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 41

Théoden looked around the great hall of Meduseld, the laden table and the men seated around him. All around the room men were busy eating and drinking, a pleasant din surrounding them from not only voices raised in mirth but that of tankards being set down and raised. The last meal of the day was an enjoyable one as he felt it showed the true spirit of his Kingdom. For surely as long as the people of the Mark were able to sit and fill their stomachs while enjoying the mirth and bountiful spoils of the land it was a good sign indeed.

Times were darker, there was no denying that, and he worried. For had he not only recently lost his dear beloved sister Théodwyn to that same darkness.

When she wed Éomund, Théoden had counted himself a fortunate man for not only had he made his sister very happy, but he had blessed her with two children. Éomer, the eldest, and Éowyn, a younger sister to be doted on.

It had been ill news that reached him when Éomund had been lost in battle, his hot temper had served him ill as he took his men into a trap laid by Orcs, and many men were slain. Éomund amongst them, and his sister had never recovered from the loss. She had faded away and perished though he sought to do all he could to strengthen her. Her two children were his now, as loved by him as was his own son, Théodred and the two boys were as brother. In that he was fortunate for there was no ill wish between them. In truth, there was a fierce loyalty, and Éomer never resented his cousin for being of a more fortunate birth. In truth, Théoden feared he might foolishly lay down his life for his cousin even if there was no need, for Éomer was ever loyal to the crown.

It was in part this that had made him make the decision that the young boy be granted a horse some saw as above his status. In Firefoot the blood of the Mearas ran stronger than in many, for the line was thinning out and they were becoming rare. Aside from his fierce devotion to duty though, Éomer was a skilled horseman already young. More so than many his peer and Théoden had known it even before he took the boy in as his.

He had watched his father, Thengel, the King and lord of the Mark sat his grandson of only three winters and barley that on his war horse. Éomer never showed any fear in the saddle, nor did the boy give in to his wilder impulses when he was seated atop the horse. The boy was a right terror whenever his feet touched the ground, though on the horse he was calm and gentle.

Alone, he would ride the horse to the stable, and there he would groom the mighty stallion to the best of his ability. He would sit on the horse with a brush in his hand, lay himself along the neck to reach. Slide off the tall horse into the straw so he could brush legs and hooves, if he did not fall asleep while laying on the broad back.

That the horse indulged him Théoden believed was in part because he knew of the child's innocence, but also because Éomer showed great love and care for the horses.

He might even mount the horse himself, and Thengel had laughed when the small boy leapt as high as he could to catch the stirrup, climbing up the strap to the saddle while the war horse watched him with mild amusement.

He had seen the boy lose his temper badly, but never with the horses. He had seen him run from the hall with tears of fury in his eyes, and beat his small hands bloody against the stone for an outlet for the anger, but he had never seen him treat a horse with that same anger.

When he was of an age where a boy his status should have his first own horse Théoden had not hesitated to give him the unborn foal of a great line. A spare war horse of his own that was getting on in years but still a magnificent horse was his to use until the young colt grew old enough for saddle.

Éomer had proven him right as he trained the young colt. He'd shown patience and firmness as he trained the horse. Even before he put a saddle on his back for the first time Théoden knew that Firefoot would be a marvellous stallion. He was cunning, daunting and loyal. He tore Éomer's tunic in strips to get the carrots hidden there, and pushed him into the dirt to ascertain there were no more in his leggings.

No, there was no doubt in his mind that the boy was worthy of the horse, as there was no doubt in his mind the same horse was why there was an empty plate at the table. The boy had not yet come in for his meal, though it was half over already. A Rider learned to never feed themselves before they had seen to their horse, and if they were for this reason late for their meal, they could only hope food had been left for them. Of this Éomer needed not worry, for Théoden had pushed a whole plate of pork to the side in order to give him. He would not let the boy go hungry for his devotion to duty.

As he finally spotted the boy coming through the hall he smiled fondly. Reaching for the pitcher of ale on the table he poured a tankard full. The boy was limping and his blonde hair was matted with dried blood.

"Drink this down, lad, it shall dull the pain," he mused as he passed him the tankard. Watching how the boy uneasily took his seat.

"Thank you, Uncle," taking the tankard Éomer drained it, wincing as it stung a split lip.

"So tell me, sister-son, is it sword practice or your horse that saw you late to the table?"

"Firefoot," he stated, wiping a hand over his mouth. "He did not fight me at all as we began this time, so while I thought he was saving his stubbornness for later I thought I might make the best of his cooperation as it was."

"A wise decision," Théoden stated. "I take it that this cooperation ended?"

"Aye, it certainly did, and though I was ready for it, I think I might have underestimated his devotion to the task," Éomer winced.

Théoden slipped the plate of pork in front of him, "there are few who can always be ready for a horse of that spirit, Sister-son. It is the mark of a true and worthy horse. It makes you no lesser that he unseated you."

"The stable master suggested that I put an obstacle to the right, since he likes to bolt that way," Éomer stated as he reached for the pork, and winced, nearly dropping it as his arm seemed to spasm. With a look of disgust he filled his plate before rubbing his arm. "We stacked small barrels as we thought it would make him think twice about wanting to run his head into them."

"And did this method work?" Théoden wanted to know. It was a sound idea, and one used more than once with a stubborn horse.

"Aye, indeed I would say so," Éomer confirmed. "He most certainly thought twice about wanting to go through them for himself. Then he came to his conclusion and used me for a battering ram to take them down."

"A horse of the line of the Mearas will not let just anyone tame him, sister-son," Théoden smiled softly. "Nor will he ever be fully tamed.

"I shall like it all the more for the fact," Éomer's face split in a rare smile. "Should there be need, I should take him into battle on the morrow, and I should think he would do well enough. Already he knows what it is I wish of him, and I think he has come to hold me in some regard as well. Though he used me to remove the obstacle in his way, he took great care not to trample me as he passed himself."

"I would let neither one of you in battle yet, you are both too untrained," Théoden had to bite back a shudder. Éomer riding into battle was how he would fear losing him. He was not ready yet, he had not the control of his temper needed. The hurt look that now passed over his face spoke for this more than anything. "Èomer, you are skilled with the sword and the spear, and a horse master worthy of the name, but ready for battle yet you are not. And I will not risk you needlessly for you will be of great purpose to our people. I know you wish to fight, and that day will come, much sooner than I shall be ready for it, but it will not come before I know you are ready for it."

"Aye, my liege," Éomer mumbled, his eyes still downcast as he tore the pork on his plate into small bites though he ate none.

"Eat up lad, for the sense to take nourishment when it is provided is one of the first things a rider shall learn," Théoden nudged him. He was just a boy really, but he carried himself like a man with the sword on his belt. "After the meal, I shall saddle Snowmane, and we shall see how Firefoot likes being challenged by a worthy opponent."

"Aye, my Lord," now a small smile showed briefly on his face as he started shovelling the food into his mouth. Eating hurriedly for certainly the offer to race his uncle was something that did not happen often.

Such things Théoden found there were little time for, no matter how much he should have liked to take a more active role in the boy's training, it was not to be. Firefoot however was one of the strongest horses they had seen since his son took Brego, it was not just the stallion who would find a challenge to be met, but so would Snowmane as well. The mare was well seasoned and cunning, fast and steadfast, but she was not used to being challenged by her own stable, and he would not wish her to grow complacent.

On the green plains outside of Edoras, emerald with ruby creeping across the ground. Glowing in gentle ripples as the sunset lit the horizon and the wind moved the grass the two horses for a long time were neck to neck. When Firefoot eventually started to pull ahead, slowly inching past the mare as Éomer laid down flat over his neck Théoden smiled.

At their speed a fall could all too easily prove fatal, and yet he had never seen the two work together so smoothly. It would seem that Firefoot as Éomer performed better when challenged.

Though he in his heart dreaded the day he would have to send them into battle, he had to admit to himself that to see them both when they were ready for it would be a magnificent sight.

Certainly one that would drive fear into the heart of the enemy of Rohan.

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.