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 55

Why the Gondorians seemed to have such trouble understanding the Rohirrim when they in truth were the most uncomplicated people was well beyond Éothain. After all, they really were a simple people with simple wants and simple needs.

They worked hard, they fought hard and drank harder when the victory was won. How that was so difficult he could truly not understand. Yet for all they were a simple people, they were horribly misunderstood. Had he not heard how they were insulted for their ways? Called brigands and had the Golden Hall referred to as a thatched barn where they drank in the reek, and was that not a horrible misjudgment?

Oh, he had seen how the children played on the floor, and he had been one of them many times. Not only had his father been one of the Eored and a highly respected Captain, but he had befriended Éomer, sister son to the king. When the two of them did not fight, they were the greatest friends. Thinking back with a grin, he wondered if they were ever better childhood friends than when they fought. Never had he known a smaller boy than Éomer who could fight so fiercely. One year younger, by far smaller, and yet with Théoden King's sense of justice.

No, they were not so hard to understand, he truly could not say they were. Though the Golden Hall in his eyes was one of the most beautiful places. Home of the King and the warriors of the Mark.

Meduseld might not be as impressive as the palace of Minas Tirith, but he would not have it different for the world. He could not see how anyone would wish to live in a pile of stones like that, nor had he any wish to find out. How they lived in the Mark would never have been accepted by the fops of Gondor, and he was glad to know it.

Had not Théoden himself poured ale for his warriors after the battle was won? Had he not handed his sister son and his friend plates of beef and pork as they raised tankards in cheer? He could not see the Gondorians do this, though he knew how different Aragorn now was than Denethor had been as Steward.

Aragorn he respected and would be glad to draw sword with. He was a man worthy of the friendship of the Rohirrim, and he was glad Éomer had found a friend in him.

The tiny boy he had scrapped with many years ago was a King now, and had a heavy burden placed upon him. While Éothain was determined to always be a loyal friend, there were things he could not offer. Understanding of a role he did not fill, guidance in matters he did not know.

King Aragorn of Gondor and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth were far better suited for this, for they knew what it entailed. So indeed he was glad that his friend had found a new brother in the Gondorian.

Though in truth he was even glader now to see the befuddled look on the man's face. Aye, Aragorn was confused, as much was certain, and he had to admit he was enjoying himself immensely.

There was something so very satisfying about finding the neighbouring regent so perplexed he did not seem to know how to form his words. It was made even better as it was something the Rohir did not consider strange himself, not in the slightest. Though perhaps he should take pity on the man, he had a feeling it was what was considered the proper thing to do.

He only had not made up his mind if it was what he wanted to do. After all, he truly was enjoying himself and it would be a shame to put an end to such a delightful entertainment.

"Éomer, your horse…"

Before he had made up his mind, his friend returned and the King of Gondor turned to him, still the befuddled expression on his face.

"Aye?" obviously Éomer had not seen anything he considered worthy of confusion as he glanced around. Finding his stallion he looked proud and pleased.

"He," Aragorn broke off. "Truthfully I am not certain what he is doing…"

"He is only doing what I asked of him, I asked he kept guard as this is a difficult land," the young King shrugged. "Tis all to easy to have someone approach unseen in this terrain. Though they shall find it much harder to slip past Firefoot."

"Of that, I have no doubt, but how did he get up there?" Aragorn nodded to the peasants howel, a low building with a grass covered roof. One on which the magnificent grey stallion had decided to stand guard as he grazed.

Éomer turned to look as if he found nothing strange about it at all. "I should imagine he climbed."

"How are you to get him down?" the King of Gondor shook his head. The small howel was after all free standing. If it had been built into the side of the hill as some were, he would have felt it easily possible, but this one was not.

"He got himself up there, I should hope he has thought of how to get himself down from there," still the blonde warrior seemed to express no concern, and Éothain grinned. It would do the foreign monark good to be confused for a while longer.

"Éomer…" Aragorn's voice was quiet and filled with concern as he regarded the stallion on his perch. "If the roof should not hold his weight…"

Shrugging, Éomer seemed to give in. "Very well, Firefoot, come down. No need to stand guard anymore," he called. Tossing the head and neighing the horse moved back and forth on the roof. Aragorn giving a shudder as he watched him near the edge of the roof.

Facing the back of the small hut he simply took a jump, and Aragorn stared. Éothain barely holding back a laugh as the stallion disappeared from sight before he came around to them at an easy gallop.

"I should say he got down well enough," Éomer mused, scratching the stallion on the nose as he dug his face into his shoulder.

"He can not have jumped that high," Aragorn shook his head.

"There's a root cellar in the back," Éothain grinned. "Stands close enough to the house one can jump from one to the other."

"When we patrolled this area, we'd always make use of the roof," Éomer mused. "There are so many depressions and ruts in the fields one can not see anyone approaching otherwise."

"Would not a man on the roof be seen all too easily?" Aragorn frowned.

"Aye," Éothain agreed. "A man would attract far too much attention. An unsaddled horse did not. Though not all of them will do it easily. Firefoot seems to enjoy it."

"He does," nodding Éomer scratched the magnificent grey behind an ear.

"Your horse, horse master, never ceases to amaze me," Aragorn shook his head to Éothain's amusement.

Éomer simply shrugged as if he could not see why the horse keeping watch was anything special. After all, it really was what Firefoot had been trained for.

Finding a piece of carrot in his pocket Éothain fed it to the horse, he had been trained to keep watch, just as he had done, confusing the Gondorians was a much appreciated bonus.

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.