Middle Earth and its original characters belong to J.R.R.Tolkien.

Rohan 

What shall I do about the shoes, I wonder? The boots are as good as new, good as new they are. Can’t throw away a good boot like that. Shameful, throwing good shoes away. Maybe there is somebody... Have to ask around. Socks are not a problem, of course, but what about the shoes? No sense in having them standing around here like this.

How proud he was when he rode out. Fearful too, yes, but proud to be counted among the men. One of the riders of the Riddermark, eighteen years old, riding out with his head held high, just like his father, I always said, just like his father. On a cart they brought him back, together with many others who had been injured, and what shall I do about the shoes now?

Six years old he was when I taught him how to tie his laces. He sat on that little stool by the kitchen door. “Now, look,” I said to him, “with your left hand you hold on here, and with your right hand...” Six years old. Learned it within two days, he did. Always had big feet, even when he was little, needed new shoes all the time, all the time. On a cart they brought him back, and he had ridden out so proudly...

The neighbours were quick to point out, weren’t they, that I should be grateful he came back at all. As if I wasn’t on my knees every night offering thanks to our Fathers for his return. But the shoes. Have to ask around if there is somebody... Always had such big feet, the boy.

Of course he had learned to ride a horse before he learned to tie his laces. His father taught him. Now there was a man with big feet if ever I saw one! Boots as big as crates. Taught him to ride a pony before he was four, as is right and proper. Lovely little pony it was, too. And he so clever on it, and so proud, though his feet didn’t reach the stirrups.

Many didn’t come back at all. Mustn’t forget that, they say. As if I wasn’t down on my knees every night. Our king, he never came back. Crushed by his own horse, they say. Not a good way to go, poor man, but we none of us know what’s in store for us. Young Eomer now, he will be a king to be reckoned with, and as for Lady Eowyn, well, I always thought she was meant for great things. And it‘s the coming back that counts, for sure. If only I knew what to do about the shoes.

Always had such big feet, even when he was a baby. His father and I, we tickled his toes, and he laughed, oh, how he laughed! How he cried, when he fell down on his bed. “I shall never ride again, Mama.” He’s been crying every night since, though he waits now till he thinks I am asleep.

But he did come back. Mustn’t forget. Tickled his toes, six years old he was, always had such big feet. Down on my knees every night, rode a pony before he was four, and what shall I do about the shoes now? How proudly he rode out, my baby, my only child, crying every night, my one-legged son..