For Author's note and Disclaimer, see chapter 1

Chapter 33

Dismounting in the stableyard Éomer draped the reins over Firefoot's back. He did not bother to take them to lead the horse into the stable. Firefoot knew well enough where he was supposed to be and did not need to be led, unless he was in the mood to torment any of the stablehands. Though truthfully, the horse always was in a mood to give the more uncertain lads a hand he admitted to himself with a wry smile. Firefoot was not known for being the most gentle or docile horse, which was perfect the way Éomer saw it.

Pity the poor fool who sought to take liberties with the stallion, he was like to regret it sooner rather than later, for Firefoot was not one to submit to anyone's will but his master's.

Even though he now lived in Aldburg once more, his childhood home before he and his sister were taken to Edoras after their father died, Firefoot still had his stall in the stable. Next to Brego in one of the larger stalls, the low door left open so the stallion could let himself in, and fresh straw on the floor.

With a sigh he noted Brego's stall was empty, which meant his cousin had not yet returned. That was regrettable, for he knew that his uncle would be in counsel and have no time for him for many hours yet.

Unsaddling his mount he tried to ignore the churning of hunger pangs in his stomach. There was nothing to do for it anyway. If Théodred had been at Meduseld he would have seen him properly fed, but with his cousin still gone and his uncle occupied he would have to wait until the evening meal.

Éowyn wasn't likely to take pity on him, she was resentful that he no longer lived in Edoras, angry that his Eored was stationed in Aldburg though it was not by his choice. He did enjoy being back there, though in truth he lived out in the Mark more than in the stronghold. He still had a room there, with a proper bed and a thread worn blanket that he vaguely recalled had been in the room even when he was a small boy.

The midday meal would be over, and his rations had run out the night before, which was why his stomach clenched painfully at the mere thought of food.

The kitchen would be full of it he knew, stew kept warm, simmering over a gentle bed of embers. Bread, honey and smoked ham. There would be mutton and pork roasting, with turnips, potatoes and carrots by the score.

There was no shortage of food in Meduseld yet, but he would not get any of it and he knew it, and so tried to put it out of his mind. For as far back as he could recall the cook had seemed to carry nothing but hatred for him. Even as a child if he dared to venture there he was more likely to get a thick ear than the honey cake Éowyn always seemed to have heaped upon her in plenty. When their mother took them there, shortly before she died, Éowyn could get anything she wanted from the cook at any time, unless she admitted it was for her brother.

Even now that he was grown enough for a slightly scraggly beard did she refuse him food. Théoden King, his uncle had told her that she should allow him food, but it was to no avail. She ruled the kitchen like Théoden ruled Rohan, and woe the one who crossed her.

Hunger was less painful than the humiliation of being sent running for your life by an old plump woman wielding a ladle. Théodred and Théoden were the only ones to whom she would submit, and when the heir demanded food for his hungry cousin there would always be a full plate for him. Sometimes there were even pastries or berry tarts though they were more scarce.

Finishing his grooming he put the brush aways, grabbing the hoof pick and methodically cleaning out all four hooves. Firefoot seemed to enjoy the ministrations, the magnificent stallion for all his shows of foul temper was a glutton for the pets and scratches he got when he was groomed.

Finished he sighed as he put the brushes away and went to get an armful of hay, scooping up a bucket of oats as well from the storage bin he paused and rubbed at his aching belly, it was almost looking appetising. However a loud and very demanding neigh made him think better of it and bring the bucket over, dumping it in Firefoot's manger. "You are a glutton, and selfish at that," he sighed. "You would begrudge me to share…" Not that the king's nephew stealing handfuls of oats from his horse wouldn't make him the laughing stock of all of Edoras.

It would be far easier to put the whole matter out of mind if his stomach wouldn't rumble so at the sight of the golden grains. Sighing once more he sank down into the fresh straw in the stall, listening to the crunching of churning teeth as his stallion made short work of the food. Finished with the grain the steed bent his powerful neck to eat the hay, whickering as he pushed forward to snatch a mouthful of straw coloured hair as well.

Giving a yelp of pain and surprise Éomer smacked him over the nose, though not viciously. The horse was sensing his mood, and Firefoot only had one way of dealing with his master when his mood was so dour and his thoughts so gloomy. He would pester him and torture him until Éomer either stalked away for fear of truly losing his temper with the beast, or could no longer maintain his darkened thoughts.

Trying to pick bits of half chewed straw and oats out of his hair was however not what would brightening his mood now and he glared at his horse. Only to be promptly knocked over by a steel shoed hoof on his shoulder. Truly annoyed now he gave his horse a last scorching glare that Firefoot simply cared naught about and left the stall.

Stalking his way up the hill the guards outside Meduseld did not even spare him a glance as he passed them.

Even now he could smell the supper preparations coming from the kitchen. The distinct smell of venison roasting on the spit, the herbs used to season it and the fragrance of stew and fresh baked bread. He was certain there would be huge wheels of cheese as well in there, a bit of bread, a chunk of cheese and possible a sausage and he would have been more than content. Oh, he wouldn't have minded a bowl of stew and a mug of ale, but he wasn't that picky. Anything would have been enough, the fragrance of the food caused his stomach to clench painfully. Pausing he contemplated his chances, any other rider that entered the kitchen with his stomach growling as he was would have been granted something. Be it even a chunk of day old bread, even the stable hands would be given as much if they asked. He was sister son of the King, Captain of the Eored, and in Aldburg he would have found himself sitting at the table with food in front of him and he would not even have to beg.

Approaching the door to the kitchen he wondered if he might be lucky and Cook would be too busy to notice him before he could beg a few scraps.

No such luck, he had no more stuck his head through the door before she looked up, waving her ladle. "Out! If supper is to be on time, we have no time for your foolishness! Out, before I tell the King you're pestering my maids!"

Théoden would not believe it he knew, but nor would he get any food, so slamming the door behind him he stalked through the halls to the small patio on the back where he sank down, elbows on knees, stomach growling painfully, all the more for having caught the fragrance of the food.

If he begged Éowyn the cost would be dear and he knew it, and now the cook was wise to him anyhow and would not be likely to yield any, even to her. Trying to quench his anger and forget his hunger he pounded his fist against the stone, but it did nothing to sooth his temper.

He was too angry too pay much attention to the sounds from the hall at first, though angered cries and even a crash of broken pottery could be heard from within. Digging a rock out of the ground with his boot he threw it against the stone wall, better than to crack his knuckles on the hard stone once more.

The next crash took him by surprise and he jumped, his hand going to the hilt of his sword as a loud shriek came from inside the hall, a woman screaming with rage, and he would have run inside if he had not recognized the voice of the cook. Not that he wanted her ill, but like as not he felt it was nothing more than a kitchen maid having dropped a pot.

Then another crash was heard, and the sound of steel clad hoofs on stone, where no horse by right should be.

Frowning over the familiar pattern of the hoofbeats he still kept his hand on his sword, and a smile slowly spread across his face at the sight of the great grey beast that came around the hall. The door to his stall would not stop Firefoot from leaving if so he wished. Nay, it never took him more than a second to open it, as Éomer wished it. In a city of mostly wood and straw he did not wish for his horse to ever be trapped. One dry summer a carelessly left candle had burned down three houses before it was under control, and damaged two more before it was extinguished. He would not want his horse to suffer such a fate, though Firefoot was gracious enough to most often stay in his stall. If he left, not one of the stable hands would truly be able to keep him from doing so.

What really made him smile was not that his horse had sought to join him, but that he was obviously responsible for the ruckus in the kitchen. For in his mouth Firefoot was carrying a small cauldron by the handle. Steam still rising from the contents he must have stepped into the kitchen through the door to the small kitchen garden, and grabbed the first thing he could reach. Putting it down on the ground next to Éomer so that the contents spilled over the rim. Not venison, and not roast beef it appeared to be a fish stew. Possibly it was meant to be a part of something else in the meal, he did not care. There was enough of it that he would be able to fill his belly, and with Firefoot guarding him, Cook would never dare approach. She would be enraged and no doubt take her grievance to the King, but for that he feared not. Thédon would not be happy to have his cook angered, but he would know that his sister son did not lie, and he would tell him Firefoot had committed the crime on his own accord.

Further Théoden was not pleased that she would never even grant him bread. If annoyed to find himself once more caught between them he would do naught but groan and rub his temples. Pulling the small pot closer a yelp escaped him as he burned himself on it. Not at all deterred by the heat he pulled the tunic from his trousers and wrapped it around his hand. Taking the slim dagger from his belt he used it to first stab the largest pieces of fish, showing them into his mouth. Once the liquid had cooled a little more he laid the dagger aside scooping vegetables up with his hand and slurping the broth. Separating the bits of carrot from the rest he fed them to his horse who accepted them eagerly.

Hearing the door behind him creak he turned his head, hand straying for the dagger before he saw who it was.

"My council was disrupted by the rage of my cook, and upon first hearing her accusations I wondered if she had not lost her mind," Théoden shook his head as he stepped out on the small stone patio. "Now I feel the need to ask, my sisterson, have you taken leave of your senses?"

"You know me better than so, Uncle," he shrugged as he dug his hand into the pot. There were less than he had thought and his stomach was still rumbling. "I was resigned to suffer through until supper was served, for I was not even allowed to the kitchen door. T'would seem though Firefoot knew the reason for my foul mood. The idea was his, not mine, but I saw no reason to let his efforts go to waste."

"Why the two of you can not keep peace, I will never know," Théoden sighed. "For now the govern of my kitchen is on the warpath, and I fear I've displeased her for standing up for you. Tell me it was not in vain, Éomer, or I shall be most displeased. When did you last eat?"

"I came straight here to report, I ran out of rations yesterday at midday," he shrugged. "We came upon a family who's farm had been near destroyed, we gave them most of our food."

"Aye, you did the right thing then," Théoden sighed, reaching into his robe he pulled out a chunk of bread and a wedge of cheese wrapped in cloth that Éomer reached for with such eagerness he nearly upset the pot on his lap. "Not so fast, sisterson, let me see that," frowning Théoden reached for his hand. Bloodied from his blow to the stone he had not paid the scratches any head though Théoden shook his head.

"You need to hold your temper better, Éomer." He recognized the injury well from the boy's youth afore the boy learned to hold his temper at all. His father had had quite a temper as well, and the loss of both parents had done nothing for Éomer. Aye, Théoden knew well the signs, and though he rued any harm to the boy, he knew to be glad he had not done worse.

"Tis easier to do so when one is not hungry," the lad clenched his hand, not wishing to lower himself by reaching for the food again. Though there was a note of pain in his voice that Théoden knew as well as the bloodied cuts. A wise leader he had proved to be, but there were yet so many things that Éomer simply did not understand. That a hand sometimes needed to hurt to help, that a hard word could be meant in kindness.

"Even so, I fear for you sometimes," sighing Théoden took the cloth away from the cheese and sat it down on the stone. Dipping the linen into the broth he cleaned away the blood before wrapping the cloth around his hand. "I only have one son of my sister, Éomer. Only one son, only one sister daughter and only one sister son. I would not lose either one of you for the world, and I would not see you hurt for a bowl of stew or loaf of bread.

"I was not even able to get a word in afore she ran me off!" Éomer flared, pulling his hand away and pushing the pot to one side. "I left Firefoot in the stable, though it never held him if he did not wish it to. I never sought to aggravate her, but if she can't be civil to me, I shan't apologise for Firefoot!"

"Éomer!" Théoden snapped, watching him duck his head, gritting his teeth. Aye, the lad had learned he needed to hold his temper, and he worked hard to do so, but there was no mistake he was his father's son. "You my boy, are still far too hasty, and it's not a treat that becomes you," he scolded, though he softened his tone. "I know you did not induce your horse to the action, and though Firefoot is a highly intelligent beast and does your training credit, he is still a horse. I do not see how you could have commanded him to the deed, even had you wanted. But you need to hold your peace when someone is trying to show you kindness."

"My apologies Uncle," Éomer sighed and leaned back. "I am weary, and it would seem in a disagreeable mood."

"If I could not accept a little bit of temper from you at times, then a poor uncle would I be," Théoden told him, passing him the bread and cheese. Éomer hesitated only for a moment before he dug in, cramming his mouth full of bread dipped in the broth. He remembered eating much the same way when he was that age, most of the riders did. They worked hard, spent most of the day in the saddle and the rest training. It was no wonder that Éomer currently needed as much as his uncle and sister ate together. "I will say this my boy," he added with a light smile. "I have never been as glad that I gifted that foal to you, as I am now. For I know no other who could have been granted such loyalty from him."

"Firefoot is loyal because he wishes to," breaking the remaining chunk of bread in half Éomer gave one share to his horse. "And he will not let me take it for granted."

"As he should not," Théoden nodded. The horse would have been a terrible waste on anyone but Éomer, for he wondered if even his own son would have been able to earn that loyalty from the stallion. Firefoot was no ordinary horse, not even by the standard of the Mearas. Never in all his time as a rider had he known a horse to raid the kitchen for food for his master. Never before had he heard of a horse that was capable of such intelligence, and Éomer encouraged the beast at every turn. "I am glad Éomer, that he has you, as glad as I am that you have him. I think I worry a little less knowing you watch over one another, but Cook is on the warpath, and I think he would be safer in the stable."

"Aye," Éomer nodded slowly, scratching the horse gently on the nose. "Hãm," he ordered gently, the horse knowing well that home was his stall in the stable when they were in Edoras. "Go on my friend, better for you, let me worry about her fury, you go find some oats, and thank you my friend," with a last scratch the horse trotted off down the hill the way he had come.

"You to," Théoden mused. "Better to keep both of you away from her for the time being, and with luck she shall have calmed before supper. Either way, I would not have you suffer her ill temper, not for just wanting a simple meal. I'll sooth her, my lad." He took the empty pot as Éomer stuffed the last of the cheese in his mouth.

"Thank you, Uncle," he smiled. "I should find Éowyn, she'll be most displeased with me if I do not let her know I'm here."

"Aye, so she will," and that would be another fight to deal with Théoden sighed. Èowyn had a temper every bit as bad as Éomer, and should she be displeased with her brother, she would not hesitate to take fist, or wooden sword to him. No, better to send the boy to her, and hope that with Firefoot in the stable once more they might have a nice evening together as family.

One might always hope, though it often was in vain….

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.

Review Reply. To Sue, I would have to admit that I did not give that matter too much thought, though, it is quite a different affair to climb up yourself, and carry someone. It is not easy to lift an adult, a heavily well muscled male would be all but impossible for some. I am imagining the farmer is not very well trained. For the rest, well, if you had a furious Éomer in your well, and was responsible, would you want to go down with him? ;) Also, thank you so much. I always aspire to learn and be better, I am proud of my writing, but as an dyslectic, it does not always come easy...

/Elenhin