By: Dana
Summary: Moments have a way of tangling together.
Characters: Theodred, Eomer, Eowyn
Pairings: Theodred/Eomer/Eowyn
Rating: PG
Warnings: Het, slash, incest
Author's Notes: Written for my birthday. So, Elly wanted wee!Éomer and Éowyn, so this is at least half what she wanted.
You can read this as being in the same universe as Made Bare and Lesson.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

It's too wet and cold to go riding, but Eowyn knows that even that won't stop Theodred, because it never ever was enough to stop him before; that is, then. "Where do you think you're going, cousin, when there's more water out there falling from the sky than there is in the sea?"

"You'd know that how?" Theodred teases with a grin. Eowyn pushes back the hood of her sodden cloak, shaking out her hair, frowning with only the slightest hinting of a grin.

"I know well enough, Theodred," she chides. "Just for one, I know that it's far too cold and wet out there for you to go riding."

Theodred turns and rubs his horse's mane; real compassion, this, the love of a man for his horse and his friend. "Aldor here will ride faster than the rain."

Eowyn laughs a most unladylike laugh. "Yet he'll bring you back looking like you've both been drowned."

Theodred arches one eyebrow, shaking his head, and he turns again, walking to Eowyn, not stopping until he's fartooclose and Eowyn can feel the heat of his body rising through cloth and leather and skin.

"You'd not worry so if I invited you to ride along."

"Yes, well, maybe," Eowyn says, and she blushes when he loosens the ribbon-like tie of her cloak, but when she lifts her gaze, she wears a bold grin. "Perhaps you ought to, then; just so I know you'll be looked after when I'm away."

"I will," he says, and gives another tug, and her cloak falls with a soft, wet whoosh, pooling around her feet. "If that is what you wish?" His hands curl over the smooth curve of her shoulders, hard and warm.

"It is."

The world seems to tilt and he moves his mouth against hers.

The ground is cold and hard as ice and the sharp but soft beating of the horses' hooves sound as if they are striking stone. The chill in the air has worked its way, slowly, methodically, into Theodred's bones. The air is clear, though, even if the sky is a wall of opaque grey so thick that it seems that the sun will never again shine, bound between the mountains to the north and the south.

The storms have moved into the west, though the air still smells of it, the lingering scent of rain and the sharper, ice cold scent of the turning season; when Eowyn exhales, her breath frosts white, hanging fragile and still.

They have ridden out from the city, leaving nothing but open plain and clear air behind, and the sounding of Eowyn's voice, rising up in song, startles Theodred, as it somehow seems hollow and old. But he grins, and he lifts his own voice in song, and it rings out, clear and crisp, over the empty plains, down hills and into dells, pooling and then receding, swelling once more as they crest the further hills.

When it stills, echoes ringing and fading, Eowyn then says: "You never did say why you were willing to ride out into the storm, cousin."

A grin plays on Theodred's lips, a momentary pause. "Father has been in a mood."

Her pretty lips twist in a grimace. "I feel that I might know the cause."

"He doesn't react well when his most favorite sister-daughter tries her very best to kill his even more so favorite advisor, it seems."

His smile is sad, and she looks out, her gaze shadowed. "That snake should not have touched me," she says, and her jaw clenches, then trembles. She holds her head high, pale gold streaming, snapping in a sudden fierce wind. She is noble, daughter with the blood of kings, and for a moment she is colder than even the bitter winter-tasting wind. A moment only, and then she shakes out her hair, turning so she can level her gaze at him, and grin.

"I shall race you to the river, cousin."

She whistles sharply, and Leofa is off, taking Eowyn with her; Theodred laughs out loud, whistling, giving the reins a sharp pull, as Aldor responds beneath him, leaping forth, quick like the north wind over the endless sea of grey-green.

The cloud cover has lightened in the drawing dark, and Eomer stands atop Meduseld, watching as a blur of soft grey moves closer and closer, hard to see, and moving fast, almost as if it is bleeding out into the gathering night.

He takes the steps two at a time, bold much like his sister, though his stride is longer. The muddy path through the city is hard but still slightly wet, giving beneath his booted feet. He meets them at the city gates, the wind whipping hard; Eowyn, face obscured in shadow, Theodred, grinning triumphantly atop Aldor.

"I told her that I'd win," he says, and Eomer grins, as Aldor's pace slows to a trot, and he grips hold of Theodred's reins, turning to look at his sister. She tosses her hair back, stubborn pride shining.

"Don't tell him that I let him, brother," she says, ever serious. "I don't think he could take such a blow."

Eomer grins, even as Theodred's laughs. "It shall be our secret, then."

Her head is held high, her eyes spark, and her mouth curves softly, pale pink in flickering torch-light. Even as the torch gutters, the wind snapping sharply, she is lovely, pale like winter, carved from fine ice. "And I shall see the both of you when you decide to come in from the cold."

She whistles softly, and Leofa is off, hoof-beats thumping steady against the cold muddy ground. Eomer looks to Theodred, and Theodred to Eomer, and Eomer grins first, then Theodred, whose laugh is a deep rumble in the gathered night. Soft shadows, cool breath, and Eomer is firmly anchored, holding only onto Aldor's reins, held down by the weight of Theodred's gaze.

"She wouldn't say it, but she needs only wanting a good warming."

Eomer's mouth curves in delight. "I could say the same of you, cousin, though you are much like Eowyn; you would never admit to such need."

Theodred's grin softens, and when he jumps down horseback, he hits the ground with a solid thump. "You are quite right, Eomer," he says, taking hold of Aldor's reins. "I would not."

They walk up through the city, on opposite sides of the horse, and Eomer runs his hand along the flank. Aldor whickers, throwing back his head, snorting; his breath frosted white in the blackening air, though he still allows himself to be lead along. "She'll make quick work of the stables. I imagine that she is seeing to the bathwater, now."

"I imagine," Theodred says, and Eomer imagines the soft curving of his lips, "that you are right "

The stables are dimly lit, low burning lanterns casting their light, shadows flickering quicksilver upon the wall. The crunch of cold mud and old hay beneath their boots, the neigh and soft whinny of the other horses, and cold moonlight can now be seen, streaming in through the high back windows, pale and cool and pooling on the floor. They work together and, by the time that Aldor is in his stall next to Leofa's, a point that Eowyn has always held with pride, Eomer feels that the whole of his body will soon turn to ice.

"Even if you don't need the warming," he says, drawing close to his cousin, smelling horse and ice and wind on him, in his hair and on his breath, close enough that the heat of his body is the first spark of flint and steel, and Eomer presses closer, adding fuel to that newborn flame. "I do."

Theodred darkly chuckles, and Eomer feels the touch of his mouth. Cold, yes, and it too tastes of wind. They touch only there, mouths working upon one another, a fragile start that leaps to sudden aching intensity, fervent and unrelenting.

Eomer chuckles, then, drawing back, breathing hard. "Eowyn is waiting," he says. "You know that she will never let us hear the end of it, if we leave her behind."

Theodred's eyes spark, and his grin is smooth on weathered lips, the light touch of leather on Eomer's cheek, and the scent of it, almost enough to make him come undone. "Let us join her, then, before the water goes cold."

They do.