For Author's Note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1.Also, this chapter does not fit into the Tolkien timeline. I was unaware of this when I wrote it, and I liked it enough that I chose to leave it as it was. Therefor I beg, forgive me this indulgence.

Chapter 26

There were men who would fight if they had to, to protect their homes and their family though they might despise the very thought of it. Then there were men who even at the worst of times seemed unable to take up swords. Aragorn had seen those, men who would even be willing to hide between mere boys and women rather than take up a weapon of their own. Then there were men who seemed to enjoy the thrill of battle, the challenge of combat when it was presented to them. In his general opinion, most of the Riders of Rohan seemed to be leaning towards that opinion. He had certainly not seen many Rohirric that tried to avoid it though not all of them held the same thirst for combat.

There were those however, who seemed to have an insatiable thirst for violence. In justified battle they would seem to do the most damage, maim rather than clean kill in order to increase the suffering of their opponent. Even if there were no need, they would seek to find an excuse to bloody their weapon and he was not sure if he found them to be worse than the cowards or not. Both were a danger to anyone around them, but were despicable in their actions.

It was one thing to let a strong woman stand for herself if she wished so, certainly, it would take a braver man than he considered himself to deny Éowyn, shieldmaiden of Rohan and much beloved wife of his Steward, Faramir to do so. Most certainly since Éomer, king of Rohan and her brother sometimes still seemed to harbour an inborn need to seek to protect her due to his statues as the elder of the siblings. Having seen how quick she was to seek vengeance on him if he sought to protect her, Aragorn certainly felt that Faramir had the right idea. Allowing Éowyn to speak and act for herself, even in danger, but keeping a close eye on her should she need assistance was much wiser. Éomer had a habit of trying to step in and remove any potential threat from her presence even before it had become a threat. A course of action that usually earned him a good few hard blows with the flat of her sword at the end of whatever altercation had transpired.

Lothíriel, Éomer's wife did not have Éowyn's training with the blade, but she knew to defend her own person should she have to, although she might be easier defeated. She had courage and Aragorn would never speak ill of her for her lesser skill. Fortunately, Éomer did also seem to slowly learn it was better if he focused all his desire to protect onto her.

Aragorn truly felt that was better for all of them as Lothíriel appreciated it and truly needed it.

It was not that Éomer felt that all women were weak creatures that needed to be protected, it was just that he had been raised to always seek to protect them regardless. It had been expected of him, to always seek to put himself between women of any status and danger. He would seek to do the same with Arwen who was skilled with the blade in her own right. However, she would smile at the young king with amused indulgence and accept the gesture for what it was. A desire to always spare the women if he was able, and in no way did it ever meant that Éomer considered women to be less than he was.

With this urge so strong in the King of Rohan, and Éowyn so fierce about her own ability to protect herself, Aragorn sometimes wondered how Éomer had survived a childhood together with her. Certainly he had known that should she feel slighted, the shieldmaiden of Rohan thought nothing of letting her anger be known to her brother.

Éowyn was not cruel though, at least she did not mean to be. If she was sometimes harsher on her brother than Aragorn felt he deserved, it was not out of malice. Éomer himself said it had taken a long time for him to learn to control the anger he had felt as young. Though he would not say what his uncle had done, Aragorn was under the impression it would not have worked for Éowyn. The two siblings had been orphaned young and grown up in a time of war and unrest where the expectations on them were high. Given the struggles they had faced, Aragorn felt they had both grown up well.

Others had turned worse, with even less excuse. Young men with mothers who wept for them, fathers who grieved that their sons made prey of the weaker. Both Gondor and Rohan were raged by the war, men were lost, families grieving. Young widows and old women who no longer had their sons struggled with farms and fields. Children too young to pull the plow still sought to make a living out of what they had left. That there were men, of both countries, that would target these poor people was something that angered Aragorn as nothing else.

When he heard of it he had for the first time felt the deep seethed rage that sometimes seemed to rule his Rohirric friend still. Éomer had learned to temper fury with patience, but upon learning the same news himself it had been all Aragorn could do to stop him from mounting Firefoot then and there.

Some had been soldiers, some had only been called to fight one or two battles, others had seemed to evade this all together but were now only to happy to draw swords on the victims. A small farm close to the Rohan border had been attacked, the mother had hid two young girls from their assailants, and paid for it with her life. A boy of a mere twelve summers had been mocked and beaten as he strove to protect his family. The larder was emptied, the barn set on fire and the livestock either taken or killed.

An elderly couple living close by took the orphaned children in, but they were hard pressed for food and clothes. A fortnight later another farm was attacked in the same manner, and another one. By the time the news reached Aragorn, there were dozens of victims and many dead. By the witnesses accounts it was both men of Gondor and Rohan, thought Aragorn knew this could not be taken for a fact. It was also possible that Wild Men, or anyone really, had found armour on one of the many battlefields and made use of them. It did not matter, for the sight of soldiers were now turning into something to fear.

By account there was not many of them, and the victims were always the ones too old or too young to defend themselves. So the first difficulty Aragorn faced after sending a messenger to Rohan was to keep Éomer from attempting to take them all on by himself.

Certainly he had known this would be a problem and therefore he had taken steps to avoid it even as he sent a messenger. He counted on Lothíriel being able to get her husband to see reason, and indeed, though still fuming many days later Éomer had approached the border with fifty of his men. Aragorn had known he would be absolutely furious, so this did not worry him. He greeted him warmly with a warrior's handshake and clapped him heartily on the back in a manner he knew the bluff warrior appreciated.

"They will find no mercy from us," he stated. "But this my friend is something we must deal with the right way. Our people need to know we do not tolerate such truly disgusting acts. But they also need to know we stand behind them in a steady and just manner. We can not afford to be judged harshly by those we wish to protect. Already there are farmers hesitant to let anyone with the white tree enter their farms, and I imagine they feel the same way of anyone carrying the banner of Rohan. We must make certain the people believe us just, to regain their trust."

Éomer nodded and Aragorn knew he was doing his very best to rein in his temper. He had always been known as somewhat hot-headed, though when he was the Third Marshall of the Mark it had served him well. His men had known he would never hesitate to lead them into any battle he could find, but they had also known he was wise and cunning enough to lead them through it with minimal losses. They had always known that any battle they fought, in the very thickest they would see the white horsetail flying as Éomer seemed intent on vanquishing every foe with his own blade.

His men were proud to follow their hot-tempered leader and took great joy in their victories. As King, Éomer could not afford to be so brash. There was no longer his cousin in line before him as heir to the throne. There was no longer his Uncle sitting on the very same throne under the horsehead banner. It was his wife, named queen of Rohan, seated beside him on the dais in the Golden Hall. It was a change that had been hard to face, and one he was still learning to come to terms with as he rode in front of his men.

He was a warrior, it was how he had always seen himself. It was what he had known he would be when he was nothing but a small lad with a sword of wood rather than steel. He had pleaded with his father to ride with him on the first small pony he had. It was the image of the fierce little Rohirrim that made Aragorn smile now. Even at such a small age with dirty knees showing through tears in dusty breaches, and a tunic emblazoned with an equally dusty white horse there had been no doubting his courage. At the time his father and grandfather had only given him indulgent smiles, Thengel handing him a bent pot lid for shield and urged him to guard the Golden Hall until their return.

Was that not why they had returned and found the boy banished to his chamber after he sought to single handed defeat an enemy force. Being woken by horses late at night the child had snuck out, and upon seeing a looming figure covered in fur the child had charged ahead without hesitation or fear. No Orcs or beasts were to be allowed entry when Éomer had been charged with the protection of Meduseld and the Queen residing within.

The visiting noble wearing a fur cloak as protection against the first snow of winter had been amused once he found out that his assailant was a boy of barely three years of age, dressed in a nightshirt and wielding a wooden blade. Upon hearing the boy had taken his thick cloak for that of an Orc, he had laughed and declared the Rohirrim were indeed fierce, and there was no doubt this one would be a mighty warrior when grown.

The noble had indeed taken the incident with good grace, understanding how strange it must have seemed for the boy to wake and see such a large man dressed in furs in the dim light of the dying fires.

His mother had been much less amused and often short of patience which was why when the men returned Éomer was still banished to his chambers, awaiting his father's ruling.

Aragorn could recall that Éomound had shaken his head, at a loss which way to rule. It was Thengel who had roared with laughter and said the boy had after all been charged with the duty of keeping watch, and could not be faulted for performing his task.

Looking at him now, Aragorn still saw much of that young boy in him. The same fierce determination, the same burning rage if he controlled it better.

Thengel would have been proud of the new ruler, though he would have been greatly saddened by the loss of both Théoden and Théodred, he would still have been proud of the man Éomer had become.

That was not to say he did not still at times act rashly and with an impulsiveness that Aragorn felt would one day be the death of him. Bema, help him, but he wished the man would think about his actions sometimes.

They had attempted to predict what area the rouge soldiers would attack, and it seemed to Aragorn they had done a better job of it than he could ever have hoped. Either the group was getting much too cocky, and thought they could do away with anyone seeking to stop them with ease. Or, they had grown overconfident and did not look so closely at where they struck. Aragorn and Éomer had stopped at a small village, barely large enough to be called so. A dozen families banded together in a group of small houses, fields laying around them. There was a blacksmith and a small tavern that rented rooms and sported a healer. As they queried for rooms for the night, and food for themselves and their men Aragorn was amused by the old man who was the healer. The man promising to be able to cure everything from a hangnail to old age. While Aragorn did not believe him, he found it amusing how confident the man was, though Éomer beside him was looking decidedly ill at ease with the mans forwardness.

It was a petty and unscrupulous woman that had caused his friends aversion to anything that could be defined as a healers potion. Éomer had only been a child and though he knew that his friend would never do anything like it to him, the fear was too deep set to be easily overcome. The closest thing to a healing brew Aragorn had ever known him to take willingly was honeyed tea. Even then he would be cautious to encertin there truly was nothing else in it. salves and poultices he tolerated well enough, but if it came in a cup it was easier to convince a stone. He did not blame his friend, for it was not his fault, but it was frustrating.

Even now he was giving the man such looks of suspicion that the man was starting to sweat. It was almost amusing Aragorn thought, for while Éomer said not a word, his scowl was certainly menacing and barely short of threatening. Obviously, while the local healer wished to improve his statues by having the kings seek his wares, he was less willing to risk one king's ire to do so. That left him with quite the dilemma of how to approach one, without angering the other. With Éomer's scowl growing darker and the man starting to fidget as fear made him confuse what he had meant to say Aragorn decided it was time to end it.

"We thank you for your time, master healer," he smiled softly. "But I fear we really must find our supper." Clapping Éomer on the shoulder he turned him, having to apply a gentle amount of pressure to do so, and started for the inn. "You my friend, will be giving that poor man nightmares…"

"He's a menace," Éomer threw a scowl over his shoulder, and turning his head Aragorn saw the healer flee.

"I think he's mostly harmless," Aragorn shrugged as he still found it somewhat amusing. As long as there was no dire need, he was willing to see Éomer's aversion to healers amusing, and while he did believe the man to be mostly harmless, as he claimed. There was still the matter that the man seemed to hawk what was little more than coloured water. It would do no harm, but it would offer no help and no relief either. Perhaps a little scare from a king was not such a bad thing in this regard. "Come, let us indeed find our supper," he urged. Keeping his hand on the pauldron of his friends armour. "I for one feel quite famished, we have a long day of riding behind us."

"Crown and throne are making you soft, if you call this a hard day of riding," Éomer gave a laugh but followed much easier. His grievance with any and all healers temporarily put behind him at least.

The two of them had travelled together enough to have established their own quite comfortable routine. After a simple but filling supper Aragorn generally preferred to linger in the common room over a mug of ale and a pipe or two. Éomer, claiming the ale far too weak and the heavy pipe smoke unpleasant much preferred to see to their horses a last time before he sought his bed. Aragorn strongly felt it had to do with Brego and was happy to leave him to it. The horse had not forgotten the cousin of his former master, and to Éomer, Brego was as much family as was Firefoot. While Éomer had never spoken a word about wishing to reclaim the horse, and never seemed to even think it Aragorn still felt that he took comfort from tending to him. Éomer and Théodred had been close, no brothers could have carried more love for one another. Tending to the creature at times was the least he could offer his friend to ease the pain of the loss.

Satisfied for the night, Aragorn had taken to the room the innkeeper had insisted on pushing on him and Éomer. The finest of the house, which was not to say all that much, but it would have been rude to refuse. He and Éomer had one to share, and the rest had been distributed amongst their captains. All of whom Aragorn felt would have been as comfortable in their own tents.

It was the thundering sound of horses at gallop that tore him from his sleep in the middle of the night. Rolling out of bed and groping for his sword even as he fought the blanket he noted Éomer doing the same on the other side of the narrow room. The cramped quarters might have hindered them had they not both been trained for this way of life. Pulling the tunic over his head Aragorn grabbed his boots and pulled them on, half a second behind Éomer who cared nothing about the tunic and was out of the door bare chested.

The stream of Rohirric curses that exploded out of the king as they exited the inn seemed to work as a rallying cry, for that very instant the rest of the Rohirrim started gathering about them.

"We're under attack!" the innkeeper stared in horror at the chaos only now erupting. Torches were lit, bobbing in the darkness as the men holding them were charging the small village from horseback. "My Lord, do something!"

Aragorn would have cursed himself, for it was nigh but impossible to count their opposition. They had circled the village to come from all sides, and while the light from the torches came closer and turned the darkness to that of twilight, they bobbed out of sight only to come back again in another place.

"Rohirrim! To me!" Éomer cared not for counting torches, but gripped Gúthwinë tightly in one hand, storming down the street to challenge the enemy that dared taunt them such.

Aragorn had before been impressed with the rein he kept on his temper, but now with the screams of women and children tearing through the night, the clang of swords and the laughter of their attackers, that was at an end and Aragorn knew it. There would be no mercy for their attackers from the King of Rohan. Rallying his own men around him he ordered them to fan out and aid the Rohirric, for while they were falling on their opponents like a wave over rocks, a few would escape past them to later be able to take them from behind. By letting the Rohirrim do what they did best, and charge in one terrifying wave, he and his men could ensure that wave was enough to quench the enemy.

The clamour of swords sounded like one with the thunder of hooves still swarming up and down the streets. Their attackers were on horseback, and some of them were Rohirrim as well. Others were not, and those soon found themselves unhorsed as the Rohirri defending the village proved their skill. Not only did they evade the charging horses, they were able to take command of them. Aragorn saw one of the young riders stand fast against the man on horseback charging him, only to sidestep at the very last second, give a sharp command and when the horse reared, throwing his rider, the young man took over the steed.

They would win, there was no doubt in his mind that their combined force would defeat their enemy.

The torches were thrown on houses, suddenly the battle had turned all the more terrifying for now it was no longer them against the enemy, but now it was the lives of all the villagers at stake as well.

Running his own sword through a man he might have before fought side by side with Aragorn could allow himself feeling nothing but pity for the man. Had they both been on the field of Pelennor? Why had this one chosen to pray on the weak in the aftermath of the war? Was it only hunger for power and easy combat or had there been desperation involved, farmland laid to waste? He did not know, and he could not afford to show mercy before the battle was fully over.

A new sound tore through the splintered darkness, the shadows jumping and leaping on the ground as another building was set ablaze and Aragorn felt his heart freeze.

It was the stable where not only Brego but Firefoot had been put to rest for the night. The torches had caught the thatched roof, and it had caught like an oil drenched torch. Their steeds were crying with terror as flames hungrily devoured the walls. Already too late to save their mounts for the door was a blazing inferno. He could only pray and hope that their horses would manage to break out through the wall. He held little hope, but to attempt entering would be to throw ones life away.

Of course, with that realization came another one, that that was exactly what Éomer intended to do…

With a cry of rage to send chills through their enemy's hearts the young King of Rohan ran into the stable, barely shielding his face with his arm as he made it through the flames, sword in hand.

"Éomer! No you fool!" His heart frozen with fear Aragorn struggled with his opponent. Attempting to rid himself of him with the uttermost haste where he might have tried to spare his life before. Mercy was no longer an option and he felt the situation called for the worst barrage of cursing he had ever in his life used. His enemy he was battling seemed confused by the stream of Rohirric that erupted from the king of Gondor as explicatives he had learned from Éomer poured forth. Shifting his weight and angling his blade Aragorn evaded a powerful trust and delivered one of his own, taking note only that the man was down and would stay down before he turned to face the blazing barn.

Whatever Éomer thought he would be able to do he did not know, but the man lost all sense when his steed was in danger. All Rohirrim would have suffered at the sight of the blazing flames, knowing that there was naught they could do to save the animals. A few would have rushed in regardless, and his friend was one of them.

He could hear the horses screaming with terror, the roar of flame and the crash of timbers as the structure weakened, a cloud of flame and sparks billowed up as a part of the roof collapsed. Stumbling forward as if in a fog, a nightmare from which he could never wake, Aragorn saw a paint come running out of the structure. A heavy plough horse lumbering out after the paint and it almost brought a smile to his face. Éomer would not attempt freeing the one and leaving the other. Two light coloured ones came after, running past him without seeing him in their terror but neither was Firefoot and neither was Brego. Two goats he had never even noticed when they put the horses in their stalls, the smaller creatures almost overrun when a second later a bay came.

Brego tore through the remnants of the doorway, a section of the wall collapsing after him. While his heart leapt at seeing his horse, rearing up on hind legs and neighing into the raging inferno Aragorn could feel no joy. Would Brego now be their only memory of Éomer, just as he was of Théodred?

Running over to his horse for fear he would turn back into the flames he grabbed the bridle, and was nearly pulled off his feet as the horse neighed, frenzied. He spun around so Aragorn stumbled, rearing up again and crying desperately for his friend. A heart breaking sound of pure terror.

A shape running past them, and Aragorn had too much smoke in his eyes to really see, but it was the wrong colour, too small and with it his last hope fled as he struggled to pull his horse away from the flames.

Then a cry came from inside the stable and Brego answered. Tearing free from Aragorn he made for the doorway as a massive grey mass appeared, dragging his master by the arm even as Éomer struggled and could barely remain upright. Firefoot had clamped his teeth around his wrist to pull his master with him, sword clutched desperately in one hand while his other arm was slung over Firefoot's neck. Pressing his face into his neck as he stumbled, wrecked with coughs at every step. Both were streaked with black soot, red burns glaring and Firefoot's eyes were near all whites with terror.

Whining loudly Brego nustled his friend as Aragorn ran over to support his own. Slipping his arm around Éomer's waist to take some of his weight, both of them stumbling as Éomer was doubled over, coughing, and Firefoot did not want to let his master go.

"You fool!" casting a glance over his shoulder to note the fighting had died down and a few of their men were approaching Aragorn found that his fear turned to anger. "You would be killed for your horse!"

Firefoot was shuddering, trembling with fear, but the anger in the King of Gondor's voice had him tossing his head. Letting go of Éomer's arm he snapped large teeth at the other man and Aragorn found he had to leap back. Brego certainly did not seem inclined to help him, his horse had been him ever loyal, but now with the shock of the burning stable he was turning to his companion and the Rohirric King. Still doubled over, wrecked with coughs Éomer slung his arm over Firefoot's neck. A smile that looked more like a grimace in the soot flecked face.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, for one thing Aragorn knew for certain, Firefoot guarded his master more fiercely than any other horse he had ever known.

"You are not Rohirric, you can not understand," Éomer finally drew a deep shaky breath. Wiping his arm over his brow he accomplished nothing but transferring soot from his arm to his face, and from his face to his arm. Leaving streaks of black over blistered skin.

"Nay, I do not understand, though I have come to see that seems to be your explanation for all," he had calmed his tone and his manner, but that did not mean Aragorn was not angry still. "You expect me to stand before your wife and your sister and tell them you were killed, running into a burning building, and not be angry? Because you're born Rohirric, nay, I do not understand and I will not. I may not be a Rohir, but I happen to value your life more than you seem to do!" He reached for him, to examine the burns, but Éomer pulled back, refusing to let him touch him. The sound from Firefoot was one Aragorn had never heard from a horse before, but if any horse ever could growl, it would be the grey stallion.

"You are not a Rohir," with a wheezing breath Éomer straightened. "You do not understand, Firefoot has saved my life many times, risking his own, by his own choice and not by my command. How then can you demand I would do less for him?"

"You are a fool!" but his anger was drained now, and relief softening his mood. It was true, Firefoot had many times risked all for his master, so it was not so strange that Éomer, known for his brash actions and hot temper, would throw caution to the wind for his steed. "But I think I understand you more than I sometimes wish. And if you were any less of a fool, I do not think you would be as wise as you are." He shook his head with something of fond resignation. "I'll forgive your idiocy if you forgive my anger, but I feared you lost there." He took his arm, and this time both man and horse allowed it. Once more Aragorn found himself shaking his head, for never before had he ever seen such relationship between rider and horse. "Come, our battle seems to be won, and those burns need tending to."

"I will see to Firefoot and Brego first," Éomer stated firmly. Something that did not surprise Aragorn at all. He knew better than to argue against him for he knew that on this, Éomer would not budge. Instead he helped him, glad that he had taken his saddlebags to their room as it meant he had some salves and herbs. They might not have been meant for horses, but they certainly worked for them, and he helped his friend in caring for their steeds. Nothing was more important to Éomer, though he had to stop sometimes, doubled over coughing. It was clear to Aragorn that all three were still somewhat bothered by the smoke they had inhaled. Brego's head was hanging slightly, and Firefoot would nuzzle his master in search for comfort.

He had to leave Éomer to finish as his Captain came to report to him that they had gathered all the prisoners and now wished for further instructions as to what to do about them. The village did not really have any facilities suited for detaining them, but after speaking with the village elders a compromise was reached. A very sturdy building with only one exit was used, and put under heavy guard. Their prisoners would not be able to escape easily, and with a dozen of Rohirrim and Gondorian soldiers waiting right outside, and another dozen patrolling around the building it would be nothing but utter foolishness to attempt it.

Returning to the inn Aragorn had expected Éomer to have finished with the horses and thus made his way inside first to get some hot water and a small pot of honey. Coming outside again he was surprised to find Éomer locked in a stalemate with a new opponent.

His friend was well known for his ability to strike fear in his opponents with a fierce glare, and Aragorn had to admit he thought that opinion amused Éomer. He and Faramir had learned from Éowyn, who greatly enjoyed divulging certain facts about her brother, that Théoden King had at one time been much worried about Éomer's difficulties in remaining calm in combat. All his combatant had to do was to anger him, and he would lose all reason and caution, and thereby be instantly defeated. Théoden had refused the mere thought of furthering his training on that ground, while Éomer was enraged that he was denied joining the eored. She claimed not to know the details, but claimed the incident that finally allowed him to gain control of his anger had been made known to her by the bruises on his face.

Whatever Théoden had done, Aragorn was willing to praise his wisdom for Éomer had taken the lesson well. He also seemed to enjoy that his reputation of fierce and hot-headed lived on. He had a way of looming over those that displeased him, glaring at them with such blazing fire in his eyes that Aragorn had seen bigger men retreat, only to find then that the young king had not truly been angered at all, just short of patience with fools as he called it.

This opportune was however not one where Aragorn dared assumed that his scowl was less than fully meant, for his brown eyes were indeed blazing and his jaw set. What more, Firefoot beside him stood with the posture of just as much anger as his master did. Teeth bared, ears back over the head and the white showing at the eyes. It was a time when Aragorn himself would not have liked to approach the beast for he knew how fiercely protective the horse was of his master.

The village healer, harmless fool though Aragorn suspected him to be had obviously fully failed to take the warning that Éomer did not wish to suffer his service. He had a pouch and jar balanced in one hand, and carried a steaming mug of pungent smelling liquid in the other. With his back pressed against the wall and his face ashen white he looked ready to lose consciousness from fright and Aragorn felt some measure of pity for him.

The way he might snap and his flashes of temper in spite, Éomer was not a man to do violence for no reason. Nor was he a man who kept his wishes hidden, and he would have made it very clear to the healer that he did not wish for his service. Had the man then insisted on pushing his attention on him after that, then aye, Éomer would not have felt any guilt for scaring him.

Had he done that, then this was indeed much the situation that Aragorn would have expected to come back to find. Only a fool would push Éomer so far, especially when Firefoot was near. "Éomer," he shook his head fondly with a bemused smile. "I think my friend, that you have made your point. And I believe the man only wanted your best. Why not allow him to leave?"

"I do not care what he wanted, I would he took his witchcraft and left…"

"Witchcraft!" the healer blurted out, apparently forgetting his fear with the indignity. "I have the finest oils and herbs to be found anywhere. Why, Kings seek out my wares, I have only the best! And I found it my duty to offer my service, I see no call to insult me for my offer!"

"You'll have to excuse my friend," Aragorn kept his voice soft and diplomatic. "He often finds himself a little at odds if his horse has been mistreated. However, I assure you that I am more than capable of seeing to his needs at the moment. Why do you not see if any of your kin requires your service?"

"But my lord, what could you offer without my herbs?" the man blinked and Éomer gripped the hilt of his sword. Firefoot thrusting his head forward, and the combined ferocity of the two had the man gulp, open his mouth as to object, and then scurry away without a word.

"In this instance I do not blame you for your mistrust," Aragorn shook his head again, bemused. "I would rather take your aid than his, but I do not know if there was any need to scare him quite so badly. I do think he's rather harmless."

"I do not care what he is, as long as he is nowhere near my presence!" Éomer glared after the man as he disappeared into a building. "And I have no need of you either. I have tended to our mounts and there is nothing further I would require you for…" His tone was meant to be final and in this Aragorn blamed the so called healer. If he had left the young Rohirric King in peace, Aragorn's duty would not have been so hard now, for then Éomer would not have argued even half as much against him. He took in his appearance, soot covered, dozens of small burns over his chest and arms with blackened edges where the skin had been charred away. None of them might be serious, but they should be tended to just the same. Tresses of hair had been burnt away, lending him a ragged look, and when after a coughing fit he wiped at his nose, Aragorn saw streaks of both red and black speckled mucus left on his arm. He would have inhaled a lot of smoke then, and he gave Firefoot a pleading look. If the horse understood his meaning or not he did not know, but it did seem to have a result, for the great stallion placed his nose in his master's back and pushed him forward towards Aragorn.

"It would seem your horse wishes you to suffer me," he smiled softly. "Would you argue with your mighty steed?"

"I would think his hide would look great in front of the fire if he did not mind his own business," Éomer half growled at his horse, only to be pushed again by the large nose in his shoulder. "You are a damnable traitor, you flea-bitten nag…." though there was no heat in his words and Firefoot merely pushed his shoulder again.

"I have honey and hot water, nothing else," Aragorn stated. Honeyed water or tea was the one thing he had never known Éomer to object to. He would be hard pressed to refuse to take what he would spread on bread, only because it was put in hot water instead. So far Aragorn had preferred not to draw attention to it, but he was greatly relieved. A reluctant nod was given as consent and he led his friend with him to sit on a bench. Giving him a mug of steaming hot water liberally dosed with honey to sit while he cleaned the burns.

"You look more like a blacksmith than a king," he mused when he was done. "But at least I do not need to fear your sister's wrath when she sees you."

Éomer gave him a look as if wondering why his sister would have objected to something so trivial, and Aragorn shook his head with a bemused smile. He should have known that to his friend, the matter was already well and closed. "Come, let's find us another place for our horses to spend the night," he stated. "Then I think we should both try and get a few more hours sleep if we could. I would say we have accomplished our task, and that earlier than we thought we would. We could use a little more rest before we take our prisoners back."

"The horses will be safe in our camp, I'll take them," Éomer stated. "Though I would stay with them, they were unsettled by the fire."

"I don't blame them," Aragorn cast an eye towards the still smouldering remains of what had been the barn. It had long since collapsed though he had not paid it any heed for worrying about his friend. The villagers had had it all well in hand and taken care the fire didn't spread. He should leave a small detail of men behind to help them build another. It would ensure that the process was faster and easier for them while it would otherwise have taken them long. No, he did not blame the horses for being somewhat unsettled, he felt the same way himself from seeing his friend and brother run into the flames. "Find us a good spot, and I'll bring our gear from our room," he decided.

Éomer gave him an appreciative nod that he would give up the comfort of his room for the benefit of his horse. He knew his friend would not have blamed him for going back to the room, not used to sleeping on the ground anymore. Éomer was right though, and for the service Brego offered, in battle and in looking after him and his friend alike the least Aragorn could do was to offer him the comfort of his presence.

Taking their blankets and saddlebags from the small room he returned to the Rohirric part of the camp and found Éomer there. The king had made a small pile of hay into his bed, leaving enough space for Aragorn beside him as he was stretched out with an arm behind his head and a saddle blanket under him. Firefoot taking the opportunity for a light meal, eating the straw his master was lying on. He seemed intent on digging his nose in under the blanket and take the straw there, as if in the hope his master would fall out of his makeshift bed.

Spreading his own blanket next to his friend Aragorn would not be in the least surprised if that was indeed Firefoot's intention. From behind the houses the glow cast by the last smouldering remains of the barn seemed to create a false dawn that had the horses in the camp somewhat restless. The smoke still lingered in the air and would worry them he knew, at least in that regard their own mounts were now calm enough. Though Firefoot seemed to try and entice Brego to aid him in his efforts to unsettle his master from his bed.

It was comforting, as it meant their horses would indeed be well after their experience. It would seem Rohirric horses were as resilient as their masters were stubborn and foolish...

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.