Yours to Command

Protector of the Weak

Amrothos had occupied himself selecting one of the oranges artfully arranged in a basket of fruit in the middle of the table, and now offered one to Éomer as well. Their eyes met, and suddenly Amrothos gave a grin.

"Oh, let's just go and have a look," he suggested, putting the fruit back again.

"If you say so," Éomer agreed readily.

"Well, I can't very well leave you sitting here all on your own, can I," winked Amrothos, "and I'm dying to find out what's the small domestic problem, aren't you?"

Éomer was startled into a laugh. "Yes, I am," he admitted.

***

They were the last to arrive. A servant had reluctantly directed them to the small cobbled stable yard fronting the main gate and when they got there, they found the whole household assembled, watching the unfolding spectacle.

Princess Lothíriel stood in the middle of the yard, her nephew holding on to her skirts, and faced her father, Elphir and his wife. They were discussing something in low voices. The torches, set in sconces all along the four walls, threw their flickering light over the scene. What caught Éomer's attention, though, was the pony whose lead rope she was holding: a singularly sorry looking animal. It only took him a moment to take in its rough and mangy coat, the ribs sticking out its side and the apathetic way it hung its head and he was very much surprised to find such an animal in Prince Imrahil's stable.

Then Éomer spotted the riders of his small guard, who had been eating in the kitchen, and motioned to Éothain, their captain, to join him.

"What's going on here?" he asked.

His captain wore a carefully neutral expression as he exchanged a nod with the two of them. "It seems the princess bought the horse, but Prince Imrahil does not agree with her taste."

Éomer was not surprised. Beside him, Amrothos groaned. "She bought it? Whatever for?"

"Apparently to save it from being sent to the knackers'."

Éomer privately thought that he agreed with the previous owner's decision. What else could you do with such a wretched looking animal?

"A pony!" Amrothos exclaimed. "Couldn't she stick to dogs? This is getting worse and worse."

At his son's exclamation, Imrahil had looked over and now gave them a pained nod of acknowledgement. Éomer felt constrained to join him, although he had no desire at all to get embroiled in a family argument.

"I won't have my precious son seen with that flea-ridden bag of bones," Lady Annarima was just scolding furiously, and then checked herself when she spotted him.

Her precious son looked distinctly rebellious. Éomer had met the boy briefly the last time he had dined with Imrahil, and had thought him a bit dull and unnaturally reserved, quite unlike the children of the Rohirrim. Now he looked much more like a normal six year old.

"It's not fair," he protested.

"Alphros, you have to understand that life isn't always fair," his father tried to soothe him and hunkered down facing his son, "and this pony is much better off being put out of its misery."

"You have to trust us adults to know what's best," Prince Imrahil concurred. Éomer got the feeling it was not the first time the prince had used this argument.

"Aunt Lothíriel is an adult and she agrees with me," Alphros retorted at once and looked up triumphantly at his grandfather.

Lady Annarima opened her mouth to say something, but was forestalled by her husband.