For Author's note and Disclaimer, see chapter1

Chapter 28

Aragorn ran the brush over Brego's side, finding a peace of mind as he cared for the magnificent horse. When first he was crowned one of the stable masters of the royal stable had found it intolerable that the King would see to his own mount. That was not how Denethor as Steward had wanted things done, and the man would not see the King dirtying his hands by it now. It had not been in Aragorn's power to convince him otherwise, though he had insisted it was a chore he enjoyed. Then the man came across Éomer, and knowing that he was the now uncrowned King of Rohan, the man had sought to intervene, insisting that his stable hands saw to the task instead.

Ever since, the man had not said a word whenever Aragorn entered to tend to his horse.

He knew Éomer would never have done the man harm, but the Rohir was stubborn, wilful and with a scowl that had scared mightier men. When his brown eyes flashed and he set his jaw Aragorn had seen more than one man hesitate and retreat, even if they had near another hundred pounds on the blond warrior. Éomer was fearless and it showed in his demeanour that he would not back down. It amused him to no end how he would send self important men of noble blood or wealthy merchants scurrying away from him without him uttering a single word.

A lot of the council men that Denethor had kept in his court detested it when Éomer was in Minas Tirith, as he never held his tongue and never cared whom he angered. He did not rely on his title as nephew to the King to protect himself, but the power of his fists and the bite of his sword. He had earned himself a reputation as the hot-headed Marshal who slayed Orcs and suffered no enemy on their land, and it was a reputation that served him well now. Unfortunately it had not saved him from a bad head injury. When Faramir, Aragorn's Steward and Éomer's brother by law had found himself unhorsed in battle, Éomer had gone to his aid. As he sought to pull his friend and brother onto his own horse he had taken a crossbow bolt to the helm. A lesser constructed piece of armour and he would have been dead, and Aragorn could still feel the cold icy hand of fear as he had seen him limp and lifeless in the saddle. Firefoot had saved them then, as their enemy swarmed around them and Faramir was unable to keep his brother by law in the saddle, and fend them off at the same time. Instead they had been held at sword point, a hostage for Aragorn to surrender that he could not afford to give into. Only his own knowledge of Firefoot's battle skills, and his own trust in the mighty grey stallion had found the two men safe. On Aragorn's command, the war horse had wrecked utter hell on the men seeking to use the two defenceless men.

They had survived the battle, but the head injury had not been one to trifle with though Éomer was loath to admit the weakness. For several weeks now he had been stricken by severe headaches that left him utterly weak and helpless. At first near every day, then a day or two might pass between them, and now they were slowly seeming to disperse though it was clear he was not healed yet. Firefoot had been restless, knowing his master was suffering, though somewhat appeased by the apples Aragorn had given him. When seeing his friends at the mercy of the enemy, he had in his mind promised the stallion a barrel full as the stallion protected not only his master, but Faramir as well. As he was a man of his word, he had indeed given the horse an apple each day until the promised barrel was empty.

"My Lord?"

The hesitant tone caused him to look up at the very same stablemaster he had just been thinking of and Aragorn acknowledged him with a nod. Whatever Éomer had said to the man, he felt it had made him better at his job.

"What may I do for you?" he asked, continuing stroking Brego's side with the brush.

"Sir, it pains me to say it, but we're having difficulties with the King's horse," the man did indeed look pained, Aragorn mused. His face was flushed, but then he would hate admitting to being unable to perform his duty.

"Firefoot is giving you trouble?" he queried and the man nodded.

"Aye sir, that is indeed the horse," he confirmed.

"I believe he is only missing his master, and I trust you have not let anyone inexperienced see to him?" That would not end well. Firefoot had little patience with the clumsy hands of the less experienced stable hands. He was wont to use his teeth and hooves to display his displeasure.

"I have seen to him myself, my Lord, but he is in an ill temper and we're having difficulties with him," the man admitted.

"I'll see what I can do," putting down his brush he left the stall to join the man, and noted the stiff and ungraceful way he walked. Indeed, it might have pained him in more ways than one then… Firefoot was in the stall next to Brego, and he had intended to care for him once he was done with his own horse regardless.

"You'll have to forgive your master for not spending more time with you," he stroked the broad face. "Believe me Firefoot, given what ails him, he would much rather ride you across the plain, tis not his choice. Though I dare say he would wish for you to behave yourself."

The mighty grey tossed his head with a neigh, and sunk his teeth into Aragorn's tunic.

"Firefoot!" There was not much point in chiding the horse. The grey stallion was unlike any other horse Aragorn had ever known. Whatever had displeased him, he was not malicious, but he certainly made it known he had a grievance. Pinching the bridge of his nose he tugged lightly at the material, and Firefoot tugged back hard enough to nearly pull him off his feet. "What is the matter then?" reaching to scratch between his ears he noted how Firefoot enjoyed the touch. He was not angered, or he would have bitten flesh as well as fabric. There was something though, and Aragorn wished he knew what it was.

"Do you wish to run? I do not think Éomer would begrudge you a bit of exercise." He would not be allowed to ride him, Firefoot suffered no one but his master. However if Aragorn took Brego, Firefoot would be glad to enjoy a gallop with his old friend.

The grey stallion tossed his head again, and this time the fabric started to tear. "If it is apples you want, the barrel is empty, and your master would not allow me to give you more. I believe he is cross with me as it is," Aragorn sighed.

"My Lord, what do you wish for me to do?" his stable master demanded and looked up to face the man.

"Tis no matter, but something has indeed unsettled our friend. It might be best if you did not approach him until I have spoken with his master."

Firefoot stomped his front hoof a few times in the straw, then he let go of Aragorn's tunic and gave the king a shove with his large head, sending him stumbling towards the door of the stall. Baring teeth, he gave another demanding neigh before he snorted at the King of Gondor and turned around to rifle through the hey in his manger.

Closing the door to the stall Aragorn inspected the tear in his tunic, "make sure none of your men goes near him before I have spoken to Éomer King," he decided. "I'm sure he's just in a bit of a mood because he misses his master."

"That might be my lord, but we can't get in to either feed or groom him," the man sighed. "Tis not proper not to care for a horse in our charge, so it's not."

"Given this particular horse, I'd say that you are doing all you can," Aragorn decided. It was rare for Firefoot to attempt to bite him… Normally, he was spared the stallion's ill temper, if by nothing else the fact that Brego had accepted him. "If Éomer King is not able to come here to care for him, I will ensure that it is done."

"Very well sir, but I can not say I like it," the man sighed. He took pride in his stable Aragorn knew. It would annoy him to not be able to do more.

"He might only be having an off day," the King tried to sooth him. "He is unused to our ways, and he is a rather remarkable horse. I think we may excuse that he is sometimes a little ill tempered. I have known him to perform some remarkable deeds I never expected from any horse. Not the least the fact that he recently did endeavour to protect both his own master, and our own Steward. We can excuse him his irrational behaviour, can we not?"

"Well, put like that…" the man scratched the back of his neck. "I suppose that we can, sir, though I do wish I could see to him proper like we're supposed to."

"I'll inform Éomer King of your difficulties, I'm certain he will sympathize with your plight…" Aragorn smiled as he headed back up to the palace, shaking his head. Firefoot was indeed a remarkable horse, though sometimes ill-tempered indeed. It was not unknown for the stallion to even take his own master to task if he felt it deserved. Éomer had been bitten, kicked, thrown and pushed, amongst a few other incidents that Aragorn knew about. Though there was no mistaking the horse would never wish his master real harm. Indeed, had he not also seen the man make himself comfortable to sleep on the back of his horse when the ground was too wet or rocky for his liking? Had he not shared the stall with his horse if he felt it preferable to a bed? Aye Firefoot was a remarkable horse and the bond between steed and rider was not one to be taken lightly. While he would prefer it if his stable hands did not need worry about being bitten, he knew the horse was able to control himself well and would do no true harm.

Entering his own royal chambers he noted his wife seated by the window, a silken fabric laying across her lap as she placed delicate stitches of silver thread in it. "Do you know where Éomer is?" for the Rohirric king could be difficult to find in the stone city where he claimed to feel ill at ease.

"He will be taking a bath, so do not disturb him," his wife told him softly.

"Éomer?" Aragorn did not mean to sound so disbelieving, but while Éomer certainly was no uncouth slouch who cared nothing for cleanliness, he was not one to take baths in the middle of the day for no reason.

"Aye, Éomer," Arwen confirmed with something of a chiding look. "He strove to keep his discomfort from me all morning, but as it was evident his head pained him greatly I suggested it might offer some respite. I put some herbs in the water, and it should hopefully soothe the worst of it." She ran a critical eye over her husband and his torn tunic. "I wonder beloved, why you look somewhat unkept yourself?"

"T'would be due to Firefoot seemingly preferring royal robes to hay and oats for his fare," Aragorn shook his head. "Our stablemaster cautioned me he was somewhat ill tempered. I would have to admit I think he was right, for he does not usually behave this way with me. I would guess he simply misses his master, Éomer has not been able to see to him much lately."

"Indeed not, and he should not attempt to do so now," she stated firmly. "He was barely keeping to his feet before, and I will not have him go down to the stable in that condition." She held up the fabric that she had been working on, and Aragorn noted she was embroidering a pattern of running horses on the fine blue silk. Yet for all it was horses, it reminded him somewhat of waves rolling towards the shore the way they moved. "It is for Lothíriel," she confirmed for her husband who had begun to suspect as much.

"Is she with Éomer?" Éowyn had attempted to sooth her sister by laws worries for her husband by saying it was not the first time that Éomer had had his brains addled by a hard blow, and he usually came out none the worse for it. However, it had not worked as well as she had hoped and Lothíriel still worried about her husband.

"Nay," Arwen shook her head now. "I bade her go with Éowyn afore. Tis not an easy thing, to be young and in love, my husband. She worries much, though I do not blame her. Tis is just the more she frets, the more Éomer strives to pretend there is nothing wrong, if he was to get any real rest I felt it wisest if Lothíriel was not with him, and she could certainly use something to cheer her day a little. She has come to love Rohan, but just because you love your new home does not mean you do not miss your old. I thought I would abuse my position just a little and bestow a gift upon her. I'm certain Éomer will not mind, he was much relieved when she went with Éowyn."

"He has a lot of pride," Aragorn smiled wistfully. "Stubborn, strong willed and prideful, but he is an honourable man, and a man can have worse faults. Mayhap though, when they return, they would not mind seeing to Firefoot a little, he might have expressed some of his grievances with me, but he would never do so with Lothíriel."

"Indeed not," Arwen agreed. "You may go with her after the evening meal, Hopefully Éomer will be well enough to join us, if not, Lothíriel would certainly feel better for being able to care for his horse."

"You speak the truth, beloved," Aragorn confirmed as he moved to change his shirt. The less attention was brought to the fact Éomer was unwell, the happier the king of Rohan was. He might enjoy the cool touch of his beloved wife caressing his head tenderly, but he absolutely detested being fretted over. It was not just stubborn pride Aragorn knew, with Théoden King's mind being poisoned by Grima Wormtongue and Sauruman, to the point where he did not even know his own kin, the court of Meduseld had not been a safe place to dwell. Years living under this dark shadow had been hard on both siblings. Éowyn, trapped in those dark and dangerous dwellings when Éomer was striving to keep the land safe from Orcs and other foul creatures. Éomer, in a more direct danger whenever he was home, for Grima wanted him out of the way. Fiercely protective of his younger sister and older cousin alike, and never ever truly being able to do ought for them.

Their father had been slain by orcs in an ambush, and their widowed mother had taken her children to her brother before she passed from grief the people said. Healing arts learned from the elves had taught Aragorn more, and he knew that for the woman to wither so there was an illness of the mind as real as any of the body. When so strong as to cause death, those were often passed to the children as well. Neither of the two seemed so badly afflicted as their mother had been, but there were indeed signs that it had been the truth. The way Éowyn fell to the black breath, only called back by the love she felt for her brother. The sadness that had laid over her when first he met her, and the way she had felt a love for him was her only means of escape. Éomer was better able to hide it behind a stoic stature and fierce iron will that would often see him through the worst obstacle. Yet now, when he was injured and confined to chambers more often than not Aragorn saw the signs. Quiet and loath to be drawn into conversation, not interested in meals or company. Most called it the stubbornness and foolishness of a man refusing to admit he needed aid.

It might indeed in parts be a fear of showing this weakness that could be exploited and used against him, but there was more to it and Aragorn knew it. He had felt great joy when he had seen the love his Steward had for the white lady of Rohan. Though also at first some apprehension that Éomer with his blunt and more boisterous ways would seem intimidating to the more quiet man who had grown subdued under Denthor's hard reign. It amused him now to no end that he found Faramir displaying the same protectiveness Boromir had always shown him, towards his brother by law. Just as Éomer, in spite of having fewer years sought to include Faramir in the same protection he had always offered his own beloved sister. It was amusing to him to see each of them attempt to take the role of elder brother to the other. A sentiment he felt best not to share with his wife, as he was certain she would only point out he attempted to take the same role with them both… Not that Arwen was any better, though as one of the elder she claimed to have the right. It was also something for which Aragorn was grateful, for he did not know anyone else who could have convinced Éomer to take a bath for claiming it might help him feel better.

It might have worked, though when he came to join them at the meal his face was still drawn and pale. It was obvious to anyone who beheld his appearance that he was not fully well. His wife casting him much worried glances though she tried not to fuss over him as she knew he detested.

"Your horse has been making sport of some of our stable hands again, or so I hear," Aragorn stated as they ate the light meal. There seemed to be no reason to include the fact that he too had fallen pray of the horse, as Éomer would no doubt claim he should know the beast well enough to avoid it.

"Most of your stable hands turn into quivering bairns in his presence, and he does not suffer such foolishness," Éomer snorted. "If they knew how to really handle a horse, they would not have such trouble with him. Nevertheless, I shall see to him."

"You my brother, will do no such thing," Éowyn declared. "And do not even think to argue. You are in no condition to do so, if you have the sense to admit it or not."

"They day I can not see to my own horse…." Éomer's voice grew hard and angered though his face paled further.

"Husband, may not I?" Lothíriel asked, interrupting him in a manner that would not have been approved of in her father's court. "Firefoot likes me, and I adore him. I'd like nothing more than to care for him."

"I think that would be an excellent idea," Arwen spoke up before Éomer could voice his opinion one way or the other. "I have something on which I would like your opinion Éomer, and you would then have the time for enjoying a few minutes in the garden."

"Oh, that would be lovely," Lothíriel smiled happily, and Éomer nodded a reluctant agreement. Once Lothíriel had gone with Éowyn, Arwen took out the shawl she was embroidering for the queen of Rohan, smiling pleasantly as Éomer declared it perfect for his wife.

"I always thought my sister sewed a fine stitch," he reached out tentative fingers for the fabric, pulled them away just short of touching. Afraid his rougher and calloused hands would tear such delicate fabric. "I would not have thought it possible to make something that is no more one thing than the other, and yet both…."

"In a long life you have a long time to learn," Arwen gave him a gentle smile. "And with the strong winds of your home, a lady can use something to keep her hair in order. Women are expected to always look their best, a queen more so than anyone, even if she is coming straight from a gale."

"Aye, Éowyn has lamented on it often enough, and it always made me glad to have been born a man," he smiled softly as he sat down. "On the other hand, as the elder brother I was always expected to see to her safety, and that was no easy matter either…."

"I do not believe that your sister needs much protection," Arwen gave him a light smile. "She is a strong woman, as is your wife. Though even the strongest woman sometimes wishes to be just a woman and doted on a little."

"Tis not a thing we're taught well in Rohan," he gave her a sorrowful smile. "Especially not those of us who are raised to be first and foremost warriors. Tell me, Lady Arwen, have I failed my wife? She has seemed saddened, though when I ask she claims nothing is wrong. Is there something I should have done?"

"The best cure for your wife's sadness, will be your restoration to full health," Arwen gave him a conciliatory smile. "Tis not so strange that she worries for you. It is always worse to see one we love suffer, if there is nothing we can do to ease it."

"My injury troubles her so?" Éomer gave her a look of disbelief. "Tis nothing more than a passing discomfort."

"And if it had been her, you would have been beside yourself with worry, and you know it," reaching out her hand she patted his knee with the familiarity of friendship. "Now, I can tell you are weary, as can your wife. If you wish to sooth her worry some, then you should try eat a little more. Tis quite a lovely afternoon, and the garden will indeed be pleasant. I shall have some light food brought for you there, and send Lothíriel to you when she returns."

"As it would seem you make me a better husband than I would have been on my own accord, I will be pleased to take your counsel," smiling softly he stood and sketched a light bow before making his way towards the door.

"I do not see what the trouble was," Lothíriel told them later that evening as they gathered in the royal sitting room a few moments before each seeking their bed. "Firefoot has never been sweeter… I know he still thinks me clumsy when I pick his hoofs, even if he lets me, and yet he did not even fidget."

"Like as not one of the stable hands did something to annoy him," Éomer shrugged. "He is wont to a bit of temper now and again, and especially if he feels someone does not know their business."

"You have a very peculiar horse, my Lord," Aragorn stated with a smile. "And I have yet to see one like him."

"There aren't many of his mettle…" Éomer declared. "And I'd rather have him, than any dozen of lesser spirit for the mere sake of leaving the stable hands alone. Though if they did not show their uncertainty so clearly, they would have no trouble with him."

"I will pass on your advice," for certainly Aragorn felt there were some measure of truth to it. Firefoot was a horse of repute, even in Gondor. The great grey was well known and his deeds were known to many. Taking it upon himself to save his master by seeking out the King of Gondor. His latest feat of protecting their Steward had not gone unnoticed, and no doubt it had made some of the less experienced hands uncertain of how to handle him. That the grey had after that torn his tunic was probably nothing more than a note of protest to draw attention to the matter.

He felt that all trouble should be past the next day, which was why he found his annoyance growing as he saw to Brego. He had meant to see to Firefoot once he was done grooming his own steed, but it was proving more and more difficult. Firefoot reached over the low wall of the stall to pluck the brush from the bucket standing on the shelf there. Next, after Aragorn had retrieved it, the grey was able to open the latch of his stall. Opening the door for Brego as well, though Aragorn's horse stayed where he was out of politeness. Putting Firefoot back, and finishing his grooming he went to get feed, and returned to find Firefoot in Brego's stall with his own horse. Putting him back where he belonged was not easy, and first Firefoot toppled the water bucket, tore the feed bucket from Aragorn's hand, and attempted a mouthful of his hair instead of the hay.

"Desist!" Aragorn kept his tone sharp though he knew better than to allow himself to get angry. Even if the stallion was testing his patience anger would solve nothing. He had learned as much from the Rohirric and knew well that Éomer would not take kindly to it. Instead he took a length of rope to secure the door to the stall since latches were apparently nothing but amusement to the stallion.

"Your horse seems to be in a foul mood today too," he stated later. Noting that if not entirely healthy Éomer at least looked better than he had the day before. At least enough so that a trip to the stable should hopefully not be too much for him. "I have never before had such difficulties with him as I did today, I think he might be restless."

"He's never been so difficult because of it before," Éomer frowned. "Tis not the first time he's been cooped up in a stable, and while he cares none for it. He has never misbehaved so for it."

"I do not know the cause of his ill temper, but something would seem to be the matter," Aragorn admitted.

"Whatever it may be, I will find out," Éomer declared. His determination was well known, and Aragorn was not surprised at all when his friend made his way down to the stable later that evening, spending well on two hours there before he returned to the royal chambers and the room given to him and Lothíriel. His exhaustion then was clear, and from his posture Aragorn would think his head pained him though he said nothing. The King of Gondor would have assumed the matter closed then, that Éomer had found and solved whatever problem it was that had been bothering his horse, so when Firefoot the next day bit him by the forearm and did not relinquish he was at a loss. The bite was hard enough to cause some pain but not for real damage.

It was however very odd, for all his cajoling, coercing and even a number of threats, given in both the elven tongue and Rohirric, the horse would not relinquish his hold. Finally, to his own embarrassment he was forced to send for Éomer.

The blonde Rohan stood himself in the aisle between the stalls, leaning against the low wall as he took in his friend's predicament. "Tis your own fault," he stated.

"Your horse it would seem has gone mad," Aragorn gave him a glare. He was certain Éomer would have no difficulty in convincing the brute to release him.

"I did inform you, that you would be the one to explain to him why his daily apple is no longer bestowed on him, I believe he's quite cross with you," Éomer mused. "I did notice the barrel was no longer here, so I would assume it's empty."

"It is," Aragorn sighed. "And I felt you might not approve if I were to continue."

"Indeed I would not, he's spoiled enough already, and he's making sure you know he prefers it that way. Tis your own fault, I would have thought you should have known better," Éomer shook his head with some amusement. Then he sighed softly, "Firefoot, ãlîesan!"

While Aragorn's own request for him to release him had no effect, when Éomer did the same thing it was something else entirely, and Firefoot did indeed let go of his arm. "Do not think this matter is closed," Éomer cautioned his friend. "Tis a battle of will now, his against yours, and do not think to take the easy way out and relent. That might be his preferred outcome, but it is not mine."

"I feel that if I did, and was at some point unable to deliver I would only have made it all that much harder for myself," Aragorn sighed. "Your horse is truly a marvel, my friend. I have never known one like him." Not even Brego was quite the same, and the two of them were of relation.

"My uncle would have told you that it is not all the horse," Éomer sighed wistfully. "He was oft fond of saying he felt I had forgotten I was not a horse myself, and that I most certainly treated the horses as if they were not." He turned to face his friend, the sadness of fond memories lost on his face. "There were many who objected to his gifting me a horse of that line, nephew of the king was in their eyes not enough for what was granted only on the royal family. Théoden would hear none of it, it was mostly jealousy, but I confess it sometimes made me doubt my place, as well as the right to such a horse. I did not always fit in well with the other riders. I did not understand the boosting of deeds they had not truly accomplished, instead I spent many an evening training Firefoot."

"I would say you did well with him," Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder for a moment, the comforting touch of a friendly, and a fatherly gesture of someone who had seen the child, and the man that child had grown into. "Théoden would have been very proud of you, he was very proud of you…."

"He also claimed utter despair when he found Firefoot and a small foal in the Golden Hall," Éomer shook his head, bemused. "As well as when I sought to make my horse take my place at the lectures in the study… He did always make the claim leading an army was by far easier than handling me."

"Your grandfather would never have been happier than if he had lived to see you do that," Aragorn ducked his head to give a low chuckle. Thengel King always had encouraged the wild escapades of his grandson. Truthfully while he had outwardly always shown his appreciation for his firstborn grandson, Théodred, Aragorn felt he had favored Éomer. The untamed child of barely two was always lifted to ride in front of him in the saddle, holding the reins with the uttermost care. After he dismounted, Thengel would even allow his grandson that was nothing but a babe to take the mighty warhorse to the stable. A command given the horse would see that he knew where to go, and Éomer seated on the broad back was never more careful than when he guided the horse. Though his legs were far too short to guide the stallion, Aragorn had noted the tiny child still had some skill in using the reins correctly and the horse seemed content to allow him. Thengel would have wept at the loss of both his son, and grandson, but he would have been immensely proud to see Éomer on the throne.

"Thengel I think, might actually have aided you…" Aragorn finished, drawing a surprised look from Éomer. Oh, Thengel had always been known to be strict, very much so, a hard and fair king who swiftly took action when needed. Much like Éomer. Théoden had been fair, but a little too cautious at times. It was possible that that had played a part in the way Grima got such a hold over the king. Éomer had a stronger will, and that would serve him well.

It was also something Aragorn felt he would need if he was to win against the horse…. Firefoot was not minded to surrender, that much was becoming obvious. With Lothíriel he behaved himself perfectly, never more delightful when she groomed him. With the stable hands he was his usual impatient self and anywhere Aragorn was near he was a true menace.

He managed to tear the rope Aragorn had used to close his stall, and moved in with Brego, being certain to constantly be in Aragorn's way. He took brushes, he pulled the saddle off each time Aragorn tried to put it on. He stood himself in front of the door to the stall and would not be budged.

Éomer, having followed him down to the stable after his wife had extracted a promise from him that he would not ride watched with mild amusement. Arms folded across his chest, leaning against the wall with a relaxed posture. Watching as Aragorn took the bridle and leaned against Firefoot's shoulder with all his strength, to absolutely no avail….

He refused to give in and lose his temper, but Firefoot was a warhorse, a masculine stallion and he was very well aware of the fact that to the steed he was an annoyance at best should the stallion decide so. The horse turned his head to look at him, giving him a reproachful look as he once more tried to use his weight against his shoulder to move him.

"Firefoot, stemnettan…" the Rohirric was uttered by Éomer with an amused smile on his face and Aragorn turned to glare at him. Urging the horse to stand firm against the king of Gondor was not the help he would have wished for. He had attempted to convince the horse using Rohirric himself, but Firefoot paid him no more heed than had he tried to imitate an oliphaunt.

"Must you encourage your beast against me?" Aragorn demanded, somewhat irritable.

With a haughty snort Éomer pushed away from the wall and moved over to his horse, scratching his forehead while Aragorn felt it best not to continue 'that' line of argument. After all, he was the one who had once or twice used apples as a means to bribe the horse against his master...

Seemingly sensing Aragorn's despair, and his reluctance to admit his own crime, Éomer gave the faintest whistle and clicked his tongue. Instantly Firefoot moved away from the stall, so unexpectedly that Aragorn still leaning against him nearly lost his footing and fell.

"I think you are enjoying this, my friend…." Aragorn stressed the last word just a little as he led the stallion out of the way and into his own stall.

"And you would indeed be right in thinking so," Éomer replied, completely unashamed. "As much as you, my friend, appeared to be enjoying as he pushed me into a thornbush not so long ago…"

"I had hoped you had forgot about that," Aragorn mused ruefully as he closed the door to the stall and pulled the latch. Not that it did one whit of good when Firefoot was determined.

"Aye, I would have liked to have forgot about it to, alas I had some really nice thorns to remind me for quite some time…" Éomer shook his head. "Though I suppose it is enough, aye, nã mã….." he commanded his horse. Firefoot tossed his head and gave a disappointed snort, pushing his nose into his master's shoulder. "Nã mã, no more my friend, I think you've made your point," he mused.

The horse gave a very unhappy whiny, tossing his head before letting it hang. "Oh, don't worry, we both know he's going to spoil you again, no matter what I say…." Éomer sighed, scratching his forehead.

With a sheepish look, Aragorn had to admit he was right, in spite of recent events, he knew he would not be likely to refrain. Brego was a wonderful horse, steadfast, loyal, and a truly magnificent creature, but Firefoot was his own in a way Brego was not. Firefoot had been trained to be his own horse, he had his own opinions, and yet was fiercely loyal. You never saw more than one horse like that in your lifetime…

"Thank you," Firefoot would heed his master, this he knew, his torment was now over, and the horse would no longer seek to make things difficult for him, which meant there was yet one thing he needed doing. Turning to the horse he inclined his head slightly. "I meant no offence with my actions my friend, I was merely grateful for your aid in keeping my friends safe, for that I owe you a debt that can never be repaid, not with apples or anything. You shall however, always have my loyalty, and I would wish for us to continue from here in friendship…"

There were many who would think him mad for addressing a horse such, certainly the nobles of the court would be inclined to think so, assuming that a horse could never understand. Aye, there were several horses in the royal stable he would never have addressed such, and they never would have taken heed of his words, this however was Firefoot. This was the horse that could act on his own initiative and know what his master would want him to do. If he understood every word, Aragorn did not know, but clear was that Firefoot understood much more than many thought a horse could. He would know his meaning, and he would know that while he was forced to relent he had also won a small victory.

He would also know that indeed, no matter what Éomer's wishes were, it was not to be the last time that Aragorn sought to give him treats.

There was after all still the matter of Eowyn's cooking and bushes…..

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.