#firefoot

@konartiste reply continued

On a more personal level, have you cooked? If so, is there is a dish you could say is your specialty?

He chuckles, sucking in his well-shaped bottom lip as he narrows his eyes.

“This may surprise you, good lady, but yes, many times, though not one of them was in a kitchen. In Aldburg when I was growing up, and later at Meduseld, others had always cooked for me, but when the éored went on long campaigns, we all took our turns cooking, and I took mine with the rest of the men. As such, the only kitchen I ever knew was a campfire, the only larder the one we brought in our saddlebags or scavenged or killed ourselves. And so, I could not name you a dish or a recipe that is my 'specialty,' save to describe it as a pilaf or a stew depending on how much water can be spared. The base is a broth and a grain – whether oats, or rye, or buckwheat – and it is seasoned with whatever salt or spices we have on hand, while for taste and further sustenance there is the meat of whatever beast, or mushrooms if we are stationed in a wooded place, as well as nuts, berries if in season, and spices and salt that I carry in a bag around my neck. Of late, when I go on a campaign, Her Majesty likes to give me a box of salt from her homeland of Dol Amroth, which has a tinny taste that Rohanese salt does not have, and reminds me of our travels.”

[This answer is inspired by a very cute subplot in The Brute and the Bookworm by konartiste, which has to do with Dol Amrothean salt, and also by Samwise Gamgee, who lugged around "the best salt in the Shire" all over Middle-earth in case he and Frodo got to have some roast chicken.]

What do you admire most about Her Majesty the Queen?

“Oh, it is simpler to say what I do not admire about her – which is nothing.” He smiles, heartily, his expression growing so bright that his lips and eyes can barely contain it. “But truly, if I had to settle on one thing, it is her tenacity. She loves fully, just as she hates fully, and if she takes something on as her charge, she does it with all her heart and being. Her upbringing sought to clip her wings and trap her in a cage, and an infamous waste it was, for she is a far stronger and kinder and more undaunted person than I can ever be, nor does she break easily. The last part took me some time to understand, and for far too long, I sought to shield her and protect her from everything I could, but then I learned – she does not need it. If she wishes to stay alive and well, she will.”

What changes has Her Majesty brought into your life and court that took you by surprise?

“Ah…” He closes his eyes, his blond lashes fluttering in the light.

It takes him longer to reply than with the other questions.

“Truly, I cannot name it for myself some days,” he says, “and there are precious few people to whom I could speak of it unguarded, or at all. But as with the other question of what I admire most about the Queen, it is easier to say what has not changed, and what has not taken me by surprise, than what has changed and how. Forgive me my lacking response, but perhaps if I loved Her Majesty less, I would be able to speak about it more.”*

[*I think we all know where this quote is from. It seems Mr. Knightley in Emma and Éomer are of one mind about their beloved women.]

And how is Firefoot? How often do you ride him still? For the King of the Horse-Lords must haven’t plenty horses to choose from, naturally.

“Yes, I ride him often, every few days at least. Indeed, the only time I do not ride him is if he is ailing or injured, which happens but rarely, though he is getting to an age where time may well catch up with man or beast. With peace more firmly secured, we do not ride as often on campaigns, and we find ourselves in a mutual, enforced retirement. And so, our lives are much the same – Firefoot enjoys the company of the broodmares and his comrades as I enjoy the company of my Queen and my friends, and we both have our battle-wounds, but our health has not betrayed us yet. And we ride out on the planes, reveling in the sun and the wind and the tall, braiding grass as often as we are able.”

What a fun question, thank you! ♥️♥️♥️

It’s very tempting to say Firefoot is so named because he has blazing fast feet, but he likely would have been named shortly after being born, which would be too soon to know whether he was going to be unusually swift. There also aren’t many common coat colors that are red/orange enough to justify that name on the basis of a flame-like coloring of his lower legs either. So then where did it come from? My HC is it came from an incident the night he was born.

Éomer was a young teen at the time, and Théodred had him working in the barn for spring foaling season to round out his horse education. Firefoot was the first birth Éomer witnessed, and he was totally awed by the whole experience. But it was a difficult delivery and the foal didn’t get to his feet and start walking in the first few hours as expected. The horsemaster sent Éomer home because it was getting late (he was still a boy after all) with the promise that they’d take care of everything. But it bothered Éomer not to be there to help and he worried about what would become of this sweet little guy that he already somehow felt protective of and invested in.

So, Éomer snuck out of his room after bedtime and went back to the barn by lantern-light. There was no one else there (the horsemaster had gone to retrieve something he wanted for the foal’s mother), but Éomer was relieved to find the foal standing. He watched contentedly for a few minutes but noticed the baby wasn’t moving around much. So he set his lantern down on a stool and tried to encourage him to take a few steps. Whatever sounds and gestures he made worked, and the little horse took a few awkward steps in his direction. But an unsteady hoof caught the stool and knocked it over, and the lantern set some of the stall bedding on fire.

Éomer freaked out and hauled the foal out of the stall and led the mare out, too. And that’s when the horsemaster came back to find the mother wandering away, the foal standing confusedly in the barn aisle, and the king’s young nephew desperately stamping out a pile of smoldering straw while wearing his PJs and looking very embarrassed indeed.

In Rohan it is tradition that the widows of warriors who died in battle assist mares in giving birth; most foals are born in such a situation.

Except for Firefoot. Éomer took care of the delivery himself; it took almost two hours, and at first the foal was so small and weak Éomer had to nurse him with a milk bladder.

Éomer saved Firefoot's life on two different occasions.

The horse saved his on three.