It was a grey, drizzly spring morning that Théodred arrived to take Brego away. Léofe was glad for the rain, for it disguised her falling tears as she embraced her closest friend - the best horse that she had ever raised, and gave him a last scratch behind the ears.

"Do as the prince says," she whispered to him. "And if you care to - come back to me."

Unbeknownst to her, Théodred was watching her closely, with a rather unfamiliar sense of regret. He told himself that there was nothing for it, really, as he had bought Brego quite fairly and that Léofe should be accustomed to saying farewell to her charges by this time. But the grief on her face turned his stomach. Brego was not taking her anxiety well; he was shifting his weight back and forth, and Théodred's hold on his reins became tenuous.

"I will bring him to visit, if you consent," he said. But what comfort would that be? he thought in despair. The girl was losing a friend, and he could offer her nothing but to see Brego in the future, to open old wounds and to cause fresh pain.

"I would like that," Léofe replied, and she seemed almost shy.

He mounted briskly, nodding at Gerdhelm, who stood slightly apart, and at Léofe who finally left Brego's side. "You raise fine horses." Likely that was cold comfort as well. Berating himself for his sensitivity and his awkwardness, Théodred turned Brego away, Erk and Allred falling in behind.

There was silence, and he was left alone with his thoughts. His remorse increased steadily, until a foul mood took hold of him entirely and he scowled at the grass that pounded underneath Brego's lively hooves. Why was he was so responsive to Léofe's own feelings? She was little more than a girl. No, she was certainly a woman. Her clothing was often too small and threadbare; he was left with no doubt of her attributes. And she was far more than an ordinary woman as well, he thought. She was ferocious, and timid, quick-witted, and faltering, rather pretty, and often smelling of manure and covered in dirt. If she was truly an ordinary woman, he would not have been consumed with thoughts of her for the past several miles, and Théodred's frown deepened. He had to banish her from his mind. He had to! There was simply too many other things to worry about, and reminding himself of his cousin's impending visit, spurred Brego faster towards home.

.

.

Éomer ran his hands critically over Brego's muscles, searching for faults or weak tendons. "There must be something," he muttered under his breath.

"There is nothing wrong with Brego," Théodred responded in an amused voice, watching over his ministrations with his arms folded. "He is the best trained stallion I have ever ridden."

"He might be well trained, but I am sure he has a fault somewhere."

"I have never found one, and nor has his breeder. You might as well give up now, and we can depart all the sooner."

Éomer grumbled, and Théodred counted it a victory. The younger man bent over the stall wall, frowning at Firefoot dozing with his nose in the feedbox. "Wake up, you lazy slob!" he said. "We're going for a ride."

It was fortunate that Théodred had taken pains to put Brego out with the mares that morning, for while Firefoot was more agitated to have so many females nearby, Brego allowed himself to be led docilely from his stall, and did not give Firefoot a second thought. Luck was with them.

The pair rode out into the grey afternoon, the clanks from the horses' hooves on the causeway echoing thinly. They had already agreed to forgo guards, for it was safe enough near the Deep. They did not want to risk any soldiers that might be spies for the enemy. Théodred's most trusted men were happy seeing their wives again for the first time in a fortnight, (Erkenbrand especially), and he did not want to bother them. Once they were far enough away from the stone fort to avoid their voices from echoing, Éomer stood in his stirrups and let out a whoop.

"I have not felt this free for months," he said, laughing. "I have discovered no less than three spies in my eored, and when I am summoned to Edoras there are always two on my trail. This is glorious, cousin."

"There are about six in the deep," Théodred said, relaxing his own shoulders. "And I wish I still had the authority to remove them. Grima has been nothing if not clever."

"He is sure to have a weakness somewhere. He is no specimen as faultless as Brego."

"Nor is he a stallion," Théodred said before he could stop himself. "Perhaps a castrated nag." There was only a small moment of silence before they both broke out into chuckles.

"Have you seen Greyhame?" Éomer asked, changing the subject abruptly.

"No. I only met him once, as you well know."

"I was hoping you might have more news, or more hope."

Théodred felt a frown crease his forehead. "I have the same amount of hope I have always had."

"Pull yourself from the gutters! Let's have a race!" Éomer had only to nudge Firefoot once before the stallion took off like an arrow with his rider. Théodred laughed, as Brego ran after them without waiting for a command. Breathless, they stopped in a small river cove at the foot of the mountains. The horses drank eagerly while Éomer and Théodred washed their faces. "So," Éomer said as they settled down with a wineskin. "Tell me of your adventures."

There was little enough to tell, but Théodred obliged with news of orc movements and what exactly the spies were likely to pass on to Grima. "Two villages have been completely razed," he said grimly. "Thankfully they were small, and the survivors easily relocated. I fear for those whose own black horses, frankly; for those are the ones that Saruman targets."

"I did not realize the wizard enjoyed riding so," Éomer said.

"I do not think he does," Théodred answered. "But rather, he has a twisted use for them."

"You ought to warn the local breeders."

Théodred sighed. "I would, if I had any trust in their sense. But the people of the Westfold are exceptionally stubborn."

"Perhaps you are not using your privilege enough," his cousin grinned at him. "Order them about! You certainly have enough practice, what with Eowyn and I."

Théodred nearly laughed. "If you had been in my position, you would have acted the same. When you two devils came to Meduseld, the entire hierarchy of the Riddermark nearly fell around your ears!"

"I do not believe it! We were angels, I am sure. Eowyn remains so."

"That is something which I do not believe," Théodred said, tossing the empty wineskin at Éomer, who let it fall to the ground. "She is a menace. Father used to complain about her tempers, until he…" His voice trailed off, and Éomer's smile faltered. "Anyway," he continued abruptly. "I am thankful that she lives in Edoras rather than Helm's Deep."

"Aunt Alfrida would straighten her out quick. Perhaps I will send her your way," Éomer's lazy grin was back in place.

"No!"

The cheerful turn of their conversation made the sun seem brighter, and the birds' trills more melodious. Too rarely had the cousins had such a chance to relax, especially together - and this was a moment to be treasured. Théodred felt a strange ache somewhere in his chest, and for an odd reason Léofe's freckled face came to his memory. "What will you do after the war, when our land is safe once more?" he asked, rummaging through the stones that littered the riverbank.

"Sleep! Eat aught besides waybread and goat jerky. Perhaps I will learn to mix paints."

"You misunderstood me." Théodred said, tossing a smooth rock into the water with a plunk. "What exactly will you do with your life once you are no longer committed to ridding the country of orcs?"

Éomer's mouth was drawn in a thin line. "You speak optimistically, cousin."

"I speak in the same manner Greyhame spoke to me," Théodred said. "I wish to know your thoughts."

"I find that when I consider the course of my future, I am often quickly reminded of the current horror of my life," Éomer said.

"Tell me know; we are safe enough."

Éomer gave a heavy sigh. "I wish to marry, Théodred. I wish for a wife to share my life and love, and with whom we might have ten children and a home full of fillies and colts."

Théodred smiled at this image. "In other words, you wish to set up as a horse breeder?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Éomer said, leaning back against a tree and lacing his fingers behind his head. "I would be content as a farmer if it meant that I could have familial happiness."

"A fair compromise," Théodred agreed. "But would you remain your title?"

"In all likelihood, yes," Éomer said. "But I do not wish it. I have been embroiled in these raids and scrapes for too long. I would willingly pass the title to one younger, and with more energy."

Théodred raised his eyebrows. "I would never have thought you would tire of war, Éomer! It was always your fondest dream to do as your father did."

"That dream has been fulfilled," Éomer said quietly. "Now I wish for my mother's dream as well; a simple home and peaceful life. Now I beg to keep the remainder of my secrets. What will you do?"

Again, Théodred was overwhelmed with thoughts of Léofe. Éomer's description of a home and children was awfully tempting; thinking of the homeliness of Gerdhelm's farm only made his heart hurt worse. "I shall be king someday, I suppose," he said. "I will remain marshal until Father passes, and I will take his place."

"That seems a dull life indeed," Éomer said, grinning. "Do you wish for nothing else?"

Théodred shrugged. "When I consider it, I distract myself from what takes precedence right now. Though…"

Éomer straightened up, fixing Théodred with a curious glance. "Do finish that thought, cousin. Unless you are deliberately keeping a secret?"

"No!" Théodred scowled, though a hot itch grew on his neck. Éomer was still looking at him expectantly, and feeling a surge of desire to confide, he relented. "There is a woman - a girl, really. But I cannot stop thinking of her!"

"That is love, I am sure!" Éomer said, chuckling. "And now you must tell me who she is."

"Very well. She comes from a family of horse breeders near Isenburg. Er..she is rather short I suppose. I am quite poor at describing women, I think," he said ruefully. "Her hair is the color of a peach; she is freckled everywhere from what I have seen- "

"And how much have you seen, exactly?"

"Not that much, dolt!" Théodred snapped. "This is my woman you are speaking about, and grown or not - I can still whip you!"

Rather than frightening Éomer into a more deferring mood, his words had rather the opposite effect - and Éomer began to laugh. "Your woman, Théodred?"

He grimaced at his own blunder. "I did not mean - "

"I am sure you did not. But truth must prevail, as my mother used to say. Even when one tries to hide it."

"Aunt Theodwyn could have hid her wisdom a bit more, I think," Théodred said. "But we digress."

"Quite correct; we were speaking of your woman. What is she called?"

"Her name is Léofe," Théodred said, and when he spoke it he felt a warm glow in his chest, though tempered at once by a longing and a sadness. "And I do not quite think - that is, I feel as though I am living - well, it is not right. Any time which Léofe and I might have together would be borrowed. It would have been simpler if we had not met until everything was right once more. My father, Saruman, the orcs - everything. If there is even the slightest hope of victory!"

"Uncle will be well again," Éomer said quietly. "I believe it; you must too."

"Yes, yes," Théodred said. He was feeling cross from both the teasing and the dark mood which always threatened when he thought of his father. "You must tell no one, cousin. If Grima comes to know of her and seeks her life, I shall willingly pay the price for treason after I smite off his head!"

"If you often speak of her in such a manner, you will have revealed the secret yourself," Éomer laughed. "But I sweat to tell no one, apart from Eowyn. It will give her something to hold over your head, which you certainly need. Or is Aunt Alfrida aware?"

"I have told her nothing. If she has caught wind of the situation, it is Erkenbrand's doing. He and Allred are the only men in the Deep who have met her, which I arranged purposefully. They are adept at keeping mum."

"My, my," Éomer said, sticking a blade of grass between his lips. "You have become over-protective, secretive, and irritable. It certainly seems like love to me!"

"It is not love," Théodred protested, though it felt like a rather patent denial. "I do admire her; I am attracted to her and I miss her terribly, but love? I should think it would take more than a few hours' of conversation combined to grow such affection."

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Éomer said. "But either way, I think I know exactly what will be keeping you awake for the next several nights. Now let us discuss what is truly important: Brego is a fine, showy horse - " At this he nodded to where the bay was ruffling his nose through a patch of grass. "But he is no match for Firefoot!"

The ensuing scuffle was reminiscent of their younger days, and it did much for each to forget their own troubles. And in the race to the Hornburg, Théodred was quite pleased to win. The only shadow was Léofe's face; for when he rubbed down Brego that evening he could only think of how many times she must have done that same thing herself, probably singing as she tried to keep her beautiful hair from falling in her face and Brego from eating it.

Everything had a rather bitter taste after that.