a Lord of the Rings fic
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Title: A Midnight Clear
Author: traprose
Fandom: Lord of the Rings (Rohan)
Rating: G
Summary: éowyn and éomer, riding to meduseld for the yuletide feast
Bunny: #16- Write a story using all of the words/phrases: temperature, covers, holiday, feast, "Take care of you"
Feedback: Please


A Midnight Clear

Éowyn rode before her brother on his horse, his arms around her as she snuggled back into him. Near midday the snow had stopped falling; now, near dusk, it lay silver and smooth, covering all the plains. Under rising moon and starlight, the Riddermark looked touched with fairy-frost, fey and lovely.

And bitter cold, with the temperature still dropping. She was quite grateful for the tall warmth of her brother behind her, his gloved hands on the reins and his furs soft against her face. No rider in those lands could ever take the season too lightly, not after the Long Winter. So it was that, in their great halls, they lit fires and lifted their glasses to welcome King Frost, with the holly on his brow and all the winter in his cold, white eyes.

Éowyn adored the cold and the festival both. Next Yule, Uncle promised that she would have a horse of her own, one of last spring's fillies that she had chosen, finally of age to ride. Just one more year and she, too, would be old enough, fourteen and a woman in her country's eyes. Good thing, because another year and she and her brother might not have fit in the same saddle.

Even with her extra weight, though, Éomer was an excellent rider. For all their speed, the rhythm of the horse's gait was soothing, and Éowyn leaned back against her brother's chest and watched the white stars emerging through the twilight. This would be a perfect Yuletide night, the crescent moon like a horse's shoe, smiling down over the Eastemnet; the sound of snow beneath the horse's hooves and the miles galloping by, the darkling silhouette of Meduseld at the crest of the hill, growing ever nearer.

Her hands slid into the horse's mane, rich chestnut hair in her fawn- gloved fingers; she could feel the heartbeat and the breath of him beneath her. It made her feel breathless, atop such a beast, and rushing headlong through the falling night. Wanting only to make the moment last a little longer, to stretch the leagues between herself and home, she lifted her head to the sky--

Except that, just as she was tilting back her head, Éomer sneezed. "H'chiu!"

Quite unexpected, it jostled her slightly, and she slipped into the crook of his elbow, her canter of thought interrupted. Giggling, she swiveled to see his face, and laughed at the sight of his twitchy nose. "Bethu hal," she blessed him.

At four years her elder, he sat higher in the saddle than she, the crown of her head barely higher than his lips. "My thanks," he said, his lip twisting in a wry smile. Éowyn realized he was talking a bit too swiftly, and his eyes were not on her. "But you ought not to bless a man b- before he is quite finish--" Abruptly taking the reins into his right hand, he managed to catch the approaching sneeze in his other glove: "Eh'Kchiu! ...finished."

"Are you quite all right?" She raised a small hand to his nose, but there was still laughter in her eyes. "Brother, are you catching a chill?"

He made a sound like a laugh, his mouth not quite closed, taking her hand in his own. "Must have been your hair tickling me, little sister. You are taller than I remember. Your--" He swallowed, his eyes closing involuntarily, blond eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. "Y- your braid, it was-- hh-- I'chiu!" He sneezed again, breathily, the sound not quite muffled against his shoulder.

She had the grace to look sheepish, smoothing the back of her head. The wind from the Ered Nimrais that sped across the plains had loosed her hair from its braids, the golden strands caught up in the winter air. "Sorry," she smiled up at him tentatively. "...May I bless you now?"

He took the reins again, breathing the clear, bright air, and sniffling only a little. One eyebrow raised in curious expectation, he didn't speak for a moment, and the drumbeat cadence of his horse's hooves against the snow was the only sound. Éowyn was careful to keep her eyes to him, that her hair might not again blow against his face; it seemed to her that the rise and fall of his breathing was set to the same rapid pace of their travel, though his mouth was unsteady.

After what seemed a long stretch of time, he sighed, and let his eyes drift closed, trusting his horse to keep its course. "Éowyn, have you a handkerchief in those pockets of yours? For, if I am not mistaken, I believe..." She was reaching into the pockets of her coats already, watching from the corner of her eye as he held a helpless hand before his face. "...that it has not yet p-passed..." Triumphant she found it, and not a moment too soon; as she held it up to him he sneezed at it, quite forcefully. "...K'chh! Eh-- hi-- ki'CHIU!"

Sister took the reins while Brother blew his nose, secretly thrilled for the chance, however brief, to steer their mount herself. Finally he tossed his head, his own braid streaming out behind him. "And yes, I think you may bless me now, little sister." He opened his blue eyes with laughter, warm as the coming of spring. "Now give me back those reins, greedy girl, or you will ride us right past Edoras."

Not without making a face, Éowyn reluctantly did so. She leaned up to kiss him on the tip of his nose, flushed with the cold air and their riding. "Take care, Éomer, for it would not do for the sister-son of the King to be sneezing so, at the winter banquet."

"Of course." He shook his head, rubbing a knuckle beneath his nose. "Now if you only keep your head towards our goal, little sister, and keep your fine braid from my poor nose, I should have no further problem." Teasing, he kissed her forehead, and added, "And we should look to be at Uncle's hall in time for the feast."

Éowyn, leaning her cheek against her brother's chest (careful, now, that her hair be tucked beneath his chin), sighed happily. She found herself contented: a mount of her own could wait for another winter's passing, another holiday celebration. It would not be so long. "Bethu hal," she said again, though it was the whole of their wide land that she meant it for, kept well under a blanket of snow until the turning of the season.

* the end *

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Challenge- Winter Celebrations 2003-04
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