Chapter 39
"Father," Eldarion stood himself before King Elessar, by many friends still known as Aragorn. By his side stood the one year younger Elboron, son of his Steward, Prince Faramir. The two boys were oft seen playing together, and at five and four years of age, there seemed no limit to the chaos they could cause. While neither child were ill behaved, Elboron showed clearly the heritage of his mother, while also gentle and quiet as his father when it pleased him. The two were often partners in mischief, and knew well who would oblige them and who would be more inclined to stop them. "The guards report that the Riders from Rohan are approaching the gate, may Elboron and I go down and greet them at the gate?"
"We wish to see if Uncle Éomer has brought Elfwine with him," Elboron piped up with less formality than that of his friend. Too young still for such matters when the hope of his favourite uncle and his cousin lured him.
"I do not think that he will have," Aragorn mused as he watched the two boys, well aware for their innocent display that Elfwine was not all that lured them. A little younger than even Elboron he was the wildest of the lot. Raised in Rohan, where children were oft allowed to roam free from a young age, he reminded Aragorn much of what he had known of Éomer at that age. Though neither quite as fearless or reckless, perhaps due to the tempering of Lothíriel's more gentle manners and nature. Elfwine was fiercely loyal to his cousin and his friend, and any who offered either boy grief would soon know that the children of Rohan were encouraged to learn to fight a fair fight. Elfwine did not suffer bullies, and Aragorn had seen the blonde scrap of a boy take on bigger ones, and still come out the victor. "The journey here from Rohan is quite far for a young boy like Elfwine, and I know he will have wanted to move swiftly."
"Yes Father, but may we go see?" Eldarion tilted his head to the side, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder before Elboron could speak with haste and reveal too much. "It is only proper that the King of Rohan is greeted as he arrives, is it not?"
"Very well, we would not want the King of Rohan to feel slighted," Aragorn agreed, though said King of Rohan might as well make his way into the city and be content to rest a few hours in the stable if he felt the hour was too late to knock upon the door. Though he did not doubt for a moment they were both eager to greet the man who was an uncle to one, and seen as one to the other, he knew there was something else on their minds. Whatever it was, he would know soon enough, and while Éomer would encourage them shamelessly to most mischief, there were few Aragorn would trust so easily with his son. "You may go down, but you must take a guard with you." He did not think it likely their safety would be at risk in the city, for the people loved their King and his son, but the lure of the market stalls might prove great to them indeed.
"Thank you Father," Eldarion shone up, eagerly running down the hall with Elboron on his heels.
When Éomer passed through the gates with two lines of Riders behind him, the first he saw was two young boys, nearly climbing each other in their eagerness to greet them.
"Welcome, Éomer King," Eldarion sketched a bow.
"Uncle!" Elboron was less restrained, waving eagerly though neither approached. Éowyn had been very firm with her son that one did not approach a warhorse without permission, and while Firefoot knew them, he did not know them so well they could approach him on their own.
"Hail, Prince Eldarion," seated in the saddle still Éomer bowed graciously, "Prince Sister-son," at his bow, the youngest boy broke out into a giggle, and knowing he was now permitted to do so, moved forward to grasp his uncle's stirrup. As soon as Éomer had acknowledged them, and knew for certain they were there, he was allowed to approach the horse and it was with awe he reached out a hand to stroke the grey stallion. He could not reach higher than the belly, and the horse whickered as his touch tickled. Turning his head around to snort a hot breath of air into his windblown hair, causing him to break out into a giggle.
"Father allowed us to come down to greet you, to see if you had Elfwine with you," Eldarion stated, standing himself at the stirrup.
"Nay, Lothíriel deemed it unwise," Éomer stated, nudging Firefoot to remind him of his manners. "Though you shall see him soon enough I think."
"Father thought as much, but we thought it best to see," Eldarion decided.
"And we wanted to see you, Uncle," Elboron declared, tugging gently at his boot as if he was afraid of being forgotten.
"So now that you have seen me, what do you intend to do?" ´Éomer teased them lightly.
"Escort you up to my Father," Eldarion stated seriously. "If it pleases you?"
"Aye, it pleases me, though I wonder, can you two keep up?" again he smiled at the boys, knowing well why Elboron was near to jumping up and down beside his horse. "I'm only teasing, sister-son. I would not make you walk all the way up this mass of stone. Come," so saying he reached down a hand and took the boy by the arm, lifting him as if he weighed no more than a morsel and sat him in front of himself in the saddle. Slipping his foot out of the stirrup he held his hand down again, and Eldarion grasped it gladly, setting his foot in the stirrup when he was high enough, though he could still not reach the saddle. Still holding Éomer's hand with one of his own, he grasped his belt with the other and allowed himself to be heaved the rest of the way to sit behind the King in the saddle. He knew the King was only humouring him to let him use the stirrup, for Firefoot was still much too tall for him, but it served to fill his heart with pride still. Taller than Elboron he enjoyed the idea that he was able to mount the horse, though he knew in truth it was not so.
Elboron reached his small hands to grasp the reins behind Éomer's hands, tilting his head backwards as far as he was able to smile at his uncle. "Mõdor said that this visit you must not buy us any sweets Uncle," he declared. "For if you do, she shan't cook you a single meal this visit, I heard her tell Father so."
"Did she now?" Éomer raised an eyebrow. It amused him that while Elboron spoke mostly Westron, his home being in Gondor, the title he gave his mother was in her native tongue.
"Elboron, you should have waited," Eldarion hissed from behind him.
"Mõdor said so though," Elboron pouted. "She said she was cross with you for doing so last time Uncle, she has come here with me and Father, she said she longed to see you."
"I have wished to see her to," Éomer mused. "And did she really make that threat? Sister-son?"
"Aye, she did," he nodded. "I thought you should know Uncle."
"Indeed, tis a good thing you told me," he nodded. "Let see now if I can recall where that market stall is, would either one of you fine lads know where one might buy some boiled sweets?"
"There's one on the fifth level, and one on the fourth," Eldarion spoke up from behind him. "The one on the fourth gives bigger pieces, but Ada says the one on the fifth is much better quality. But they cost more," he added hesitantly.
"Hmm," Éomer pretended to think that over. "Shall we let Firefoot decide? I think he knows one of them."
"Firefoot can chose?" Elboron spun around in the saddle. "Aye, please, let Firefoot say Uncle."
"Firefoot, swẽte," Éomer commanded the horse that perked his ears up. At his masters command he increased his pace and Elboron gave a squeal of delight as he gripped the saddle tighter with his legs, holding his hands on the reins while Firefoot made his way through the circles of the city up to the fifth level. Down a street to a market stall he went, tossing his head and neighing as he stood before the wares. The guards followed at a discrete pace, though Éomer had no doubt more than one of them would purchase a small package of boiled sweets before they moved on. Them that did not want them for themselves had younger siblings and children who would enjoy the treat.
Taking a few small coins out of his purse he passed them into Elboron's hand, and grabbing the boy by the back of his coat lifted him from the saddle with ease. Holding him out and lower towards the stall. Elboron, amidst a fit of giggles managed to hook one small foot on his uncle's bigger in the stirrup and leaned forward towards the stall as far as he could reach. Holding out the coins to the proprietor he knew quite well.
"A package each for the two boys, and one for Firefoot," Éomer requested with a smile as the man took the coins.
"At once my Lord," he near stammered, but then the sight of a mounted man holding a boy in such a way would not be one that was common. The boy however delighted in it, and beamed with pure joy as he was given the packages wrapped in parchment to hold as Éomer hoisted him back into his seat. Hours spent near everyday with sword and spear had given him strong arms, and the weight of a small boy was indeed nothing to him.
"My lord, may you be blessed," the proprietor, now an old man stated softly.
"And you, my good man," Éomer sketched a low bow from the saddle, holding on to Elboron's coat as the boy tried to copy the motion. Squirming a little to try and reach around his uncle Elboron had to grasp the pommel of the saddle as Firefoot sidestepped with a snort.
"Easy," Éomer grabbed his coat again. Taking two of the small packages from his hand, he slipped one into his pocket and passed the other to Eldarion.
"Thank you, Éomer King," the young prince beamed as he accepted it.
"Thank you," Elboron tilted his head upwards again, already his mouth was sticky with the sugar. Knowing very well that his uncle could be counted on to spoil him with small treats he had stuffed two of the lumps into his mouth.
"Tis the least Rohan can do, to keep goodwill with Gondor," he laughed as he nudged Firefoot to continue towards the stable. "Though I seem to be carrying an extra load here, where shall I rid myself of it? Hmm, a dungheap perhaps?"
"No!" Eldarion squealed behind him, while Elboron bounced in front of him.
"Oh yes," the younger boy cried cheerfully.
"You want that, you scoundrel?" Èomer frowned.
"Mõdor made me wear a new tunic, it itches," he complained. "She says I must look proper for the King, though you are my uncle also, so I do not see why."
"Because such foolishness is common for all mothers," he mused. "My own was no different. Take my word sister-son, on this it is not worth it to cross her. I think we shall find something more suitable than a dungheap, but off you shall come you little rascal." Keeping the boys where they were as he rode into the stable he steered Firefoot to where a large pile of straw lay. Grabbing Elboron by his coat he easily threw him into the soft straw, chuckling at the delighted laugh as the boy made his way to the surface once more.
"And what of you?" he nudged Eldarion. "Shall we dispose of you the same way, or shall I find myself arrested and thrown in the dungeon, for crimes against the crown?"
"I am willing to take that risk, Èomer King," Eldarion declared with a grin spreading all over his face.
"Off with you then," it was no harder for him to take the older boy and throw him into the straw before he dismounted himself. Leading Firefoot into a stall as both boys followed him, Eldarion having fetched brushes and Elboron trying to pick bits of straw from his treat.
Aragorn, at this time had been dispatched by his wife to find why the Rohan party seemed to tarry so long. Being told the boys had gone to greet them had only increased her determination as she felt they were far too mischievous to be left alone for long with someone who was wont to indulge them.
Entering the stable it did not take him long to locate the errant king and the two princes, their voices carried through the stable. Faramir and Éowyn had been in agreement it was best for Elboron to firstly speak Westron, as it was where he would live. They had taught him a few words so that he might address his mother in her native tongue, and more he had picked up on his own. Eldarion, had declared his intent on mastering not only Westron and the language of the elves, but that of the Rohirrim as well, and Éomer was a gracious teacher. While Éowyn only taught his son that which she thought was proper, the King of Rohan would indulge him in words his mother would rather have left for later. Though, so far the young warrior who had taught Aragorn so many explicatives, had shown amazing restraint. To Aragorn's knowledge, the worst the two boys had learned was 'dung' and 'slimy worm,' neither of which he felt was a disaster should either one use.
Listening he heard Éomer say the words, and the boys repeat them after him.
"Strẽaw," perfectly reasonable, since straw was used in the stall. Only when used by the wild men, who referred to the people of Rohan as straw-heads, could it be a problem.
"Lim crocca!" Éomer's voice carried a little more forceful, though the boy echoed it just as cheerfully. While straw, was something that Aragorn had found logical, he found the use of glue in the stable less so. Though glue pots could certainly be found in the palace, and he believed Faramir as well as some of his scribes made use of it. It was possible that Elboron had simply wanted something he could impress his father with. Why Éomer sounded so heartfelt when he said it though, he did not know, for as far as he knew the young warrior king stayed as far away from the parchments and books as he was able to.
"Rẽocan gät!"
Aragorn frowned a little at that, not that either word was to be avoided, goats were plentiful and no one could argue that they did sometimes carry a less than favourable fragrance around them. However, both the deep emotion that the word was filled with, and the fact that Éomer said it with much the same tone of voice as his less savorable expressions was some cause for concern.
Frowning he approached the stall, aye, the warrior was there with the children. At first it was a scene to bring a smile to his heart. His own son stood with brush in hand, stretching as far as he could to brush Firefoot's hind quarter. Elboron, shorter yet, had a brush and was stroking it along a foreleg, when he was not so overcome by mirth he was doubled over.
Aragorn did not fear for the children, though the war horse could crush them at will all too easily. In battle Firefoot was ferocious and without mercy. A force to be reckoned with by his own might. He did not tolerate any rider aside from Éomer unless the situation was dire. Had not in one such battle Éomer pulled Faramir up behind him when his steward had been unhorsed? Not only had the mighty grey allowed it, but when Éomer was struck unconscious during the act, Firefoot had moved to protect them both.
He would not harm the children, and had been commanded by his master to protect them at all cost, and so he would. When he gave the children leave to meet Éomer by the gate, he had known it was likely the blonde warrior would lift them into his saddle as they made the way back up the city, and he had also known that Firefoot would protest the action. If there was one thing the war horse detested, it was the contradictory signals he was given by any other rider than his own, and Elboron for all he had the blood of the Rohirrim in his veins could not yet comprehend what all his movements would mean.
Still, there was no fear for the boys, for Firefoot would not take his grievance out on them. That he would save for his master, and Éomer would full know his ire. Indeed, it would seem the stallion had already thought to do so, for while the boys held brushes in hand, Firefoot had found a moment when Éomer's attention were on them and not his horse, and the grey had made full use of it.
With the times being that of peace in general, the King of Rohan had not worn his armour. Certainly something Aragorn expected he regretted now. While the insults used was for the man relatively mild, the reason for their use was becoming clear. Firefoot had clamped his teeth around his upper arm, just below the shoulder. Knowing well the strength of his teeth, Aragorn did not doubt it was painful. Though the horse looked most content and relaxed, having cocked a hoof as he did not for a moment loosen his jaw.
"My wife and queen wondered at the delay," he smiled as he leaned his tall frame against the wall of the stall. "What say you, horse master? Do you wish to come and take refreshments after your journey here, or do you find yourself otherwise engaged?"
"This flea bitten nag shall find himself engaged as a pelt before the hearth if he does not cease his actions," Éomer growled, though Firefoot remained unconcerned. Chewing absently as Aragorn winced in sympathy. For truth, he was impressed that his friend was holding back the curses he knew he was capable of.
However, it would seem Éomer had reached the limit he was willing to take, for grabbing his horse by the jaw he met his eye. "Desist, or you will regret it!"
Tilting his large head to the side Firefoot released his hold, ducking his head to nudge Elboron fondly before taking a mouthful of hay.
Wincing as he rubbed his arm Éomer ushered the two boys out of the stall, Firefoot ignoring him as he rooted in the manger for oats. It was amusing Aragorn thought, how the horse while paying his master no attention, could still trod on his foot in passing.
"Uncle let us ride Firefoot," Elboron informed him as the boy crawled up on a box in order to gain height.
"I should say that was not all that your uncle did," Aragorn mused. For Elboron had a blue streak stuck with lint on his cheek, and Eldarion sported the same stain at the corner of his mouth. One might have thought that the young king would be cross with his horse, for no doubt both his arm and foot were sore. However there was nothing but tenderness in his manners as he fed the horse a few of the same coloured lumps Aragorn knew the boys would have devoured.
"We did not ask, Ada," Eldarion declared.
"I only told uncle what Mõdor told me," Elboron piped in.
"Of that I have no doubt, but your mother has ordered refreshment, and she expects you both to be there," Aragorn mused. "I should say you both need to wash before, and if you take my advise, wash your face also before your mother sees you, or she shall know just what the two of you has been up to."
"And take mine, and make certain you do not wash your face," Éomer stated as he gave his sister-son a playful swat to send him on his way. "I shall be very disappointed if my sister do not take the same meaning from yours."
"I would think Éowyn would be displeased with you," Aragorn mused as the boys started ahead of them. "Has she not commanded you not spoil the boys?"
"Aye, and my sister-son warned me," he confirmed. "No meal made by her hand shall I have unless I heed her will, and I thank him for the warning."
Shaking his head Aragorn could not quite hold back a chuckle. "They know very well you would instantly seek to cross her, I can not believe you would not see through their scheme."
"Indeed," Éomer nodded. "But if trying to scheme a few sweets off of me is the worst the two of them get up to, then I should say it is the least they might do. At their age, I caused twice the ruckus on any day, and my sister shall attest to it."
"I know the truth of your words without her confession," he smiled. Indeed, he needed only think to the time he had spent in Rohan many years ago. There had been a blonde scrap of a boy, doted on by his grandfather Thengel. Aye, Thengel had not cared what mischief his grandson got up to, and Éomer had been every bit as wild and unchecked as he thought himself to have been. Tearing through Meduseld with Théodred's old wooden sword. The idea of wheedling sweets out of anyone would not have crossed his mind, though the boiled sweets of Minas Tirith were not to be found in Edoras. He would instead climb the shelves in the pantry to reach the honey and the sweet breads that could oft be found in the kitchen. His mother had not the strength to rein him in, and Thengel delighted in his antics.
"Though it would seem Firefoot is not so pleased," he added. Thengel's war horse had not minded when he took his grandson in the saddle to ride with him. Not as Firefoot did, though he was just as fiercely loyal to his master. He simply did not have quite the same disposition as did Firefoot. So when a boy of three summers were sat on his back to ride him to the stable, on Thengel's command, then the horse would see the child there safe and sound. The one place where young Éomer would keep perfectly calm and still was in the stable.
"Firefoot would never harm either one of them, no matter what," Éomer brushed his concern away. "Though he has never yet missed an opportunity to make me miserable when he feels it justified. Elboron is not so bad, but he does not manage to sit still enough for Firefoot's liking. He shall soon learn, and in truth, that great big oaf cares greatly for the little ones, or he would have given me far more grief."
"Let us hope your sister is as lenient," Aragorn laughed easily. "Though I had not known her intention to cook, she seems well content to leave that task to the kitchen when residing here."
"Aye, but I see no need to take any chances," Éomer made a face of quiet dislike. "My sister claims to have washed her hands of me, and states most certainly that it is now the duty and the misery of my wife to keep me properly clothed and fed. Yet at any opportunity when she has me at her mercy without Lothíriel, she is not long in sinking her claws in me. The tiniest tear in my tunic, even those I was not aware of even myself, and she will give me no respite until she has it mended. I did not think she would resort to cook, but if spoiling my sister-son, and the heir of Gondor to a few well earned treats assures me of her displeasure, then it is a small price to pay indeed."
"Aye, I would well feel the same way," Aragorn admitted. Though it was clear Éowyn did not feel the same way as soon as she laid eyes on them.
"Éomer, look at the state of you," she scolded. "Shall the people see their King in such a state? Have you cleaned your horse with your tunic?"
"My horse had a grievance with me, as I had one with him," Éomer shrugged, noting that Firefoot upon closer inspection had torn the tunic a little with his teeth. "Tis settled now, sister."
"My grievance is not, have I not told you that you must not spoil my son, and yet he has sweets he claims came from you," she folded her arms across her chest.
"And when we were young, if ever I returned from the White City without those same sweets for you. You would settle that grievance by striking me with your practice sword," he snorted. "You are not one to talk, sister of mine."
Éowyn bristled a little at that, though in the end she seemed to feel that he that there was not much she could truthfully say in objection. "It was unkind," she stated instead.
"They were lost in a swollen river, sister," Éomer reminded her amused. "And it was the only time I ever committed that crime. I should have hoped you wished more for my return than for sweets."
"I suppose I do," she admitted. "What more, I will have that tunic tonight, I'm not sending you back to your wife looking like that. She must have other worries to concern herself with than keeping you looking presentable."
Giving Aragorn an amused look the young King consented. Arguing with a stubborn horse he could do, but a stubborn sister was something else entirely.
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.