For Author's note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 17

Though Aragorn cared deeply for the people he now considered family he was not blind to their faults. Though if asked he would claim that his beloved wife had none, and the Elven kind was generally considered to have none he knew deep in his heart it was not fully the truth. This was however not something he would admit to, not even to his closest friends, and he knew they would understand.

No, they were not perfect, none of them, but he would not have cared more for them if they had so been. He did not mind their flaws, but he liked knowing them so he could adapt to and compensate for them. Faramir, his steward and close friend was competent and compassionate, strong of heart and his loyalty was beyond reproach. The lord and steward Denethor, his father, had been far too hard on him and left him sometimes too meek and submissive as he still sought approval.

Though Aragorn as soon as he came to know her had come to care deeply for Éowyn he had not loved her as she wanted. He sensed her need to find someone to care for her, to even rescue her from the cage she felt she was living in. To be staying in Meduseld with an uncle held mad under a spell, and a brother and cousin she feared for every day. Losing her cousin had devastated her, her brother taken from her side by force and treachery as he dared to confront Grima Wormtongue. It was no wonder she had allowed herself to hope for more, and he regretted only that he could not offer it to her. Faramir was good for her, even if he had at first feared her will too strong for the young Stward as she was used to dealing with stubborn Rohirrim warriors. They were an odd match, the kind man raised to be a gentile, and the proud woman raised in a warriors way, but they supported and complimented each other.

Odder still was the delicate lady and the slightly rough and blunt horselord. Lady Lothíriel and young King Éomer of Rohan. Lothíriel knew her will and mind, but she was dimute and pettie, a gentle creature with a warm heart and courageous soul. Éomer was not unkind, but he was not a man of subtleties, but stubborn and sometimes rash. A good and strong leader for his people, but as the Third Marshall of the Mark he had at times allowed his anger to rule his judgement and he was now learning to keep it better as he led his people. Aragorn felt a kinship with him as the young man was learning the weight of the crown as he was doing himself.

He found Éomer to be as wise as he was rash, slew and cunning even when he did not believe himself to be. While he did not hesitate to let his anger show when he felt it would benefit him, he would also keep a cool head when need be. He was not beyond flaws and faults, and he did not pretend to be.

At the current though, it was one of his sister's flaws that worried Aragorn more. Éowyn cared for them all, and she would see that they all had a proper meal as they made company from the harvest feast in Ithilien to Minas Tirirth. Lady Lothíriel did enjoy visiting the white city when she was able. It being much closer in resemblance to the city of Dol Amroth where she had been raised than Edoras was. She had taken well to the Rohirric culture, but she did sometimes long for the more familiar settings and Éomer would indulge her when he could. The free born young King considered the detour to be of little concern. He would as well spend another week on the road for less reason. In truth, Aragorn expected he enjoyed it as it gave him more time on horseback and less on the throne. Éomer had never been meant for long hours spent indoors, he was born for the horses and the free open plains.

Aragorn enjoyed his company and could not have been happier to spend the time with them, if only Éowyn had seen to stay far away from the pots and the dinner preparation. She seemed quite intent on it though Aragorn felt it was from lack of little else to do. On a previous time Lothíriel had demanded her attention by asking to learn the art of nalbindning, an art of making mittens, scarves and hats in Rohan. However this time she was being taught in the use of several herbs by Arwen and was therefor of little help. Èomer as himself was seeing to the task of getting wood and water, and Faramir had tried a futile attempt to dissuade his wife and leave the cooking to him, Aragorn and Éomer.

Suggesting that she had had a long day would not suffice Aragorn knew, and was the task left to Éomer it would no doubt result in angry words. Éomer tended to think that purposefully angering his sister to the point she resorted to violence on his person to be well worth it, if it meant she did not prepare the meal.

To his guilt, Aragorn tended to agree with the sentiment, as long as her anger was directed towards her brother. As it usually was even if sometimes the cause was someone else. Éomer would never raise hand to defend himself against her, so while it meant the food was better, Aragorn was not entirely comfortable with allowing such arguments to progress. One day he felt she would strike harder than she meant and do real danger. As she tended to lash out with what lay at hand, be it rolling pin, laddle or stew pot, real damage could be done. Unfortunately at times Éomer seemed to have very little regard for his own safety, be it when facing an angered sister or a horde of Orcs…

Lothíriel would be no help this time Aragorn knew, but there was an idea that had crossed his mind previously, though he knew his wife would have given him the most disapproving look. Éowyn felt her brother was still to some extent her responsibility, she had been only too happy to see him wed to Lothíriel whom she came to count as close as a sister, but she still felt he was hers. She would never hesitate to step in to scold him, lecture him, or ensure he was presentable. When she saw a tear in his tunic, she insisted on it mended right away, and if they were away from court she would do so herself. Every time and without fail she would bully him until she had the tunic off his back and needle and thread in hand.

The only flaw in this idea was that as far as Aragorn could tell, Éomer's clothing was currently in good repair. Had there been battle or the taming of wild horses involved, there would have been a multitude of tears and stains, but this time there was nothing, except the thorn bush they were coming to pass….

He should feel guilty, or at least hesitate, but found he did not. Kicking lose a stone with one step he kicked it to come where the King of Rohan just sat his own foot down, his ankle turning. Twisting and making as if he was reaching out to steady him by instinct, Aragorn swung his bucket into his hip, sending the young King full into the prickly bush.

The string of muffled curses that instantly emitted from the bush told him he had at least succeded in most of his intention. If the desired result had been reached remained to see, but as Éomer began the attempt to extract himself from the long thorns Aragorn was pleased to note a long tear in the sleeve of his tunic.

"Would you mind telling me your purpose…?" still doing battle with a long, particularly thorny and wilful branch Éomer paused long enough to direct the icy question to his friend. There was an edge in his voice that told clearly that he did not believe it a complete accident.

"Your sister is attempting to busy herself with pots and pans, I would much rather she settled for the use of needle and thread…" Aragorn shrugged.

The angry scowl fell from Éomer's face as he took in the implication, and shrugged as Aragorn aided him in extracting himself from the thorn bush. Instead he gave something of a nod or a shrug while Aragorn tore a thorn none too gently from where it had snagged his tunic on his side. Even through two layers the thorns had torn the fabric to leave bloody scratches.

"While I take your point, I do not think I care for your method…." Éomer decided as he touched a finger to the bloody scratch.

"And your usual method of angering her until she throws the pot at you is any better?" Aragorn allowed a wry smile to show. "One of these days she shall hit you too hard my friend, if you continue to provoke her the way you have. I may have some skills as a healer, but there are limits my friend, and I would not see you come to harm past them."

"T'would still serve you right if this time she decided to have nothing to do with it," Éomer muttered as they started back to where their wives waited.

"Éomer, what have you done?" Lothirel was the first to take notice as she saw her husband, frowning over the tears and scratches.

"Our valiant warrior did battle with a thorn bush, and I would have to regret to say that the bush won," Aragorn grinned. "Though in truth, the fault is partially mine, I had kicked lose a rock that tripped him when we were fetching the water."

"Well, you can not go like that," Éowyn ran a critical eye over her brother. "We can't have the king walk around with a torn tunic like a tramp. Take it off brother, and put on a whole one."

"And what makes you think that I have brought one, sister?" Éomer shrugged. "I saw no need for a mere few days on the road. I never did before, and I see no reason for it now."

"Well, off with it anyway, and we shall have to mend it," Éowyn declared. "I would at this moment if I wasn't seeing to our supper."

"While my skills with needle and thread are deplorable, I think with the help of Faramir I could see to our supper," Aragorn decided, receiving a relieved look from his steward. "Tis the least I could do, since indeed I am partially at fault."

Éowyn gave him a look of suspicion, and for a moment Aragorn feared she had figured out his plan, for him being to eager to take her chore.

"Please Éowyn," Arwen spoke up. "For as I was teaching Lothíriel of the herbs, I feel she would prefer seeing to her husband, or I would have offered to do the mending for my husband's part in this."

At her words, Aragorn bit back a wince for there was no doubt in his mind that she had seen through his scheming, and would no doubt have words with him about it later. While she cared no more for Èowyn's cooking than did any of them, she was also quite fond of both Éomer and Faramir. Missing her own two elder brothers she could be quite protective of both the king of Rohan and Steward of Gondor.

Éowyn however seemed convinced by the innocent look on Arwen's face, and the uncomfortable look on her brother's. The thought of taking his tunic off in the presence of his sister might not have bothered him overly much, but the Queen of Gondor was something else entirely, as would be indicated by his squirming and the way he clamped his jaw shut around the explicatives he might otherwise have uttered as the two garments were taken from him.

Turning to the pot by the fire while ducking his head to hide a smile Aragorn glanced towards his steward. "I would think the attention of two beautious women, and a respite from his sister's cooking to be a good thing indeed, but I am not so certain our young friend sees our point."

"He is young still," Faramir offered a small smile of his own as he took the carrots to slice them. "He should come to see reason soon enough." Dropping the carrots in the pot he offered one of his more wicked teasing smiles that Aragorn had come to know and appreciate. "As one man standing against a dozen orcs, I would say his chances fair, but against one woman alone, not to mention two or three, nay, he would not stand a chance."

"And it benefits us all," Aragorn smiled as he selected the herbs best suited to lend flavour to the meal from his pouch. At the time the meal was ready the young King had his tunic back, and sat scowling at his friends. Arwen had seen fit to take the opportunity to see to a few old scars she felt could benefit from the elvish cures, and Lothíriel had not given her husband a choice in the matter.

Knowing that while Éomer might be displeased with him, he would soon forget his ire Aragorn thought naught of the matter once their meal was consumed. In truth, he put it out of his mind entirely and would likely not have been able to recall it at all if not for a time a mere two months later when they pitched a similar camp.

Though he had been wrecking his brain Aragorn had not been able to find a way to keep Éowyn away from their food without risking hurting her feelings, and raising her ire. Standing on one side of the camp to split wood, he had not found any reason that would not sound petty when he noticed Firefoot moving through the camp. Since the huge stallion was always left to roam at will it was not a strange sight, the mighty grey tended to wander to whomever he might think to offer a treat.

For a moment Aragorn felt there was hope, for he had come to learn that Éomer had trained his horse to upset his sisters cooking on purpose. By tipping the pots, and on one memorable moment, dropping stockings in it. This time though, there was no pot ready for ruin, and the big war horse made his way over to his master who had taken the task of fetching water. As he bent by the stream, Firefoot shoved his large nose firmly in his shoulder, and with a yelp the young King near fell forward. Firefoot, in what Aragorn first took to be a valiant attempt to aid him snatched a mouthful of his tunic at the shoulder and a ripping sound was heard.

Down on one knee and hand in the water, Éomer turned to glare at his horse who nudged him again, and then as it was clear his master was not pleased with his behaviour, the stallion tossed his head with a mighty snort and stood beside him to drink.

"You brother, are an absolute disaster," Éowyn sighed as her brother returned to the fire with the bucket of water, the tunic torn and hanging off his shoulder.

"Tis not my fault that great big ox has no sense," Éomer scowled, glaring at his horse.

"Well, you can do the stew and I shall mend your tunic for you," she decided. "Your poor wife has better things to do than to try and keep after such a tramp as you would look."

Muttering under his breath Éomer took off the garment and gave it to her, while glaring at his horse as he stood to tend to the rabbit they had caught.

Rubbing his chin and watching the mighty war horse Aragorn pondered the action. It did not look to be coincidence to him. Firefoot was indeed a magnificent creature, and well the most intelligent and well trained horse Aragorn had ever known. He would not anger his master without reason, though that reason was sometimes only known to himself. The situation however did have a familiar ring to it, and had not Aragorn recently applied the same manner of method with the same result? Moving to help his friend he first liberated a carrot from their supply to give the steed. Éomer seemed slightly displeased with this, as would be indicated by the glare he gave his horse, but he said nothing about it, and Aragorn felt he and Firefoot had reached an understanding between them.

An opinion that would be proven the next time a week or so later on their way back. Firefoot seemed to think it was an amusing thing to do, and as Éowyn moved to help Lothíriel with the preparation of their dinner the horse strode over to his master. Éomer could not have realised the horse's intention Aragorn mused, as he merely gave the beast a glance over his shoulder.

At first Aragorn did not think much of it either, for it was not that unusual for Firefoot to seek out his master for a good scratch if he was in the mood. However a loud curse caused him to look up, in time to see Firefoot give his master a powerful shove with his big head, and Éomer to lose his ballance as he was pushed into a stand of somewhat prickly looking bushes. Falling through them Aragorn winced slightly in sympathy at the sound of rattling rocks and pebbles, as well as ripping fabric that came from the other side where a fairly steep incline lay. It was not deep or long enough to be a real danger, but it most certainly was enough to be an annoyance.

Climbing back up with his tunic torn near from cuff to shoulder the young king glared at his horse, though the equine appeared to be completely unphased by his master's anger. His sister however looked up at him.

"Éomer, what in the world have you done to yourself?" she demanded. "I mended that only days ago!"

"It was Firefoot," still the man glared at the horse who started to graze.

"Don't blame the poor creature, I don't know what you think he might have done, but he certainly won't have torn your tunic so," Éowyn walked over, shaking her head. She swatted him over the chest and taken by surprise he gave a wince as she hit one of his still healing scratches. Noting it she gave a slightly guilty look, shaking her head again. "And how did you manage it just standing there?"

"He pushed me," Éomer scowled, fingering the teeth marks in the tunic, and his sister saw them to, indeed forcing her to admit the horse had indeed been involved.

"Well, never mind then," she sighed. "Just give it to me and I'll take care of it. Firefoot does sometimes have his moods. Though he's usually content terrorizing the poor stablehands."

Knowing that objecting would lead him nowhere, but to the embarrassment of being bested by his sister as she forcefully took the garment from her, Éomer unbuckled his belt and handed it over with a faint flush to his cheeks from being in his undershirt.

Aragorn in the meantime felt it best not to draw any attention to 'why' Firefoot would have acted as he had, and simply moved over to the fire to take her place in helping with the preparation of their meal. Giving Firefoot two large pieces of carrot. The big grey took them with a pleased look on his large face, devouring them and nuzzling his shoulder.

Yes, it would indeed seem that the two of them had an understanding Aragorn thought. The big grey certainly seemed to know what he wanted him to do, and as he gave him another piece of carrot he felt that they had the start of a long and beneficial agreement between them.

The best part was, even if Arwen might be cross with him on Éomer's behalf, she wasn't likely to figure out he had any hand in it….

A temporary Ending

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