For Author's Note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 24

Dropping his head in his hand Théoden massaged his temples in a futile effort to dispel the ache in his head. Théodred, his beloved son and heir would oft be heard saying he wished his younger cousin would get himself into more mischief. It was true, that the younger boy rarely found himself in the kind of trouble that Théodred had as a boy of the same age. Was he to be truthful, Théoden would have to admit that he himself had caused more than his fair share of mischief at the same age, and aye, indeed he did sometimes worry about Éomer.

The boy grieved his parents, but where Éowyn grieved with tears and a demand for attention, Éomer had turned his grief inward and sought to not let anyone see it. Always the more quiet boy he had turned increasingly sombre and withdrawn. With his sister living in Aldburg with her husband Théoden had not seen the children as often as he might have wished, but he had seen them enough to know it had not always been such. Éowyn had been the most cheerful little girl, with pleasant smile and an easy laugh she had been running around the keep at will.

Éomer had been quiet, but not as he was now. He had been running wild just as the other boys, tearing up and down the keep, riding his pony across the plains and engaging every imaginary orc within miles in deadly combat. Every outlaw tree around the keep had been beaten and defeated by the young boy, wild conies felled by arrows from a boy's bow were taken to be prepared for supper, and there had never been any doubt that he was a boy.

His mother would lament one had to scrape off about three layers of mud and one of grass to see it, but he was a boy and he carried on like a boy, if he tended to keep more to himself than other boys of his own age.

After his father was slain and his mother passed though he had become so withdrawn that for a short while Théoden had wondered if he would lose the boy as he had lost his own sister. Éowyn was crying each night, sobs that wrecked her small frame and Théoden took to sit with her by the fire, telling her stories until she fell asleep in his arms and he could put her to bed, allowing the hounds to sleep on her bed so she would not wake alone.

While he told the stories, Éomer would sit in the far corner of his chambers, back to the wall and knees pulled to his chest as his thin arms were wrapped around his legs and the scowl on his face warned anyone from approaching, or Bema forbid, urge him to eat.

Théodred seemed the only one who could draw a few words out of him, for Éomer adored his older cousin and admired him greatly. If Théodred joined them, Éomer would allow himself to be seated beside his cousin, but he would not allow Théoden to attempt putting an arm around his shoulders. Bolting from the room, slamming the door and refusing to leave the stable for another day.

It nearly destroyed Théoden to see him suffering so and being unable to help him, but slowly he felt the boy came to terms with the new situation. Certainly he grieved his parents, but he allowed Théodred first and then Théoden to approach him.

He never seemed to reach outwards though, no matter how many times Théodred tried to tempt him into small mischief. His attempts at luring him to raid the kitchen were met by outright refusal, thought that was in part due to Cook. For some reason Théoden could not grasp she had taken great offence at the young boy, and though he was of royal blood she had not hesitated to raise her ladle.

Théoden had never before been angry with the woman, for she was skilled at her art and had never before given him cause to anger. This though, had angered him. The first time the boy sought to find something to eat for himself, and he was sent off in such an indignant and painful manner. It was no wonder he would not attempt to do so again, for which boy would want to subject himself to the indignity of being whipped by the cook?

While Théoden had made a strong suggestion to her that she considered Éomer as to be a part of the royal family, he was loath to outright order her. She was after all the one who was in charge of not only the mince pies he so loved, but the blackberry tarts, the sweet bread and the cider….

Théodred had never had a problem getting her to indulge his whims, and he certainly did not mind the excuse of getting food for Éomer as to get something for himself.

Théodred had been so different as a boy he mused as he dug his fingers into his temples. At the same age he had been enjoying the very last of boyhood before he was forced to fully see himself as a man. He got into endless trouble. Stealing pies as they were cooling, cutting of Hildenbrand's braids as he slept off a long night with a big barrel instead of seeing to his duties.

With Théodred he always knew there would be something, whenever things had been too quiet he knew someone would come forth with a grievance. Sometimes dragging the young heir by the scruff of the neck, sometimes not, but it was one thing or another ever so often and Théoden had come to expect it.

It was so different with Éomer. There was never any warning for he had no interest in pranks or childish escapades. He had no interest in formal studies but he did not fight them either. If the choice was left to him though, he would spend all his time either with his horse or training with spear and sword.

He was small, but skilled enough to be training with boys older than he, and to see him ride was a pleasure.

Théodred was trying to get the boy to be more outgoing, saying it was not normal for a boy his age to keep to himself the way Éomer was. There was certainly plenty enough other boys in Edoras for him to have found friends. He certainly seemed to get along well enough with many of them. There were a large enough number of boys that some of them were bullies, others were too cautious by far to suit his rambunctious nephew.

It was an odd contrast to have someone sit so quiet and surely in the hall, and then find the very same boy balanced on a wall as he was practising spear thrusts, because he claimed he wanted to be prepared to fight anywhere. Even Théodred could barely refrain from giving him the tongue lashing of his life when he did that. Only to have the boy a day later decide he needed to know how to fight bareback as well as with a saddle. Falling off any number of times. He was headstrong, reckless and stubborn. His sense of honour and fairness had him however fairly well liked by the other boys. The older stronger ones knew he was always ready for a challenge, and that it was easy to bait him to accept one. The younger, weaker and more uncertain ones knew that if Éomer was near, no bully could touch them unchallenged.

Théoden was proud of him, proud of the man he was growing into, so why did the boy seem intent of driving him into madness…? Digging his fingers into his temples was to no avail, but he attempted it still.

"What did he do?" he queried in a pained voice.

"It would seem he had a disagreement with his tutor," Théodred seemed torn between bewilderment and a sense of pride. "The man left for some time, and told Éomer that if the table was empty when he returned, he would be receiving the lashing of his life…"

"Am I then to assume this is how my nephew solved the problem in order to make his escape?" standing in the doorway to the small study where the hired tutor was giving his nephew his lessons in Westron reading and writing he took in the only occupant of the room. By the table, quite content with a few pieces of carrot still left in front of him, amidst a mess of torn and half chewed paper, sat Firefoot, quite content to have been taken into Meduseld and left in the study. Éomer however was nowhere to be seen, and Théoden rather expected it would be a challenge to find him.

"I would say it was a fair guess Father," Théodred confirmed. "Needless to say, our good scribe was quite distraught. He's sworn to keelhaul him when he lays hands on him, which in itself would be an impressive feat in Edoras, but he also mentioned dungeons, cat of the nine tails and an iron maiden. I would rather we find my cousin before he does Father, for I do not wish to know which one of those he chooses to make use of."

"And you truly do not know where the boy is?" it was not that he doubted the word of his son. He most certainly did not, but he also knew that Théodred would feel the desire to protect his young cousin from such a display of vengeance as had been promised him.

"The guards at the city gate claims he never passed them, and that is the best I can do Father," Théodred shrugged. "I truly wish I did know where he was, for he has a couple of hiding places that I do not consider safe. But if he thinks that you will hand him over to Miswende, he won't be easy to find…"

"I am trying to think of one reason why I should not hand him over," Théoden rubbed his temples again. Firefoot raised his head to look at him, quite content to finish the rest of the carrot. "Though I wonder sometimes if I should be impressed that he gets the horse to do such a thing, but Bema have mercy Théodred, that boy will be the death of me yet…"

"I do not think the fault lies entirely with Éomer, Father," Théodred moved into the room to save a book from the rather curious horse in front of him.

"And who else would have done this deed?" Théoden demanded.

"Oh, it was Éomer," Théodred chuckled. "I am merely saying that while he did the deed, he might not be the only one who should be held responsible for it."

"And who else then, would you say, oh son of mine?" Théoden asked with some measure of sarcasm in his voice.

"I'd say our good scribe has had a hand in it," Théodred shrugged. "Father, Éomer is no fool, and he has honour. He knows the importance of these lessons, but he is no scholar and he never will be."

"Speak plainly Théodred, I have no patience for this," Théoden commanded him.

"Plainly spoken Father, Miswende seems to be deeply offended that Éomer does not consider books and scrolls to be an enjoyment, and he seems to be of the opinion that he can beat that love into him. I see him walk from this room with his hand swollen because he fails to perform to our good scribe's expectations. Aye, it is important for a man in his position, and Éomer does know this, and I wager he does his best, but he is constantly punished for not being good enough."

"That is the way it has always been, it was that way for you, and it was for me as well, Éomer is no different…" Théoden shook his head. He winced at the memory of the hard wooden cane that would crack over his knuckles when he failed to recite the requested lines, when his spelling was less than exemplary and when his attention faltered. Indeed Théodred had learned by the same measure, as did all boys, Éomer was no exception, though indeed he seemed to wear the red welt over the back of his left hand more than Théoden could remember doing himself.

"Ah, but Éomer is different father…." Théodred sighed as he rubbed Firefoot over the nose. "I do not say he should be spared discipline, I absolutely detested it myself, and I will say it is a powerful motivation for doing your best, though I will also say that Éomer is doing his best. It is simply not good enough for Miswende. How then can he meet the expectation Father? What is he to do when he can not possibly deliver what Miswende demands?"

"You raise a valid point, son…." Théoden admitted. "Has Éomer said this to you?"

"He would not father, for he would not think we would believe it so," Théodred shook his head, his concern for his cousin causing the horse to toss his head restlessly. "But I've seen him struggle with the quill so long he can hardly open his hand after, and I've seen him with his other hand so swollen he can nary lift his sword. He's been getting into trouble at sword practice from it, and when our good scribe deems this too ineffective, he uses the cane on his back until he gets in trouble for not being able to sit in the saddle proper. Do you really think he would go to you and outright say he can not sit down?"

"No, he would not," Théoden agreed. "Though I wonder now if I know why he's been scarce at meals lately. Very well Théodred, you do seem to have made a valid point. I can not let him go unpunished for this, he has offended Miswende and he has acted in a manner unbecoming for his status."

"I would still claim he deserves some credit for getting his horse in here," Théodred grinned. "I do not say he should not be punished for the deed he committed, but I would he was not punished for what he has not done…"

"Give me an alternative Théodred, and I will be glad to take it," Théoden decided. "I consider his ability to master Westron to be of outmost importance given the position he will come to hold, but you speak the truth, it is not his strength. He is a born warrior that boy if ever I saw one. There are those born for books, quills and ink, and Éomer it would seem was born for horses and swords. He outshines most of his peers in that regard so I should imagine it is not so strange his talents are not as great in this." He sighed rubbing his temples again. Yes, the boy would drive him to his grave early if given half the chance, he was most certain of it. "The horse can't stay in here, see if you can convince him to follow you back to the stable where he belongs."

"It won't be a problem Father, Firefoot heeds me well," Théodred gave an easy smile, and a low whistle. As Théoden watched, Firefoot straightened and made to follow him. Well, Firefoot was a one man horse and always would be. However, as Théodred in Firefoot's eye belonged to Éomer he would obey him.

"Once the horse is back where he belongs, see if you can find Éomer," he urged. "I would that we found a solution to this sooner rather than later."

"I will do my best, Father," Théodred smiled softly as he walked out, the horse following him obediently while Théoden made his way to the throne room. Miswende needed to be placated, and there was the matter that Éomer still had much to learn, though it was certainly obvious he needed to find another way.

By the time a somewhat uneasy looking Éomer walked up to the throne he felt he had an option that would serve. The boy was certainly worried about what his punishment would be, but he walked with his back straight and his eyes steady meeting his king's. He stood by his actions, and that was commendable.

Still Théoden ran a hand over his chin, "I think you will be pleased to know, sister son, that your horse has finished his lessons for the day and is free to enjoy himself, Théodred I believe talked about taking him for a swim at the river and some fishing. You on the other hand I think have some explaining to do…"

"Aye, my Lord," Éomer bit his lip and Théoden could see the emotions battling one another over his face. Fear, reluctance, anger and that wilful stubbornness his nephew was so well known for.

"And you are not minded to do so I gather?"

"My Lord, I am deeply sorry for the trouble my actions have caused thee," Éomer began. "I was very much aware that it would displease sir Miswende and cause him grief, and I admit that was rather my intention, I did not wish for it to reflect poorly on you, my Lord, and for that I am sorry."

"Théodred tells me that you and our good scribe have been at odds for some time, is that true?" Théoden prodded.

"No Lord, the trouble is I am a poor student," Éomer was unable to keep his shoulders from sagging though Théoden could tell he was trying to meet his fate with dignity.

Scratching his beard again Théoden took in the uneasy way he stood, and his eyes fell on his hands. The left had three thick red welts over the back of it, he would be unable to hold a reins or shield and as important as it was he knew reading and writing well enough to match an Gondorian envoy, he was to be a warrior, not a scholar.

"Answer me this, are you a poor student by intent?" he queried and Éomer looked at him in confusion, frowning as this was obviously taking a turn he had never expected.

"I, had not thought so sire. I never intended to be, though I am uncertain now…" he bit his lip and Théoden was reminded again how young he was. "I am not meeting what is expected of me, though I strove to, and that is all I can say for certain, Lord."

"And if I told you to take your books and sit here by me, now?" Théoden queried and watched as all colour drained from his face. It was a tricky thing, his own father, Thengel had certainly never believed in sparing the rod. Nor had he with Théodred, or with Éomer when he felt it was deserved. He did however recall the difficulty in performing better when one could only think of the pain sitting caused. No wonder the boy had been scarce at meals. He was scared to death Théoden would see his discomfort. "It would seem my son was right," he sighed. "Éomer, I would have found it a very difficult matter to raise with my own father, but I do wish you had taken this to me rather than to act in a way that forces me to punish you."

"Aye, Sire," he dropped his eyes, worrying his bottom lips between his teeth. Swallowing hard he squared his shoulder. "Am I to report to sir Miswende, or will you deal with the matter yourself?" there was a hopeful note at the end, obviously he felt that Théoden would be somewhat more lenient.

"I would deal with you myself, for you are my kin," he stated. "And before I decide what your punishment should be, there is one more question I want answered. Éomer, sister son, do you fully understand the importance of this? Why you must know these things?"

"I believe I do," he stated. "If I am to stand by Théodred's side, I need to be able to do so in all matters, not just on the battlefield. Théodred needs to know he can trust me and my judgement, and that if he sends me to negotiate either a trade or a matter of conflict, I am able to do so." He paused to worry his bottom lip again. "Though I doubt he ever will, my Lord. I am a warrior, I can fight, is it not enough?"

"Théodred will have hundreds or thousands of spears at his command for that duty, as I have, but very few he may trust to speak his will," Théoden allowed himself to smile. "That Éomer, is a burden as much as wearing the crown is, and while it may seem unfair, you should take pride in that he does. That I do believe we may trust you in these matters."

"My Lord?" Éomer gave him a look of confusion.

"I believe my son is right Éomer. And that our scribe might be demanding more of you than you could possibly give. You understand the importance, this I do not doubt, and I have always known you to have a strong sense of honour, so I see no reason to doubt your devotion. You took a horse not many can handle and managed to get him to sit at the table in your place, your skill with horses surpasses most, it is not so strange that perhaps your skill with a quill will always be less than some. It is time your sister started her lessons, Miswende will from now on focus on her. You will be assigned tasks by him, but you will answer to me on their completion so that I may judge them. I trust you find this acceptable?"

"Yes my Liege," Éomer was near slack jawed with surprise.

"As for your punishment, I think you have had quite enough of tasting the rod for the time," he decided. "I wager all I would need to do was to ask you sit for you to do so again. I will not do that, you will make your apologies to Miswende, but once you have, I will consider the matter closed."

"Aye, my Lord, thank you…" Éomer gave a half bow. "Uncle…."

"Go on, before I change my mind," Théoden gave him a teasing smile. The boy could hardly believe his luck it seemed, but it was true. There was no point in beating a boy that had been beaten so much already. It would get him nowhere. Éomer was not lazy nor was he disobedient by nature. There was no harm in being lenient once or twice with the boy to show him that mercy had its place…

Aside from that, managing to get a horse to actually stay in the study had to be worth some manner of acknowledgment….

Firefoot was indeed a strange horse, just as Éomer was a special boy, and he was proud of him.

A Temporary End

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

Notes: 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.