down beside him, turning the man over so he could see his face. The first thing he realised was the heat radiating from the body, he was burning up with fever, and turning him over Aragorn saw that the side of his face was horribly swollen. His breathing was ragged and faint, wheezes foretelling of a congested chest. The faintest moan the only sign of life as Aragorn tried to check him over.

"Sweet Eru!" Faramir threw himself down next to him. "Éomer!"

"He's alive, so far," Aragorn breathed, looking up to see the farmer behind them. "And I would know what you have to say of this? A man injured, by your actions, and have you even sent for help?!"

"I have done nothing, I found him, I have cared for him, I gave him food?" the man babbled, looking between them panicked. "Though he wouldn't eat much, but I tried…"

"He wouldn't eat much because his jaw is fractured," Aragorn growled. "Do you know who this is? Are you even aware this is the King of Rohan?! This is the man you have already caused harm as you did not warn him of your well… And now, by a deliberate act you compromised the safety of the bridge, and near caused his death again….!"

"Oh, I thought he looked familiar…" farmer Maedowel breathed.

Aragorn stared at him in disbelief, beside him, with a roar of uncharestic anger Faramir shot to his feet and laid the man out unconscious on the floor of the barn as his fist exploded in his face. Aragorn, seeing it, gave a nod of grim satisfaction for he would have liked nothing more than to do the same thing himself.

Clenching and unclenching his fist as he regarded the unconscious man Faramir rather looked as if he would have wanted to strike him again. A sentiment Aragorn felt he shared with his steward as he took stock of his friend's injuries. "He must have struck his head, the jaw is fractured and there is an abscess here," he noted, running his hand over the swelling on the side of his face. When he did so, a low moan again came from the man though he did not wake.

"Is it safe to take him away from this wretched place?" Faramir wanted to know.

"As he is still alive, I should think so," Aragorn mused. "And I feel that I agree with you in wanting him away from here. And further still away from that fool…" he glared at the unconscious man on the floor. "But I need some time first to care for him."

"I think then, if you agree, that I will have some of the men take him in custody and start for Minas Tirith without us," Faramir decided. "For if he is still here and I have to see anymore of the harm he caused my friend, I do not know if I will be able to refrain from harming him…"

"In any way we will have to travel slow," Aragorn nodded. "So it may as well be so. Please tell the captain to take him and proceed, and ensure he is locked up safely when we reach the city."

"You wish to proceed to Minas Tirith then? Emyn Arnen is still closer," Faramir paused halfway to the door.

"It is, but it might be we need the healers, I think we will make for Minas Tirith," Aragorn decided. He turned his full attention to the young King as Faramir left the barn. The bone in the jaw had not shifted, but it was fractured and he would have been unable to take much sustenance, and would most likely find it difficult for some time. The abscess needed to be drained, and when he probed his chest with his hands he found evidence of broken ribs, as was one arm just below the elbow. It had started to knit wrong and would have to be refractured and reset for it to heal properly. He had been spared any worse injuries, though there were cuts with evidence of infection on his legs.

It was the head injury that worried Aragorn the most as he pondered what to do. As much as he wanted to be on his way back, they had about two hours of daylight left, if they stayed the night, they could use the time to care for their friend, and start back at first light. The farmer was already gone, so they wouldn't have to deal with him, for which he was relieved. He wished to know why Éomer would have risked going that way, but he could not tell them aught until he awoke, which he would not before the fever was down and they had some food in him.

As Faramir returned Aragorn met his eye. "We stay here tonight, and start on our way first thing tomorrow. I need hot water, our medical supplies, and some broth to try and feed him. I do not know if there is anything of use to us in the house, or if it is even cleaner than this."

"I will find out, there should at least be a stove and a pot," Faramir hurried to the house to inspect it, deeming it slightly better than the barn though still not quite clean. Taking his own bedroll from his horse he spread it on the dirty blanket on the bed in the one room hut as Aragorn carried the young king in to lay him down. The steward soon had a fire blazing in the stove, and pots of water on top as Aragorn started to undress their friend. Removing his clothes down to his shift, they were all torn and bloodied in any regard. He heard Faramir utter soft expletives behind him as he worked, but were too focused on what he was doing to allow himself the luxury of doing the same. One side of Éomer's chest was mottled with dark bruising, faint moans emitting from him as Aragorn probed them, manipulating his arm drew a weak cry out of him though he did not wake. Taking his head gently Aragorn turned it to examine the jaw, clenching his own in anger. The abscess he needed to deal with first, before it poisoned the blood and he would be unable to heal his friend. Placing salt and herbs in a bowl he nodded for Faramir to pour hot water over it, allowing the salt to dissolve and the herbs to fill the air with a pleasant fragrance. Soaking patches of cloth in the hot water and laying them over his jaw, drawing the pus to the surface until finally the abscess broke and foul pus spilled out of the wound. He pressed the jaw lightly, ignoring the pained moans, until the liquid seeping out was clear with specks of blood.

If it was kept clean, it should then heal without the infection regaining hold again. Looking up he met Faramir's eye, the grim knowledge of what he would have to do next clear in them. "Hold him, and hold him hard," Aragorn urged. With Faramir slipped in behind him, holding him firm against his own chest Aragorn grasped Éomer's arm. A hard jerk and sharp twist brought a full scream out of their young friend as the bone once more broke apart, and snapped into place.

As weak as he was, and never fully regaining consciousness Éomer still struggled against them. Faramir having to shift constantly to retain his hold as Aragorn grabbed splints. Tying them firmly to the arm and ensuring he had not cut off the circulation to the hand. The ribs needed to be bound, and the arm secured better. With the break so close to the elbow, the splints helped less than they might have and he would not risk the use of his arm.

Therefore, as Faramir still held him up, Aragorn bound the ribs, then laid the broken arm against his chest, securing it with swatches of bandages. He would not be able to move the arm, which would annoy him as he started to heal but should help ensure it healed straight.

"Can you give him anything for the pain?" as he held his brother by law, Faramir's eyes were filled with raw pain and moist with unshed tears.

"I'll make a tea that should help, but if he won't take much, he needs the broth more," as much as he hated leaving him in pain he had seen how his ribs were protruding. Whatever the man had tried to give him he obviously had not realised that a man with a fractured jaw could barely eat. With not enough nutrition to sustain him, his body had emptied itself of all reserves.

Allowing Faramir to remove his boots and leggings to clean the gashes on his legs he searched through his pouches for the best herbs to give him. It was only when he was unconscious it was at all possible, for as soon as he became aware of his surroundings and his situation, Éomer would refuse anything that he even suspected to be a healers brew. Though he hated what felt like a deception and a breach of trust since he knew he went against Éomer's wish in doing so. He knew the deep seated mistrust came from when he was naught but a small child and a cruel nurse of Éowyn's had been charged with his care as he was ill. What was meant to heal, she had given him to poison, for a dislike of boys as she claimed they were all wicked. Now it was something the young king was not able to put aside, and Aragorn had learned from Éowyn and from one of his men to mask a little of his brew in broth or wine for him to take it.

He feared when Éomer would come wise to their deceit, for certainly he would not take it well.

Éomer was still burning up with fever though, sweat soaking into the bandage and there was a sound in chest that spoke of illness in the lungs so there was no choice. Without the medicine Aragorn was not certain he would be able to fight the infection. As Faramir still sat holding him, Aragorn was the one who gave him the hot liquid, one spoon at a time when it was ready. Relieved that while he moaned from the pain in his jaw, and never regained full consciousness, he swallowed what liquid they gave him. As long as he was able to do so, Aragorn felt confident they would be able to see him pull through.

Throughout the night he used cloth soaked in water with herbs to cool him, neither he nor Faramir able to sleep as they prepared more of the tea at intervals. Aragorn was glad at the moment that he was not fully conscious as he was responsive. There was no need for him to suffer unduly. As they prepared to leave the next morning, he therefore added herbs to keep him unconscious. Firefoot, when they carried him out would not be held back in spite of his injured leg, and barely allowed Aragorn to take his master on Brego. He knew the horse would have prefered it if he had allowed him to carry Éomer, but the weight of two men would have been cruel. Firefoot needed to spare the leg as much as he was able, and he trusted the horse he had known all his life. Though he walked the whole way side by side, so close to Brego that Aragorn felt him bump his leg every other step and he would put his chin on Éomer's thigh as they headed for Minas Tirith.

The young king of Rohan still suffered a fever when they got there, as it was hard for them to care properly for him and move swiftly at the same time. Many times he would come close enough to waking that Aragorn gave him water, broth and herbal brews, but he was never fully conscious and it was with immeasurable relief that Aragorn laid eyes on his wife at the front gate of the palace. The men he sent ahead of them would have appraised her of the situation, and indeed worry was clear on her features as she laid eyes on the blond king's sweat covered face.

"I have ordered a room prepared in our chambers," she stated. "Take him there, you will find all you need prepared."

"Thank you, beloved," with no time yet for showing his love he dismounted and took his friend in his arms to carry him inside while Faramir took their mounts to the stable. Firefoot objected, and would not be led away before he had nudged his master. Resting his nose against the crook of Éomer's neck for a moment he then allowed Aragorn to take him. After he offered a menacing snarl that spoke of his fury should his master not be restored to him.

Settling him in bed in a room in the royal chambers Aragorn found indeed that all had been prepared for him, and hot water as well as broth already keeping warm on the hearth. Even so the fever was slow to break as the sickness had a firm hold, and for a time Aragorn feared that it would not have given before Lothíriel came to the city. So when the low moans increased in frequency and there were restless movement indicating he was about to wake he sat back in his chair.

When Éomer finally opened his eyes and was able to bring his surroundings into focus, blinking and squinting for a moment before his vision became clear, he frowned slightly as he saw Aragorn. His frown deepened when he heard the door open and he turned his head to see Faramir enter.

"Can you drink this?"

Éomer had not noted Aragorn moving, but now the older man sat on the edge of his bedside, holding a clay cup in his hand, and he attempted a reply. To his surprise, barely a sound escaped him and he licked at his dry lips to try again. Aragorn however merely gave him a bemused and slightly concerned smile as he helped him lift his head to drink.

"Easy," he pulled the cup back when Éomer to his surprise discovered how thirsty he was and attempted to drain it. "Not so fast, I do not think it would go well."

"I believe you," the voice was quiet and hoarse, rough and muffled from trying to speak through an aching jaw. "Though I am thirsty, and hungry…"

"It will have to be a simple fare for you for some time, I am afraid," Aragorn mused. "But have no fear we will let you starve my friend. I will not allow it to happen." He would need broth for a day or so before his belly became used to food again, then bread soaked in the hot liquid, and vegetables boiled soft and mashed in it would provide him with sustenance. "Èomer, I would ask, are you able to tell us what happened?"

"I recall some," his friend closed his eyes for a moment as he collected his thoughts. "The rain has damaged the road, it would take more time and men than we can afford to spare at the moment to repair it. I had thought an alternative could be made, then, I came to realise where I was and I did not wish to stop at that fool's farm, so though it was dark I thought it better to press on." He paused, grateful as Aragorn gave him more of the water. Small sips that were easier to swallow than the big gulps he found himself desiring. "We crossed the bridge, but it disappeared under us, or so it seemed….for I never saw anything amiss and we were in the water. I think I struck the rocks, but Firefoot got me out of the water, is he well?"

"He has a lame leg, but he was well enough to come here for us, and to lead us back, though unfortunate circumstance had it take longer than it should have," Aragorn sighed. "I will inform you later, but your horse is truly a magnificent creature, horselord, and one that takes his duty seriously. He does you proud."

"He's a good and worthy companion," Éomer smiled softly. "Was the bridge damaged?"

"Aye, but not by nature, but by idiocy," Aragorn had hoped to wait to tell him, but he would not lie in the face of the question. "You were right to want to avoid that fool, but his reach it would seem was long. We found you on his farm, and it was by his foolishness the bridge was damaged. As the railing was in need of repair, he saw fit to saw many of the planks in half, leaving one half, and using the other of each to mend the railing. In the darkness, you would not have been able to notice."

"He sawed off half of the planks?" Éomer gaped in disbelief, and when it came clear to him that Aragorn was not speaking in jest he could not bite back the string of heartfelt curses.

By the time Aragorn had traded the cup of water for a small bowl of broth laced with herbs, he was still finding there were yet more Rohirric curses for him to learn, and he sensed there would be more still in the days that lay ahead as the young King in their charge healed…

Thinking about the stupidity of the man who was at fault, he felt he might like to test a few of them out himself...

A Temporary End

I wish to thank everyone who has reviewed, left kudos and read this, the Cricket is very happy...

Additional Author's Note:
Since writing this, I have learned that Aragorn and Faramir would not have left Minas Tirith together for any length of time. There were however parts of this, and other stories I had written before knowing this, that I did not wish to change. Therefor, my apologies that it is somewhat incorrect, I ask it to be taken as writers prerogative. Sometimes, one simply wishes to write what suits the story, and I hope you can all enjoy it.