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 58
Hunching down as much as he was able in the saddle Éomer shifted to distribute his weight more evenly over Firefoot's shoulders. All to lessen the strain on the magnificent stallion and make it easier for him to give every ounce of speed he was able to. They had already been riding at this breakneck speed for much of one day and night. Stopping only as often as they needed so that horse and rider could both catch their breath.
The horse obviously sensed the need and had not objected to the debilitating speed. Rather, he seemed to thrive on the challenge.
This was no race for the challenge of simply besting another rider. This was not just to see the skill of the other horse and master. This was a race with the lives of their people depending on the outcome.
He had been given the task in spite of being one of the youngest in the Eored, because he was deemed to be the fastest and most skilled rider.
His sword hung from his belt, but he had left both spear and shield behind. To spare Firefoot every ounce of weight that he might. For the very same reason his satchel contained only the barest amount of field rations needed, and his water skin was all but empty. There would be enough streams across their path for Firefoot to quench his first, and he would drink himself then. Eating a handful of the dried meat, nuts and bread that made his rations. Firefoot receiving oats as they both rested for a moment. The great stallion being allowed a few full minutes of rest while Éomer kept guard. Though the oats was a weight to carry, they allowed the stallion to regain more strength faster than if he had been relaying on the grass alone.
In the shelter of a stand of rocks he drew in the reins to halt his horse, slipping from the saddle as to allow the stallion the most rest he was able. Reaching into the sack that hung from the saddle he took a handful of the oats that he fed the stallion.
Firefoot nickered gratefully, nuzzling his shoulder as he stretched, trying to shake the feeling of being watched. It seemed him that the task he had been given was much too important for one with his lack of experience. He did not yet know how to read the signs enough to tell if it was a fox, or a pack of Orcs that had sent the birds into flight. Only a fortnight ago when he left Edoras, Théoden King had reminded him that he lacked in experience if not in courge. That he should always listen to the well seasoned riders, for they had not become such without learning important lessons. Learning from them, and their mistakes, Théoden had told him, was what would keep him alive long enough to make his own.
How was he to know them now though, when he was all alone on the plains?
The grass moved in the ever present wind, shifting and rolling across the Mark, as waves would roll over the surface of a lake. It all looked peaceful enough, flat for most part, but he had already learned it was not so. Hidden by the tall waving grass was any number of small depressions, that could hide a dozen orcs easily. Only because you did not see them did not mean they were not there, Théodred had told him seriously.
"Easy boy, it's all right," taking a last handfull of oats he fed it to his stallion and stroked the soft velvet nose at the same time. Firefoot gave him a sideways glance, scraping his hoof and seeming to question the way he sought to calm him, when the horse was indeed calmer than the master.
"Aye, you'd smell them a mile away," Éomer nodded, not admitting to himself Firefoot would only be able to do so if the wind carried the scent the right direction. As his war horse chewed the last of the grain, he allowed himself to take a bite of the dried meat before swinging himself back into the saddle.
Crossing a stream they were both wet, and the sun was hidden behind the close, causing Éomer to shiver as his wet clothes clung to his body. He ignored the discomfort the best he was able to and once more crouched down over the neck of his horse as much as he was able. This time to seek what little warmth his horse had to offer.
Nightfall with a lack of moonlight slowed them down, but he dared not stop. He could not gallop for it was too dangerous, but for most part they moved at a rapid walking pace, breaking out into a canter whenever the terrain allowed it. Firefoot tossed his head, whickering as a wolf howled in the far distance. A shudder running through the powerfully muscled side and Éomer reached down to pat his side comfortingly.
"It's all right," he stated. This time feeling more secure himself as he offered the soothing words. Wolves did not scare him half as much as the thought of Orcs hidden in the darkness did. Wolves were simple creaturs, and though certainly dangerous they were not malicious. They only killed to eat, and only what they needed. Orcs would slay for pleasure and would enjoy to torture their victims as they died. "It is all right," he repeated. "It is only wolves, and they are far away. They shan't trouble us any, you need not worry about them."
He should have stopped and allowed Firefoot to rest properly, but with the slow pace they were moving he pushed onwards instead. They would both feel better once the sun rose he knew. In the light of day the shadows would not seem so frightening. It was for that reason he waited until it was light to stop. Allowing himself an hour of sleep while Firefoot ate and rested himself. Éomer, before he laid on the ground next to his horse for a brief nap gave the stallion a share of the oats.
The life as a rider had already taught him to refuse himself the comfort of a deep sleep, and the fitful light doze he allowed himself did indeed see him rising within the hour. A mouthful of water and a handfull of dried berries before he was once more in the saddle.
He found himself hard pressed to retain his balance at times, swaying gently in the saddle as he gazed ahead, trying to judge the distance he had yet to cover while Firefoot broke out into a full gallop.
Through the day they rode the same way, Éomer allowing Firefoot what rest he was able, smiling wearily as the horse barely waited for him to dismount before his eyes closed in a light sleep. Uneasy, he did not wish to let down his guard, but dozed lightly in the saddle when Firefoot was more alert.
With land they both knew better they were able to keep a light canter through most of that night, though he had to slow at times.
Exhaustion crept in, and though he strove not to give in to it, he found it weighing him down. For as Firefoot stumbled on his step, Éomer was not ready for it but fell from the saddle to land heavily on the ground.
"Sweet Eru!" pushing himself to his feet he blinked wearily, not certain what had happened. By the position of the sun, he thought they had not done so badly, but at the same time he would have wished for them to have done better.
Firefoot had turned, and came back to him, nuzzling his shoulder and Éomer scratched his forelock lightly. "We have some oats left, not much, you may as well have them now," pouring them into his hand he allowed the stallion to eat it all. Taking a mouthful of water for himself and giving the rest as well to the horse.
Mounting again he found it more difficult to keep his ballance, and after he once more nearly found himself unseated as Firefoot took a false step he lashed himself to the saddle. If he fell off, it would cost them time, and that he would not allow. Instead, as Firefoot seemed to sense they had not much further to go he had increased their pace. Allowing him to do so, Éomer focused on trying to stay alert to scan the surrounding area with gritty eyes.
Not until nightfall did he spie their goal, and by then Firefoot had slowed to a lumbering, stumbling canter that jarred Éomer's teeth and seemed to bruise every bone in his body.
It took him a long moment to realise that the tents he saw meant he had reached his goal, and that indeed it was time to stop. It took yet one moment of intense thought to realise this meant he should pull the reins.
Once he had done so, Firefoot seemed to need a moment himself to remember what he was supposed to do when his reins were being pulled, and they were fast coming onto the sentry that might have challenged them.
Éomer barely registered they were not hindered. Rather, the man on post had recognized not only horse and rider, but also the state of absolute exhaustion he was in. Therefor, as Éomer passed him, the man had already sent word further into the camp.
"Éomer!" Théodred, prince of Rohan and second Marshall of the Mark grasped the reins of the exhausted horse, reaching one hand to the leg of the rider. "Éomer, what has happened?" He noted his cousin had tied himself to the saddle and knew the reason why a lone rider would do so, and it chilled his heart.
"Elfhelm sent me," he managed. "A band of Orcs were laying in wait, well nigh fifty of them. He deemed it unwise to attack so many alone with so many raw untested recruits amongst his own men."
"Aye," reaching up, Théodred sought to release the knot tying the youth to the saddle. "And you are absolutely exhausted, cousin. When was this?"
"Three days ago, I should think," Éomer blinked as he gazed at the sky to gauge the time. "I rode as fast as I was able."
"That you did," as he sought to aid his cousin, the boy fell from the saddle into his arms. "Aye, that you did," he nodded. "Come Éomer, let's find you a spot to sleep."
"I must see to Firefoot," Éomer objected. "He has not rested either."
"I will see to Firefoot," Théodred shook his head.
"I am a rider, I shall see to him," stubbornly Éomer tried to find his feet, but found them unwilling to bear his weight.
"Èomer," Théodred's voice was commanding. Not only his cousin, but his Lord and commander also. Biting his lip, Éomer listened, his eyes damp as he struggled to find both his feet and his dignity. "You are wore out, and you have done a good deed," Théodred stated firmly. "I would ask none of my riders to see to their horse in your condition, and I will not allow it of you. "If there is aught more of your report I need to know, I would know it, then you'll have my bedroll while I care for Firefoot. When we ride to Elfhelm's aid, I want you with us, and that shall not happen unless you've slept and had some food."
"Aye, Lord," he nodded, sniffing as he kept his eyes down. "I have not much more to say, Elfhelm commanded me to bring you, and he shall seek not to engage but not to lose them until you may arrive."
"You have done well, now take your rest," Théodred reached a hand to rub Firefoot's nose, a promise to return to him as soon as he had seen to his master. He led his cousin to where his bedroll waited, and shook it out. The boy was asleep before he was fully laid to rest, exhausted by the ride.
"Come then my boy," gently Théodred stroked Firefoot's neck, for the stallion as exhausted as he was himself still watched him carefully. "Do not worry yourself for Éomer," Théodred told the mighty beast. "He may be exhausted, but nothing worse ails him. Some hours of sleep and a good meal and he shall have all but forgotten this ordeal. And you shall need the same. I shall take you to Brego, and you may enjoy his company as I tend to you."
On his word, Firefoot followed, greedily devouring the apple Théodred sliced up and offered to him before he put grain in the manger. While the stallion ate he brushed his grey coat until it shone. Even before he was done, the stallion had cocked a hoof and slept contently.
Like his master, Théodred mused, he trusted him well enough to find an easy restful sleep, and it gladdened his heart to know it.
They were loyal, both of them, more so than many man and he only hoped that same loyalty that he admired so much in man and beast would never come to be their own bane.
He could not bear if he ever lost Éomer, for he was more than merely the son of his aunt, he was his brother.
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.