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Eomer pulled Firefoot to a halt, stared up at the sky before turning his gaze to the path in front of them. It had been raining hard again for the last two days, ever since they'd been forced to turn around – a steady downpour that had kept them cold, soaked and miserable. They'd been riding mostly over open ground, through the hills that marched alongside the mountains, only occasionally riding through groups of trees and their minimal amount of protective cover.

Even as dusk approached, though, he could see some breaks in the clouds. They might yet get a respite from the weather..

He pointed to the lightening clouds, saw Eothain nod in comprehension. The other man then looked away, to the left of their current position.

"If I remember correctly, there are a few small caves over there. Too small for us to shelter in," he said quickly in response to Eomer's hopeful look, "but the villagers used to store wood there to dry. Easier than carting it all back to Halifirien at once. If it's still there," he glanced again toward the east, "and the rain really does let up, we might be able to get a fire going."

The wood had still been there, and Eomer sent silent thanks toward to the Gondorian villagers, knowing they'd not begrudge Rohan's king a fire from their stockpile. He'd thank them personally when they rode through the small settlement the next morning. Would also make sure that they still had adequate supplies for the coming winter, that his use of the wood wouldn't place a hardship on them.

They made camp in a reasonably sheltered area between a cliff and a small forest. The ground was still soaked, of course, but at least they were out of the wind. And as they had hoped, the rain had lightened, then stopped.

It felt good to finally feel warm, to begin to feel dry again.

They'd ended up making several fires, enough for all the riders to have a chance to really share the warmth. While the rest of the men gathered at the other fires, apparently attempting to start what sounded like a singing competition, Eothain had joined Eomer at in a more companionable silence at a third fire.

It was Eothain who finally broke that silence. "May I ask you something?"

His tone was hesitant, and Eomer gave him a sharp look. One of his oldest friends, they'd known each other for so long that Eothain was normally comfortable being direct with him, though never disrepectful. He nodded.

"The men and I are wondering…" Eothain hesitated, seeming to choose his words with care. "We're wondering why you didn't just return to Gondor until these rains stop. It's not that we mind riding in wet weather," he added hastily, "nor do we mind the idea of getting home to our families. But even now we don't know if the road will be passable between here and Edoras. Your determination to make the journey seems…" he faltered again, looked away. Tried again. "Have you heard news from the Mark that drives you?" he finally finished.

Foolish, unwise, showing questionable judgment… Heat crawled up his face as Eomer thought of the other ways the other man could have finished his query, but nodded slowly to indicate it was a fair question. He was dragging them all over northwestern Gondor in weather not fit for man or beast…he owed them an explanation, should have given it to them earlier.

He hadn't because he wasn't certain how they'd interpret his reasons. Would they understand and sympathize, or think him foolish?

It didn't matter. They still deserved to know why he'd been so determined to leave Minas Tirith, why he hadn't turned back when confronted with the flooding. Apart from Elfhelm, these were his most loyal, trustworthy men.

So he would trust them.

Still, he hesitated, searched for the right way to start. Finally, he said, "You're familiar with some of the differences between our ways and those of Gondor."

Eothain nodded, a confused look settling onto his face.

"One of those differences is how the birth of children is noted." The confusion was growing stronger, but Eomer plunged on. "In Gondor, the date is remembered and much celebrated."

Insult nudged out some of the confusion. "We celebrate the birth of children no less than Gondor, sire."

Sire. Eomer suppressed the smile that tugged at his lips. Eothain only called him that when he was annoyed with him, normally falling back on a lifetime of friendship and calling him by his name – particularly when they were alone.

"I did not suggest otherwise, Eothain. Tell me something." Eomer changed tactics. "What is the date of your birth?"

Eothain gave him a blank look. "The date?"

"Yes. As in the date of the month. The first? The fifteenth?"

A long moment passed. "I have no idea." Eothain finally said slowly. "I was born in late summer, because my mother frequently complained that she had to endure the summer heat with all of her pregnancies. Why?"

"As you said, both we and our friends to the south celebrate the birth of a child. But in Gondor, the date itself is important. It's noted, and then the anniversary of that date is celebrated again each year afterwards," he hesitated, turned his gaze to the fire. "As I understand it, it becomes an opportunity for the friends and family of the person to sort of…" he paused again, struggled with the right words, "...to celebrate the life of the person. Reaffirm the person's gifts and value to the family and community, I guess." Unable to fully explain it, he finally shrugged helplessly. "It's a big event, Eothain. A chance for people to express their love and appreciation for someone. There is feasting, and gifts."

"They all do this? For everyone? Every year?"

Eomer's lips twitched again at the other man's incredulous tone, but he nodded.

"I see." Eothain paused. "No, I don't," he now sounded apologetic. "I still don't understand why a such a custom is driving us northward in such a manner."

"Lothiriel's birthday – as they term the celebration – was today. I'd hoped to be home for it," he said simply.

"I see," Eothain said again slowly.

"She struggles with homesickness," Eomer continued. "Not often, but occasionally. And I thought today might be hard for her."

Eothain was quiet for a long moment. "I'd wondered. She always seems so cheerful. But it must be difficult to move so far away from home. She has much affection for her family, and they for her, do they not?"

Eomer nodded, but before he could speak again, Eothain said, "Eomer, the men are very fond of the queen. She has been nothing but kind to us, and we've seen the difference her presence has made, both for Edoras and for you. We may not understand the concept of celebrating a birth every year, but we would do anything for her. You must know that."

Deeply moved, Eomer managed a smile, but had to swallow before finding his voice. "Even riding hard through autumn floods?"

"Even that."

Silence fell between them, and Eomer turned back to the fire, allowed his thoughts to wander.

He'd only been partially honest with Eothain. While it was true that the primary reason he'd been trying so hard to find a way home was Lothiriel's birthday, it was just as true that he was being drawn there by the woman herself. He missed her, more than he'd expected to. As Third Marshal, he'd frequently missed Eowyn when he'd ridden off for months at a time, but this was a very different kind of longing; it had also given him a new appreciation for how his men felt about leaving their wives and families.

During quiet moments in Gondor, he'd found himself thinking of things to tell her, both serious observations about the situation in the south as well as things more foolish and light-hearted. The latter still surprised him. He'd laughed more in the months since his wedding than in all the years since the death of his mother, a benefit of marriage he'd not been expecting.

He was also concerned for her. He'd known how hard it was for her to stay behind and his respect and admiration for her had only grown when he'd seen how determined she'd been to be cheerful in the face of his departure.

His mind drifted back to the morning he'd left.

"Eomer?"

He looked up at the sound of Lothiriel's voice as she entered his study. She was wearing a dark blue dress he particularly liked on her. He suspected it wasn't a coincidence that she was wearing it this morning.

"All is in readiness for your departure. Your men are waiting."

He nodded, looked at the reports on his desk. He'd spent most of the night trying to resolve as many problems as he could before he left, not wanting to make things any more difficult for her than they were already going to be. Alas, in doing so, he had not been able to spend the evening with her, something he greatly regretted.

Too late, now. All he could do was ride for Gondor as fast as possible in hopes of a quick return.

Standing he walked over to where she was waiting, near the door. Reaching behind her, he closed it, unwilling for anyone to see their farewell.

She looked puzzled. "The men…"

"Will wait," he said, and pulled her to him. Saw her eyes light with surprise and delight. Had she really thought he would make no time for a proper good-bye?

Apparently.

He tilted her chin up, watched as her gaze drifted down to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. Regretted even more that he'd had to spend the night in his study.

Locking one arm around her waist, he tangled the other one in her hair – he loved its softness and scent – drew her closer, and kissed her. Was aware that he was trying to show her everything he was feeling – his pride in her, as well as his frustration at having to leave her, with the kiss.

When he lifted his head, they were both out of breath. She laid her head on his shoulder and gave an unsteady laugh before looking back up at him.

There was a mischieveous twinkle in her eyes, though behind the mischief he still saw sadness lurking. Knowing it would do no good to comment on it, that the only thing he could do to remove that look was to return as quickly as possible, he focused instead on the mischief.

"Yes?" He cocked his head, raised an eyebrow at her.

The twinkle grew more pronounced. Turning her head, she glanced around his study, then looked back at him. "It's time for you to leave. I must get started."

Knowing he was being baited, he still indulged her. "Started on what?"

Her smile was a bit impish. "Redecorating. I thought I'd begin in here, perhaps with your desk. I've been told where some roots grow that will make a lovely pink stain for it."

Horrified, he stared at her for a long moment, then started to laugh, was unsurprised when she joined him.

Then he called her bluff. "You may redecorate as much as you like, provided the outside of the hall remains golden." If teasing him in such a manner somehow made his departure easier for her, she could threaten to paint all of Edoras if she wanted. Could, in fact, actually do so. It could always be repainted.

"What? You do not wish to return to 'The Pink Hall'?

He laughed again, but could not quite control a wince at the thought. She smiled in response, then reached up, placed her hand on his cheek. "Fear not. I would never do such a thing."

He turned his head, kissed her palm. "I know."

The smile faded. "Be safe."

"I will."

He lowered his head, kissed her one final time, then reluctantly stepped back.

She walked with him out of the hall, watched as he mounted Firefoot. He looked up at her, saw her smile at him, a very private smile. Saw, too, the tears she was fighting. He held her gaze for a long moment before turning, giving the order for his men to ride out.

A long while later, he turned, glanced back at Edoras from the plains of Rohan. And saw her still standing there, in front of Meduseld, watching his departure. As Eowyn used to do. It had been a long while since anyone had done that for him, and moved, he lifted his arm in a final salute, even while doubting she could see it. And damned the Haradrim for forcing him to leave her while their relationship was still so new and uncertain.

Eomer shook his head to clear it of the memories, then smiled at the thought of her threats to redecorate. He was quite ready to be home again, even to a pink desk.

The rain held off until mid-morning the following day, something all the men were grateful for. And even when it started again, their good mood lasted. It was amazing what a single night's sleep in drier conditions had accomplished, Eomer mused. Or maybe it was that they were finally just over a day's ride from Edoras.

He also knew that, thanks to Eothain, the reason for their speed was making its way through the guard. He'd been touched when one of the youngest riders had approached him, asked with some puzzlement if they should have gifts of some sort for the queen. Eomer had reassured him that no gifts would be necessary, then tucked away the memory of the question having been asked to share with Lothiriel. He thought she'd like knowing of his men's baffled determination to understand the nature of a birthday, and their desire to make it special for her.

If only they could get home without any additional delays.

They stopped for a midday meal at the base of another cliff, hoping for at least partial shelter from the rain.

The horses were grazing near by as the men prepared to have a hurried meal of dried meat and cheese when Eomer heard thunder.

Noting that it had startled the horses, that indeed, they were starting to run, he started toward them, only to hesitate at the sound of more thunder above them. How much harder could it rain?

Then his gaze was pulled upward, and for a brief moment he froze with disbelief.

It looked as if most of the mountain above them was coming down on top of them. Or rather him, as in an effort to stretch his legs, he'd wandered farther from his men than he'd realized, closer to the mountain.

Even as he started to run, he saw that his men were running as well – back towards him. How did they think they were going to protect him from the side of a mountain? Furious, he motioned to them. "Run, you fools!"

It was hard to know where to go. Directly in front of them was a small copse of trees; on either side of it was meadows. The horses had disappeared into the latter, but which was really best? If they aimed for the open areas, it might be easier to run, but there would be nothing to slow the movement of the mud and rocks bearing down on them. The trees would be no match for the force of what was behind and above them, of course, but a few of the biggest ones might check the movement of the rockslide a little. Mightn't they?

Some of the men were veering off toward the meadows, but Eomer headed for the trees. Their time was up, the roar was too close behind them. Any moment now, he'd be knocked down and then crushed by rocks, buried by mud.

Desperate, he threw himself into the trees, knew immediately it had been a mistake. The trees were old, many of them already dying. The rocks would snap them like kindling. And the underbrush was thick and heavy, and too difficult to maneuver through. He should have taken his chances in the open field.

He stumbled, caught himself, plunged on. There was a glancing blow against his helmet, a rock flying at the front edge of the mass, the first indication that the side of the mountain was a catching up with him.

He wasn't going to make it.