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.

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

Chapter 46

When Aragorn had been informed about how heavily armed forces had attacked villages on the border close to Rohan he had true to form sent a message to the King of Rohan. He and Éomer had long since agreed that it was best to keep a united front against such threats. Those who thought that Rohan was small and vulnerable would think twice about also attacking Gondor at the same time. Rohan had suffered greatly in the war, of all the riders that left for Gondor, all too few had returned. Of the men left, most were too old and too young to defend their country and Aragorn did not doubt their enemies was of this fact well aware.

With the forces of Gondor behind them, Rohan stood much stronger.

It was not for the benefit of all though, for the riders of Rohan were feared. They were swift, forceful and ferocious. When their horses came thundering, very few stood their ground. He had seen many turn and flee at the first sound of the horn and the thunder of hooves, and it was that sound he was hoping for now.

As he had gone to the aid of the villages he had taken with him five hundred men, and asked for Rohan to bring another two hundred and forty. He had thought that ample enough to quell the enemy, and it very well should have been, except the Rohirrim had not yet arrived.

Had there been a choice, Aragorn would have awaited them afore he took action. This had however not been possible when a line of men and horses had come over the crest of a hill.

A mere few hours, or a day, and he was certain the Rohirrim would have been there to stand with them. The messenger he sent to Éomer had returned with word that their ally would be there.

Not even the Rohirrim though, can ride swifter than the wind and with the confrontation upon them Aragorn had had no choice but to call his ranks to order and lead the charge.

Brego did not fail him, a true steed of Rohan he led the charge with an eagerness that brought a smile to Aragorn's lips as he raised his sword. Longer than that of the Rohirrim it was not made for fighting on horseback, but the sight of it was enough to make some of their enemy waver and hesitate.

Aye, it was enough to make him smile, so had he seen men shy away from the helm with the white horsetail at the head of the charge. Éomer was well known by his helm, and Gúthwinë was as widely feared as was his own sword.

They were outnumbered, something he deeply regretted, but the men of Gondor were loyal and valliant. They did not falter, and steering Brego more with his knees than his hands Aragorn tried to find their enemies' weakness. His men were hard pressed, and he had seen many receiving wounds. They were valiant indeed, but without the Rohirrim they were slowly losing ground on the battlefield.

Then they heard it, at first just one lone horn. one low rumble across the hills and he watched the enemy in front of him frown. They did not know what to expect, did not know what the sound meant as another horn answered the first.

Glancing at the hill he could not see anything yet, but the sound was unmistakable for those who knew it, and he saw his men cheer. Swords waved in the air as their foe paused and looked, trying to determine what was going on.

Then the lone horn of before turned into a chorus, all two hundred and forty Rohirrim as one. The sound deafening even across the hill. This Aragorn knew was a sound that had brought fear into many a man, a sound that was told in stories about the Rohirrim and their mighty riders. Even before the last note had faded another sound seemed to overtake it. A rumble, the thunder of many hundreds of hoofs as they beat down the grass and struck on stone.

He had not heard them before, they had moved quietly over the ground and no doubt Éomer had sent out scouts to know they were in peril, and now instead of giving himself the element of surprise he took the time to strike fear in their hearts.

Frantically, the men amidst the Gondorian's tried to regroup. Tried to reform their lines where they had moved freely trying to strike each Gondorian down.

Where before nothing had been seen but green grass waving gently in the wind now a myriad of spears showed over the crest of the hill. Standing like a forrest of glinting steel they crept over the crown of the hill, one horse came into view, then one beside it. Two more following the first two before the whole mass of the riders came rolling over the hill like a magnificent wave. At full gallop they rode, keeping a breakneck pace that not many would have dared on the steep slope.

At the very front, a large grey horse slowly pulled ahead from his kindred. Sword raised high in the air, and white horsetail flying in the wind from the helm. Not close enough yet for Aragorn to make out his features he needed not to know whom it was. Éomer, roaring a battle cry of the Rohirrim that had frozen the heart of lesser men for hundreds of years. Firefoot, as eager as his master led the charge, barreling into their opponents while his master swung his sword.

During the time it had taken the Rohirrim to come down the hill, Aragorn had easily regrouped his men. Seeing their friends coming had given them new heart and they were ready to go back into the fight in full form.

Wheeling Brego around he could not say what happened, he was not aware of an enemy close to him, but then he had perhaps paid a little more attention than was advisable to the charge of the Rohirrim as well as his men.

Pain lanced through his head, searing it all the way to the bone and leaving a sickening feeling in his stomach. Blood ran into his eyes, blinding him as he struggled to regain his senses he groped blindly for his sword. Realising he was dismounted he wiped furiously at the blood with one hand, Brego was no longer by his side. He took comfort in knowing the horse would likely have survived, but he could see nothing but dime shapes as his eyes stung, and as the first swung a sword at him he barely got up Anduril to block it in time.

Stumbling back he once more tried to clear his eyes, but to no avail. Dirt and blood had all but blinded him and the midst of a battlefield gave him not the time he needed to clear his eyes.

As a large shape loomed over him suddenly he swung his sword again, only to seek to avert the blow at the very last second. The shape was grey, and even blinded he recognized the cry from the rider as the flat of his sword struck a barely discernible, yet familiar greave.

The loud Rohirric curse that followed upon his strike was much more familiar, enough so as to bring a smile to his face.

"Aragorn!" a thud sounded, and the shape that could only be Éomer stood beside him.

"Apologies," Aragorn breathed.

"Get in the saddle, Firefoot shall see you safe," his friend stated.

"I need only to clear my eyes," he tried to object, but his friend was relentless and he found his hand on the pommel of the saddle, guided there by the Rohirric King.

"You can not do so in the middle of battle, and you are too important to your people for such foolishness." Éomer urged as he grasped the stirrup, pushing his friend upwards to be seated in the saddle.

"Éomer, tis not a battle to be fought on foot," Aragorn tried to argue but to no avail.

"At least I am able to discern friend for foe," the young warrior snorted. "Fear not for me, I shall see if I can find Brego, or, there are plenty horses whom lost their riders." Grabbing the reins he quickly spoke to his horse in his native tongue. The melodious string of words almost too low for Aragorn to hear. Yet there was no question in his mind that the horse was instructed to keep him safe.

"Stay on, Firefoot shall deal with whomever approaches," Éomer told him sharply. "And I beseech you, do not strike our own men down!" the last was added with a laugh.

"Stay safe," it was all Aragorn had time to utter before Firefoot started off.

Never before had Aragorn ridden Firefoot. Most Rohirric horses had but one master, and only if that rider was lost would they be ridden by another. Firefoot, Aragorn surmised, would never let another man call himself his master. Only Éomer was allowed, and only in dire circumstances as this was someone else even allowed to ride him. Only at Éomer's word, but such was his loyalty that if Éomer commanded it, Firefoot would do it.

While Brego was a warhorse of just as high standing, there was a ferocity and cunning to Firefoot's way of fighting that his own horse did not possess. Brego had belonged to Théodred, lost cousin of Éomer, and the first heir to his father King Théoden. Only after his own son was lost had he named Éomer, his sister son, his heir. Now, as Firefoot deftly sidestepped an enemy, and swung around to kick another Aragorn found himself wondering. If Théodred's horse had been more like Firefoot, would the heir have survived?

Though it was all he could do to cling to the saddle, he realised how much the horse was helping him. He had seen how the horse might rear up with Éomer in the saddle, and marvelled how the Rohir kept his seat when he seemed to hold neither saddle nor reins. With spear in one hand, and sword in the other, as if he could not fall.

Speaking softly to the horse in Rohirric he had to clasp the saddle again as the stallion threw himself to one side, and Aragorn felt something pass by his shoulder.

Clinging on with both hands he did not dare to try and clear his eyes fully before the din of the battle no longer rang in his ears. There were still those fighting near him, and he dragged his sleever across his eyes. His vision was blurry, but finally he was at least able to tell friend from foe.

Firefoot gave a displeased whinny as he swung his sword and Anduril passed too close by the horse's ear.

A muttered apology did little to sooth the stallion who stomped the ground with one hoof.

It was with great relief he noted the enemy fleeing, more and more of them running for their life across the field, throwing down arms and armour so as not to burden themselves in their flight.

One of his men tossed him a water skin, seemingly uneasy about getting too close to the mighty grey warhorse, and knowing Firefoot would be in a foul mood Aragorn did not blame him. The stallion had his ears laid back over his head, teeth bared as he snapped at an approaching soldier.

"Peace,"Aragorn poured water in his hand to wash away the dirt and blood still impairing his vision. "Do not fret my friend, I am certain your master is well. We shall find him in but a moment."

At least he fervently prayed they would, for had something happened to Éomer because Firefoot was guarding the King of Gondor instead of his master, then he feared the stallion would lay waste to his army.

"Aragorn!"

The cry caused him to look up, few men could obtain that powerful a voice after such a battle as they had seen. Indeed, while it was odd to see the reddish brown armour and white horse tail on a bay instead of a grey horse, there was no mistaking it. He was certainly gladdened to see it was Brego he was riding as it meant that he had found the horse, and the bay was well.

The war horse was stepping lightly, and moving up to Aragorn shoved his nose into his shoulder.

"Éomer, tis good to see you well brother," he breathed, eyeing his friend to see if there was any evidence of injury, but there was none easily to be seen. The dirt and grime of battle heavy on his armour and face, but no blood.

"I would say the same, are you well?" 'Eomer asked, dismounting slower than usual.

"Aye, tis not much more than a scratch," Aragorn indicated the rag that had been tied around his forehead in a makeshift bandage. "Wounds to the head will bleed heavily, it hindered me, but it is of no concern. I thank you brother," he added heartfelt as he raised a hand to scratch Brego on the nose. "I feared for my companion. I am grateful you were able to find him."

"Théodred allowed me to help him as he trained him," Éomer shrugged as he reached up a hand to rub the horse behind the ear. Brego shoving his head full in his shoulder. "He knows me well, and he shall always heed me I think, even when I call him to my side. Though he would have been reluctant to stay in the fray had he not known you were guarded by Firefoot I think."

"I have said it before, and I shall have to say it again, your steed is remarkable," Aragorn declared. "I do not think another horse could have done what he did, for I certainly was no help to him."

"There is only one like him, tis for certain," stepping forward to scratch his own horse on the nose Éomer noticeably favoured one leg and Aragorn frowned.

"You are injured," he mused as he watched him put all his weight on the other leg.

"Nothing to be worth mentioning," Éomer brushed it away. "It is no real injury, only a bruise I should wager."

"If it has you limping like that, I should still have a look at it," Aragorn frowned. It looked to him as if his friend could barely stand on the leg.

"You should be concerned about your own head, not my leg," Éomer shrugged off his concern as he was checking the two horses over. Unbalanced and unable to bend the leg as he wanted he kept one hand on the stirrup as he ran the other over Firefoot's legs. "Besides, it was not a blow dealt by our foe," he added with a somewhat mischievous grin. "Your sword deserves its fame, my friend. It is not a blade I wish to make an enemy of."

Realisation hit Aragorn, when he was still blinded by the blood in his eyes, he had struck without seeing clearly who it was, and had only at the last second realised it was Éomer. Though he had managed to turn his sword he must still have dealt a severe blow.

"Then I must insist you let me tend to you," Aragorn stated. "If for no other reason than to alleviate my own guilt for the error. I would never have wished to harm you, my friend."

"Blinded and in the heat of battle, it is no wonder, I would rather have to dodge a blow by a friend, than see a man I call brother perish under someone else's sword," Éomer shook his head. "I have no grievance with you, other than that you seem too stubborn to take aid when needed."

"I shall allow myself to be tended to when you will," relieved Aragorn did not try to hold back an easy laugh. "Though I am indeed glad I was able to avert my hand just in time, for I would never have wanted to do you real harm." Feeling lighter of heart he made to take Brego's reins, only to cry out as the large grey stallion bit hard on his thigh. Stumbling back with surprise he gazed at the war horse. It was the only time Firefoot had ever treated him so, though the horse was not above biting him if he felt the cause just, such as Aragorn withholding apples from him. He had never before seemingly bitten out of malice. Rubbing the painful spot he sighed as he made certain to place Brego between himself and the stallion. "Tell me, was that for my clumsy hand on his reins, or because he took offence even if you did not?"

"On this, I do not claim to know his mind, either one gives him cause for offence," Éomer gave his horse a most curious look. They were a fine pair, the two, Aragorn mused. Éomer was not troubled that his horse bit a friend, though he was intrigued with the reason.

Most likely though, the King of Gondor decided, the bite was to retaliate for striking his master. It was not something the horse took lightly on, he was fiercely loyal. Only on Éomer's word would he allow another to ride him, and never easy. Though then for most parts he would take out his grievance on his master, as he seemed to think it was a game. Éomer was not one to be taken by surprise easily, he knew the ways of his horse. A challenge between them that they both seemed to enjoy.

No, had it only been for having been forced to endure another rider, Firefoot would like as not have bit or trod on his master. For the crime of striking at him though, he would seek vengeance on the culprit, and he would not care how many apples Aragorn usually brought him.

Firefoot's loyalty ran far deeper than so, and Aragorn was glad to know it. Sometimes he feared the young Rohir did not fully see his own worth, but Firefoot did, there was no doubt about that.

Rubbing his still throbbing bite he vowed to find the horse another apple to reward him…

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.