For Author's note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 22

When he was young, Théoden's father Thengel had told him that to be king was a burden and not a privilege. You could never step away from your task and your duty, and your duty was always to serve the people you ruled. A king must never be petty or motivated by personal gain, must always think about the whole of the people, and yet be ready to settle small disputes amongst the people. For such matters could easily get out of hand. A minor disagreement about the border between two properties had almost at one point set several villages against each other. So Thengel had urged him to take all into consideration, and never consider any of the problems his people had to be too small for his attention. It was a sound advice and one he had passed on to his son. Théodred did him proud, he would make a fine king he felt. He had no fear of handing down the crown to his offspring. The people would follow Théodred, they already did so and they respected him.

There were times though when he wished that he could step down for a moment, not worry about who had a grievance against someone else. To forget about all matters of state and spend a day fishing with his son.

Walking into the Golden Hall of Meduseld to hear the loud clash of a sword on armour that desire was never stronger. Of the two combatants, if one could call them that, one had been driven into the corner, and attempted in vain to protect his head with his vambraces held up. A futile effort considering the ferocity of the attack.

Éowyn, his nice, the girl he loved like a daughter had never seen the need to spare any opponent, and certainly made no exception for her brother….

The boy absolutely refused to raise a hand against his sister and so was outmatched from the start. With his back pressed against the stone wall, and his sister in front of him there was no escape for him. Éowyn certainly would show him no mercy Théoden knew, and whatever it was that had angered her so, she had obviously decided her elder brother was to blame for it.

It was fortunate for Éomer that it was a blunt practice sword she held, Théoden mused, for her strikes were hard and sure. The boy howled with pain as she changed her aim and struck him over the unprotected thighs and hips.

"Is it really too much to ask that my son sees an end to this?" he asked in a dry tone as he stood himself beside Théodred who was watching his cousins with a bemused shake of the head.

"And turn Éowyn's anger upon myself?" Théodred shook his head. "Have you decided you no longer want me for your heir, Father?

"What is her grievance with her brother this time then?" Théoden shook his head as the young man raised his arm far too late to save himself a bloody nose. He had no shield and no sword, but was using his vambraces to block her blow and he was not having much luck it would seem. When he raised his arms to his head, she struck his legs and the boy gave another howl as her sword cracked over his shins. Her dress was torn at the sleeve and covered with mud all the way down one side. It seemed a fair guess this had something to do with her anger, but if Éomer was known for his hot temper, then Éowyn's was worse. Even more so if she had decided her brother was the one at fault.

"She'll maim the lad in another minute," Théoden shook his head, giving his son a scowl. Let the heir to the throne face a dozen orcs and he could do so with courage, but one angered cousin it seemed turned him into one of the countless nobles that liked to cower around the court. "Eowyn!" his voice was loud and hard, and the girl paused. "Cease this foolishness at this very instant!"

"Uncle the fault is Éomer's," she turned to face him, cheeks red with anger. "He's a troll, a despicable ogre. I hate him!"

"That's untrue girl, and you know it," Théoden sighed. "And you know better than to speak such words. You will either tell me what your grievance is, or remove yourself until that you are calm enough to do so."

"It is true, I do hate him!" the young girl cried, stomping her foot. "He is a wretched despicable cur! And I don't ever want to see him again!"

"Éowyn," Théoden kept his voice low, but he put an edge in it to let his niece know she had crossed a line and that any further outbursts would not be tolerated. "You will go to your chambers. I will deal with you once you have calmed."

"Ogre!" spinning around on her heel to shout the word in her brother's face she threw down her practice sword at his feet. Éomer, who had lowered his guard, the fool boy, gave a yelp at the unexpected blow. Théoden shook his head, soft boots were not much protection against the blow of a sword, be it a practice sword or a sharp edge. The girl stalked off, her shoes sounding sharply on the stone in her anger.

Rubbing a hand over his chin Théoden took in the appearance of his nephew. Bema help the boy, for Théoden was at a loss of what to do with the two of them. He loved them both dearly, treasured that they were in his life every day, if they seemed to cause him to ask himself why twice as often… Five years now had they lived with him since their father was slain. Five years that every day was a pang of sadness over his sister's passing. After her husband was slain by orcs her grief had caused her to follow. Leaving two children in his care, a task he felt woefully inadequate for. Éomer seemed easy often enough though the boy was not outspoken or forward in any way unless it was about horses. Ever the quiet and sullen one who scowled at the world, quick to anger and rash actions that had earned him many bruises he was still growing up a fine young man. He was learning to hold his temper and channel the anger to a stubborn determination that would serve him well. Skilled with a blade, excellent with horses and a match for riders well over his own age. Absolutely helpless against his sister. Attempting to wipe the blood that poured down his face from his nose away though it was futile. The vambraces were stained badly from the torrent, the front of his tunic a mess and a spatter on the floor by his feet.

Èowyn was four years younger, but there was a fury about her that when unleashed made her as dangerous as any man. Almost every time the girl set about to bring devastation to a man, it was her brother who was her target. Not only did he often by intent or thoughtless words provoke her, but he was the one she knew would never raise a hand to strike her back.

"Éomer," he rubbed his hand over his chin again, for this had been worse than their normal disputes. Oh, Èowyn had not meant her words, she loved her brother far too much to truly feel hatred for him, but the words must have stung badly just the same. Of late her temper had been worse than usual, and Théoden did not know why. He doubted neither did Éomer, for he was biting his lip bloody to keep his own frustration in check, head down and the muscle bouncing at his still beardless jaw. No, this time he did not know what his crime was Théoden could surmise or he would have spoken up already.

Taking a linen cloth that had been wrapped around a loaf of bread on the table Théoden stepped over to the boy and held it to his nose to staunch the blood flow. He'd have a magnificent black eye for some days he mused, putting his hand under his chin to raise his head up to face him. "Éomer, why was your sister so angry with you?"

"I would not know," the words were muffled as he attempted to lower his head again though Théoden kept his hold to meet his eyes.

"Éomer…." he kept his voice low but firm, for he would not be denied an answer. He was their uncle, the one who raised them now as their father and mother should have done. He was however also their king, and such a display in the Golden Hall was not to be tolerated.

"I do not know!" Éomer was losing control of his own anger, pulling away sharply. "She did not see a need to tell me!"

"And you are certain you have not done anything that would have her so angry?" Théoden pushed. "Éomer, I know your sister's temper runs as hot as your own, but what of her appearance? Dress torn and muddied…. I know you would never have done anything to hurt her, but surely there has been some cause. Do you know it?"

"No," his hand balled into a fist Éomer dropped his head again.

"I never saw you this morning, where were you?" Théodred pushed in. Théoden was content to let him for Théodred was much closer to Éomer than he was himself. In spite of the many years between his heir and his nephew, they were close as brothers and to Éomer, no hero could be greater than Théodred. His son in turn doted on the younger boy and could accomplish what no one else could.

Thinking about it Théoden had noted that Éomer seemed to be scarce that morning, which was not unusual as the boy sometimes only grabbed bread and cheese as he ran past the table, considering himself to have tasks of far greater importance than a mere meal.

"Firefoot and I was outside on the plains, I never saw Éowyn," the boy stated as Théodred put a hand on his shoulder. More of an answer than Théoden would have got out of him he mused, but it could be that it was easier to tell his cousin who would not lay judgement on him the same way his uncle would. "The riding master said Firefoot is not ready yet, for he does not always want to heed me to halt. I've been training him, he obeys the command much better now, he merely thinks the other horses too slow…"

He spoke with great pride of his horse, but then few of the other had a horse like the grey stallion. It had been a risk Théoden knew, to gift a boy as young as Éomer a horse like Firefoot. He was of the line of the Mearas, more pure than many save Snowmane and Brego, and though a far cry from Shadowfax he was one of the most magnificent horses in the stable. Aye, there had been many protests when he declared his intention to gift the unborn foal to his nephew. All the nobles objected to the honour, though they knew they themselves would never have got the horse at any account. The Mearas was for the royal blood, but even Théodred had been older when he was entrusted Brego.

Éomer was young for such a horse, it was true, but he was also more skilled than many and Théoden had not known of anyone more worthy of a horse from that line. He felt that in spite of his youth, Éomer would be the one who knew to best handle a horse of such fine blood, and he had been proven right. Firefoot handled better than many horses, but most boys his age who rode with him held some amount of jealousy over the creature. As did his own sister Théoden knew. As a girl Éowyn had been granted the right to be a shield maiden. She was allowed to train with sword to defend herself and her home. She was however not and would never be permitted to ride to war as Éomer would be forced to do. She would not have the privilege of a horse such as Firefoot or Brego, and it grated ever on the girl.

Looking the boy over, favouring one leg, holding one arm close to his belly he shook his head with a sigh. "Are you hurt?"

Èomer shook his head, causing Théoden to frown. The boy detested healers and would go to great pains to avoid them. Reaching forward he took his hand from his belly and turned it up, Éomer giving a pained hiss and a moan he could not fully bite back in time.

"Take him to the healer," he told his son with a heavy sigh.

"No, Uncle!" Éomer burst out, pulling back and away from him. Moving closer to his cousin as if the older man would protect him. "I have no wish to go there!"

"Wish or no, you have a need," Théoden stated firmly. "It is not a matter I am willing to discuss with you Éomer. You will obey me."

"It was Éowyn who attacked me, I should not have to go!" Éomer balled his good hand into a fist again and Théoden sighed. You'd think he had told his son to put him in the dungeon the way he struggled. The children would be the death of him, he was certain of it now…

"Èomer, you will obey me…." he lowered his voice and fought against the urge to rub at the light pounding that was starting behind his temples.

"It would hardly make sense to send Éowyn, when indeed she was the one who dealt the blows and not the one who received them," Théodred laughed lightly, taking his cousin by the shoulder to lead the limping boy out of the hall. At least that was one problem dealt with, though there were many left Théoden sighed. Théodred would keep Éomer safe from the healers, and ensure he did not escape them either. He had never managed to get the full story out of the boy, why he was so aversed to it, but Éowyn had let slip more than she knew once when she told of a sickness that had struck all the boys in Aldburg. The healer had left the herbs to cure the illness to Éowyn's nurse, charged then to care for the boy as well. Éowyn had given the name of the herb, and said how Éomer hated to drink it. Aye, he felt he knew enough for the flower in question was poison to drink. Boiled it created a soothing balm for rashes, but to drink it was poison and the boy was lucky to have lived through it. He had not told them, for Éomer had not realised and Éowyn had fond memories of her nurse. He saw no reason to tell them how close the boy, a mere wee bairn at the time, had come to death. It was hard enough to get the boy to the healers as it was, no reason to make it worse.

His weary steps took him to the stable and he paused in front of the stall where Firefoot stood, the grey tilting his head to eye the King of Rohan.

"I dare say you know not the trouble you have caused," he sighed. "I had thought it to be a blessing my sister's son had a horse worthy of him. But it seems I forgot to take his sister into account, is this all for jealousy, truly?"

"The lady Èowyn blamed her brother then, or you would not be so troubled, my Lord," Eldredge, the stable master approached him. An old man he knew he did not always need to stand on ceremony with the King.

"From your words, I would surmise you know what transpired, for Éomer claims he does not." Théoden mused.

"The young lady climbed on the fence to give the horse an apple when he was in the coral," Eldredge shrugged. "Éomer was in the stable with the tack, and I dare say the horse simply mistook her actions for all the times she has attempted to ride him. He simply pushed her off the fence, all gentle like…"

"Her dress was torn, and muddied," Théoden frowned though it certainly sounded plausible.

"Aye, she caught the sleeve on the fence, and there's plenty of mud to go around out there," the old man nodded towards the coral. "I went out to make sure she was alright, seemed like it, though mad as a hornet…"

"That she was," Théoden sighed. Éowyn had attempted to ride the horse many times, in spite of her brother's warnings. Firefoot was a horse with only one master, he would not have anyone else on his back and even Théoden was weary about approaching him. Éowyn though felt that as Éomer's sister, she should have every right to ride his horse. Unfortunately for her, Firefoot did not see matters the same way she did. "The real tragedy is she's angry at Éomer for she considers it unjust, and Éomer has been asking me to grant her a better horse. But she is not yet ready for it."

"Éomer is a good lad, fair," Eldredge shrugged. "He knows she's not skilled enough, but he feels sympathy with her and thinks he can help her train the horse. He feels it could help her to mature."

"Mayhap it could," he nodded slowly to himself. "But I can not reward behaviour such as she displayed today, Éomer shall be disappointed in me for my ruling, but no, she is not yet ready. Éomer has earned the right to Firefoot, if his sister believes it or not."

"The boy has shown even more skill than your own son," Eldredge mused. "Hadn't it been for his standing making him too important as a leader of the Eored, I'd have taken him for my successor."

"Éomer will be a fine Marshall, if he only learns to duck…" Théoden sighed. Firefoot pushed his big nose into his shoulder and he obediently scratched the horse between the ears. "At the current I can not even say if he will live long enough to take his place in the Eored."

"The young lady was indeed furious then," Eldredge sighed. "I would have stopped her had I noticed in time."

"Éomer had to learn to temper his anger," Thedoen sighed again, his eyes taking in the docile manner the horse acted. Firefoot could be deceptive if you knew not what to keep an eye for. "Had I let that boy have his way a few years ago, I would have had nothing but the memory of him now. His sister is not so different when it comes to that, she needs to learn what she can do and accept what she can not. Before she does there is not much I can do, and I'm at a loss of how to make her see it. Beama have mercy on the two of them, the way she tore into her brother, she'll regret it in time I am certain. And Éomer is mayhap far too quick to forgive her or she would see the wrong she does, nay, Master Eldredge, would raising children were as simple as fighting orcs…."

"Or training horses…" the old man grinned, patting Firefoot on the neck. "I'll be happy to stick to what I know and let my beloved wife handle the children for she seems to know her way with them."

"I should seek her counsel, for I'm at a loss," the King shook his head. "I had better see if the girl is calm enough for reason yet. And if Théodred had to knock my nephew unconscious to get him to the healers…. Tis proves to be a long weary day indeed."

"I wish you all the luck my lord," Eldredge took a brush from the shelf on the wall, moving into Firefoot's stall to groom the horse. The creature was wont to terrorize the younger stablehands if they were the slightest careless, but he allowed the old seasond man easily. Indeed Théoden found it likely nothing more lay behind the altercation from before than what the man had suggested. Éowyn coveted what her brother had, without knowing the price he paid for it. She also desired to be a woman, a true lady of the court, and she had yet to find the balance between the two. To walk through the streets and the hall with her dress muddied and torn would have been an embarrassment to her, and it was no wonder it had angered her.

After that, all Éomer had to do to provoke her into a final fit of rage was to be in her presence.

He would have to speak to her, see if he could make her see that she could have so much more if she considered this. Mayhap not a horse like Firefoot, for there were very few of his worth, but a fine worthy horse just the same. One worthy of a shieldmaiden and a lady of Rohan.

He should task Éomer to help him pick one out, for no one would know a horse that suited his sister better than he did….Provided Éowyn's ire let him live long enough to do it….

Aye, it was much easier to raise horses, at least even Firefoot knew he was a horse and acted like one….

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.