A/N: This one’s mine. He is also in The White Horse and the White Banner.
~` Fréa `~
I stood, my young legs shaking beneath me, watching as my mother died before my very eyes. Only hours before I had been born, and now the only beast in Middle-earth I knew and needed was dying.
I stumbled my way to her through the tall weeds around us. I could not suckle, for she lay on her side without the strength to stand. Longing for some comfort from her, I nudged her gently with my muzzle and she opened her eyes.
Seeing me, her newborn colt, standing over her, she nickered softly before closing her eyes for the last time, all life leaving her with one great sigh. Knowing my only source of life was gone, I cried out loudly, my small voice pealing out over the plains. But she was all I knew, and so I remained by her side, a trembling, hungry young thing with no reason to live.
Then, a day later, a strange man came riding up to me. His hair flowed long and yellow; his eyes were a chill blue. He ignored me, dismounting next to my mother and looking her over carefully. Only when he had finished did he turn to me, hardly a trace of care in his eyes. To him I was just a worthless colt who had killed one of his mares and would cause him no end of time and trouble. But he brought me to a stable and dumped hay down beside me. He spoke roughly when I would not eat it, nor drink the water he had provided, and then he left me to myself. The other horses in the stable were not unkind to me, but there was naught they could do for me.
Then came the boy. He was very thin, about nineteen years or so, with a shock of golden hair atop his head and two of the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. Those eyes widened upon seeing me and a smile covered his features. He asked a question of the man, who had followed him into the stable, and he muttered something under his breath in reply.
The boy seemed aggravated with my caretaker but he entered my stall and began rubbing me down with a wisp of hay, whispering softly to me. If felt good. Almost like my mother’s tongue when she had cleaned me after my birth.
When he had finished that, he lifted all my feet in turn, tapping the bottoms gently. I did not mind, for I yearned only for care and attention. This young man seemed to have both and I did not even fight him when he carefully pried open my mouth to look inside.
He inspected every inch of me carefully and must have found me to his liking, for he then turned to the man who had stood impatiently by and dropped several gold pieces into the outstretched hand.
Taking a nearby length of rope, my new master fashioned a halter which he slipped over my head, humming a pleasant tune the while. I resisted, not liking the feel of rope clinging to my face, but he held me gently yet firmly, beginning to sing softly to me.
I was soon so pleased to be with someone who cared that he could have put a saddle on my back and I would have made no trouble. He led me to his home, continuing his singing in a voice which still retained faint traces of adolescence.
He stabled me well and cared for me carefully until I no longer needed the constant watchfulness of a mother and could graze and drink water from a stream or a bucket.
My training had begun as soon as he had purchased me and had continued the entire time I was under his constant care. I was halter trained before anything and he was soon able to lead me about without any resistance on my part. Then had come things more complicated, such as taking a bit without fighting, following instructions through the reins and standing still when he left the reins hanging. But the hardest thing of all was the saddle.
When the girth was tightened, my instincts told me to buck and fight, ridding myself of the unknown enemy on my back. But Ceorl, my master, would not allow me my freedom until it was strapped well in place. And then no amount of bucking or twisting would move it from its place. At last I learned to heed it not, and was able to remain still for Ceorl to mount.
By this time, I was strong and fit, able to hold my master’s weight with no trouble. It was strange at first, having him always behind and above me, but it did not take long for me to grow accustomed to that also. We had many a wild ride across the plains surrounding Edoras during those carefree days of our youth. But Ceorl had also his duties to perform and soon he began to train me for battle.
I had to learn to stand firm no matter what frightening sight I beheld before me, to obey commands through Ceorl’s knees when he could not hold the reins, and to lash out at the enemy with my own hooves should they get too numerous and too near. While it was new and slightly confusing to me, I learned quickly under his gentle instruction and was richly rewarded at the close of each session.
Overall, Ceorl has been a wonderfully devoted mater and he has been repaid for his care. For not only does he now have a well-trained war horse, but his long weeks of training me in all weather filled him out and took the last lingering boyish qualities from him, turning the thin young man who bought me into a strong, handsome Rider of Rohan whom the maidens of Edoras watch with interest as he rides by upon his black stallion.
Why, I do believe my kind master is handsome enough even to steal the heart of a Lady of noble birth . . .