"I gave the cooks the night off." His voice was what welcomed
me into the kitchen. I'd just returned from my usual tour of the town
to receive a message that "The Lord Steward requests your presence
in the kitchen, my Lord." I'd wondered why he wanted to meet in
the kitchens, why he was in the kitchens in the first place, and why
he'd sent my cook to bring me the message. Now I knew.
"Why?"
"They seemed tired." A pause, then "They're newly wed,
are they not?"
"Aye. They were wed last week, I believe."
"Well, since it's just the two of us tonight, I told them to
take the night off."
"Who's going to cook for us, then?" I couldn't quite keep
the bite from my tone. I was tired and hungry, and I didn't look forward
to a dinner of just bread and cheese.
"I will."
"You can cook?" Here was something new.
"When I realized that the many talents of my wife did not include
cooking, I took it upon myself to take up lessons in the culinary arts."
I watched as he made his way around the kitchen, picking up various
bowls, utensils, and ingredients. He moved with a grace that I'd always
admired in him. At first it was one of the many reasons why I'd disliked
him; he seemed more like a woman at times than a man. But I quickly
learned that he could hold his own, and that he would provide for my
sister and any of my future nephews or nieces.
"Valar forbid if our cooks were to become ill or something of
the like, and could not cook for us. I think the entire household would
die from your sister's cooking. Not that I love her any less because
of it, I just prefer my rabbit without the fur." He dropped the
bowls onto the counter with a grin. "Have you tasted her stews?"
I shuddered at the memory of the last time I'd eaten something my sister
made for me. "Unfortunately, yes. But my uncle got the brunt of
her cooking." I paused, watching as he started spreading out the
ingredients he would need to make whatever it was we were having for
dinner. "I think she called it fish stew, but it looked more like
a bowl of...congealed grey...mush. Poor Theoden, he ate every last bit
of it; he did not have the heart to say no."
"It was grey? How?"
"I have no idea. But I'm sure I saw some scales in there..."
"Your poor uncle."
"Yes, well, he made it a point to tell the kitchen staff that
my sister was not be left alone in the kitchens from then on. I think
he was sick for a week afterward."
"I'm glad you have fond memories of Theoden King."
I'd heard of the relationship between the former Steward and his second
son, but I'd never truly believed it until I'd spoken with Faramir himself
about family life. "He was far from the monster that others would
have you think, Eomer," he'd said. "He provided for me, and
I suppose I should be grateful for that, though it was no secret that
he favored Boromir."
I'd wanted to ask him if the rumors were true, but I didn't. A few
days later I realized that I didn't needed to; Eowyn told me of the
various scars on his body, some from the battle field, some of a more
personal nature. My father, and even Theoden had raised my sister and
I with a strong hand, but never had they raised a hand against us in
anger.
"Will chicken satisfy you tonight?"
"Yes."
"Good. There seems to be a lack of meat in your storage. We should
go out for a hunt tomorrow."
I watched as he started to rub the chicken with some oil. I'd never
watched anyone cook before, other than my mother, and that had been
years ago. His hands moved with an ease that spoke of confidence and
comfort. "Do you cook often, then?"
"No. Not as much as I would like; I have no need of it. Aragorn
made sure that we had a cook so that there would be no need for Eowyn
to enter the kitchen. In fact he was the one to warn me about her talents...
or lack thereof." He stopped the motion of his hands and looked
up at me with a grin. "Thank you, for the warning, by the way."
I couldn't quite keep the smirk off my face. "Well, I suppose
your lack of warning about your cousin and her fear of dogs was only
fair after I neglected to tell you about my sister's quirks."
"Poor Lothiriel. I imagine she did not handle it well when she
saw your hunting hounds roaming free in Meduseld." The glint in
his eyes told me that he'd neglected to tell me of her fears as a way
to torture her as well as revenge himself upon me. "How is she?
I haven't spoken to her in weeks. Have you set a date for your wedding
yet?"
"No." I knew he wanted more than that, but I couldn't find
the courage to tell him why I was so reluctant to set a date.
I never wanted to marry. It was never my intent to do so. But then
Theodred died, and Theoden soon followed after. I knew that I could
name any of my sister's children as my heir, but I knew that Faramir
planned on passing on the Stewardship to his first child, and then the
princedom of Ithilien to the next. Valar forbid should they have any
other children after; he was out of titles to give them.
He was pouring salt, pepper, and some other herbs and spices into a
mortar now. I watched as he started crushing the seasonings together;
I watched as his long fingers grasped the pestle and grinded the herbs
with the salt and spices, using his entire arm. He had hands with slim
fingers, long and graceful. Had our childhood been during a time of
peace, I could imagine him training as a musician, or scholar. Hands
like his were not meant to wield a sword; they were too delicate. There
were callouses there, on his fingertips; after years of service as a
ranger, it was no surprise. I wondered what they would feel like on
skin sensitized by lust and excitement. I wondered what it would feel
like if he were to grasp flesh in his hands; were his hands softer than
they looked? Or would the callouses give some texture to the touch?
"Eowyn wanted to accompany me, but the physicians advised against
it. I think she was rather put out by their declaration that she could
not ride in her condition. But eventually she saw the truth in their
statement. I know she misses you."
"And I her. How is she?" What I meant to ask was...
"You mean, `is she happy?'"
There was no need in denying it. So I nodded.
"I think she misses the freedom she had in Meduseld. Gondorrim
court life can be restricting at times." I snorted. He rolled his
eyes as he started spreading the spice mixture over the chicken. "Fine,
Gondorrim court life is full of unnecessary protocol and propriety,
but my people pride themselves for their sense of tradition. That is
not to say that the Rohirrim do not have their own traditions. In fact,
I must confess that I prefer the traditions of Rohan over those of my
own people at times. But as your sister so often reminds me, I am a
man, she a woman. There is a certain level of freedom that comes with
our gender, Eomer, and I think she had that same freedom here, in her
home. And she misses it."
"She fears a cage."
"Aye, I remember Aragorn telling me of that sometime before our
wedding. I have done what I can to shield her from the nastier aspects
of court life. But..."
"But you can only do so much."
He nodded. His voice was somewhat muted as he turned his back to me
and walked towards the roasting pit, chicken in hand. "But, I think
she is content. She spends much of her time outdoors, in the garden
or the stables." He wiped his hands on a rag before reaching for
some flour. "Thank you, for the horses. I forgot to mention that
in my last letter. And we are going to have to settle for flat bread,
as I have not yet figured out how to use yeast."
"Flatbread is fine. Wait... you can bake as well?"
He grinned. "I am nothing if not thorough. Oh, will you make sure
to turn the chicken? I only have two hands and I need them for the bread."
I nodded and walked over to the roasting pit, making sure to bring
a stool with me so I could sit while I turned the spit. My position
allowed me a good view of him without making myself obvious. After a
few months in his company I found that I enjoyed watching him. There
was something about the way he moved, the way he carried himself that
drew my eyes to him. I understood why my sister was so smitten with
him. She once confessed to me that sometimes she would climb the tree
outside of his study just so that she could watch him in secret. "Like
some lovesick farm girl infatuated with her lord I gaze upon him from
my branch. It's quite pathetic really. He is, after all, my husband.
I have right to stare at him as much as I please. But there is something
in the way he moves when he thinks himself unobserved that makes me
shiver with pleasure. It's like..."
"Watching a dance..."
"Excuse me?"
My head snapped up at the sound of his voice. "What?"
"Did you say something?"
"No." It came out more like a question than an actual statement,
but it seemed to satisfy him. I'd have to be more careful. But it was
like watching a dance. Even now, watching him with his sleeves rolled
up, his hands buried in a mass of dough, kneading away at what would
be the flatbread I found him...intoxicating. What would his hands feel
like, kneading away at my flesh? The callouses rubbing my skin. The
scratch of his nails down my back. The strength of those arms around
my hips. The gentleness of his fingers in my hair. I could almost feel
a ghost of those hands caressing my face.
"Eomer?"
"Hmmm?"
"The chicken?"
"Oh! Yes... Sorry."
He turned from me with a smile on his face, once again kneading the
dough beneath his hands. "You know, your sister is quite possessive
of what she sees as her own. Including people..."
Bastard! He knew! His back was to me, so I couldn't see his face, but
I'm sure that he knew.
"In fact, did you know that she watches me while I'm in my study?
She thinks she does this secretly, but it is hard to mask the sounds
of someone climbing a tree from a former ranger. I find it quite endearing,
actually." A pause as he set the flatbread in the open oven. "Your
sister does not share very well, does she?"
What was he getting at? "Not with most people, no."
"Yes, well, you are the exception to nearly all of her rules."
I watched as he once again wiped his hands on a rag. "What would
you do if I were to say I could feel your eyes upon me, even when you
hid yourself away in a corner so as not to be seen?"
I could feel the flush rise in my cheeks as he asked this. I thought
I'd hidden myself from him. But then again, he had been a ranger for
several years. There wasn't much you could hide from a ranger.
"I think I've got my answer." He smiled, and in his eyes
I could see compassion and... was that? "That chicken is going
to have to rest for a bit, and the bread still needs time to bake. I'm
sure we could get a servant to bring the food to my quarters when it
is done." He turned and walked towards the door while unrolling
the sleeves of his shirt. I thought he was done but then, "You
know, you are the only one, besides your sister, who has ever tasted
my cooking. I hope you enjoy it as much as she does."
