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 48

Watching the children Aragorn smiled broadly as he ran the brush over Brego's hindquarters. In the fine weather he had chosen to do so outside the stable. He spent enough time indoors to want to do so even more than needed. Even if it was a stable rather than a stuffy council chamber. While the three boys were separated by three years, it did not hinder their play any. Eldarion, his own son and heir was the eldest at a full four years of age. The son of Faramir and Éowyn, Elboron was a year younger, and by far wilder. The youngest, at two, and twice as wild was Élfwine, heir to the throne of Rohan. The son of Éomer and Lothíriel was perfectly polite and well behaved, he merely had spirit and energy for at least two children, exactly like Aragorn remembered Éomer at the same age. Though it was as Thorongil he had been known in Rohan, and Éomer had been too young to remember. It still caused him an endless amount of amusement to compare his friend to his son, and note how alike the two were.

Keeping a safe distance from the horses all three boys were at play. Eldarion had shared a few saved sweets he had begged from the kitchen with his friends. While they were loud, there was no cause to think they would bother the horses. All three were war horses hailing from Rohan, and well used to the chaos and meele of battle. Indeed, while Brego and Faramir's horse glanced that way from time to time Firefoot seemed to be dozing in the pleasant sunshine. The large grey had a front hoof cocked and was enjoying his grooming immensely.

He only moved once Éomer having finished with his shining coat moved over to Brego. The large grey moving slowly across the yard. Aragorn simply stepped back with a smile. Brego had belonged to Théodred, Éomer's cousin, and there was no mistaking that the loss of the man that had been as a brother to him still pained him. While he had never spoken a word, nor seemed to mind the slightest that Brego was still with Aragorn, he rarely missed an opportunity to tend to the horse. If it gave him comfort of heart, then Aragorn was more than pleased to offer it to him.

As it gave him the opportunity to more closely watch the children, he did not mind at all for he found in their play great joy.

With an encouraging cry to his smaller friends Eldarion climbed one of the old stepping stones in the stable yards, taking a leap across to the next one with Elboron on his heels. His legs still too short to make the leap, Elfwine slid down the stone to the cobblestones and darted around it to climb up on the wall instead. Eldarion grasped his hand to help him, and the three boys raced the length of the wall.

Coming to the end, Elboron took a large leap down from the wall, followed by Eldarion. Elfwine though seemed to think the height too great and took a step out on the water through. It would have allowed him a slightly lesser leap down, had he not instantly lost his footing on the wet wood and fallen into the water with a splash.

"Valar!" seeing the boy in the water Aragorn made to run.

"There is no need," Éomer shook his head.

"The water is deep enough, he might drown," Aragorn stated worriedly. Glancing to the side he saw the same worry on his steward's face.

"He shan't," Éomer nodded to where Firefoot had already started that way before Aragorn had even had time to move. Dipping his head in the through he took a large mouthful of sodden coat and hauled the child out of the water. For a moment he stood there, looking at his master as Éomer gave a small sigh.

"Firefoot, feċċan," he commanded. If ordering his horse to fetch the boy not quite what Aragorn had expected, it certainly was a command the horse knew well as he bobbed the large head up and down. Elfwin rather than being scared gave a squeal of delight and laughed cheerfully as Firefoot carried him across the stable yard back to where the adults stood. Eldarion and Elboron following a little more hesitantly.

"I am sorry father," Eldarion started softly.

"There is no need for an apology, you have done nothing wrong," Aragorn assured his son.

"He's too small to jump," Elboron pointed to his friend.

"That he is, but it is not an easy thing for you to know, and as long as you look after him, there is no harm," Aragorn stated, amused over how Firefoot stood in front of his master. He still had the child's coat in his mouth, the small boy dangling from his mouth. The weight of him was probably no matter for the horse he knew, though horse and master was glaring at one another.

"Is there a problem, horse Lord?" Aragorn asked with a small smile.

"This is what happens when you as well as my wife spoil him as you do, now he refuses to hand him over unless he receives an apple," Éomer snorted. "Greedy beast."

"I can get an apple from the stable," Eldarion offered. "I know where there is a barrel in the fodder store. Father lets me give them to Brego."

"Aye, it shall take no less," Éomer sighed. "But you had better show me where they are, or if I know that great glutton, he shall not heed me unless he has one from me as well…" Grabbing the heir of Gondor he took him under his arm as they entered the stable. Eldarion crying out cheerfully over the way he was gently but firmly manhandled. It was because he enjoyed it that Éomer followed, Aragorn knew. Very few would dare to treat the heir so, even in play, and the child enjoyed it immensely. Elboron, remained behind giggling as he petted the great war horse, knowing him well enough to know he was so allowed.

As Éomer returned with both apple and heir he sat the latter down on the ground. Holding out the apple to his horse. Instantly, Elfwine dropped to the ground to sit on his rump as the horse let him go and took the apple.

"Aye, you are a great big glutton," Éomer snorted as he stroked the mule. "But I thank you for looking after my son."

"Iċ wæt," Elfwine declared as he beamed up at Faramir, walking over to him and holding out his sodden coat.

"Yes you are very wet," his uncle nodded as he smiled at the child. "I think we best take you to your mother and see if she has any dry clothes for you."

"Aye," Elfwine bobbed his head up and down, giggling as he stomped his feet lightly in the puddle that was slowly forming under him.

"Like as not, they shall last all of five minutes," Éomer gave an amused smile as he watched his son.

"We can take him, Queen Lothíriel is with Mother," Eldarion piped up.

"Yes, and Mõdor," Elboron bobbed his head up and down. Referring to his own mother in Rohirric as he did, even when speaking Westron.

"Very well, if you wish, I am grateful," Éomer smiled at the two slightly older boys.

"Will not Lothíriel be upset as they tell her?" Aragorn frowned as the three boys left the stable yard.

"Nay, if he went one day without getting himself into any mischief she would fret that he was ill." Éomer laughed.

"He takes after his father," Aragorn smiled softly, thinking back to another small blonde haired boy.

"I was far worse than he is," Éomer gave an amused snort.

"Aye, on that Éowyn agrees with you," Faramir laughed. "Though by what she does not tell me, I should gather she was wilder than she admits to."

"Never was the shield maiden or Rohan docile," Éomer shrugged as he led his horse into the stable.

As they made their way to the stable they found the three boys at play in the small garden where their wives sat planning a picnic.

"It will be nice to get out of the Citadel," Éowyn declared as she glanced towards a loud whoop. "Where the boys can really play and need not worry about anything that can break."

"It will indeed," Arwen to looked up from her embroidery. "I shall have food prepared."

"We need to bring clothes for the boys," shaking her head Lothíriel looked to where her son measured his length on the ground as he tripped and fell. Scrambling to his feet he gave a loud cry and darted after Eldarion.

"We shall bring plenty," Arwen assured her with a smile. "It is good that the boys are active, they are young healthy boys. It can be hard and stifling for them in court, amongst friends there is no need for them to be quite so restrained."

Her words were meant as kindness, though it caused Éomer to give a laugh, "I do not think anyone who knows him could call Elfwine restrained, nay, he is wild and rambunctious, a true son of the Mark."

"Then I shall delight in watching him enjoy it with my son, as well as his cousin," Arwen smiled softly. She felt it gladdened her that Éomer laughed. It was rare that he so openly showed joy, but the children truly brought out the best in the young King.

She noted the same as they had spread a blanket on the ground by the river and settled down to lay out the food while the men played with the boys. Elfwine could not throw the ball very far, nor very accurate, but no one seemed to mind at all. The two older boys happily ran after it with no complaint, and Estel strode out into the water to retrieve it from the shallows. While the small child understood most of the Westron that was spoken to him, he spoke very little of it himself. Éomer and Lothíriel had felt it was best to wait with that until he was just a few more years and had a better grasp of expressing himself. As his mother however frequently spoke to him in her own tongue, and read him stories in it he did understand it well enough to follow what his friends said. Much as Elboron spoke mostly Westron, but understood Rohirric nearly as well and spoke a little.

After they had managed to settle the boys down to eat, which they had done with ravenous appetites they had been left to play by themselves. The men as well as the women relaxing on the blanket. Aragorn had filled his pipe though he moved a short distance to the side before he lit it. Faramir had found a last abandoned honeycake that he was slowly devouring, with the air of someone quite satisfied but still with a little room for more. Éomer caring not for the smell of pipeweed, nor for an excessive amount of sweet pastries had taken a small knife to whittle. A past time most common to the Rohirrim Aragorn knew.

At the sound of a splash, the blond king barely even glanced up. Giving a low whistle, he nodded towards the water and clicked his tongue at Firefoot, even as Lohíriel gave a low gasp.

With a whicker the great grey stallion stepped out into the water and grabbed a mouthful of Elfwine's tunic. As the small child gave a delighted squeal the great war horse carried him back up on dry land, and over to his father whom had slipped his knife back into its sheat and stood.

"Thank you," Éomer scratched the stallion behind the ear, and Aragorn saw him twitch his ears in enjoyment, though he did not release his hold on Elfwine's tunic. Just like before, he stood stubbornly, scraping one hoof insistently on the ground.

"Nã," dropping his hand as he denied the stallion his demand Éomer fixed him with a firm look. "I do not care how much my wife has spoiled you, nor that oaf that calls himself King, you know how to do this, and you shall not have me bowing to your every whim."

"Éomer, we have plenty of treats left over for him," Lothíriel stated softly. "Certainly he might have one?"

"Aye, if he deserves it he shall, but he shall not think he can dictate the conditions to me," Éomer did not lose eye contact with his horse. Instead followed a soft but fast string of Rohirric, his voice not much louder than a whisper, but his tone of voice leaving no doubt that he meant every word he spoke. Aragorn, had to listen most carefully to catch his meaning, and he had no doubt the man meant it.

Obviously neither did Firefoot, for the stallion set the giggling child down on the ground, ducking his head and bending his forehead as he backed away from his master.

Elfwine beheld his dripping wet condition with giggles, slapped his hands on his breeches so that droplets flew and scrambled over to the blanket for a piece of apple braid.

"I suppose we might wait until we are ready to go back to change his clothes, or he might just get wet again," Lothíriel mused as she beheld her son.

"It is not cold, it will do him no harm," Arwen agreed.

Whickering Firefoot moved back and forth on the bank for a moment, and when that failed to draw his master's attention, and voice of forgiveness he moved further up the bank where the land rose and they had told the boys not to go. The water was shallow and the bottom rocky, should they fall unlucky they could be injured.

Whinnying again Firefoot tried to draw his master's attention, and when it failed, started gracing.

He was only peaceful for but a moment though, then let out a loud neigh Aragorn found himself looking that way as the stallion moved with agitation. Rearing up part way he danced back and forth on the spot as he seemed to be interested in something in the grass.

"Èomer?" Lothíriel frowned as she watched him. "I think something is amiss."

"Nay, he just wants me to go there on a fool's errand, as I would not give in to him," the young Rohir King shrugged.

"Are you certain, he looks quite agitated?" Lothíriel looked that way worriedly.

"Aye, I am certain," Éomer made to take up his knife again.

"He does seem rather agitated," Éowyn frowned where she sat, trying to save a pice of embroidery from the water dripping off Elfwine. Watching as the stallion danced back and forth on the ground, stomping his front hoofs and neighing.

"It could be something that is dangerous for the children," Lothíriel breathed. "I would prefer to be certain."

"If you think he might be trying to fool you my friend, I could see what it is," Aragorn offered.

Snorting Éomer put the knife down once more. "And have you give him treats and spoil him even further? I'd have twice the trouble with him, no, if you do not take my word, I shall give you proof myself." Striding over to where the stallion was still carrying on he scrutinised the grass, while he was indeed certain the horse was only making a nuisance of himself, if he was to ascertain it, he would do so most carefully. He would no more risk the children getting hurt than would his wife, so with his boot he pushed a larger lump of grass.

"There is nothing here," shaking his head, he stood on the bank to look at the river, glancing at them over his shoulder. "Only a glutton of a beast who thinks I shall give in to his demand if he annoys me enough."

Aragorn was about to reply when he noticed Firefoot moving. The large grey was behind his master facing the opposite direction, and before Éomer would have had a chance to notice, he had lifted up a backhoof, and holding it just an inch from Éomer's rump, kicked out his leg.

Wincing, Aragorn watched the Rohir fly over the bank to land in the river with a splash. It was not a kick meant to injure, for had the war horse truly wanted to hurt his master, he would have easily been able to kill him. That he was trained to do, this was something else entirely and as Aragorn stood Lohíriel gave a startled cry.

"It is alright, you need not worry, my brother knows how to swim," Éowyn put a hand on her arm.

"But there are rocks, he could be hurt," Lothíriel shook her head as she stood.

"It would seem you were right," Aragorn grinned as he stood on the bank, watching the young King as he made it to his feet in the water. "Your horse did indeed only wish to make his displeasure known to you. Are you unhurt?"

"Aye, but that overgrown mule shan't be once I get my hands on him," Éomer growled, halting a string of expletives that were impressive in their inventiveness. As he waded to where the bank would allow him to descend out of the water the river got deeper, the water logged clothes hindering his movement and causing him to stumble. The treacherous bottom making it difficult to get his footing and he fell beneath the surface once more.

Aragorn was about to step into the water to aid him when he was nearly bowled over himself as Brego rushed past him. The stallion was just half a hand smaller than Firefoot, and just as intimidating when he wished to be. To Aragorn he had been ever loyal, though he knew that the horse held the young Rohir in high regard. As he had not forgotten his first master, neither had he forgotten his cousin. They had ridden together, and Brego seemed to well remember it. Long had Aragorn suspected that should Brego feel Éomer to be in danger, he would give all he had to save him, just as he would have done with his first master, and now would for Aragorn.

Amused he watched as Brego ploughed through the water, spray flying around him as he lounged forward and lashed his teeth on Éomer's arm.

At first, the Rohir was coughing and sputtering too much to raise an objection. Then he struggled against the horse. "Let go off me you brute!" growling as he found it harder to find his footing as the horse dragged him back towards dry land by his arm.

"Oh, that is delightful," Éowyn laughed as she watched her brother's plight. Finding no purchase for his feet on the rocky bottom, Éomer was no match for the powerful war horse and he found himself dragged all the way up on the bank. At that point, Aragorn had tried to step forward to offer him aid, but found himself laughing too hard. Faramir had not even tried to rise as he made a half hearted attempt at holding back the laughter he knew would anger his brother by law.

Lothíriel who was trying to restrain Elfwine from rushing forward to the horse seemed torn between her desire to control the child and see how her husband was fairing.

"What was that good for?" Éomer demanded angrily off the horse once he was back on the grass, glaring at Brego who kept nudging him with his nose.

"I did not know he might do that," Aragorn laughed. "Do you train all the horses of Rohan to it?"

"Nay, I only trained Firefoot, and only now," Éomer still fixed the horse with a glare, but knowing the war horse had meant no ill he reached out to stroke the soft mule.

"He must remember that from Snowmane," Éowyn spoke up. "Théodred was riding him when Uncle took us to the river. You fell in then, just like now, and Snowmane pulled you up. Brego must remember from then. It was many years ago, I'm surprised he does."

"I did not fall in!" Éomer growled. "Now, nor then!"

"Brother, you are wet all through," his sister laughed.

"I did not fall in," he glowered as Elfwine broke out in a bubbling laughter. "My horse, whom shall soon find himself well acquainted with the process of making glue, pushed me in. Because a wretched cur of a King has spoiled him rotten and encouraged all his bad behaviour."

"Might be he had a hand in it now, but you did not even have Firefoot back then, you can not blame him for that," Éowyn laughed.

"Nay, I blame you for that time, as the only reason I fell in then, was that you threw a rock at me."

"I did not!" Eowyn cried indignantly.

"Aye, indeed you did," Éomer snorted. "For saying your pastries were hard."

"I did not!" she repeated.

"It split my head open…"

"I never would have thrown rocks," Éowyn drew herself up.

"You threw something, and do not deny it," her brother insisted.

"It was no rock, it, was a pastry," she admitted with a blush.

Where the two of them had raised voices in their argument, Éomer now instead of showing anger burst out in a hearty laugh. "Bema, I told you they were hard, my head was sore for days…"

"It was not my fault," Éowyn glared at him. "And you need not have insulted me. I laboured for hours to make them, you could have offered a kind word about them."

"I did, I merely claimed they were hard, and not the bane of all of the Mark," Éomer laughed. "Bema, if we had had catapults to fit on our horses, we could have sent every filthy orc to their end, the one you threw certainly nearly was mine. Had Snowmane not come to my rescue, I would have drowned then."

"You are as wretched now as you were then!" Infuriated Éowyn grabbed one of the apples still laying on the blanket and threw at him. Her arm was strong and her aim true, but Éomer had the sharply honed reflexes of a warrior and caught it deftly.

"Thank you, dear sister, for no matter the reason, Brego has certainly deserved it," he laughed easily as he cut it in half with his dagger before feeding the horse.

"Éomer," taking a second apple, Aragorn threw it at him. "You had better give your own beast one as well, or he shall like as not see you into the water once more. And I do think there are only so many times Brego will haul you out before he leaves you there."

"Aye, though now he shall like as not think he may do as he pleases," having caught the apple as easily as the first Éomer sliced it in halves. Clicking his tongue so that Firefoot ambled over to him. Nudging his shoulder and rubbing his nose against his wet tunic. As much in want of the apple as seeking forgiveness Aragorn would guess.

The beast was never hesitant to mistreat his master, but he would never truly wish him harm.

Éowyn to looked placated once Elboron and Eldarion joined the young King to feed the other horses pieces of apples. Elfwin after handing his piece over to Arwen's graceful mount strolled over to Faramir, dropping down in his lap, instantly soaking through his tunic and breeches with his still sodden clothes.

"Iċ wæt," he declared cheerfully.

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.