Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. I am only playing with the fandom for the enjoyment of myself 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 47

To Théoden's regret he had not been able to greet the riders as they returned from battle. Though he knew it had been small, only one Eored, it had worried him just the same. In that, he was as any parent. When he sent Théodred's Eored towards battle he always worried for his son and prayed for his return.

Truthfully he had never expected it to be any easier with Éomer, the son of his sister. His own, since the son and daughter of his sister had lost their parents. He had seen the boy grow since he was born, and watched him struggle to lift an old wooden toy sword of Théodred's. He had known he would fear for his safety as much as he feared for Théodred's, but he had thought he would have had longer before it came to be.

Éomer was too young really, he should not have been allowed to join the Riders so young, but in the end Théoden had allowed it.

At first he had refused on the grounds the boy could not keep his temper. It was that fault that had cost their father their life, and he would rather have the boy grow to despite him, than to lose his sister son the same way. It had been a struggle between them, and angry words had been spoken. Éomer was no fool, he understood what a heavy price it was they had paid for their father's failure. He had always meant well, but youth can be a handicap in many ways. Understanding did not mean he could act upon it, so Théodred had refused him until that time the boy learned to keep his temper and not let anger rule his actions.

It was with pride he had watched him overcome that flaw, and he had been allowed to join. At first, he was but allowed to go with them on shorter campaigns. His youth assured it that none of the riders felt he was being treated favourably for being related to the King. Many of them had children no younger than he, and they understood all too well how Théoden had felt.

He had been with Théodred's Eored as well, and he had proved his mettle in smaller skirmishes. For nearly a year now, he had fully been a rider, and Théoden had wondered if he would ever get used to watching them return. Looking for the white horsetail, praying he would see it, his heart frozen whenever it was hidden from view. Breathing only when he finally lay eyes on it.

For having to be forced to stay in council while they returned had made it no easier and he had requested to be informed of their status as soon as they returned. One of the doorwardens came to find him, and soothed his heart. Ten riders had been lost, many more had been injured. His sister son had been amongst that number, having taken a sword wound to the leg.

Knowing there was not much he could do at the time he had ordered food and ale be prepared for them in the Hall. As they had defeated their foe, a band of Orcs, so they had deserved and so he would see them rewarded. Feeling an immense sense of relief when finally the council was ended and he was able to enter the hall and see the riders for himself.

A few of the injured would have been taken to bed he knew, but he did not expect his nephew had allowed himself coddled so. He was young, too young to have the sense to know healing should come first, and celebration could wait a moment longer. Indeed, he saw the helm with the white horsetail on a table, pushed aside to make room for bread and pork. Éomer, with his leg heavily wrapped and stretched out on the bench before him made as if to stand when he approached. His friend however placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down.

"My Lord," Éothain had grasped a filled tankard to drink deep of the ale, but now he held it out to Théoden instead. "We drink to our victory, and to the death of the foul creatures."

"To victory," without hesitation Théoden grasped the tankard and drank deep. "And to the death of all those who would see us conquered. They shall find that our horses are swift and our steel is sharp."

"So it shall be," lounging across the table Éothain found a new tankard for himself, and snagged a slab of meat with his dagger at the same time. A little more than a year older than Éomer the two boys had been friends since before Éomer and Éowyn came to live with him. Well matched in size and ferocity, the two of them had been a right terror at times, and they had brought much joy to his heart.

"Has your sister seen that you are well?" Théoden took his own plate of the food, content to sit and enjoy the merriment of his noble warriors.

"Aye, and cuffed me over the head for being wounded," he snorted. "She left us in anger, though I do not see why, I was not the only one to not see them laying in wait for us, and even so, we bested them. What is a minor wound to that, Uncle? The foul beasts were all slain, and our losses were few."

"It is the worry of the women, sister-son, and you shall have to get used to it, their relief to see us hale and healthy often disguises itself as anger."

"It makes no sense," he snorted, wincing as he moved too much and Théoden had to shake his head at the innocence of youth.

"Do not look for sense in it, Éomer. Take my words for truth and take comfort in her love for you. It shall go that much better for you if you do not try to understand it."

"If I had a hundred years, I never would, nor do I know if I would want to," he snorted. "At least not if the rest of them are all like Éowyn."

"And if you allow your sister to hear you say so, no doubt she shall cuff you again," Théoden shook his head. His heart felt lighter for talking to the boy, it was heartening to listen to their innocence. Lately his sleep had been plagued and had it not been for the support of Grima he would have got little rest. Grima had agreed that Éomer should join the fighting men, arguing that it was important that the sister son of the King set an example. The position Grima had wanted for him though would have been far too dangerous for one as inexperienced as Éomer, so instead he had placed him where he would learn.

If not his ill advised habit of angering his sister finally became his bane, for she was not above using weapons when she struck him.

"She is a woman, she does not understand," Éomer snorted again and Théoden shook his head.

"Your sister understands more than you think, and you less," he stated, draining his tankard. "And it is not only on the battlefield you would do well to listen to your elders." Taking the three tankards he turned to a nearby barrel for to have them filled again. The boys were wont to drink more than advisable, and there was no use urging them to caution. This was still a novelty to them, and he recalled it well from his own youth. A sore head next morning would do them no harm.

"Thank you, sire," Éothain accepted the tankard back, and pushed a bowl of meat towards his King.

Éomer took his, though deep in thought he said nothing. Brooding, Théoden mused. He always had been a brooding one. For all his temper, Éowyn's anger was more prominent while Éomer oft lost himself in the darker thoughts of his mind. So much like his mother as well as his father. Smiling Théoden clasped a hand on his shoulder. "Enjoy yourself, for that you have earned. I will find your sister and see if I can not placate her, drink and eat, and then I would take it as a favour if you would see my nephew safely to his chamber," Théoden added to Éothain who laughed heartily. "With a sword wound in your leg, and ale in your stomach, you will not find it easy to make the journey," he stated. He hoped no ill would come from the wound, for the orcs were known to use filthy shafts and metal, and though it did not show yet, there was still a chance it might set in.

Indeed Éowyn's anger had come from her worry, so she was easily comforted. All she had wanted was to know that her brother was well, and when he failed to understand her concern, her worry had caused her to lash out.

With night laying heavy on the hall he knew he should seek his bed, but instead he found himself going to the stable. Folding his arms across the wooden wall as he gazed into the stall. The grey stallion dozed with a half chewed carrot still in his mouth, and in the hay much as he had guessed lay his nephew.

"Éomer, you shall feel wretched enough come morning without spending the night here in the cold," he sighed. "You have a bed in your chambers, though I swear I sometimes wonder if it would not make more sense to give you a stall here."

"I was unable to sleep," the youth sighed as he shuffled around to sit up, running a critical eye over his horse.

"With all that ale, you should have been found it harder to waken," Théoden snorted.

"I did not have any more, I felt the need for quiet so I came here," a faint smile played on the young warriors face. "Though I think Éothain had enough for me as well, some of the older riders like to push him to drink too much."

"As they do with you to I wager," he mused. "It's a proud tradition of the Rohirrim to get their new recruits drunk. Now, what is bothering you, if it is your sister, you need not worry. As long as you do not make light of her worry, you are forgiven."

"At every turn Uncle, I hear I am too young to understand, yet whenever the older riders seek to impart their wisdom on us, I feel they are trying to take me for a fool," he sighed. "How is one to gain wisdom, when one is laughed at for not having it? I am skilled with sword and spear, and I ride as well as any other, why is it such an amusement that I have no skill with women? Why should I need it?"

"For fighting Orcs, you do not," Théoden mused. "But later you shall marry Éomer, and if you are not willing to learn the way of a woman's mind by then, you shall find yourself spending many more nights out here with your horse."

"If a wife treats me as Éowyn does, I would think it preferably," he snorted.

"And that son, is how I know you still have much to learn," Théoden shook his head. One of these days, he would have to have a long talk to the boy, but the time for it was not now. If he was to judge the look on the horse's face, then Firefoot would rather have his stall to himself. "Time to come inside, or your horse will get no rest either, and he has earned it."

"Aye, he has," thrusting his hand into his pocket Éomer pulled a last carrot out and gave it to his horse before he limped for the gate of the stall.

"You have time to learn Éomer, you need not know it all yet," he soothed as he put a hand on his shoulder, half to steady him as he limped after him towards the hall.

"I suppose," he sighed softly. "And at worst, I shall always know that if I do find myself banished to the stable, Firefoot shan't mind."

"At least you have that," Thédoden nodded, and Bema help the lad if he did not figure it out and that was indeed his fate….

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.