For Author's note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 20

The rain had been falling long and heavily, a cold blanket that turned the green fields to mud, no good for either horses nor man. Everything seemed cold and damp, and there was a chill in the air that not even the fire could disperse, though the dying embers cast an eree orange glow over stone and wood. Only the faintest of lights managed to reach the green hidden in shadows above their heads. Shivering in the darkness Théoden King pulled his cloak tighter around himself, grateful for the fur collar. Sitting on nothing but cold stone, leaning back against his stallion a figure sat close to what remained of the fire. Steam rose from sodden boots where he had stretched his feet towards the faintly glowing coals in the firepit, and he was using his cloak to rub a small foal dry. Even before he came close Théoden could see the water dripping from his hair where it hung in dark damp tresses down his shoulders.

Satisfied the foal was as dry as he could manage it the young rider took up a clay bowl that had been placed on the stone near the embers, hissing and blowing on his fingers where he burned them on the now hot bowl.

Approaching him Théoden shook his head as the obviously ravenous young man started eating of the stew with nothing but his fingers. His attempt at warming the stew had obviously resulted in nothing but burned fingers, for he could see from where he stood that the stuff in the bowl was a congealed cooled lump that could not be appetising to anyone less than halfway starved. Given the way the youthful warrior tried to scope half the bowls contents into his mouth at one time he very well seemed to be at that. He must have attempted to scrape the abandoned stew pot clean to even get what he had.

The horse gave Théoden a weary look as he approached, but obviously knew to trust the guards around them for he had settled to lie down at rest and made no move to stand. Unlike the small foal that nearly panicked at his approach, until the rider was able to settle her again with a soft touch and gentle words.

"Bema's beard, but that must be vile," Théoden shook his head as he took in the mess in the bowl. Long forgotten leftovers from supper. Congealed fat with lumps of carrot, potato and meat. Food on the trail were not always good, but rarely was it that bad.

"It's food, I care of nothing else," the young rider stated tiredly as he scooped a lump of greasy meat out of the bowl.

"I would have thought you could have managed better, even at this hour," shaking his head Théoden took the bowl from the young man, a brief look of hurt flashing over his features though he would know that his liege and lord would never wish him to starve.

"I will see to it that you get better," the King stated. "If you give me but a moment."

"Aye," the sigh was heavy, and tired as the youth leaned back against the warm body of his horse, shifting his legs to reach the fading heat of the dying fire better. Knowing the way the rain would seep every ounce of warmth from you Théoden wondered if he would be so numb he did not feel the warmth before he burned his feet. "Thank you, sire."

"I would however know one thing first," he fixed firm eyes on the young rider, one of the youngest to take place in the Eored that served Rohan. "So tell me, sister son, have you lost all sense, or is there a reason why you thought to bring your horse, and a foal I know nothing of, into my halls rather than the stable where they should be?" He looked around the golden hall, the green drapes and banners in shadows on the walls. The faint glow from the firepit cast a red sheen on the golden columns, the golden hall was indeed beautiful in the dim light. "Should I now be grateful it was old, cold stew you sought to make a meal of, or would I have been just as likely to have found you eating straw and oats?"

"If Éowyn had been preparing the food, then aye, Uncle, I would have and gladly at that," Éomer gave an amused grin.

It was rare to see him smile such, and Théoden would almost be willing to drop the matter for fear of casting him back into the sullen silence that was so common for him. "Éomer, tis might not be the first time there has been a horse in these halls, and I do not think it shall be the last, but while horse lords we are called, we do not keep them indoors. The stable is well enough for them, and much better here than they would have been somewhere else. Please, do give me a reason for this, or I shall have to assume the patrol went poorly and you've indeed had your senses addled, or did your sister hit you too hard over the head for insulting her food?"

"The patrol I suppose went as well as was possible," Éomer started and Théoden sighed as indeed the smile fell from his lips. "There were no losses for us, and we did come upon a small group of orcs. And they paid dearly for it. Unfortunately they had already done much damage. They had come upon one of the herdsman's homes. The man got his family away, but they slaughtered all the horses but a few they took with them for food." The look of horror on his face would have been shared by all Théoden knew. It was pure horror for the lad to think of a horse meeting such a fate. "By the time we caught up to them, this foal was all that was left of the small herd. She was injured and so distraught with fear we could not get near her."

"Aye, I can tell," Théoden could see the scratches over the hind quarters of the young foal. Made by claws, and possibly teeth. The left shoulder looked the same, as did the neck. It would be a beautiful bay when she grew, she had a good build, but was thin and terrified still. Only exhaustion seemed to keep her down by Éomer's side, nostrils flaring as she expected a threat. "While the loss of the herd is tragic, it does not explain the presence of your horse, and this foal, in my halls."

"I attempted to leave them in the stable, she cried and was frenzied. I was afraid she would do herself injury," Éomer sighed, scratching the foal on the forehead. "And there was no stall with room for all three of us. She trusts Firefoot, at least enough to rest, but had I left her in a stall by herself I fear she might not have made it through the night."

"Then it would seem your reasoning for bringing them into the hall was sound," Théoden agreed. He had expected it to be, but it was good to know for certain. As much as he loved the boy he had raised like a son, he was hotheaded and prone to rash actions still. For all he had calmed and learned to hold his temper, he might still act impulsively and with no thought about the consequences. "I say they may stay for the time at least," he decided as he watched his nephew eye the bowl of cold stew longingly. "But certainly you might have found a better meal for yourself? Bema's Beard boy, that mess is hardly fit for eating. Was the kitchen truly too far for you to go?"

"Hardly," Éomer gave a most undignified snort as he shifted his feet again. "But Cook hates me at the best of times. She goes after me with that ladle of hers if I so set foot in the kitchen while dry and clean, even if my reasons for being there are justified. If I had shown up in there with two horses on my heels she would have impaled me on one of her meat skewers and had me roasted over the fire for certain. I have no desire to die like a pig prepared for the spit. I beg you though Uncle, have her give me something better, or give me what I had back, for I've not had a meal since well before yesterday."

"You'll have it in but a moment," standing and making his way to the end of the hall approached one of the maids who was staring wide eyed at the sight of the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, on the floor of the hall with two horses. He bade her go to the kitchen and told her to make sure there was plenty of food. For reasons he did not know, and had not found out even as their king, their cook did indeed seem to carry some hatred for Éomer. Though to his knowledge the boy had never done anything to her. Impulsive, brash and prone to lose his temper he had been ever, but there had never been cruelnes or malice. Not even as a boy, and Théoden truly doubted he was the one at fault. His master cook was very much skilled in what she was doing, and she was able to both cook the kind of fine meals that were needed to impress important noble guests, and again the quantities needed to feed a horde of hungry Rohiirim. So he was however loath to anger her by forcing her to a truce.

"It is done," he stated as he returned to his nephew and sat on the wooden bench beside him. Reaching out with his foot he pushed his nephews boot clad feet to a safer distance away from the fire pit. The leather was drying and would start smoking in a minute. "Though should truly one of our warriors be afraid of our cook?" he could not help but tease him.

"I'll be as afraid of her as I please," Éomer gave a half snort. "And if I had gone in there as wet as I was before, it wouldn't have been just my blood she was crying for, but yours as well for teaching me no better manners. You have little to complain about uncle."

"True enough, though I worry that she would deny one of our riders food," Théoden shook his head as Éomer threw a longing look to the discarded bowl. It had taken a long time for the boy to fill out and shoot up in height. Now that he finally had it was a chore to keep him fed.

"She would not Uncle, tis only me," Éomer shrugged as if he considered it unimportant. He probably did, Théoden mused. For all the trouble the boy had had to keep his temper, he had never been one to hold a grudge. As long as there was someone to ensure the cook eventually had to surrender and feed him he was content.

As the maid now returned with a heavy tray laden with food he straightened and accepted it with a grateful smile. The poor girl indeed seemed confused at first, as to why the King's nephew was all but curled up with his horse in the Golden Hall, but it would not be the first time Éomer and his horse had confused all others. He did have a way with the horses Théoden mused, even more so than most, which was saying something for a Rohir.

Thought was he truthful with himself Théoden would have to say that Éomer had never quite fit the expectations. As a child he was absolutely fearless, ready to meet any challenge and could not wait to throw himself at a bigger enemy. Yet he was not outspoken or cheerful but always quiet and sullen. Withdrawn even, sulking in the corners when he was not allowed to ride with the Eored at ten years of age. Not much for play battles with sticks as they were beneath him. He could have ordered Cook to get whatever he wanted, for was he not of the royal line? Sister son to the King himself, and had he as a rider of Rohan not the right to expect a meal after a long patrol? Indeed, Théoden would have said nothing if he used his authority to get his way over the willful woman, though instead he sat with a bowl of old cold stew so as not to anger the woman who'd take the anger out over the scullery maids.

Now, finding bread still warm from the oven, pork, potato cakes and porridge he gave a grin of delight as he started wolfing down the food. Setting the two apples aside as he filled a mug with ale from the jug, offering it to Théoden who took it and shook his head as Éomer himself took a hearty swig from the jug. Rations got short sometimes on patrol, and he did not wonder at his hunger. Firefoot, catching whiff of the apples started shifting as he tried to reach it, nearly toppling his master who was still leaning against his side.

Dipping the bread in a jar of honey Éomer attempted to stuff nearly half of it into his mouth before taking his belt knife, cutting up the apples as he chewed. Satisfied, he tossed one half in front of Firefoot where the stallion made short work of it. The foal with his head still half in his lap took more encouraging and Éomer pushed his own food aside as he held the apple wedges out, one at a time to the frightened animal to tempt her to eat.

Once satisfied he pulled the food back and made short work of the pork, drinking deep of the ale and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as Théoden sipped from his mug. He took the time while his nephew sated his hunger to study the animal. Frightened, and too thin the foal did not look like much. The legs were long, but she might grow into them. He had a good eye for horses, and there was potential in the horse, but it was hard to say if she would grow into it or not. The wounds were not debilitating, but there was no telling how the creature would react to future hardship.

"Tell me Éomer, what plans have you for this foal?" he could not say he held any greater hopes for the creatures, but Éomer had a soft heart for lost causes sometimes. He might as well have left the poor thing with some farm on their way, or with another herdsman in the hope of at least later broadening that herd.

"Earnwinë," Éomer told him, cramming steaming potato cake into his mouth, barely chewing before he spoke. "Her name is Earnwinë."

"And did you give her that name, or did she carry it before?" Théoden wanted to know. If Éomer had named the little one, there was no turning him away from the creature. Then he would not give up until he was proven right or wrong. His stubbornness was near stronger than Théoden's own, and truly he did not wish to be at odds with the boy over something like a foal.

"I named her," Éomer shrugged. "She survived the orcs Uncle, she deserves a good name."

"Friend of eagles," Théoden nodded. "A strong name. And what do you propose to do with her? She does not look like much of a runner to me."

"We offered her back to the herdsman, but he would not take her before he knew what to make of his lost home," Éomer shrugged. "I assured him we would send aid, but one foal is no herd. She's better of here for now, and I aim to train her. You say she does not look like a runner Uncle, and she may not have the looks, but she has the heart."

"Éomer," Théoden sighed softly as he had another swallow of the ale. Watching the young rider, appetite still not sated though he was quickly clearing every morsel off the tray. "Do you really wish to do this? It would not be hard to find someone to take her. She looks like a good strong horse, aye, but she is no horse for a warrior. I doubt she'll ever grow large enough, or strong enough. The fact that she is in here, and not in the stable does not speak of a warriors heart to me."

"My Lord, will you tell me I may not take her to train?" Éomer's eyes met his, his voice stiff and his tone formal when before he had thought nothing of cramming his mouth full even in the presence of his King.

"No lad, I would not wish to do that," he sighed again. Looking at the horse and trying to find that which his nephew saw, for Éomer did indeed have a keen eye. "I have had no reason to distrust your judgement yet, but I fear this time your heart speaks louder than your eye. I would not begrudge her a good home, be it in our stable or with another man. If you think she can be trained to any use I would take your word. Though when compared to Firefoot I do not see how she stands a hope."

Éomer gave another snort, but relaxed enough to fill his mouth again. "Very few does, Snowmane and Brego aside. I am no fool, my Lord. I know she'll never be the fierce warrior that Firefoot is, but should Firefoot ever be injured I may need another horse to ride to battle, and for that I think she will do just fine."

"I will defer to you in this matter, sister son," Théoden nodded. "And you may take her to train her as you wish. I will say nothing on the matter. Except this, do teach her that she is expected to stay in the stable. I hear enough complaints about mud on the bed linen, I do not wish to hear about hoofprints on them if you think to let a horse sleep on your bed…." It should have been in jest he mused, but with two horses in his hall, who knew what the boy might think to do? "I beg you Éomer, do not force me to attempt explaining that…"

"Never fear Uncle," Éomer gave a laugh as he stuffed the last of the pork in his mouth, giving the now empty tray a look of dejection and sadness before draining the last ale from the jug. Wiping his mouth again he scooted down to tuck himself into the side of his horse. "Come morning they'll both be in a stall where they belong. The stable master did promise me so. He simply did not wish to rouse one of our mighty steeds from their beds in the middle of the night. They'll have a stall to themself, which should suffice. I merely could not stand the thought of leaving them out in the cold until then."

"That should be well then," Théoden nodded, stroking his short beard as his nephew stifled a yawn, burrowing down against the warmth his horse provided. With a full belly it seemed Éomer was ready to succumb to the lure of sleep and drain of exhaustion.

"Aye, just a few hours," Éomer mumbled sleepily, tightening his arm around the foal that lifted a heavy head, and shifted to lie across his chest and stomach. Seeking the same warmth from the rider, as the rider sought from his own stallion. Firefoot whisking his tail lazily before dropping his own head down, content, and no doubt a little pleased to be allowed the right of the Golden Hall, if Théoden knew the creature half as well as he thought.

A soft snore from his nephew had him shaking his head again, amused. Aye, the horses might be taken to the stable where they belonged in just a few hours, and he had a strong feeling that for the next fortnight or so, the stable would also be where his nephew slept….

Well, at least that would be easier to explain….

A Temporarily 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.