Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, places, events, and concepts are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien Estate.

Author’s Notes: This story takes place in early 2997 of the Third Age, making Éowyn about five, Éomer about nine, and their cousin Théodred about twenty-two.

The term “Yule” is not used for Christmas, but for a midwinter festival. I am fairly sure that Tolkien mentioned such a celebration in one of the appendices that follow ROTK.

Happy reading!  Do let me know how you liked this!  --Aranel (aranels@hotmail.com)

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A Proud Horse on a Field of Green

“Can you still see her?” Éomer asked between alternately shoveled bites of curdled cheese and thick brown bread.

Éowyn leaned out the doorway of their house, peering towards the Golden Hall. “No,” she bit into the slice of bread in her hands, swallowing the mushy lump, “Now we can start!”

“Good!” Éomer hurriedly dropped his dirty dishes into the wash basin near the shuttered kitchen window, rushing into the receiving room to begin, “Where shall we start?”

“I don’t care!” Éowyn was already digging through the crate where the family stored mittens and scarves, along with the itchy little hoods that she and her brother were supposed to wear when they went out-of-doors.  

Éomer shook his head at his sister, sighing and then kneeling to the floor to inspect the pockets of the cloaks and wraps hanging by the door. Éowyn was always in such a hurry, even when Mama would be out for a long while. There was plenty of time to search each nook and cranny of the house, to peek into boxes and drawers. Goodness only knew where Mama and Daddy had stashed this year’s Yule presents, and Éomer wanted to find them…not just the easily located mittens that they received each year, or the tasty fruits or candies that Daddy was sure to place at the breakfast table, but the good gifts. Never had he been able to locate one of these, and Mama and Daddy had always made sure that both he and Éowyn received something very special each year. Only last Yule his parents had given him a splendidly made set of tiny horses, not of painted wood, but of beautifully chosen and carefully chipped stone in gorgeous colors that would never fade. Milky grey and speckled white, they were, and brown, and there was one of jetty black rock. How Éowyn had scowled when he unwrapped the gift as she sat with her new doll in her lap, and that had only made it better. He had let her touch the horses occasionally, and had even tentatively let her play with her favorite once or twice, but he had made sure that she knew that they were his.

“I want little horses this year,” Éowyn was reaching under the receiving room bench, her little fingers looking for a box just so long and wide, exactly like the box Éomer’s horses had come in. It wasn’t fair that her brother always got wonderful presents, like the horses and a long wooden spear and even a little knife so that he could cut important things, like twigs and fingernails and strings. Why had she always gotten boring gifts? Her shelf held only a doll that was not to get dirty and a little box of glass beads that were not to get lost. The small wooden dishes had been fun, until Mama had said not to play with them in the mud, and the collection of colored river rocks provided some entertainment when hidden under Éomer’s sheets.

Éomer sat down on the bench, picking up his mother’s sewing basket, “You’re too little, Éowyn. You might break little horses. Maybe Daddy will give you bigger wooden horses though.” He began digging through the basket, wrinkling his nose at Mama’s new night wrapper and a stack of primly folded pillowcases.

“I want little ones!” Éowyn responded fiercely, scooting out from under the bench. She had not broken any of her brother’s horses, and she would take good care of her own. The toys would have lots of fun galloping through lake-like mud puddles and fields of grass in the yard, and they would be very safe and at home stabled under her bed.

“Look!” Éomer suddenly exclaimed, holding up a large green garment rather crookedly, “I think I’ve found my present!” Normally he would not be interested in clothing, but this was the woolen tabard of a Rider, a large white horse sewn on the center of the front. The Riders wore tabards like these sometimes when it was very cold, or at ease while at home in Rohan. Éomer slid to the floor, smoothing the garment out.

“No, it’s for me!” Éowyn responded, helping to flatten the cloth. She wriggled about, lying on top of the material, “See? It reaches to my ankles, just as Mama says a good cloak should. I need one, so this is mine.” 

“No it isn’t!” Éomer shoved his sister away a little, pulling the fabric out from under her. He quickly pulled the garment over his head, placing his hands on his hips, “Look, Éowyn, it is just right on me. The sleeves come just to my wrists, perfectly. It would be far too big for you. Besides, girls don’t wear clothes like this.”

“I can if I want!” Éowyn jumped up from the floor, tugging at the cloth that hung to her brother’s shins, “And Mama would make it big, so that it would fit for a long time. It’s for me. It is! It is!” She stamped her foot soundly on the floor, bundling the thick material in her hands.

“You’re being a baby!” Éomer squirmed out of the tabard before his sister could grab anymore fabric, “I will get this, and you will get another girly doll or a pretty dress.” He pulled length of filmy white cloth from the basket which had appeared under the green garment, “See! It’s right here! Mama is making a white dress for you with fancy lace, and you won’t be able to get dirty in it.”  It was a lie, and a nasty one, but he could not let his sister think that his present was for her.  

“That is an undershirt for you,” Éowyn shot back, though it was quite unlikely that Mama would put lace on anything of her brother’s. She did not want to consider that Éomer would get another wonderful gift while she was stuck with boring girly things.

“It is not!” Éomer shoved the cloth back into the basket, horrified at the thought of anything that fancy ever being slipped over his head. He pushed it down, down, down under other sewing projects, and then sat up a bit too straight at the sound of voices outside, “Mama’s coming!”

The contents of their mother’s basket were quickly put back, and the children scrambled onto the bench to sit and make chains of dried berries as their mother had asked them to.

“It is for me,” Éowyn grumbled in a whisper as she pushed a wrinkled red berry onto her needle.

Éomer chewed down hard on a dried fruit that he had ventured to taste, “Is not.”

~*~

Yule had been splendid, with cups of hot cider and roast meats the night before, and fruited breads in the morning, when everyone rose late. The ground had been gifted with a fresh blanket of snow, and the children of Théodwyn and Éomund were now rushing to bundle themselves into winter cloaks and boots.

“I shall wear the green cloak home today,” Éowyn whispered, shoving her hands into her mittens, “I bet Mama has even made my mittens to match it.”

“Your mittens shall be red, as they always are,” Éomer pulled up his hood, “And mine shall match the tabard, and I shall wear them and it home from Uncle Théoden’s.” 

“Come, children,” Théodwyn bustled into the receiving room, her arms laden with gifts. She handed Éowyn a large package, “You may carry your cousin’s present, and Éomer,” here she gave him a small box, “You may carry the one for your uncle.” 

~*~

Meduseld had been decorated beautifully for Yule with chains of spiced apples and dried berries and flowers. Great fires were burning in the hearths, and it was a happy party that settled down to celebrate.

Presents were unwrapped happily, with many oohs and aahs.  Éowyn tore the wrappings from the box her cousin and uncle had given her, running to hug King Théoden when she discovered a painted wooden horse with jointed legs inside, “Thank you!”

“You are very welcome,” the king ruffled his niece’s curly hair, pulling her onto his lap, “You must take good care of your horse, Éowyn. Be sure that he gets to go for lots of rides, and that he gets clean at the end of the day. Horses do not like to be dirty.”

“I will,” Éowyn snuggled against her uncle’s arm, tracing her horse’s head and ears with a small finger. This horse was better than all of Éomer’s. This one could move, and was allowed to ride outside. 

“And now for Théodred’s present,” Théodwyn handed her tall nephew the large package Éowyn had carried, kissing his cheek as he accepted it, “And after you open it, we shall let you go and see to your lady friends.”

“I haven’t got any lady friends,” Théodred responded, starting to push away the wrappings, but there was a slightly deeper red spreading over his already ruddy cheeks. His grin widened as he lifted the gift up to look at, “It’s wonderful, thank you.”

A little gasp was heard from Éomer, and Éowyn sat bolt upright in her uncle’s arms. That was their present! Gold thread shimmered on the bordered edges as Théodred pulled the tabard on, and the white horse stood out proudly on his chest.

“It shall look splendid over your mail,” Éomund smiled at his wife’s handiwork on the young man. He clapped a hand on his marriage-nephew’s shoulder, “If you do not have lady friends now, you shall certainly have some soon enough when they catch sight of you riding out in that.”

It was for Théodred. Éomer chewed on the inside of his lip, not saying anything as his cousin got up to show Uncle Théoden. The tabard fit Théodred much better than it had fit him, but it wasn’t fair. He had wanted that garment so badly and now it would never be his.

“Very nice,” King Théoden smiled at his son. His sister had done a beautiful job, making the usual Rider’s tabard a bit more glamorous for his son, a prince of Rohan. On Théoden’s lap, Éowyn wriggled uncomfortably, gripping her new horse. It would have been so wonderful to run from Uncle Théoden’s hall in a new green cloak, a horse on her chest and one in her hands. Instead her present from Mama and Daddy surely contained the lacy white thing that Éomer had held up a few days ago.

“Only two left,” Éomund mused, lifting the last remaining gifts from the table, and handing them to his children. He honestly wondered why his son and daughter shared matching grumpy expressions, but that would soon be remedied, “They are quite a bit the same, so you shall have to open them together.”

Éowyn felt the softness of the package, knowing at once that it contained something made of cloth. She sucked on her lip to hold back tears at the knowledge that she would have to thank Mama and Daddy for a flouncy white dress that she would hate to wear.

Éomer pulled at the edge of the wrappings, not really caring to know what Mama and Daddy had given him this year. Nothing would be as good as a green tabard with a horse in the middle.

There was a loud clank! as folds of darker green cloth fell from the wrappings of Éowyn’s gift, and Éomer was surprised at what he saw as he lifted his own present.

“Look!” Éowyn exclaimed, kneeling to the floor to spread out her present, and eagerly lifting what had come with it. Soon enough the little girl was hopping about, unsheathing and waving her gift in front of her uncle, “Look Uncle Théoden! I have got a sword!”

“Me too!” Éomer shouted, lifting his. Daddy and Cousin Théodred had fashioned swords out of wood for them before, but these had blades of pale, light metal, hilts wrapped in leather, and scabbards of smooth, oiled hide. Éomer scrambled up from the floor, grabbing up thick pine-colored cloth in a hand, “And tabards! We have got tabards too! With horses on them!”

“Be careful, Éowyn, or you shall slice off my nose,” Théoden gently pushed the child’s hand away from him, knowing that the light and rounded metal could dish out little more that a bad bruising.

“Tabards and scabbards,” Éomund chuckled at his children’s excitement, watching as they compared their presents to be sure that one’s was not better than the other’s. His wife had made the woolen green garments, stitching a grey horse onto Éomer’s and a brown one onto Éowyn’s. The idea had stemmed from the creation of Théodred’s present, and Éomund had been delighted when Théoden’s favorite smith suggested the little swords months ago upon seeing the siblings jumping about with rather battered ones of plank wood.

In moments his children were into their new garments, laughing at they battled each other with their small swords. Théodwyn leaned into her husband’s arms, glancing up at him with a wry smile, “Do you really think this was a good idea?”

“They are happy, and they are not fighting. Well, not in the way that they usually do, anyway,” Éomund shrugged, his arms crossing over his wife’s shoulders. There would certainly be bruises to tend and tears to wipe somewhere within the coming years, or months, or…well, probably the next few hours. He laughed, a deep rumble in his chest, hugging his wife close again, “I think they are much happier with those presents than with the other things we considered.”

“And I think you shall be much happier with what I’ve done with the lace I was going to put on Éowyn’s dress,” Théodwyn rocked slightly, raising an eyebrow at her husband.

“Oh?” Éomund wondered what was lingering in his wife’s sewing basket; quite sure that it was not a dress for his daughter or an undershirt for his son. This Yule had been full of surprises indeed.