Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. I am only playing with the fandom for the enjoyment of me as well as others.

Authors note: Take care that a spew warning might apply and be cautious when handling food and liquids while reading this.

Chapter 34

Since they now lived in a time of peace Aragorn had come to take certain things for granted which he would not have expected so readily before. No longer did a simple ale in an inn tend to leave one attempting to herd Halflings through Middle Earth. No longer did the shadow lie heavily over the land as it had done not long ago. Peace was a wondrous thing, but it was for some harder to grasp. Where he recalled a peaceful if sorrowful childhood in Rivendell, some of his friends had known naught but war and danger for all their lives.

Some seemed to find it easier to adjust and adapt then did others. Faramir, his Steward, and Éowyn his wife, had truly embraced the time of peace and thrived on it. He saw the glow that seemed to surround them and felt an immense happiness for his friends.

Éomer, brother of Éowyn and now crowned King of Rohan had found it harder to adapt to a life of peace. His wife, the lovely Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth was certainly doing what she could to ease the transition, but Éomer had been raised to be a Rider and a warrior, and no one had thought he would ever have to be aught else.

In some ways, it seemed to Aragorn that he viewed his position as yet another battle that needed to be won. Ensuring that his people were fed, that their borders held against outwards threats and that no new threat came to pray upon his people, it seemed to Aragorn that he had not yet fully come to enjoy the peace.

He saw it in his stance, the readiness to move, the way his sword hand would unconsciously clench at his side, the way his eyes were never still for long but searched for the next threat.

He considered Éomer a close friend, a brother, just as he did Faramir but he worried more for the blonde warrior than he did for his steward. Faramir was calmer, more pragmatic and a strong resilient force, like the mountains he let things batter against him but he did not break. Éomer was more like the giant wave that swept over the beach, destructive, volatile and capable of causing great damage. Just so would the Rohan Riders throw themselves at their enemies, like a giant wave of horses crashing over the standing force. So would they fight their battles, and so did they seem to live their lives. Éomer was strong, he was a warrior with the truest of heart, but Aragorn feared that eventually he would meet the rock that did not budge under his force, and the wave would be the one that broke.

He had briefly tried to speak to him, but it had not been to any use. There were things he was not able to give, though he would dearly wished to do so. Lothíriel had embraced Éowyn as a sister with open arms, as had the pair with Arwen. If a little shy around the Elf at first, it no longer mattered to the three and it gladdened Aragorn's heart to see them. The three women had truly embraced each other like family, and Éowyn certainly did not lack for older brothers now. Aragorn if pressed would have to admit that he felt a brotherly affection for the shield maiden of Rohan. She was strong and proud, beautiful and courageous even if when first they met her heart had been saddened and dark. It was behind them and he understood her need for escape, ill advised as it might have been. Lothíriel's brothers, cousins of Faramir had been thrilled to take her into their fold, and though slightly overprotective at times it was clear to Aragorn that Éowyn did not mind the larger family.

No, he felt no concern for her, and he wished only that he could say the same for her brother. The fearless joyous child he had once known in Rohan was gone. Not a glimpse of the fierce three feet tall warrior remained to be seen. Éomer then had been more akin to a tornado, no one might outdo him in bravery, no matter the size of the opponent. Stubborn, hot tempered and without the faintest trace of self preservation his father had been unable to do anything but shake his head as his son tore through the land.

The wooden sword that had once belonged to Théodred was longer than he was tall, dragging behind him as he walked, but that did not stop him from laying utter waste to one of the archery targets. Unable to draw the bow a laughing soldier allowed him to handle, he would not be stopped but threw it down to charge the target, sword swung so wildly it near caused him to lose his balance. It was no matter, Éomer knew his goal and would not be deterred. Once the final swing caused him to overbalance and sit on the ruined stakes and clumps of straw he laughed.

Rarely had Aragorn seen such determination in one so young, he had wondered then if not the child would prove himself as valiant as a man grown as he had been as a child. Now, he felt his expectations of him had if anything been too low.

The strength of the man had surpassed wildest hope, and he could not have been prouder to call any other man brother, but he still worried for him.

The dark shadow of the war had not yet fully left his eyes, it seemed always to be there somewhere in the depth. Dispelled at times for brief moments to the back of those chestnut orbs, the lines around the eyes lightening as he beheld his sister's bliss or his wife's smile.

Always though it would return when he thought no one was aware and his shoulders hung wearily as he stood leaning against the parapet near the fountain in the courtyard. Aragorn had meant to approach him, to seek to draw him into a lighter mood though he knew not what thought troubled him just then. It was perhaps nothing more than the weight of the crown, and Aragorn knew just how heavy that could be.

He had no time to enquire of the matter before a young guard came bounding into the courtyard, newly trained, out of breath from attempting to run with the armour it made Aragorn almost smile. He hoped in the new times the soldiers under his armour would have nothing worse to worry about than how to run up a flight of stairs and report, in full armour.

"Sire, my Lord," he gasped, red in the face.

"Catch your breath, then report," Aragorn urged him, casting an eye to Éomer who was shaking his head. Probably thinking that the soldiers of Gondor needed a more rigorous training if they were so bothered by the stairs.

"But my Lord, Sire, there is trouble in the royal stables," the man gasped out. "One of the Rohan horses has attacked a stableboy, the big grey one sire, the horse, not the boy…" The young man was still gasping for breath as he had to leap back, nearly bowled over by the King of Rohan who had bolted at the mere mentioning of the big grey. Aragorn was not surprised, for it could only mean one horse, Firefoot. Eomer's own stallion, and a horse Aragorn would call a friend if the horse allowed it. Firefoot was like no other horse he had ever known, not even Brego could in truth compare to the war horse that was ever loyal to Éomer. They seemed to share much the same temperament, and it was not unknown for Firefoot to torment a stable hand he thought clumsy or unworthy of cleaning out his hooves. To outright attack a boy though, that Aragorn could not believe.

Wingfoot Éomer had once claimed to name him when they met on the plains of Rohan, and at the time he had taken pride in the name. Now however he felt he no longer deserved the name as he was quite unable to catch up with the blonde warrior. Not even knowing the path down to the stables better allowed him to gain any ground on his friend, for Éomer cared naught about the folly of rushing down the steps at such speeds.

Breathless himself after the mad dash Aragorn could hear the commotion in the stable yard well before he could see it. The sharp report of steel shoes hooves on the stone yard, the cries from the spectators and the angry cry of the warhorse. Indeed it looked as if the horse had gone to attack, wearing a halter but no saddle he was chasing one of the lanky stable hands around the yard. The boy obviously running for his life as he strove to keep ahead of the horse. Without a doubt the horse would easily have overtook him if he wanted to, but he seemed content to remain behind him to chase him on.

Even with the terrifying scenario before them Aragorn was surprised that no one seemed to notice the string of Rohirric curses that erupted from Éomer as he saw them.

"What happened?!" Grabbing the stable master by the arm Aragorn barked the question.

"Those idiot boys," the man snorted. "We needed more hands than we had, now with the extra horses here. I wouldn't have taken them, too inexperienced they are, but we needed more hands and they were all we could get. Started a wager between them, and that idiot tried to win the pot by riding the horse. If I had caught him I would've taken a strap to him, but the horse I think is putting the fear of the devil in him by himself."

"That idiot tried to ride Firefoot?" Aragorn could only blink, astonished by such a foolish action. How could a boy get the idea they would get away with such an act? Firefoot had stood his ground against an Oliphaunt as Éomer threw his spear and brought two of the enormous beasts down. Firefoot rode straight against a wall of spears and would not falter. He was a hero of the battle of Pellenor as much as was any man, and he was the horse belonging to a fellow regent.

"He got no further than making his intention clear, then the horse chased him out of the stable and has been chasing him around since," the stable master nodded. "Was it not for worry the horse would slip, I'd let them continue, but I fear for your horse my Lord, can you stop him? I do not blame his rage, and believe me my Lord, that young fool will never set foot in my stable again. You may deal with him as you please as far as I'm concerned."

"Éomer, if the boy slips, Firefoot might very well trample him," as much as he wondered if he shouldn't dust off the dungeons, Aragorn would not see the foolish boy killed.

"T'would serve him right, but there might be better ways," Éomer growled.

"You may certainly have your say in his punishment," Aragorn promised. "Or, I'd leave it to Firefoot, but not this publicly, please, let's not have a death to deal with."

"Aye, some fool might wrongly blame the beast," Éomer gave a grudging nod. He emitted a sharp whistle that had several people near them jump, and Firefoot instantly skid to a stop. The boy he had been chasing had not realised, running for his life still though red in the face he continued on, and ran hard into the behind of the very horse that had been chasing him. Crashing to the ground he lay dazed as Firefoot turned around, to snort at him. The horse looked most offended by the face to rear encounter that had occurred.

"Firefoot, nã!" Éomer commanded as the horse seemed about to place a hoof on the boy that wheezed as he struggled to climb back on his feet. Once standing on trembling legs he looked ready to be sick, and Aragorn would not be surprised if he was before it was over. Not only had the horse obviously scared the life out of him, but now he would have to face an enraged King of Rohan. That was enough to make Orcs think twice, and a fool of a boy would be likely to faint from fright before it was over. "Wêman him!"

Aragorn doubted that anyone else understood the command to bring him over, the boy certainly had no idea of what the Rohirric meant, though he might have understood that it referred to himself. "Come here!" he added his sharp command as the boy was much too slow to obey. As he faltered in his steps a mere word from Éomer was enough for Firefoot to encourage him onward with a heavy shove between the shoulder blades.

"Is it true, did you attempt to ride a horse that did not belong to you, a warhorse no less?" Éomer demanded. Not shouting, but his voice was cold as steel and aye, Aragorn wondered if the boy would faint. Éomer had a reputation of being hot headed, even in Gondor. Most of the people while grateful for the aid Rohan had lent them, seemed to think that they were quite barbaric and their King just shy of breathing fire. He had known nobles stare in open mouthed shock that Éomer spoke Westron as well as he did, and stared even more when they realised the King of Rohan was quite skilled in the use of silverware.

It always angered him to some extent when they showed so little sense, though it had never seemed to worry Éomer much. He did not care if some overweight fool did not think he knew how to use a bath. He rather seemed to enjoy frightening them, by his usual brusque and loud manners.

If it had not been so amusing to watch, Aragorn thought that maybe he should have a talk to him about it.

It was very amusing to watch….

Now the boy stood absolutely trembling before them. "Is it true?" Aragorn demanded as the boy had not taken his eyes away from the King of Rohan, but appeared much too frightened to talk.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, barely able to get even those words out. "The other boys made me…."

"I have not heard of anyone holding a sword to your throat!" Éomer snapped. "Are you not aware of what a warhorse does? He could have killed you as I swat a fly. Have you no more sense than to think you may do as you please? Answer me boy!" he barked as the boy swallowed, almost swaying on his feet.

"It was a wager," the boy croaked. "I meant no harm, I swear I meant no harm. If I did, Halmeth would let me take his chore of grooming the horses, instead of cleaning tack. I, I only wanted to work with the horses, sir, I did not realise who's horse he was."

"Whom the horse belongs to is of little matter, to take a horse that does not belong to you should earn you a good sound whipping," Éomer snapped. "You're lucky Firefoot was in a good mood, or he would have stomped you out like nothing."

"You could have been killed, quite easily," Aragorn added grimly. "And while I have never yet ordered a whipping, for endangering not only yourself, but the horse and others, I might very well consider it. However, as the horse you attempted to take belongs to the King of Rohan, I have a mind to let him decide your punishment."

"Yes sire," a small whimper escaped the boy and Aragorn looked at his friend. His eyes were still cold and hard, dangerous, angry, but he knew Éomer well enough to know he would not be unjust. Later, in private, he would not be surprised if the young king vented his anger. He would not be surprised if later he saw him with bruised and split knuckles, but Éomer was not one to let his temper get the better of him so easily, no matter what the rumour said. Truthfully, he thought Éomer had encouraged that rumour as it made others wary of him.

"You did such a fool stunt for wanting to work with the horses?" Éomer demanded and the boy managed a small nod.

"I'm only a tanners son, tis' my only chance. I'd never have been let into the stables had they not needed more boys."

"So as you were granted the chance, you sought to abuse the trust placed on you. Thinking nothing of the man that would have to answer for your foolishness," Éomer did spare the lad any guilt Aragorn noted. "Had you injured any of the horses, the stablemaster would have had to answer for it. Aye, you're lucky Firefoot was in a good mood, and that you did not injure him, for if you had, nothing would have saved you from me…" Gritting his teeth Aragorn saw him collect himself. "If working with horses is what you wish to do, then that is what you will do. I'll be returning here ere the evening, and then, every stall in this stable will be scrubbed clean, every single dirty straw taken out and replaced with fresh. Every single bit of tack will be cleaned and cared for, and every saddle blanket cleaned. If I'm satisfied, then it shall be all, but if I do not think you have given it your best effort we will have further words. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes sire," he swallowed thickly, trembling. "Thank you, sire…"

"Well, in with you and get started," the stablemaster gave him a shove towards the stable, shaking his head as the boy disappeared into the dim interior. "Seems like more than fair punishment to me," he mused. "Though it'll like as not take him well into the night."

"Should teach him a lesson then," Éomer growled. "Firefoot could have killed him, would have if he had felt any ill intent."

"Aye, I never thought him that big a fool, but malicious that boy is not," the man confirmed. "What do you wish me to do with him when he's done?"

"That depends on how well he does the job," Éomer ran his hands down Firefoot's legs, checking him over once more, though the stallion pushed at his shoulder, nipping at his hair and pushing for a reward. Straightening Éomer scratched his nose and Aragorn could swear the stallion just short of purred. "I will see how he does before supper, you may throw him some bread and water if you wish it, but he does not leave."

"My Lord," the stable master gave a snort no one who had not known the King for some time would have dared in his presence. "You put the fear of the Valar into that boy, I doubt he'll even sneeze unless given permission to do so."

"Good," Éomer patted Firefoot on the neck. "Go on, back inside with you, and do not give that boy more trouble than he deserves, or we'll have words."

The horse whickered as if indeed he understood trotting back inside the stable.

"What do you intend to do with him?" Aragorn asked as the two of them started back for the seventh level. "As foolish as his actions were, and dangerous, I do not think he meant any harm."

"And you think me unjust?" Éomer raised an eyebrow.

"No, I think you fair," Aragorn decided. "Though some might think you harsh, I do not. A stallion of Firefoot's worth, there are few like him, and a boy that would risk him come to harm needs to learn what his actions might have brought on. Had the horse belonged to a less reasonable man…" he had to pause as Éomer barked out a laugh at being referred to as reasonable. "...and less calm…" again he had to paus. For certainly Éomer was not used to hearing himself being referred to as calm. "Someone who cared more about his own status and importance might have ordered the boy whipped indeed, and I would not have approved of that. I think you fair, but I also think you have something further planned and I would know what."

"If a wish to work with horses drove him to such a foolish act, I would let him know just what working with horses truly means. If he takes the lesson, then mayhap your stablemaster will have further use of him, and he'll be wiser for it," Éomer shrugged. "Is there food to break our fast, do you think?"

"I think we can accommodate you," Aragorn managed to keep a straight face though he knew well there would be plenty of food. Had not the cooks already seen to it, then Arwen would have made certain. He wondered sometimes if she did not at least to herself view Éomer as a younger brother, for it certainly seemed so to him at times. As she certainly missed her own brothers at times he saw nothing amiss in it. Certainly it was only beneficial for them all, for while he would not say Éomer needed anyone's counsel, friends he could use. He had also never known it when the warrior did not feel he might eat. Still thinking like a soldier that one never knew when the next meal might come, and best make use of the one in front of you while it lasted.

Nothing more was said of the matter with the boy, though Aragorn knew Éomer had gone down to check on his progress, and he was not surprised at all when Éomer went down once more after supper when they estimated the boy would be done with his task.

Indeed he was just stumbling out of the stable when they came, and Aragorn wondered if Éomer had bid someone to fetch him. Or if he knew so well the time it would take to perform the task.

"My Lords," the boy mumbled haltingly, seeming to waver on his feet.

"Eat," Éomer threw him a piece of bread and a small wineskin, watching as the boy hesitated before digging in with the ravenous hunger of one who had worked hard and eaten little. "I have been told you have performed your tasks to satisfaction, so tell me now, do you still wish to work with horses?"

"Yes, my lord," he mumbled, head down. "Though I do not know that anyone will allow me." Cramming most of the bread into his mouth he nearly choked and Aragorn watched Éomer hold back a grin. The Rohan King had something planned, he was certain of it.

"When you have finished, you will saddle Ãsolcennes for me," Éomer commanded and Aragorn frowned. The horse was not named 'sloth' for no reason, she was slow and not one Éomer would normally even consider riding. She was used mostly as a horse to learn on, and was only along for that purpose. Because the Rohan rider had wanted to give one of their young squires more experience.

"Yes, my Lord," the boy wiped at his mouth, smearing crumbs.

"You may eat first, you have worked hard, and you have earned the right to that much at least," Éomer told him, more gently. "As soon as you're finished will be soon enough."

"Yes, my Lord," he nodded, and finished quickly, still chewing as he headed into the stable.

"What do you aim to do?" Aragorn queried once the boy had disappeared into the stable.

"I wager he has never been astride a horse before, or he would never have allowed himself to be fooled into taking such liberties with Firefoot," Éomer shrugged. "He has worked hard as he was tasked, now, he'll find that was nothing compared to what he thought he wished for. If in another few hours, he still cares any for horses, your stable master has determined to take him as an apprentice."

"I don't know if I think that you are kind or cruel," Aragorn shook his head. Éomer certainly would not spare the boy, but two hours learning to ride with the King of Rohan as his instructor would give the boy more skill than many months with an instructor of Gondor.

Wiping sweat from his eyes with a grease stained sleeve the boy came leading the horse with him. "Well boy, mount up, I do not care to be out here all night," Éomer ordered him.

"Sire?" the boy gawked.

"You took your punishment like a man, I can respect that," Éomer bore his eyes into him. "Now let us see if you can ride like one, mount up, if you thought your day has been hard, you will think this worse, but if you wish to ride, I will have you ride."

"Go on," Aragorn urged as the boy looked terrified. "You're about to get the best lesson in horses you could ever hope to get, do not waste it."

"No my Lord," the boy attempted to mount, awkward, and flustered as Éomer barked instructions at him. Having him mount and dismount until he was satisfied. Then he was walking around the small stable yard, and while flustered, exhausted and quite frankly still terrified Aragorn felt the boy did well. Though at the end of the lesson he was so stiff he nearly fell from the saddle rather than dismount.

"Good," Éomer nodded, giving him a nod of approval. "Take her inside boy, she needs brushing and feed.

"Aye, sire," he nodded, walking awkwardly with the wide stance Aragorn recognized well from unused and saddle sore riders. As the boy took the mare to her stall, Éomer took a brush to groom Firefoot who pranced about in his stall during the ministrations.

"Put you off horses?" the King of Rohan asked as he fed his stallion an apple.

"No Sire," the boy shook his head, biting his lip. "Though I know now better than before how badly I acted. I, I did not know Sire, and I am truly sorry."

"You took your punishment, and you took the lesson, the matter is closed," Èomer stated, pushing Firefoot's nose away as the stallion performed a valiant search of more apples in his tunic. "If you wish it, you'll be apprenticed here in the stable. Hard work, as now you know, but perhaps not without rewards."

"I wish it Sire, and I will not fail your trust," he beamed.

"If after this day you can still smile, then indeed you will not," Éomer gave an amused snort. "Off with you, morning comes soon enough, and you'll need be here early."

"Yes Sire, thank you Sire," the boy sketched a bow before he was off and Aragorn leaned against the door of the stall, earning himself a glare from his friend as he gave the mighty grey a piece of carrot.

"He might have done something foolish, but no worse than many other boys his age," the blonde shrugged.

"You included?" Aragorn raised an eyebrow teasingly.

"Aye, most certainly," Éomer allowed himself to chuckle as he gave his horse one last pat goodnight. "Now come, the day is long and I would see if there is something to eat before we rest."

Aragorn laughed, if Firefoot was a glutton for treats, it would seem he only took after his master.

A Temporary End... Please review, the Cricket is hungry... 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.