Eomer comes home to find Boromir slumped over the table, working on her fourth mug of ale.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?” he asks, worried that Faramir has been hurt, or some member of the Guard has died.
“That…that…that king,” Boromir slurs. “The songs all say he has the mind of a general, and, and the soul of a king, and the hands of a, of a healer, and they never mention that he has the heart of a…of a puppy!”
“I think you’ve had enough ale,” says Eomer slowly. Boromir glares at him.
“My ale,” she says, and passes out on the table.
Boromir wakes the next morning to Eomer standing beside the bed, beaming, and holding a mug. “You look too happy,” she grumbles.
“I brought you hobbit hangover tea!” Eomer says brightly. “And a puppy!”
“What,” says Boromir incredulously.
“Well, you can practice your puppy-training techniques, and then perhaps you’ll be better able to deal with the king,” Eomer grins.
“Give me the tea, you madman,” Boromir replies.
Boromir’s dog is, as all the court agrees, a marvelously well-trained and very well-loved creature, who lives to a grand old age and has half a dozen much-sought-after litters.
King Aragorn does not appear to respond favorably to jerky treats, though.