Chapter 35
Calling for a halt Théodred studied the land before them, the small shallow river would give them plenty of water for the horses, for themselves to drink and even for a good wash even if it was cold. The hills on the sides offered some protection from the winds if not much, and there was enough wood from the trees growing by the river for them to light fires. It was not the best camp that one might make, but it would be the best they would find for many more miles and there was not much daylight left.
"Shall I tell the men to make camp?" Elfhelm queried, bringing his horse next to Brego.
"Aye, we won't reach anything better before nightfall," Théodred nodded. "Tell the men they have my leave to see if they can catch some rabbits for the pot," he had seen enough burrows to think it would be possible. The shrubbery and river giving them enough protection. There wouldn't be much fish in the river when it was so shallow, though he wouldn't mind if any was caught.
For a patrol they were fairly large, fifty riders, himself included. With himself and Elfhelm both veterans they were a stronger force than was normal, but then they had not only the King's son, but also his sister son with them. Éomer should not have been allowed with the riders so young, but he was not to be held back any longer and Théoden knew it. Not even yet fifteen summers old, though he would be before long he was indeed the youngest ever allowed.
It was not by choice though, the times were dark and desperate, and Éomer's skill with blade and horses surpassed most those his senior. Théodred only feared for his temper and lack of experience. If he kept a cool head, then he had the knowledge he needed, but although he had finally taken the lesson that his hot headedness would get him killed, as it had his father, he still had a ways to go.
Théoden King had only allowed him out if he was with Théoden, and he was not yet a full rider. It had been judged that he would better learn what he needed by experience, telling the boy the lessons he needed had no substance and though Éomer wanted to understand it was hard for him to do so. He was no fool the boy, and Théodred was proud of his younger cousin. He was not wont to complain, he strove to be a man with every fiber in his body, but it was painfully clear he was still not much more than a boy. A handful of whiskers on his chin was a pitiful excuse for a beard, and his face was light and fair, not yet weathered by the wind and sun.
No, while Théodred thought him too young, and knew he truthfully was, Éomer needed to learn other lessons now, and those he needed to learn by doing.
He shirked no duty as they set the camp, but watching him Théodred wondered if it was not ill advised to have him along. Most of the riders had ten years on him or more, if he did not lack in courage he lacked in experience and he did not know what the men were talking about.
As the stew was ready and the men sat to eat, Éomer glared into his bowl and though Théodred sought not to interfere he could tell by the hunched shoulders that the boy was displeased with his lot. Taking his own bowl to sit beside him he noted the scowl on his face and wondered if the older riders had been giving him a hard time again. Éomer did not understand their jokes yet, the laughter and the nudges as they spoke of wives and tavern wenches. He had not the knowledge that allowed him to laugh with them as the jokes got bawdy, and Théoden thought not for the first time he would soon need to see to his education in the matter.
Éomer was sister son to their King and lord, even if he never sought to use his position, there were plenty of others who would think they could climb the ladder faster by ensnaring him. Be it other riders, or the more sly creatures in skirts they would soon seek to sink their claws in him. He worried Éomer would not know to see it for what it was, and would think everyone was in earnest.
The more grizzled riders tended to think he was too young, and that Théoden had been ill advised to indulge him. Some of the younger ones did not wish to believe he could have shown such promise as to advance so far at such a young age, and it had not made it easier for Éomer to find his place.
Even Éothain at one year older than Éomer had not been deemed ready to join the Eored yet, so the boy truly was without friends.
"The broth will go rancid if you glare at it so," Théodred museed. "Tis not so bad, as provisions go. I've eaten worse many times."
"I've made no complaints about the fare," Éomer muttered as he dipped his spoon into the bowl.
"No, you complain very little, less than many new riders, and yet I do not think you are content," Théodred mused. "If not the stew, then what is the matter?"
"I know that Uncle thinks it is for the best, and I know you have much experience that will help me. Indeed I am grateful for your wisdom, but to everyone else, you're my nursemaid…" The youth clenched his hand around the bowl, and Théodred smiled softly as he watched his cousin strive to control his emotions.
"Aye, I fear that to some extent, you're right," he mused. "Elfhelm sees the truth for what it is, an old man worrying for his sister son. You are skilled with the blade Éomer, and I would rather have you beside me, than most any other rider with a spear. Skill you have, but not the knowledge of years, and that makes you vulnerable. Father fears to lose you, and you can not hold him to blame. He did allow you this much, and you must know it was with a heavy heart he did so."
"Aye, I am grateful," Éomer bit his lip as he pushed the cooling stew around in his bowl. "And I am not without sense, I know my inexperience could cost not only me, but others as well, but truly, if we are in danger, my job will be to lay my life before yours, you must never try to protect me."
"Éomer, you are a brother to me," Théodred felt a thick lump in his throat that proved harder to swallow than any stew. "I would never wish to trade your life for mine."
"You are the heir, we all must be willing to do so, and I am," Éomer turned large earnest eyes towards him. "If I must do it, then it would be an honour for me, t'would be a better death than my father's…." his voice died out bitterly as he slammed the bowl down on the ground and pushed to his feet. "I do not fit in here, these men do not want me with them, and if the only way I can earn their approval is with my death, then better that!"
Unable to remain where he was he left, stalking away with swift strides as he strove not to run and show his youth with wet eyes.
Théodred wondered briefly if their father had not been wrong, in allowing Éomer to be where he was, and in thinking Théodred could protect him if he was with him. Éomer's father, Èomund had died in an orc ambush, because he allowed his temper to overrule his wisdom. His men died with him, and it weighed heavily on Éomer though he knew his father's mistake was not his. The boy shared his hot temper though, and it was why Théoden had gone as far as he had in ensuring the lad learned to temper it. Had he not, Théoden would never have allowed this, but Éomer had proved he understood the danger in losing his temper in a fight. He was not perfect yet, but aye, the boy was learning well.
That he would think his own life worth less than Théodred's though, made the older man's blood run cold and he sighed tiredly as Elfhelm came to sit beside him. Watching as while most men sat beside the fire telling tall tales, Éomer had gone to his horse and appeared to be whispering something in Firefoot's ear.
"If that creature is half Meara, I swear the other half is wolf," Elfhelm shook his head, indicating the grey stallion Éomer appeared to be deep in conversation with. "If he did not try to take a bite out of me the other day, I'm not sitting here."
"Éomer is still trying to find his place," Théodred sighed. "I would imagine Firefoot senses it, he does not like it that Éomer is ill at ease yet."
"Well, tell the beast tis not I that has the boy feeling out of sorts," Elfhelm snorted. "I welcome him, he might not have a beard yet, but I've seen him, and in those dark times any man who can hold his own is good enough."
"My father wishes for me to keep him safe, Éomer is determined to die for me…." Théodred shook his head. "Father would have done better to appoint Firefoot his protector in this than me. If we encounter orcs, I fear for what that boy will do."
"He will follow orders," Elfhelm smiled. "As he has been taught, as will that monster of his. It's a tall shadow to step out of, my Lord, yours…. The boy won't have it easy doing so. He has his father's courage, and is learning your wisdom. Right now he's half a weed that couldn't shave if he so chased those whiskers around with the razor all day, in a few months, I wager he'll be growing into his boots."
"But will the men accept him then?" Théodred wondered. "It was not easy to be a man when you were the King's son, I wager Éomer has it no easier for being his sister son. In six months they'll still be poking at him to see what he is."
Elfhelm leaned back nodding, pondering his words. "They wonder about him, there is no truth in denying it. They wonder if he'll let his father's temper rule him, or if Théoden King will let his grief spoil him. In giving him that horse, the blood of the Mearas, he might not have done the boy a favour. They wonder if he is truly worth the honour, or if he truly understands the honour. I'd say he does, I see what he does with that beast, and I know not anyone else who'd get a creature like that to do the same. No, Théodred, I do not think our King erred when he gifted him the horse, but it sets him apart even more when he was already born apart."
"I had hoped he would find his place easier," Théodred sighed, leaning back again. "Does he ever spend the evening with the men, or is he tense for that I am here?"
"Tis not easy for a boy to be with the men," Elfhelm shook his head. "He knows nothing of the ways of a man. He hears them speak, and he does not know their meaning. What could a child his age know of women, drinking and battle? Théoden I think should not have sent him out before he knew at least one of them, there are plenty of wenches who'd snare him in the hope of a rich purse, and he wouldn't know it. Ale I can pour down him till he learns, and battle he'll be seeing soon enough, but it is not for me to teach him the other."
"That duty will be mine I think, though I have cautioned my father he sees not yet the need," Théodred looked up at a shrill cry and the roar of laughter. Whatever it was that Éomer had sought to teach the horse it had not worked, for Firefoot was dancing around him and Éomer lay sprawled out on the ground. Climbing to his feet to the sound of laughter, a scowl on his face to sour the cream even still in the cow. Like as not it was the high pitched sound of his cry, a youth still who's voice had not deepened that had sent the men laughing. Éomer would not see it though, he would think it was his failure to teach the horse what he wished that caused such merriment. Even had he understood, Théodred knew he would have been just as angered from it. Confused by the laughter of the others, and the anger of his master Firefoot danced about and Théodred looked on with a grim expression.
Brushing himself off Éomer stalked further away from the others, leading Firefoot by the bridle.
"He's removing himself too far from the camp, but if I tell him now, it'll be no better for him," Théodred rubbed his chin. "If I scold him before the others... I can not do that to him, Elfhelm."
"Leave him be," the seasoned warrior advised. "I'll speak to him when I have the opportunity. There should be no danger here, wolves at the very worst, and should he meet one of those I pity the creature that tries to take on Firefoot."
"Aye," Théodred allowed himself a quiet laugh. Headstrong and stubborn as a mule, feroices as a warg, and loyal to the very last drop of blood. That was Firefoot.
The two were well suited for each other indeed….
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.