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 52
Sitting astride his mighty grey stallion Éomer King watched the ongoings of the Gondorian stable yard. It seemed to him the men were having a great deal of difficulty with a horse. As a Rohir, he was obliged to say he expected any Gondorian to have difficulty with any horse. Yet he had to admit that they had fair riders, if not equal to those of the Mark.
Two men struggled with the beast, one holding the halter and one a rope that lay across her neck, and yet the horse pulled them both near off their feet. A mare, but large, near as large as Firefoot, a good strong build and powerful muscles.
She would have been a worthy war horse, if she handled as well as she looked, though it seemed him this was something they would not come to learn. Her eyes showed whites, she was not just obstinate but frightened.
While his visit to Gondor was official, it was not of such pressing importance that he could not watch the proceedings, which he did with interest. She hadn't been shod, and her hooves were grown. Her coat was matted and did not have the look to have been groomed for a long time.
There were scars along her side and hind quarter, but they were old and did not look like they came from abuse. Rather, he would wager the mare had been taken for easy prey at some point in her youth, and yet had survived it. Possibly taken a fall as she sought to get away. She was fairly well fed if she could certainly do with a bit more. Most likely he felt her too restless to eat in a stable as she was never still for a moment, even when they let the ropes slacken. She pulled and tugged, and clearly had no wish to be where she was.
"Tell me, brother, what mean you use her for?" he did not even turn his head as he addressed the King of Gondor. Protocol had been met already as he rode in through the gate, according to anyone's standard as he saw it. Though he felt some of the Gondorian nobles might differ, he did not care for their opinion. It was the man beside him he respected, not those who sat before laden tables, fat and useless, while their people worked for them.
"She was to have supplemented our cavalry," Aragorn mused, relaxed in the presence of a friend. "We took in a large number of horses from one of our nobles further to the east, she was one of them. Though now I know not what to make of her. We were told all of them were broken in and trained to riders, and she might be, but she won't take one now. I have not had a man yet able to ride her. They've got the saddle on her, but none can stay in it for even a brief moment."
"She looks a fine enough horse to me," Éomer studied her closer. "Do they mean to try to ride her then?" he nodded to the men who were struggling to hold her still.
"Nay, last man who tried suffered a broken arm. I had thought to have her moved to a stable on the lower levels," Aargorn admitted. "For the time being. If she won't take a rider, there is little use to try and put a rider on her."
"And were all those Gondorians, or was there even one Rohir amongst them?" absently rubbing Firefoot's neck, Éomer had to admit to himself he was intrigued.
"All Gondorians," Aragorn admitted with a smile. "Which could indeed be part of the problem, though at this point, I am by no means certain a Rohir could solve it."
"Well, if you do not mind, this Rohir will give it a try," swinging his leg over the back of his stallion he easily dismounted in one smooth movement.
"Not so I would try to stop you, only to warn you," Aragorn raised a hand to his arm. "While I know your skills exceeds most, five men have been injured so far. I would not see you hurt."
"It shall take more than one old mare to do so," Éomer laughed.
Striding over to the mare he walked confidently, but slowly. Giving the horse plenty of time to see him, and took the halter from the softly to the mare in his native tongue as he released the rope around her neck. While Aragorn knew the horse to have been in Gondor all her life, there was no doubt in his mind that she paid the young king more attention than she had paid his own men.
She tugged and pulled at the halter, but Éomer stood fast. He did not release his hold, but neither did he seek to restrain the horse further. While Aragorn understood the words, he knew his men did not, and they were watching worriedly. No doubt fearing that Rohan's king would meet his end and they would be drawn into another war.
Léod, father of Eorl the Young had died trying to tame a wild horse, falling and hitting his head on a rock. It was for Eorl hunting the horse down and demanding his service in payment that the Eorlingas had their horses. It was how it was said that the horses understood them, and Éomer was a direct descendant of Eorl.
To watch him with the horses was nigh on magical, for Aragorn had never seen anyone whom seemed to understand them as instinctively as Éomer. Now, though the mare was still skittish, she allowed herself to be held. Stomping her hooves and tossing her head so that Éomer was ever forced to shift his feet not to be stepped on, or step to the side to avoid a bite.
All the time he appeared to be utterly unaware of the ones around him.
Aragorn started forward as he saw the mare close her teeth around his arm, but it was not a vicious bite and so he stayed. It seemed to him the mare was testing the man to see what he would do, and Éomer did nothing but stroke her nose and speak softly to her as she released his arm.
Standing still, but snorting and ears partially back she waited, and Éomer still holding the halter ran his hand down her neck, over her powerful shoulders, then down her back and sides. His fingers felt the muscles and bones under the coat and the horse stomped her hoof once more.
"You rode her with saddle, did you not?" he suddenly asked and Aragorn looked to the men.
"Aye, of course we did," one of them answered. "Only a fool would try to ride a horse that wild without one."
"Only a fool…" Aragorn broke off, a suspicion forming in his mind as he watched his young friend once more speak directly to the horse. "Èomer, I do not think it advisable…" he broke off. Seeing no use in cautioning his friend in even attempting to ride the horse bareback, when it was already far too late and Éomer had swung himself onto her back.
The mare sidestepped, and kicked out, rearing up as the Rohir stayed on her back. She threw her head around to bite his leg, and he only pulled it back out of her reach. As she bucked and kicked, it still seemed to Aragorn that Éomer remained seated on her back without much effort at all. Certainly this was not the ferocious beast he had been told about. While certainly not docile, had he only had a saddle he would have been confident in his own ability to remain on her back.
Tossing her head and snorting, scraping one hoof on the ground the mare slowly cessed her attempts at unseating her rider and came to respond to him instead. As he moved her through a walk, and trot, guiding her with strong thigs rather than reins.
"My Lord, I have no explanation," the stable master gaped at Aragorn as Éomer guided the horse back to them.
"With luck, our friend shall have one," Aragorn mused. "What say you? Éomer, was all it needed for one to be Rohir?"
"Nay, for I have kinsmen who would not have fared better," Éomer mused as he slung his leg over her back to dismount. "It takes an eye that recognizes the way she held herself. Tis no fault of hers, I would wager she got her scars in a fall as she was young. The side is weak, there are two ribs that have not healed right, a saddle pain her greatly. Bareback, it is not comfortable for her, but at least not as painful. She is however no wild beast to be shunned. I wager she could be of good use, but not with a saddle and heavy rider. It pains her too much."
"I am certain we can find something that would suit her," Aragorn mused.
"Aye, you should, she deserves as much," Èomer stated. "She has been trained to take a rider, though I would guess it has been long now. She's been neglected for her difficulty, and that's ill justice. I would hope she was treated far better from now on."
"She will, on that you have my word," Aragorn stated firmly. "She shall have a place here, and we shall find a use for her that does not pain her."
The young King offered a warm smile at him, "from you, I expected no less."
"Take her inside, and see that she is shod," Aragorn instructed the stable master. "We shall see what she is best suited for later."
"Yes sire," the man nodded. "Is there anything else you need me for?"
"Aye, saddle Brego," he nodded. That Éomer had already had his horse saddled when he came down to the stable had not surprised him, and that his attention would be so intent on the horse neither. Though an official visit, Aragorn had suggested the evening before they should ride out in the early morning before most of the councillors and nobles were awake. Too many days inside the stone city seemed to wear on the Rohir. As it gave him an excellent opportunity to indulge himself, he was delighted to do so. He was well used to the city by now, and cared for it in its own way. Yet it was far from the life he had lived as a Ranger, and every now and again he yearned for the easier life he had left behind.
It was now a little later than they had expected to set out, and it would be later still once they returned. He was glad he had thought to ask Arwen to have food for them to break their fast once they returned. They had after all not expected to be gone long. Only a leisurely ride, as much to exercise their horses as to sooth their spirits.
One thing Aragorn had quickly found was that it was much easier to leave his guard behind when in the company of the King of Rohan. Éomer had a way of glaring at them that sent them cowering and stumbling, quickly finding that they had important business to see to somewhere else. By preference in the other end of the Kingdom from the blonde warrior.
Within minutes his horse was brought to him, saddled and eager, lifting his hooves high in the air as he was delighted not only to escape the stable, but to do so in the presence of a dear old friend. Having secured the reins to the saddle, Éomer did not halt his horse as the grey stallion trotted over to Brego, nuzzling the other horse for a moment in greeting.
"Aye, we are both glad to see you," Aragorn mused as he rubbed the horse's forehead. Firefoot did not even hesitate to allow him the affection. Something he took to mean the mighty war horse had deemed him a friend. Firefoot cared little for title or status when it came to guarding his master, he was a very protective and jealous horse.
Giving a playful tug on the dark mane he mounted his own horse. Éomer swinging himself up into the saddle with ease. The signals he gave the mighty war horse nearly invisible to anyone watching. Only his own skill allowed Aragorn to see them as he pressed one knee lightly against the stallions side.
Down through the city they rode, the people stopping to greet them as they rode through the streets. Neither horse gave the tunnels or stone archways any thought. Though Aragorn knew both had been uneasy in the stone city at first. Outside on the plane though he noticed how Brego's ears pricked up. The war horse certainly enjoyed being out on the wide plains that reminded him more of his home. He was about to suggest the trail towards the river, knowing it to be pleasantly cool with the possibility of a good gallop at the end. Even looking at his friend he had no warning. Firefoot was walking along beside his own horse, perfectly peaceful and at ease. The next split second he exploded into motion. Rearing up he threw his weight to the side, front hooves barely touching the ground before he kicked out with such force even Brego danced sideways, startled.
Though Aragorn knew Éomer to be a most skilled rider, and one that was not easily taken by surprise, this time he had no time to prepare himself. He was thrown from the saddle, landing on the ground with a dull thud while Aragorn wrestled with Brego for control, his own steed shying away out of fear from trampling the man.
The fact that the Rohir had not instantly got back to his feet did not escape Aragorn, and as soon as Brego was standing still, nostrils flaring, he dismounted hurriedly. Glad for the groan that met him, for at least it meant the young warrior was conscious. "Éomer!" kneeling beside him he put a hand on his shoulder as his friend started struggling to rise, though it was obvious he had not yet caught his breath. It being more akin to raged gasps than real breathing. He found himself growing increasingly concerned by the lack of expletives. Éomer was well versed in the salty language, and his extensive vocabulary often amazed and amused Aragorn whenever he heard it. "Lie still a moment, are you hurt?" he sought to hold him still, worried he had indeed been injured as his friend pushed off his hand to sit.
Glancing over his shoulder Aragorn noted Firefoot looked remarkably pleased with himself, and yet, knowing the horse as well as he did, Aragorn thought also worried. "Hold a minute, are you well?" he asked, trying to invoke caution.
"That son of a warg shan't be once I get my hands on him," with a suppressed groan Éomer struggled to his feet, one hand pressed to his shoulder. Turning to face his stallion with such a glare that the mighty war horse seemed to shy back.
At least Aragorn was able to take comfort in the string of curses that escaped him, such as would have done any soldier proud. While he had not let go of the shoulder, obviously the worst source of pain, he was otherwise moving well enough. "I think your horse disliked the fact you strayed," he mused.
"That horse was being judged unjustly, and you know it well, you ungrateful excuse for a glue pot!" Éomer snarled at his stallion, glaring at him with such ferocity Firefoot danced on the spot, ducking his head and looking most contrite. "Aye, you know it well," the young King went on. "And you would not allow it more than would I, but you simply can't let an excuse to act like a cur pass you by. I should like to know how you would like to be left here, and mayhap I should trade you for her? Aye, would be no more than you deserve."
"Leave the poor creature here, with naught but Gondorians?" Aragorn sounded shocked. "Have a heart my friend, truly that would be too cruel."
"I should say it's no more than he deserves," as Firefoot strode over to him his master still met him with a fierce glare. "I suppose you think me grateful you waited til' we were out of the city, you take far too much for granted. A menace and a sorry excuse for a rug is what you are." His words were harsh, but his tone had softened as he lightly cuffed his stallion over the ear. The chastisement turning into a caress as he rubbed his forehead. Deciding he was back in his masters good favour, Firefoot nudged his side, drawing a muffled groan from him.
"I take it then you wish to keep your steed," Aragorn laughed as he mounted Brego once more. He had a feeling it would be best to try and have a look at his shoulder later, but for that it might be best if he let it get to the point where Éomer felt the pain outweighed his wounded pride. It was not as difficult as it had been, for he was no fool, but the young King was in a position he had not expected to be. It worried him on occasion so that he felt the need to deny such trivial things as bleeding wounds and broken bones.
"Well, I shan't be able to leave him here, even if it is no more than he deserve," Éomer snorted as he grasped the pommel of his saddle with one hand, and swung himself up without using the other. "You would feed him so many apples he'd look like a sack of them… Nay, he shan't be rid of me so easily, and he knows it."
"I am glad to hear it, for it seems to me the two of you deserve one another," nudging Brego up beside him, Aragorn gave him a firm and brotherly slap on the shoulder.
Aye, there were the curses he had missed before, he had wondered if his friend no longer was so well versed in them. It was a comfort to know it was not so, and to know he should indeed corner him later for to look him over.
Like as not, in order to do so, he'd need Firefoot to sit on 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.