For Author's Note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 32

"She suits you," Aragorn mused as he took in the chestnut mare that Faramir was riding beside him. She was young, moving with an inborn grace. Smaller than Brego by nearly three hands but she was strong and obviously as intelligent as she was obedient.

"Given that she was a gift from our friend and my brother by law, I would have been surprised if she had not," Faramir smiled softly to himself. "Though in truth I first wondered if I had slighted him. I fear I underestimated her at first glance, though in my defence I do not have his eye when it comes to horses."

"Few does," Aragorn shrugged.

"And Éomer is much too straightforward for such actions," Faramir nodded, echoing Aragorn's thoughts. If Éomer was angry, he was not quiet about it. It was in fact very hard not to be fully aware of it. "She merely seemed so very docile at first, I was not expecting it. She does not seem to care how clumsy the stablehands are, but she's got a different kind of fire in her. She even outran Éowyn's horse, much to her chagrin."

"Éomer said she was one of the most determined mares he had ever seen, which I interpreted as to mean she's as stubborn as he is," Aragorn mused.

"He trained her himself, which according to our stablemaster is a rare honour," Faramir smiled softly. The man was from Rohan, a rider partially crippled in the war of the ring and still ever loyal to the shieldmaiden of Rohan. Not to mention to his king whom he considered to be barely shy of a god. Apparently taking down two Oliphaunts with one spear is a feat that can earn a man a reputation. In addition it was not the first time the man had ridden under Éomer's command, so Faramir had never wondered at his loyalty. He was glad for it, for who else would be better suited to care for their horses, and indeed even his wife when he was away? A man who had his whole life ever been loyal to her and would be so to his death.

"Tis a good thing," Aragorn told him now, nodding thoughtfully. "Not only will I defer to his knowledge when it comes to horses, and do so gladly, but if he trained her for you, then he has indeed trained her to serve you in the best way."

"So I was told," Faramir confirmed. "Though I fear I caused my brother by law quite some grief as he sought to introduce us. Tis the first time I've had a horse not only born and raised in Rohan, but trained by a man of such skill. I always considered myself fortunate with my steed even afore this, but this mare surpasses any other horse I have ever ridden, and needs several dozen more commands than I have ever known to give. By the time Éomer was through instructing me, I fear he felt some regret for the gift."

"For a people so straightforward, there are things the Rohirrim find it very hard to express, I have found this is indeed so with our young friend," Aragorn leaned forward to stroke Brego's neck. "His loyalty has ever been above questioning, and his displeasure will be known by all, but his love for a brother is something he finds it harder to express. I would think, my friend, that your mare is a gift that is meant to convey this."

"I named her Eoforwyn, tis seemed to please him," Faramir gave a shrug. "Though his mirth might have been due to my wives displeasure when it was instantly shortened to 'Wyn,' She seems to find some distaste in sharing a nickname with a horse."

Aragorn allowed himself a laugh, "aye, that would please Éomer. He would move heaven and earth for her, but I've never known anyone else to willingly anger her so."

"A brave man or a fool," Faramir decided. "I've seen men flee from him in his rage, but I confess I fear the temper of my wife more than that of her brother. Éomer's burns hot and fast, and he knows to hold it if need be. Éowyn though when she's truly enraged is one best given a very wide berth. Tis more than I know to sooth her then, and Éomer does not even attempt it, he simply baits her til she lashes out."

"Their father's temper was in part what caused him his life, Éomer fears they both share this same fault," Aragorn's face turned grim. "He seeks to spare you, out of love for you both. By directing it upon himself for he knows that in the end, he'll always be forgiven by her. Though I wish he would not take it so casually."

"He's Rohir," Faramir offered a wry smile. "Which is the reason for all his flaws, and all his virtues, or so my wife tells me. I can not say for certain if she is right, though I feel confident she is not wrong."

His good mood restored by his Steward's somewhat subdued though sharp wit Aragorn chuckled to himself.

With rumours of unrest in the area they would be travelling through, they had decided to split up. Éomer wished to scout ahead towards the south, to see if the river there would be possible to cross by horse. Anyone terrorizing the close by village would need a means to quickly leave, and the closest shelter lay by that direction. However, unless the river could be crossed within a few miles, it would be far too long a detour for anyone wishing to disappear. the river was deep and fast flowing and while Faramir did not doubt the determination and skill of his horse, they were unused to each other and it was not the time to attempt a possibly dangerous crossing.

The one best suited for the judgement was Éomer, while it was determined that Faramir was the one best suited to talking to the villagers. Less intimidating than would be a king, and better suited for the task in the art of diplomacy. The straightforward and sometimes overly blunt King of Rohan was not the best one to handle the more polite and vague Gondorians. It tended to lead to situations that could be slightly difficult to defuse.

Some of the nobles on his council already had a less than favourable opinion formed of their neighbouring regent. He would not give them cause, justified or otherwise, to think worse of him. Rash and hot tempered Éomer might be, but he was also wise and just.

The guards the council insisted he take with him had been slightly affronted by the demand they split up, so that a small number could follow the King of Rohan. However this was nothing compared to how affronted said regent had been at the suggestion he would need them. Aragorn rather wondered for a moment if a guard detail would have to be assigned to protect the guards assigned to protect the King from the very King they were to protect.

Éomer did not take kindly to any form of restrictions placed upon his person, though in the end he had simply scowled at the men and allowed it. Probably because he knew the wrath he would face not only from his own wife, but from his sister should he refuse. If that was not enough to subdue his temper, the mentioning of Queen Arwen worrying for him tended to tip the scale in the favour of caution. Éomer deferred to her when he would not allow himself to be ordered by any man. His official reason given was that as wedded to Aragorn, she did not need the additional strife. Aragorn was more inclined to believe that it was due to the poise and dignity granted her by her elven kind.

Faramir, the more practical minded claimed it was enough that it worked and something best not drawn too much attention to.

If he had grudgingly been cajoled into tolerating the guard, Aragorn knew it would grate on him to do so. Knowing that should the guards attempt to ascertain their authority in any manner that would see the king safe in case of danger, Éomer would see it as a personal insult. Regardless of the fact that this was rather the point of the guard, he was more inclined to believe that had there been any danger, Éomer would have given a scowl to force them all into submission, and then charged headfirst into the fray. Tis was not something he was fond of, but it seemed to work well for the young Rohirr, therefor Aragorn was surprised and not a little concerned when they came upon the rest of their party.

He had half expected the guards to cower and seek protection from the man they were to protect, but he had not expected to see Éomer's still body on the ground, three men standing over him, while another half dozen were trying to no avail to subdue Firefoot. The stallion was furious it would seem, and though two men held the reins for all they were worth they were barely able to hang on. Another was seeking to fend him off with a long pole, holding it to keep the horse at a distance as the stallion reared up, steel shoed hooves flying mere inches from their heads as he gave a mighty cry.

Not waiting for Faramir to acknowledge the situation, but knowing he would follow, Aragorn spurred his own mount into a gallop.

Firefoot sent one man flying, loosing his hold on the reins, and he made use of it to spin around and delivering a powerful kick. The guard would like as not be glad his hauberask was steel, but even so Aragorn was inclined to believe it would take a blacksmith to get him out of it.

"What is the meaning of this!" he roared as he leapt from his saddle.

"My Lord, the horse went mad, absolutely mad!" the guard who had lost his hold of the rein was slowly climbing to his feet, showing the battle had already earned him a black eye.

"Release him!" Aragorn demanded, approaching Firefoot who was trying to bite and kick the man holding the pole at the same time. His front hooves struck it with such force the other end slammed up and clipped the man under the chin, cracking his jaw shut as he stumbled back.

"My Lord, you can't, the horse has gone mad!" his guard cried. "He'll kill you. He attacked his own master!"

"Firefoot?" Aragorn spared a glance over his shoulder. Whatever had transpired he would not believe that. Even as he approached the mighty war horse seemed to calm somewhat. "Don't be a fool! Step back!"

"The horse has gone mad, sire!" swallowing one of the men eyed the horse wearily, there was no doubting the fury of the stallion. The ears laid flat against the neck, and the eyes showed the whites. "Tis a devil I tell you! The devil got into the creature, pure evil. We were riding along all peaceful like, then he started bucking like mad. I've never seen such madness before on my life. I don't know how the King stayed on as long as he did, but the horse was mad. He sent him flying, but the devil was still in him."

"Stay back, all of you!" Aragorn snapped, sparing a glance over his shoulder. Faramir was dismounting, his mare uneasy with the tense situation and the clear agitation from Firefoot had even Brego dance nervously in place. They were friends, the two horses were close as their riders had been. Brego did not take kindly to anyone mistreating his friend and now he laid his own ears back. "I'll handle the horse," he decided. Knowing that Faramir would see to Éomer. Indeed he wondered, for to hear the King had been thrown was unlikely. Éomer was the most skilled horseman he knew, for him to be thrown, and by Firefoot? No, he was not one to blame the devil, but it made him uneasy just the same.

"My Lord!" one of the guards stepped in front of him. "We can't allow you, the horse has gone mad for certain. He attacked his own master and we simply can't allow it. The devil has got into the horse and there's nothing to do now but to use our bows and lay him down."

"You will do no such thing!" Firefoot reared up, spinning on his back hoofs so fast he nearly fell and charged at the man still holding his rein the very split second he landed on all four again. Never had Aragorn seen him act such, not even in battle. Only if Éomer was in danger had he seen something like it, and even then the horse had been calmer.

"Aragorn, tis not the devil got into him, but hornets…" Faramir called from where he knelt beside his brother by law on the ground.

"Hornets?" Aragorn turned, frowning.

"Aye, I see two stings, and if Éomer was stung, I'd wager so was Firefoot," Faramir nodded. "The horse is not mad, he's in pain," he levelled a stare at the men that made Aragorn smile. Faramir had always been the more gentle and calm one. Many made the mistake of underestimating him. Just as they saw Éomer's temper and missed his cunning and cleverness they saw Faramir's gentle ways and missed the steel hard determination underneath it. What more, marriage to Éowyn seemed to have taught him a thing or two about scowling lesser men into submission. If he had learned it from his wife, or by watching his brother by law Aragorn could not know. He had certainly mastered the art though, the calm features of his face, combined with the steel hard gaze and firm set of the mouth had them shying away and near cowering.

"He's in pain, and he shall certainly not trust you now," Aragorn agreed. "I would suggest that you stay back, and I shall see to the horse." Raising one hand, to move the man aside by the arm he approached Firefoot. The stallion was still enraged, and so Aragorn waited. He watched him pace, stomp and rear, and once he stood on all four again, nostrils flaring Aragorn went to Brego. Finding an apple in his saddlebag he cut it in quarters with his dagger. Smiling to himself when the warhorse did not approach him. No, Firefoot could not be bribed to forget his loyalty for a mere apple. He was far too loyal for such, and that was something the Gondorian guard could not fully comprehend. Firefoot would like the apple, but his master came first. Which was why the stallion shuffled over to Faramir, nudging his rider on the ground with a whiney.

"Aye, it hurts, does it not," Faramir reached up to scratch him behind the ear as Aragorn joined them. "He got stung on the nose," his steward supplied him as Aragorn fed the horse a quarter of the apple. "I do not wonder he threw his rider, even one as skilled as Éomer."

"No, I wonder where else he was stung," Aragorn sighed, handing the rest of the apple over to Faramir to give him. "We shall have to see to those once we get back." Turning Èomer over he ran his hands through his hair, finding the goose egg that told of the reason for his unconscious state. "He hit his head, can you give me my water skin and I'll see if we can't revive him?"

Faramir passed him the water skin, and Aragorn sprinkled a little over his face, relieved that he instantly started stirring. He would not be badly hurt then.

"Don't rise yet," he cautioned, smiling as Èomer reached a hand back to feel his head, and broke out in a string of very descriptive curses. He helped him to sit up, smiling as the Rohirric explicative did not cease.

"It would seem the skills of the Rohirric riders, are no match for the ferocity of the Gondorian hornets," he smiled. "Your horse, in protest to the attack, threw you."

"One of them fools in front of me knocked into a nest, just saw it, but had no time to evade," Éomer bit back a groan. "How is Firefoot?"

"He is well, though quite enraged and in some pain from the stings," Aragorn mused. He felt it best not to mention what the men had thought of the horses behaviour. If Éomer found out the men had thought his horse mad, and wished to take the stallion down, then the royal guard would need a guard to protect them from the royalty they had been assigned to protect. He was not surprised when his friend pushed away his hand and struggled to his feet. Examining his horse, muttering a varied and quite impressive range of curses as he did so.

Faramir stepped up beside him, removing the saddle girth and receiving an appreciative look as he did so. "I think one or two of them got in under the saddle, and that's why he threw you," the steward mused.

"Aye, I'll put some salve on them, a few days and he will be fine," Éomer shrugged.

"Do you wish to ride double with me, or with Faramir?" Aragorn asked. While he would think that Brego was the stronger horse, and favoured Éomer more, he had after all trained Faramir's horse and so the mare would not be opposed to him. There was also the fact that Faramir was more slender and would take less room.

"It'll take us long enough we should take turns," Éomer reached back a hand to feel the lump at the back of his head with a wince. "She's not used to carrying two riders," he nodded to the mare. "Do not underestimate her though, she is by far stronger than she looks."

"So far, she has done nothing but impress me," Faramir smiled softly. "I'm honoured that you think me capable of handling her, though I think she might be a better horse than I am rider."

"She is," Éomer gave a wry smile, obviously pleased that Faramir put the skills of the horse above that of himself. Aragorn would have thought Faramir well skilled enough even if neither of them could compare to the King of Rohan. Not even Éowyn were quite as skilled as Éomer, and Aragorn wondered if she did not outshine her husband. "However you can not learn to ride a horse, from sitting on a mule," Éomer continued. "She may teach you a lot if you allow her."

"Aye, she's extraordinary responsive," Faramir agreed. Firefoot's saddle was secured to the pack of one of the guards horses, the stallion snarling at the men as they kept well away from the angered horse. "I would appreciate it any further instructions you may give me," the young steward finished. Éomer was giving his horse a more thorough examination, checking the bites and frowning to himself, then he nodded slowly.

"T'would be cruel to put a saddle on him, but in a while bareback won't be a problem," Éomer mused as he gave the large head a good scratch. Firefoot rubbed the side of his head against his master's shoulder, making Aragorn smile. As ill tempered as the horse might appear to anyone else, with Éomer he was affectionate and gentle. Though not unknown to showing displeasure even with his master.

He certainly did not see the need to treat anyone with kid gloves, and Aragorn was not certain if his anger was because they had failed to go to his master's aid, or, if it was for how they had treated him. With Firefoot it could sometimes be hard to know. The horse had an uncanny perception of his surroundings, he even knew to an extent the value of money and the use of it. While Aragorn doubted he knew the comparable value of different coins, the horse certainly was well aware of the fact that a coin could be traded for apples, carrots and boiled sweets. If he was annoyed with his master, he would do anything from planting one hoof on Éomer's foot and refuse to budge, to push his master into a creek. If he felt that someone had failed his master, then he was less gentle in his punishment.

To the guards in their company, the trek back must have seemed many times as long as it had been, for the great war horse had not treated them kindly. Not one of them was without the mark of bites, kicks or hooves. One of the younger ones had taken to darting out of the way as swiftly as his legs could carry him whenever Firefoot came close. Another one nursed a swollen hand after trying to fend the stallion off.

Éomer had watched it all with mild curiosity. He seemed slightly intrigued by the personal vendetta his horse seemed to have for the men of the guard, but he had not queried about how it had come to be. Rather he seemed content to stay out of it and watch the proceedings. Riding bareback and sometimes rubbing at the lump on the back of his head he smiled softly as one man nearly pushed his friend off his horse as he tried to get out of the way, Firefoot having taken a step that direction.

Éomer, riding beside Faramir and continuously giving him points on how to improve his skills seemed quite content.

While Aragorn felt the men should have been aware of the hornets and not been so quick to judge the horse, and therefore only had themselves to blame. There was one matter that worried him.

If the rumour spread how one horse had laid waste to the royal guard, then how was he to find any men willing to ride with the King of Rohan the next time they ventured out?

T'is would be a problem indeed….

A Temporary Ending...

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

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.