Chapter 40
Taking a deep breath, Éomer slowly let it out. Thédroed always said he needed to learn patience. It was true, and he knew it well, it had been a humbling lesson to learn and one he did not like to think of. Théoden King had not seen the need to spare his sister-son's feeling, and though his pride had been badly wounded, Éomer had seen the sense.
Hot temper and foolish action had been his father's demise, grief for his passing had caused his mother to follow shortly after. The anger he had felt towards his parents for this had been ill advised and hard to quench. Théodred had said it was nothing he should feel guilt for, but he did. Knowing better he had turned some of the anger towards himself, for it had not always tempered his foolish actions.
As much as the way his uncle had made him see sense hurt, he was grateful for it.
Patience was not his forte, and he felt that it never would be. It had always been different with horses however. He understood them better than he felt he understood even himself. He enjoyed it, and could spend many hours training Firefoot, when all other tasks would have seen his frustration growing.
If it had been humbling, the way Théoden King had taken him to task, it had been useful. He was one of the youngest to ever join an Eored, and he had seen that it weighed heavy on his uncle to let him do so. Had times been less dire, he would never have been allowed. There was a darkness over the land however, Orcs and foul creatures struck at the villages at night. Horses were found slain on the plains and crops were burnt in the fields.
They claimed him too young, but they still needed his sword and his spear and so he was here.
Éowyn had been furious with him, at first accusing him of abandoning her, then striking his face and shouting she hated him. That had stung far more than any blow she could have dealt, but he understood her fear.
Their father had returned only for his own burial, and she feared the same fate for him.
At last his uncle had spoken to her, and he did not know what he had said to her, but she had met him with tears in her eyes. Begging for forgiveness, and crying from fear.
As proud as he had been of his position, he had not liked to see that and it had caused a pain in his chest he had not expected.
It was not easy, he had found, to be seen as a boy by the men. He did not always understand their jokes, and though he was no stranger to ale he had not often imbibed as they did. It caused his temper to flare when he felt he was made into a mockery, and it was why he had found himself oft straying away from the group.
With Firefoot he found a sense of peace, and in training him he found his strength. Many of the more seasoned riders thought him foolish. They saw no reason for a horse to know such antics. Théodred though, had stood up for him and encouraged him. It was his approval more than any other man's, even Théoden King's, he wanted. If he claimed the venture time well spent, then it was all Éomer needed to know.
He had however taken himself slightly off the side of the camp. The men had taken their ease for the evening and it was the time when Éomer found himself most out of place. Stories were told of past battles and grand victories. The kind he had loved to listen to as a child, with the awe of the innocent. Now they felt more mocking for they told of deeds they said he knew nothing of.
A few mangy Ors slain by his sword was not enough to know his mettle. It was something they had made very clear to him and he saw no reason to argue the point. It was true, he knew as much. He only found himself irate to have it so bluntly pointed out to him. Théoden said they were trying to steer him to caution, to not fall for the lure of overconfidence, and perhaps it was true.
It only made him ill at ease to feel so distanced from them. It was not like it was with Théodred, and even Gamling who were happy to lend him of their experience, but did not see the need to belittle his skills.
Théodred had claimed they were trying to get under his skin and test him as he was yet by battle unproven. That, he believed more, for sat around the campfire they stuffed their pipes and told bawdy tales of tavern wenches and women found in houses, the telling of which caused him to be ill at ease. He could not imagine going some place such and paying coin, and not only because Théodred had already warned him about such things. Éomer had never counted himself as someone important. Aye, he knew he was sister-son to the King and that as such he had a certain status, and certain duties. One was that he at all cost must seek to protect Théodred's life with his own, and this he found easier. To picture, that as Théodred put it, someone might seek to bed him in the hope of claiming an illegitimate child to be his, and thus gain status, this he found strange.
He was meant to be a rider, a warrior of Rohan, and he did not see why someone should think this such a great thing. Théodred though, was one he would always listen to. Sometimes more than to his uncle, though Théoden King did not seem angered by this.
Those stories held no interest to him, not yet, and he wondered sometimes if ever they would. Or if they would ever see him somewhat as less due to his lack of interest in them.
Stroking Firefoot's velvet mule he allowed himself to lean his head against his neck for a moment. The war horse was a worthy companion and one he always felt perfectly at ease with.
Not long ago he had taught him to rear up on his hindlegs on command. Something the men had claimed had no use, except getting his own head stove in if he got too close to the flailing front hoofs. He was not certain himself of the use, but it was one more trick he felt could come in handy one day. Even if it did not, the time spent with the horse working on it was pleasant.
"We have something more important now though," he mused softly to the horse. "Aye, this might well be the most important trick I ever teach you, so you must pay close attention to me now."
Glancing over his shoulder he made certain that what he needed was ready. It would not do for the horse to not know what was expected of him. Firefoot had the blood of the Mearas in him, if not as strong as in Shadowfax or even Snowmane it was there, and the horse seemed to oft understand his words.
"You must use this to protect me, as well as our liege and Lord, Théoden King and Théodred. It shan't be easy my friend, and it will be perilous. You know the enemy, ruthless and cruel in schemes and subterfuge. Worse even than the Orcs, and with no mercy to be found ever. You know this, and this is the foe we must defeat. Will you stand with me in this? It shall be our most perilous battle yet. You must not lose courage, or we shall certainly never live through it."
He met the eye of his horse who tossed his head and acknowledgment. Satisfied he had the attention of his horse Éomer stepped aside to let him view the field that would be the one upon which they would later meet their most terrifying foe. Indicating where he wanted his horse to go.
"There you have the pot, when my sister attempts to cook for us, you must find a way to overturn it…"
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.