For Author's note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 19

There were certain things that Aragorn dreaded more than others as a king, being forced to go into battle, knowing men would be lost was certainly one. Knowing some of them would be friends was even worse. It was something that he hated but it was also something he had found to be unavoidable. Gondor stood strong now, they were flourishing and the people had plenty.

Rohan had suffered worse in the war, they had lost more people and there was very little food to spare for the people. In the old days of Denethor being the steward of Gondor, and Théoden King ruling Rohan the situation might have been tense, but it was not so now. Aragorn would not see their neighbours suffer, and Éomer was proving to be a fair and just king who ensured the well being of his people. His sister, the shieldmaiden of Rohan had wed Aragorn's steward, Faramir, and as far as Aragorn knew the couple was very happy.

For no more than a year now, Éomer too had been wed, the match not the most likely as he had wed Faramir's cousin, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth. Her elvish ancestry had granted her with an inborn grace and dark looks that were nothing like the women of Rohan. Fair haired and stocky of build. It seemed a match well made though, and Aragorn felt she was standing beside Éomer as an equal, lending her own strength to her husband and king. Since Éomer had never been meant for the crown, and had never been trained for it, it was something that Aragorn felt was a good thing, for his friend did not always have enough patience for diplomacy.

A just king he was, but Éomer had little patience for foolishness and prefered everything to be straightforward. He was young and rash still, blunt and truthful to a fault. He had never been much for subtleties, but already Aragorn felt he was showing himself more than worthy of the task that had fallen to him.

With the alliance between Gondor and Rohan renewed, and their rulers much closer to one another Aragorn felt great hope that their countries would grow to long lost strength. An optimism he was not certain if Éomer shared yet, though the young King certainly was willing to work towards that goal.

Which was why when the northern of Gondor, near Ithilien came under threat, Éomer was more than willing to come to their aid. Not only because of the oath, but also because his sister resided there and he would allow no threat to come close to her. No, Aragorn had known Éomer would never even hesitate when he sent the message. He had at first hesitated in doing so, feeling the threat minor and one they should be able to handle themselves. However the two kings had agreed a joint force displayed would always appear stronger to their enemy. One who would think little of attacking one of them, would hesitate to take on them both.

It also meant that the ones who might grouch later about Gondor aiding Rohan would have less to say about it. They could very well not object when Rohan had already aided them.

If he needed further reasoning, very few could strike fear into their opponent the way the Rohirrim did. When their horns sounded, and the thunder of thousands of horses shook the earth very few were able to fully control their men and keep them from wanting to pull back from that wall of horses, swords and spears that raged against them like a wave.

Even now, with a mere two hundred and forty men with him, Éomer's Eored was indeed a force to be reckoned with, and Aragorn's own two hundred somehow looked like less beside them.

With the Rohirrim in the middle where their force would indeed appear like a wall of spears, and the mounted Gondorions on each side of them, slower, less fearsome, but well capable of closing in around the enemy once the Rohirrim had crashed through them Aragorn had felt they were well prepared.

Éomer led the charge of his own force, riding at the very head of the line, white horsetail of his helm flying in the wind and Gúthwinë raised high in the air. Aragorn himself and Faramir were beside him, though Faramir's horse was not able to fully keep pace with the faster horses.

Their attack had been well performed, their plan simple and effective, and how it had come to go so wrong Aragorn could not tell. Truly he had been certain they were winning, though the battle wore on and their strength was failing, he had thought they were winning.

Then a cry was heard, not a battle cry nor one of pain, but of rage and disbelief, and another took it up until Aragorn was forced to stop and look around him.

What he saw froze his very being, for the enemy had managed the unthinkable. They had managed to not only isolate the leaders of Aragorn's force, but capture them. How it had happened, he did not know, but it was true, and it was the shock of seeing two of their leaders at the hands of the enemy that had caused the men to give up at the cry.

In the front of the Easterling's force, they held their captives at sword point, a clear threat to kill them should Aragorn not surrender and he felt his heart freeze in his chest. With swords held at them from men on both sides, Faramir sat on the horse, holding the limp and lifeless form of Éomer in front of him. If the King of Rohan was dead or only injured Aragorn did not know, clear was that neither was unscathed for he could see blood on Faramir's tunic, and blood streaming down Éomer's face.

The only conclusion he could draw was that one of them had been unhorsed, and the other had come to his aid, and been unable to keep his friend fully from harm. How it had happened he could not know for certain, but it was a serious situation. He could not surrender, if he did, the battle would be lost and there was no telling the damage that would bring to both Gondor and Rohan.

He could not let them be slain. They were his friends, brothers to him by heart. He could not let the army watch them be slain in front of their very eyes, for then he did not see how he could win. Faramir was valuable to Gondor, the people had not been displeased with Denethor, he had done what he did for them, even if it had been ill fated. They knew he had struggled to hold the land together, and they knew it had cost him a son. They had loved Boromir even more dearly, he had been their shining knight, that to which they tied their hope and their belief in a better future. Boromir was the sign they would not be broken and defeated no matter how dire the outlook.

Faramir was their last tie to the old days, to their past, to all that had been sacrificed for victory, and they needed to know he stood for the future. How could the people have faith in Aragorn if he could not save the last son of Denethor?

Rohan needed Éomer even more. They had seen their King lose all sense and will, seen him come to be an empty shell. Lost so far so that when his only son and heir was carried home, near without life, in front of Éomer in the saddle, he had not stirred. They saw him do nothing when his son lay before death, and they knew he imprisoned and banished his nephew. Théodred was their last hope, the only way they could see a better future, and when he was buried, their hope was laid to rest with him in the grave.

It had been Éomer who brought them hope at Helm's Deep, and it had been Èomer who stood steadfast on the field of Pelennor for all his kinsmen to see. Rohan would never forget the battle where their King was lost. They would always remember the display of dauntless courage that they had seen that day. Éowyn had slain the witchking, and her brother praised her worth and courage.

It was however Éomer they had seen, the helm with the horse head noseguard and white horse tail was known to all. It was him who had stood fast against an oliphaunt when others fled from the giganormous beast. It was the grey stallion that had not flinched as his master commanded him to stand fast against all sense, and it was Éomer who threw the spear that took down two of the monsters in one mighty throw.

All those who saw the beast brought down by the fierce Rohirrim would remember it, and it was that memory they carried with them into their belief for the future. Éomer had not been the heir, but he was kin of their King just the same, and if he stood firm against a charge by an oliphaunt, then certainly he was worthy of the crown.

He was the last male of the line of kings, a new line, but one that sprung from the old.

If he was lost, the Aragorn knew Rohan would weaken and suffer, and that he could not allow.

If they were lost in battle, the people would still suffer, but that they could overcome, but if they were to see them slain, slaughtered as little more than cattle, then that would be a much harder blow. No tales of glorious deeds, no last ride to go down in history, only a man that had his throat slit as he sat unconscious on his horse…

His horse….a grey stallion….Firefoot a mighty warhorse. Better trained than even most Rohan horses. Which was not to say a little for the warhorses of Rohan were a force to be reckoned with in their own might.

Where Faramir's horse was he did not know, if the animal had been felled or not, but it was Firefoot the two were seated on. Whites of the eyes showing impossibly large, nostrils flaring and Aragorn knew the creature well enough to know he was furious. The Rohirrim trained their horses to protect their masters as well as their king, and Firefoot had his own will to that. He was like no other horse Aragorn had ever seen. He seemed to know reason and sense when he wished it, could draw his own conclusion and insert his own will on his master. Known for biting stablehands if they were too clumsy at their work he suffered no fools. Fiercely loyal to Éomer he demanded the same loyalty back and was not above biting or attempting to throw his master if he felt Éomer had slighted him.

Aragorn had seen Éomer command other horses in his Eored with just a whistle, for they all knew to recognize him and obey him, but Firefoot was special.

Firefoot was why he felt a smile coming to his lips as he sheathed his sword and raised his hands, palms outwards. "Stay your hand…" he urged the men holding the blades to his friends.

"Surrender filth!" one of the Easterlings, a length of cloth covering his face still appeared to be their leader. Though Aragorn did not know how to tell, if there was any markings on his clothes or not. It was however he who had approached Firefoot's head, the stallion tossing his head furiously as the man got closer. "Surrender or we will slay them!"

"What guarantee do I have of their safety if I do?" Firefoot was furious, stomping and dancing on the spot. On his back Aragorn saw Faramir awkwardly tighten his hold of his brother by law, desperation and anger in his eyes as he met Aragorn's eye. That was what Aragorn had been waiting for, the opportunity to alert him to be ready.

He did not know the many different commands Éomer might give his horse, certainly he knew there were several different ones that sounded much like the same whistle to Aragorn, and yet Firefoot knew what he was expected to do. Go to Éomer, run away from them, keep away but remain close. He would keep vigilance over camp, or upturn the pot with Éowyn's stew. He did not worry now that he was unsure what command to give. Truthfully he trusted Firefoot himself to know what best to do, as he now knew Aragorn would follow his lead.

A sharp quick whistle as he tightened his grip on his sword, and he was not disappointed. Faramir gripped the pommel of the saddle with one hand, clenching the other around Éomer's chest. Firefoot's head shot forward to deal a vicious bite to the man who had got far too close. He was a warhorse and he did not show mercy as the teeth closed over the man's hand. Aragorn knew well enough he could break bones if he wished, and the anguished yell suggested he had done that. Simultaneously he kicked the horses behind him.

Chaos erupted in the line as both creatures tried to bolt. Firefoot wasted no time, spinning around in a tight circle, froont hoofs rearing in the air, striking one man over the head and for a moment Aragorn feared he would throw his riders, but Faramir held fast.

Their enemy was not so lucky, one man staggering back from the flying steel shod hooves, only to be impaled on his comrades sword.

"Firefoot, take them back!" Aragorn waved his hand, desperately, praying the horse would understand. Faramir did not have his sword, and the reins were trailing on the ground. Éomer would have controlled his beast just as well without them, but Faramir was not Rohan, and with an unconscious man in his arms it was all he could manage to stay in the saddle. If Firefoot bucked he would throw them, and the horse was enraged and did not seem to consider the King of Gondor to be someone he should obey. Not when the ones who had harmed his masters were in front of him and at his mercy.

"Firefoot!" Aragorn cried again as he saw him buck and kick, taking down one man, and nearly the men on his back at the same time. Swinging Anduril he searched his mind for the right command to give. A shout in Rohirric coming from his side before he could, and Firefoot tossed his head, neighing, furious, and biting hard the sword arm that came near him but he moved to the back of the line.

The Rohan Eored closed rank behind him, and one man passed Faramir a sword. Another gathered the reins up from the ground and gave to him before they both turned back to the battle.

Aragorn threw a glance over his shoulder to see Faramir keeping to the rear where he stood a better chance of keeping the still limp form of their friend safe, but was able to encertain no one got through their line. Whenever Aragaorn searched for them, his eyes falling on the mighty grey stallion he saw that the horse while not performing as well as he normally would, he was still a force to be reckoned with. He noted that Faramir strove to take him to the right, and Firefoot was having none of it. Turning his head to attempt bite the man on his back, he spun around tightly to the left.

The group of Easterlings coming at them from the side that Faramir had not noticed, too occupied with keeping Éomer in front of him, was evaded by Firefoot whom Aragorn noted seemed to take great delight in kicking one of them.

That stallion was a mighty opponent he mused with a small smile. He did his master proud that was for certain, and for keeping his Steward alone safe, Aragorn would be willing to ensure he received a whole barrel full of apples.

Knowing that Firefoot was indeed doing all he could to ensure they were both safe he turned his full attention back to the battle in front of him.

Not a moment too soon as a scyther cleaved the air to his side though Brego sidestepped. It would seem he owed his own horse a fair measure of apples, for too worried about his friends, he had not worried enough about himself. It was a fortunate thing that Brego was well trained, the horse that had previously belonged to Théodred, Éomer's cousin, did not take his duty lightly. Aragorn had to admit that he felt an immense gratitude that Eomer had said naught about Aragorn keeping the horse. He knew Éomer had helped his cousin train him. He would not have blamed Éomer if he had wanted to keep the horse, but the young rider had simply bid a heartfelt and tear eyed farewell to the creature. Aragorn would not even have known if he had not entered the stable to see the blonde warrior in the stallion's stall, and he had not wanted to intrude on them then. He always knew that though Brego was his, and loyal to him, he would also always be loyal to Éomer as well and he was glad for it. Just as he was glad to know Firefoot would include Faramir in his protection.

They won the battle, and the King of Gondor wheeled his horse around, giving orders for what captives they had to be restrained and placed under guard, while care was given to their wounded. Making his way as quickly as he could to where he knew his friends would be, while being stopped every other pace to answer questions about how he wanted things done. The Rohirrim was very effective, one of their Captains instantly taking charge and organising guards, patrolls and fires for water while the men trained in healing saw to their comrades. The Gonodorians could learn a fair deal from their friends he mused, but then Denethor had not encouraged his army to think for themselves.

When he found his friends it was the grey stallion he lay eyes on first, and he noted a few bloody scratches on his side that would need tending to. Unless Éomer was able, he would take care of it himself for he knew how much the man valued the horse, and had he not just felt the same gratitude to the creature?

Watching the scene in front of him he had to smile, for when he came closer he saw Faramir rummaging through a pack, and Éomer seated, leaning against Firefoot's front legs while the horse had his head down and nuzzled his neck. The young King was cradling his head in his hands and swaying gently from time to time.

With the helm on before Aragorn had not seen the injury, but now he noted the hair on the side of his head was soaked with blood.

Dismounting Aragorn crouched down in front of his friend, noting the barred teeth of Firefoot though he did not pay them much heed. The stallion was merely inserting his position as Éomer's foremost guardian. The horse knew he would not harm his master, but far be it from Firefoot to fully relinquish his position to a mere man…

The thought made Aragorn smile even as he reached out a hand to take his friend's chin, turning his head to hear a groan as he sought to study the wound. That groan caused Firefoot to plant a hoof close to Aragorn, and partially loosing his backrest Éomer lurched to side with another groan.

"Do you know what happened?" Aragorn turned to Faramir who showed a slight limp, a few bloody scratches and what looked like teeth marks on his vambrace.

"Aye," his steward nodded as he drenched a cloth in water from his waterskin. "My horse took an arrow, he shall be well, but he fell. Éomer came for me, or I would certainly have been overrun, though as he helped me to mount a crossbow bolt clipped him. The helm saved him," he nudged the helm on the ground, and Aragorn winced at the deep score dug in it. "It was all I could do to keep us both on Firefoot, I am truly sorry they got the upperhand as they did."

"Tis no matter, you did well," Aragorn offered him a warm smile as he took the wet, cool cloth from his steward, attempting to clean Éomer's wound with it, a shaky hand came up to clutch it to his face. While worried for his friend Aragorn wanted to calm and comfort his steward, knowing very well how Denethor would have placed the blame on his son.

"He would not have been injured if not for me," blue grey eyes, heavy with pain and guilt met Aragorn's.

"And he would not have stood a chance after he was, if not for you and Firefoot," Aragorn shook his head. "You did well Faramir, think nothing else. Firefoot trusts you, or he would not have been able to act as he did. There is no higher mark of approval"

"Firefoot may have suffered me at the time, but he made it very clear I should take better care of his master," Faramir fingered the deep gouges in his vambrace. "Though I suppose if he had been truly displeased with me I would not have got away so easily."

"Indeed not," Aragorn agreed. "Do you know how long he was unconscious?" he nodded to Éomer, a little concerned that the man was still not giving any response to what they were doing around him.

"He came to not long ago, expelled everything in his belly and blacked out again from the effort, then came to again just before you found us," Faramir mused. "I imagine he feels as if every Dwarf in Erebor is right now beating inside his skull…."

"Aye, I find it likely," Aragorn nodded. "Éomer, do you know me?" he asked softly, noting how the wound was still bleeding sluggishly. Through the blood matted tresses he could not see the wound clearly. The helm had served its purpose well, but even so the bolt had dealt a hard blow, and with a lesser helm it might very well have been his death.

"I know you, cease your insistent shouting, I beg you," came the weak reply as the young king sought to ease the pounding in his head with the wet cloth.

"I think we should have you lying down, my friend," Aragorn decided. "Your horse might eventually wish to move." As long as Firefoot was standing as he was it was fine, but as soon as he moved he doubted Éomer would stay upright on his own. If he lost his balance and fell sideways the pain would no doubt be too much for him to stand. "If I offered you something for the pain, would you take it?"

"Leave me be…" the words were harsh, the voice ragged and Aragorn sighed softly. He knew of the events in his friend's childhood that had caused him to have such an aversion to any brew or tea from a healer. He understood it and sympathised with it, and though it was a petty scornful nurse and not the healer that had caused it. Forcing a child to drink what was little better than poison, whipping him when he did not. Aye, he understood it well, and he could not blame Éomer for the event had scared the child badly and such wounds to the soul ran deep. He wished however, and not for the first time, that he had the nurse at hand and he would not have considered it beneath him to give her a taste of her own medicine.

"I'll do what I can for you, and I will not ask you to do anything you will not," he stated softly. "But the wound needs cleaning my friend, and it will be painful. I'd prefer if you were lying down."

Faramir had found his mount, and laid down his own bedroll for his friend, spreading Aragorn's on top of it to make the bedding softer. The young man did not wish to move, and Aragorn did not wonder. All colour left his face and he nearly lost consciousness from shifting his position, Firefoot whinnying and pacing restlessly beside them as Aragorn worked. Éomer was not taking anything to drink, and Aragorn knew it was not just mistrust but pain that had him refuse. A cloth soaked with cold water infused with herbs over his forehead to cool and sooth was the best he could do for him. As he tended to their friend, Faramir saw to their horses, taking care of their wounds.

"You are right," he told Aragorn as he was done, and sat down beside the king of Rohan whom lay quiet on the bedroll to have his own wounds tended to. "He does indeed care for me to some degree." He gave the big grey stallion a soft smile as the beast stood beside his master, bending his head to nuzzle his side until Éomer reached a shaky hand to his nose. "He only bit me three times now," he mused, fingering a fresh tear in his tunic. "And he did not even draw blood. Given how much the salve must have stung, I would not have blamed him."

"He is like no other horse I have ever known," Aragorn mused, finding the pot of salve he wanted in his own pack. "And aye, he does indeed care for you, or he would not have allowed you to aid him at all. But he is worried about his master."

"I can not, and I would not blame him for that, for I still feel some guilt for the matter," Faramir sighed softly. "And I know it will pain both my wife and my cousin to see him injured. Though Éowyn shall claim to like having him at her mercy."

"Truthfully, I think she does," Aragorn glanced to the side again. He was not certain if Éomer was awake, or aware of them if he was. Unmoving and silent it was all but impossible to know. He still felt relief though, for the man had talked to him and been lucid enough. "She would never want him to be hurt, no more than she would you, but she does indeed enjoy when he has to heed to her wishes. I suppose, for a younger sister it is not so strange."

"Aye, I suppose it is not," Faramir agreed. "I would not know, it was never thus with me and Boromir, and now, it is different still," his gaze turned from Aragorn to their friend, and the King of Gondor smiled. Indeed, while Faramir would never think that Éomer needed someone to guide him, he had still unconsciously taken the role of the older brother to Éomer. The loss of Boromir as well as Théodred had left them both with painful voids, and the pain was eased a little from embracing his brother by law.

For Éomer's part Aragorn felt he needed it, if he did not know it, Éowyn loved her brother dearly and Éomer would never hesitate to give his life for his sister. They were very close, more so than many in Gondor felt brother and sister should be, but then the court of Meduseld had been a dangerous place at the end of the war of the ring. Where danger lurked in the corners and no one was safe, even in their own chambers. It was no wonder Éowyn gazed upon her brother with worry when he seemed to pay such subterfuge no heed, and it was no wonder she sometimes enjoyed being able to be the one to care for him after he had always stroven to keep her safe before.

Aragorn had to say he knew the feeling, for he would never have wished either of his friends any harm. He never wanted to see them in pain, but if they were he was glad to be the one who could ease it. He knew by now Éomer was in no danger, if he most certainly was in pain, and indeed when they returned to the White City he felt the young king considered himself to suffer from his sister's care more than from the injury.

Shaking his head as he made his way to the stables Aragorn knew that was where he would find him, and that Éowyn would be much angered should she find him first. The headaches Éomer suffered from the head injury had indeed been crippling, and had not fully dispersed yet. It had grated on the young man to be forced to retreat to a dark quiet room, unable to even move as he was nauseated with pain.

The first time he strove to deny the need for any aid or comfort. Thankfully Arwen had put an end to that. His wife and queen had a way of dealing with stubborn Rohirrim, Aragorn had been pleased to note. There was not much Éomer would not do, out of stubborness alone if need be, but argue with the Elven lady when not able to stand was not one of them. He had barely even started his objections before he found himself in bed, with a cloth soaked in cool water and soothing herbs over his eyes.

It seemed he saw the sense in complying with dignity after that, and Aragorn had not known of any trouble other than the restlessness he knew from himself.

"I do not know if I would call you brave, or foolish, to risk your sister's anger…" he stated as he came to Firefoot's stall. "But I suppose our stablehands thank you for it either way."

"I doubt he's given anyone much trouble," Éomer gave a snort as he stood by his horse, brush in hand. "I know Lothíriel and Éowyn have both seen to his care. He'll have wanted for nothing and he knows them well. He might have missed me as I miss him, but he won't have been so bad as to maim anyone."

"He has indeed not, but most are still weary of him," Aragorn smiled softly. Éomer seemed well enough to be up to him, perhaps he should not ride out on his own yet. However he strongly felt that Éowyn was taking some enjoyment in tormenting her brother now that the worst of the worry for his health had faded.

"I would have words with you," Éomer leaned back against the wall of the stall, arms crossed in front of him and Aragorn felt a sense of unease sweep over him. The King of Rohan had a reputation of striking fear in his enemies with one look, and he could very well believe it the way the dark eyes focused on him. His features grim and expressionless, leaving you wonder if he was as enraged as he would seem to be, or simply wanted to see you quake. Either way not even the King of Gondor was immune to his fierce look.

"May I enquire of my offence?" he doubted it would destroy their friendship, for the bond between them was strong and Éomer was never one to hold a grudge. He could be angered though, and feel slighted, even by friends…

"Explain that, if you would," Éomer nodded to the wall outside the stall, and the three quarter full barrel that stood there. Apples, the finest of their harvest, and Aragorn had given Firefoot one each day now for some time. The stallion knowing to expect it in the morning.

"It's a debt of gratitude, or a show of it, for I owe your steed a debt I can never repay," Aragorn stated softly. Not a serious matter then, but something that had puzzled the younger man. "He kept not only my fellow liege safe, but my Steward and my two dearest friends, at a time when I could do nothing for them myself. I vouched a barrel of apples as the least I could do for my Steward, and I am a man of my word, Éomer King, even if I do not speak it out loud."

Éomer nodded slowly, and Aragorn knew he understood, and probably even approved. "Just make certain, King of Gondor, that when the barrel is empty and he wishes for more, you are the one that makes clear to him there are none…"

Nodding Aragorn swallowed, it would seem that while his friends were now safe, once the barrel was empty, he might have to worry for his own safety….

A Temporary End

Thank you all who's read and reviewed, the Cricket is thrilled...

Additional Author's note: Some of these stories might not fit into the Tolkien timeline, I apologise for this, I have not yet been able to procure an English copy, and therefor there has been things I was unaware of while writing. Some I've changed, some I've left as I liked them.
Most of the Rohirric I use, is, as I believe Tolkien himself used, Old English. Though some is modern Swedish, as, frighteningly enough, these are quite often the same. In order to give the story a more pleasant flow for the reader, I have opted not to use a glossary at the end, rather, I try to make the meaning very clear in the story.