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 51

Wiping rain out of his eyes, Éomer stood stiffly. Feet firmly planted in the mud, his tunic and breeches clinging to his skin as they were soaked with rain and caked with mud. Mud was in his hair, running in rivulets down his face as the icy rain dissolved it. Angrily he wiped at it again, and more mud from his hands smeared on his cheek.

In his other hand he held the reins to his horse, Firefoot, a magnificent grey stallion. The war horse had Meara blood in him, more so than many of their horses as the blood line was thinning. Several of the nobles had been displeased when Théoden King gifted such a valuable horse to his sister son, but the King had stood firm. For being of the royal line, he was deemed worthy of the horse. That had been even before the foal was born, and he had been overjoyed when it was a stallion and not a mare, as they were generally both larger and more ferocious.

As he was not yet fully grown, at least he hoped he was not as he was smaller than many of the boys his own age, he had greatly hoped for a large horse. He had started training the horse while yet just a colt.

Now, for the last few months, his stallion had been old and strong enough for both saddle and rider. He was well trained, and Éomer had never been prouder than when Théoden praised him for his efforts.

He had been well aware that a horse of such breed would not be meek, and he had been glad for it. A meek horse was no great war horse. They needed to be strong, stubborn and independent for to be the best war horses. All of which Firefoot was, as well as sly and cunning.

With the reins tense between them, the stallion refused to budge, and in the slippery mud Éomer's slight weight was no match for the stallion who had planted his hooves just as firmly.

Though he was angry, he refused to show it. One could not win over a horse with anger, and that was a lesson that had been drilled into him since the day he was walking. It had to be stubbornness that won him this battle, and that he had aplenty.

He had been enjoying the ride outside of Edoras, had enjoyed it very much though it started to rain. Knowing his horse needed to get used to being out in the elements he had not turned back. Apparently Firefoot had not appreciated this, and had thrown him. Making like he was shying at a bush, and then bucking wildly enough to unseat his rider.

While the mud had made for a fairly soft landing, it had not been pleasant. Before he was able to get to his feet, he was soaked through and his hair was full of mud. It left a foul taste in his mouth and stung in his eyes, and Firefoot had not allowed him to mount again. Holding the reins, and not backing down was all he had been able to do. Twice had he tried to step closer, and twice had the stallion pulled him off his feet as he did so, and dragged him for several yards through the mud before he stopped. His elbow smarted, but he dared not shift his grip on the reins. If he lost it, he was certain Firefoot would take off and leave him to walk back to Edoras. The misery of doing so in the cold rain aside, it would be humiliating to enter the city only after his horse was well dry and in his stall. There would be no sympathy for him, for many of them had said Firefoot was yet too inexperienced to ride out as he had.

They would enjoy reminding him of this fact, this he knew for certain. While it was bad enough to return covered in mud, that his pride would survive. Coming footsore and wet, well over an hour after his horse, that he was not so certain of. He had wound the reins around his hand, so that the stallion would not be able to pull them out of his grip.

"You shall not make a fool of me," he bit his lip. "I am more stubborn than you, I assure you. One of us shall have to yield, and it will not be me!" Raising one foot tentatively for a small step forward he cried out as he was once more pulled off his feet as the stallion tossed his head. Throwing his head around and turning on his hind legs Firefoot trotted rapidly a few paces, dragging the boy behind him. Feeling the jolt on his shoulder, Éomer struggled to turn, crying out again as his nose started throbbing and warm blood streamed down his face.

Apparently the horse had only wanted to make his stand, for he stopped, allowing Éomer to slowly start back to his feet. When he was on one knee, touching a hand to his nose to check the damage, Firefoot reared up. The rein snapped taunt, and pulled the boy with it, two feet in the air before he fell down in the mud once more. Air driven from his lungs, and mud in his mouth he was not able to draw a full breath, desperately clinging to the rein as he rolled on his back.

The icy rain served to revive him, and coughing he struggled to fill his lungs with air again.

This time, as he started to his feet, he did not take his eyes off the stallion. His shoulder was burning with pain from all the jolts, and he was certain he had skinned his elbow as well as his knees. His sister would mock him for the state of his clothes he knew, and Théodred, his cousin and the heir to the throne of Rohan would shake his head.

At least he could always count on Théodred to have a kind word, and he was certain his cousin would help him to clean up and wash the blood and mud from the cuts. Théodred was kind that way, he did not force him to surrender himself to the healers as he knew how much Éomer disliked it.

Théodred would shake his head, and chide him, but he would do so with kindness while Éowyn, no matter how much he loved her, had not quite got over her jealous that she would never be given a horse like Firefoot.

Wiping at his face to clear his eyes of mud with his free hand he groaned as his sleeve was so caked with mud it only made things worse. Pulling the hem of his tunic up he tried to use the inside of the sodden garment instead, and Firefoot moved backwards, forcing him to follow or risk falling.

Stumbling forward his boots slipped in the mud, causing him to stumble, unable to dig his heels in and offer any resistance. Firefoot instantly took the opportunity to throw his weight to the side and taking off at a trot.

Crying out to order the horse to stop only earned him another mouthful of mud and he spat it out. Struggling to turn himself around so that he was not dragged on his stomach any further he dug his heels into the slippery wet grass and muddy ground. For a moment Firefoot seemed to slow, then his foot caught on a rock, sending such a shock of pain through his ankle he cried out and nearly lost his hold on the reins. The tug of it on his already burning shoulder seemed more than he could bear as he was once more dragged on his stomach. Though shortly Firefoot stopped, turning his head to gaze at him as Éomer struggled to simply regain his breath. Grasping the rein tighter with both hands he started to sit up, and Firefoot leapt to the side, throwing him completely off his balance and sprawling on the ground once more. Landing face first in the dirt sent another jolt of pain through his nose and cheek, then the pull on his burning shoulder stopped.

Propping himself up on one hand he saw the broken leather stretched on the ground in front of him. The leather had snapped, and he now had no way of holding the rebellious stallion. Firefoot, enjoying the freedom danced as mud splashed from his hooves to cover his legs. Trying to stand, Éomer fell back down as his ankle would not hold his weight and he cried out as much in pain as in anger. Balling his fists as he sat with the icy rain bearing down on him he threw the remains of the reins away from him.

He was far enough from Edoras he could not even see it across the plain, it would take him all of the night to walk back, and the plains were dangerous at night. Far too dangerous for a young boy with no horse and no weapon. All he had was his belt knife, and Firefoot would no doubt run back to his warm stable and full manger. Leaving Éomer where he was as he furiously wiped at his burning eyes. They'd come to look for him, and his shame would be even greater. If he could not stand, he could not walk, and he would be forced to endure being taken back like a babe.

He was struggling with the anger he felt, refusing to take it out on his horse. Only the worst form of cowards would seek to heap abuse on their horse. Théoden King and his uncle always said no horse was born cruel, it was the men that might make him so. Firefoot had no cause for cruelty for he had always been treated with kindness, but he was a wild and free spirit that was now being tamed. It was not to be easy, and this Éomer had known.

Forcing himself to his feet he revelled in the pain of his ankle, for the burning there was a fire he allowed to consume the anger.

So far Firefoot stood still, but as the boy was able to hobble closer, the stallion danced away.

"Firefoot!" he let his voice be sharp, but not a yell of anger. Still the stallion danced away from him as he stumbled on the wet slippery grass. "Firefoot!" He repeated, wiping at his face.

As he stepped on an uneven knob of grass, his ankle gave out and he fell to his knees, tears burning at his eyes though he refused to let them fall. He was attempting to struggle back to his feet once more when the stallion nudged his shoulder. He had not even noticed him getting closer, but now he threw his arms around his neck and drew himself fully to his feet.

"You just had to humiliate me so?" he half sniffed as he grabbed the stirrup, barely able to haul himself into the saddle. Only by the strength of his arms was he able to do so. "Do you know how they shall laugh? How they shall say they were right and I do not deserve you for I can not handle you? Do you wish for one of them snotty fools to have you as they prance around in their finery?" He wiped his eyes again. "Bema, it is what they shall say, and you shall laugh to I suppose."

Head hanging and knowing he could not get any wetter he made for Edoras. His foot throbbing even as he rode and he did not even try to put it in the stirrup. Instead he nudged the horse into a light trot that quickly ate up the distance back to Edoras.

The pain had abated a little as he entered the stable, but not so that he could really put any weight on the foot. He did not look at any direction as he took his horse to his stall, hobbling beside him with his cheeks burning from the chuckles.

He had just got the saddle off and half thrown it over the dividing wall to the next stall when he realised that there was someone there. Standing next to Brego his cousin regarded him with a grim look on his face.

"Sweet Eru, Éomer, I was just riding out to find you!" the heir of the crown growled out as he stood by the low wall. "What have you done to yourself?"

"Firefoot threw me," he muttered, leaving the stall to lean against a pillar for a moment. He needed to get straw to rub the horse down with, and oats to feed him once he was done.

"Èomer," Théodred was in the aisle with him, grabbing his muddy tunic with one hand. "Bema's beard, how you look! Are you hurt? My father has worried for you. You were not supposed to even be out past luncheon, and the evening meal is passed."

"I said Firefoot threw me," angrily he pulled away. He had not been able to release his fury out on the plains, and now he felt it welling up once more. "I have done nothing wrong!"

"You have blood all over your face, and you can barely stand," Théodred grasped both his arms. "How badly did he throw you? Do you not see how we worried for you? Father wanted to send near half an Eored looking for you, but I asked he granted me a few hours first. You must tell me how badly you were hurt."

"So you may also laugh!" Éomer knew it was not true, but he was too angry by now to care. He should not raise his voice in the stable, but this the horses were fairly used to. "I have nothing to say!" He tried to pull lose, tearing one arm free. "Leave me be so I can see to my horse!"

"Èomer!" Théodred tried to grasp his arm again but his cousin tore free, and spinning around aimed a savage kick to a pillar. His cry more of pain than of rage brought no notice, those who had before chuckled as he came in, had now moved to the far side of the stable. A firm look by Théodred had sent them there.

"Leave me be!" balling his hand into a fist Éomer made to strike the pillar, and Théodred's own shot out to grasp his wrist in an iron hold. A sore foot a rider could live with, but if he broke his sword hand on the hard wood it would be more serious. Spinning his cousin around and off balance he pulled the boy to his chest, holding his wrist firm and wrapping his other arm around his chest. Had he thrown his head back, Éomer might have been able to break his nose or crack his teeth hard enough to let him go, but he knew he would not do so. The son of Éomund had his father's temper, but even in his anger he knew not to hurt his kin.

Still he struggled and Théodred pressed him firmly against him, knowing it as the only way to let his anger burn out without the boy doing himself injury.

Finally once the boy seemed to sag against him he let go, turning him around and holding him more gently by the arms. "You know I would never laugh at you, and you know I would never mock you when you were hurt, but hurt you are, and I must know how bad?" he asked him. The years between them lending him the authority over his younger cousin, one he did not have as heir to the boy that was of the same blood.

"I did not care to find out," the sullen voice muttered. "And I shan't now either."

"You are soaked through and bleeding, I'll help you inside," Théodred tried to get a good look at his nose, but the boy refused to raise his head, though as his words registered it snapped up.

"No, I will not!" he snapped, pulling back. "I will not go in afore I have seen to my horse. I will not!"

"You are hurt, Éomer, you are well allowed to have your injuries tended to and let me see to your horse," Théodred urged softly.

"I will not!" Éomer pulled away from him, shaking his arm free and hobbling towards the stall where Firefoot watched them. "I shan't, I shan't have it said I did not do my duty!"

"And who do you think would say so, cousin?" Théodred challenged. "Bema, one good look at you should tell all you need to be tended to."

"I shan't have them say I do not deserve him!" stumbling he made it into the stall with his horse, and sank down in the straw. "Leave me be!"

"Leave you hurt?" Théodred snorted. "Aye, I shall be likely to do so, will I not, cousin?" Following into the stall he noted how Firefoot laid his ears back. The stallion did enjoy torturing his young master, but it was becoming perfectly clear he was also very protective of him. He would not let his master come to any harm from anyone else. "Can you tell me honestly you are not hurt? If you can, I shall be glad to go inside and let Father know you are back safe and hale. May I tell him so?"

"Nay, not quite so," Éomer dropped his head. "It hurts."

"I would imagine so from looking at you," Théodred snorted.

"He threw me, and I was dragged by the reins, or I was until they broke," Éomer admitted as he sat in the hay, so chilled he barely felt the wet clothes clinging to his skin. "I thought he would run home and leave me, he certainly could have, but he did not. He let me mount him, or I'd be sitting there still. I don't care if it hurts, I shan't leave until I have tended to him."

"If you can't stand, it shall be first in a senight," Théodred mused. "Let me help you cousin. There is no fault in that. I will only send word in to my father that you have returned, and I may at least fetch the hay. Will you permit me that?"

"Aye, and I thank you for the offer," Éomer wiped at his mouth again. "It hurts, and I do not know if I would have been able."

Glad for the honesty, Théodred squeezed his shoulder gently. Stepping out of the stall he walked over to the stablemaster, having the man send one of the stable boys to alert the King that his sister son had returned. Taking an armful of hay with him as he returned. Éomer had slung an arm over Firefoot's neck, and was leaning against the horse as he rubbed him dry with a handful of straw. He looked a wretched figure, still covered in mud and with his hair dripping rain while mud and blood dried on his face.

Working beside him Théodred noted how Firefoot stood surprisingly still, as if he knew he had caused his master harm and regretted the action.

"I wager father shall see to it there is a hot meal for you," he stated softly. "Though we had better clean you up a little first I think."

"Aye, I suppose," Éomer mumbled quietly as he rubbed the straw over the horse's shoulder.

"We have to make certain you are not seriously hurt, cousin," Théodred stated softly. "Though I know you do not care for it. You wish to be warm and dry, do you not?"

"If you wish for me to see the healer I should rather be wet and cold," his cousin muttered. Swiping a hand over his face he left dust and bits of straw in the drying mud.

"If you are lucky, you shall have not just a hot meal, but a hot bath as well," Théodred nudged him gently. "You can not tell me you do not like the thought of that."

"I do not," he felt his temper starting to rise again and turned away. "And I will not. I will not have everyone know I was thrown and made to see the healer, and I shan't do it."

"Would you rather be hurting?" Théodred sighed softly. The boy was stubborn as two, and twice as hot tempered. There was no reasoning with Éomer when he was in such a state, and he did not want for him to flare up again. Aye, he had his father's temper alright, and as difficult a time of keeping it in check as had Éomund. As much as Théodred cared for his Aunt's husband, and he did, he had not been blind to that flaw. That it showed so clearly in his son worried both himself as it did his father. If Éomer did not learn to tame it, he would like as not go the same tragic end to meet as had his father. "Cousin, I do not wish to see you in pain," he stated as he took a brush to groom the grey stallion's coat. The horse was greedily eating the hay and did not seem to care what they were doing.

"I do not wish to talk of it no more," limping Éomer moved to the other side of the horse, putting distance between them. Wrapping his arm around the strong neck once more as he rested his cheek against the horse, rubbing straw over his shoulder.

Sighing softly Théodred folded his arms as he regarded his cousin. It was not easy to be young, he recalled himself how it felt to imagine you had to prove yourself to the older men. He also recalled very well learning that it had not been needed as he imagined it, and he wished nothing more than to spare his cousin some of the same strife. Reaching over the neck of the horse, he ruffled his cousin's mud crusted hair. "I shall have a look at you then, and if I judged it safe, no healer," he told him. "Although I shall have a good look at you, for I will not risk you suffering unduly and being unable to ride."

Éomer looked at him, hazel eyes uncertain and hesitant, wishing for comfort he felt the need to prove himself too old for.

Leaving the stall for some oats Théodred smiled as he returned and saw Firefoot gently nudge Éomer's shoulder playfully. The grey stallion was clearly trying to get back in his master's good grace, not that Théodred imagined he had ever left it. Had he been given a horse that was ever docile and never challenged his rider Éomer would have been miserable. Now he might be in a bit of pain, but that was far better than never coming into his full potential.

Emptying the grain into the manger Théodred smiled softly as the big grey instantly buried his nose in it. "Your horse is dry, fed and content, time to do the same for you."

Wrapping his arms around Firefoot's neck in a warm embrace Éomer let out a soft sigh as the horse paused eating long enough to blow a hot breath in his face.

Allowing him a moment, Théodred then slung an arm around his shoulders to lead him on and help him. The anger seemed to have burned away for the moment, and though the boy might think he was being ridiculed by the older man for the state of his return, it was not so. Oh, they would snicker as they saw it, but it was the familiarity of men who had been through the same themselves. Oh, one or two might make a joke on his expense, and some would think they were smart for doing so, but it was mostly jealousy. Éomer, young as he was, was turning into one of their best horsemen, and some of the older did not like to admit that.

Given how rapidly his cousin was gaining in skill, Théodred had a feeling they would be forced to admit so sooner rather than later, and he was looking forward to it. He was indeed, though first he would escort his cousin in where his father no doubt waited and would ensure the boy was forced to surrender to their care.

Looking to his side Théodred smiled softly, Éomer was still a boy, though sadly he would not be allowed to be so much longer.

These were dark times indeed.…

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.