"Mmm." He hums against the pale curls. "Perhaps I'll wait. Give you something to look forward to tomorrow night. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't tired from sleeping rough and riding a long way, taking as many contracts as he could along the way. Indeed, he still has one hand resting on one of her breasts a moment later when she might feel his barrel chest rumble with a long exhale and turns his face sleepily into the pillows.
Amused by how quickly he seems to settle down, Éomer lifts her head from his chest so she can watch him all but melt back into her bed, his exotic dark hair rumpled against the fine linen pillows, the warm firelight flickering across the planes of his face like a lover's caress.
Instead of poking him awake, or making some sort of quip to prolong their conversation, she lets herself settle as well, watching him until she is fairly certain he has fallen asleep, struck by the raw trust in that gesture. Here he is, in her bed, in her kingdom, as naked as the day he was born with his weapons all the way across the room. She could slit his throat if she so wished, or drip poison past his lips if the spirit moved her to do it, and she might even succeed.
Not that she would, of course. She has known Eskel less than a week's worth of days combined, but already she is more than passing fond of him, and the thought of harm coming to him distresses her intensely.
Slowly, carefully, she extricates herself from under his heavy arm and slips from the bed so she can pad about the room barefoot, tidying up their discarded clothing and banking the fire for the night, not wanting to give the servants who will come in to rouse her in the morning too much of a fright. It takes some creative maneuvering to winkle the blankets out from beneath him but she manages eventually, and when she climbs back into bed to settle down beside him, she covers them both first with a cool sheet and then with a warm blanket, then pulls the curtains closed around the bed to block out the light and keep in the heat.
Settling down beside him in the now near-dark, she waits for her eyes to adjust as much as possible so that she can watch him sleep.
Witchers rarely get the chance at real sleep. On the road, he meditates more than he sleeps, an in-between state that does more for the mind than the body. Half reliant on Miruvor to keep watch. On the off chance he's sleeping in an in, there's still a need for wariness, this time from the humans who might catch him of guard. The only time he sleeps deeply, is in Kaer Morhen. The only place he can trust there's someone to watch over him.
For him to be so asleep in Éomer's arms is a show of immense trust that cannot be overstated.
She may not fully grasp the extent of the gesture he is giving her, but she's got some idea based on her own experiences as a soldier. That she could move around him without him cracking open an eye to watch her, that she could move the blankets beneath him without him asking her what she's doing...
She carefully leans in and brushes her lips to his cheek, murmuring a quiet wish for pleasant dreams in her native tongue against the cut of his jaw, and then curls up against him and closes her eyes.
He sleeps so deeply he's confused when he wakes up. The smell of Éomer beside him, the warmth of her body, makes him think he's dreamt the previous night and all the ones before it. He has to check momentarily to see that he's not still wounded, that he's not still sleeping beside her in the little cottage where he laid lain for weeks recovering from his injuries.
Everything comes back to him quite swiftly, however, when he spots the thing that woke him-- a fair-haired maid of barely sixteen standing at the foot of the bed and looking lol a deer caught in the eyes of a hound.
The fact that she does not have a nightmare while she sleeps pinned beneath one of Eskel's heavy arms is a minor miracle in and of itself; the fact that she sleeps through being woken by Léofrith pulling the curtains around the bed back to let the sunlight splash across the bed is a much larger one.
Grumbling, she turns herself in towards the warm bulk of Eskel's body, hiding her face beneath his arm.
"Oh come on, I didn't wear you out so much last night, surely." He teases, before looking a bit sheepish in front of the maid, who won't stop staring at him even as she tries to bribe Éomer into wakefulness by saying she'll go and fetch breakfast. Eskel is relieved to know there will be half a moment to put his pants on.
Grumbling some more, she rolls herself away from Eskel's warmth and shoves her mess of hair out of her face, glaring playfully at him and then turning a much gentler expression to the young girl who was tasked with waking her.
Thanking her, she asks Léofrith to bring enough food for two and then dismisses her all in their lilting mother tongue, figuring that the poor girl was flustered enough as it was, asking her to speak Common might be asking too much of her.
Once the door was shut behind her, she turns back to Eskel and reaches out to brush his tangled hair away from his forehead.
"So much for our lazy morning in bed," she laments with a smile.
"Eh, I think we both knew it wasn't gonna happen." He stretches, scratching his scarred chest. He knows he should get up and find his pants before any more of her servants show up.
He glances out her window as he ties the laces on his trousers.
"You're sure your men won't mind if I go out and challenge them to a few rounds?" He asks. "Good naturedly, of course"
Sitting up in bed, she lets herself admire the figure he presents as he slips from her bed and goes to collect the clothes she left draped over one of the chairs by the now-dead fire, enjoying the sight of his body in the warm glow of morning as he gets dressed. He's looking well. She can't notice any new injuries, and he's clearly been getting enough work to feed himself well enough that he looks fit, even if he could probably stand to put on a little more padding.
If he stays in Edoras long enough, she'll do her best to make sure he's looked after.
"If you can wait until I am dressed, I will go down with you," she tells him, finally deciding to climb out of bed herself and making her way over to him to snatch up his shirt before he can grab for it, slipping it on to hide her nakedness like a robe. "Éothain, at least, will be glad to see you, he loves to poke fun at me but it's a little difficult now with me being his queen, so extending that to you should cheer him greatly."
"Hey..." He chuckles, watching his shirt flick out of reach to cover his lover. It's a very charming image, and he doesn't put up much of a fight to get it back. Instead he sits down in the chair and laces up his boots. "Éothain the one who brought me up here last night? He seemed to find my imposition more amusing than bothersome."
She winks at him, fully intending to keep his shirt on until she is forced to dress in her own things.
"He was one of the riders who trained me when I first took up my sword," she explains, glancing over to the door as it opens to watch as Léofrith brings in a tray with porridge and some preserved fruit on it, two mugs of tea steaming alongside. "I think he likes to think of himself as a brother figure to me."
As Léofrith sets the tray down on the table by the fireplace, Éomer rises to her feet and walks closer, thanking the young girl who seems to have regained some of her equanimity with a few moments of privacy to come to terms with the unexpected presence of a man in her queen's chambers. She still shoots Eskel nervous, sidelong glances occasionally, but she seems able to force herself to focus on her tasks, bustling around a little and then returning with a comb and some leather ties in her apron pocket so she can start to tame Éomer's wild mane as she sips her tea and pokes at her breakfast.
Eskel ignoring her probably sets Léofrith at ease more than Éomer's murmured assurances that he's unlikely to even gesture towards her, and she's accustomed enough to life with servants bustling around to know to ignore the poor girl as well, so she lets herself be drawn into conversation and doesn't wince as Léofrith pulls at the tangles in her hair.
"I believe that is the accepted custom, yes," she agrees with a smile. "But feel free to knock him on his ass a few times. I doubt he'll take too kindly to you going easy on him for my sake."
She's curious about the other witchers, and wonders if she should ask about them. Maybe she will, but not right now, not with Léofrith in the room. Her Common isn't very good, but she doesn't want to frighten the girl with the words she might understand.
Eskel carefully sets aside his steel sword, near his jacket and turns his attention to breakfast. As usual, he eats quickly, as if accustomed food being scarce or fleetingly available. Kaer Morhen is-- or rather, was-- a place full of hungry boys and men: if you don't eat quick, you don't eat at all.
"When do you want me to come back?" He asks, speaking quietly. Léofrith won't be the first young lady he's frightened with his harsh voice and ruined face.
Edited (Holy unfinished tag batman) 2020-09-15 00:47 (UTC)
Éomer eats quickly as well, far more quickly than is seemly for a high-born lady, but she doesn't really care overmuch about how she looks while she eats breakfast.
"Whenever you grow tired of being heckled by humans," she replies, her tone gentling to match his. She doesn't find his voice or his face objectionable, though she does wistfully wonder what he might have looked like before the injury, when he was more symmetrical, but then again, Éomer is a woman who built her life on warfare and violence, and a few scars are not enough to turn her stomach. Hopefully the people of Rohan are built from the same stern stuff, and Eskel will not have to put up with too much censure.
Finished with her hair, Léofrith takes a few hasty steps towards Éomer's wardrobe and hauls open the big wooden doors so she can select a dress for Éomer to wear, giving the two of them just enough privacy that Éomer feels it's not pushing propriety too much to slip Eskel's shirt up over her head and come stand in front of him, dropping the cloth in his lap and bending to kiss his cheek while he finishes his breakfast.
"You do not have to wait for me," she tells him, keeping her tone low even though Léofrith will most likely not understand what she is saying. "I am merely trying to postpone the inevitable boredom of my day. You are free to go whenever you wish and do as you please."
With the maid's back to them, he dares to kiss her quickly on the back of the hand before finishing his tea. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to a day sporting with his men and exploring as much of the city as he can before the discomfort sets in and he returns to her side. He shrugs into his shirt and his jacket, gear jingling.
There is an indrawn gasp of breath from the other side of the room, Léofrith having turned around with her choice for Éomer's wardrobe and presumably startled by the sight of a witcher fully-dressed standing in front of her naked queen, but Éomer does not back away from Eskel even as he does up the last of his buckles, nor does she take her eyes from his.
"Enjoy your day, dêore," she tells him, picking a Rohirric endearment both because she felt like it, but also to send a message to the girl watching them fearfully.
He bows to her and then to her maid and leaves by the same door he was led through. He only gets lost once looking for Éothain and the others. The man is more or less welcoming, and Eskel accepts some ribbing in combination with some very good sparring. He gives Éothain a fair fight but still knocks him on his ass.
When he returns, he slips into the back of the throne room to watch her for a while.
Whether or not that message was received is anyone's guess. Léofrith is well-trained enough to keep her opinions to herself unless asked for them, and Éomer does not particularly wish to have this conversation at all, least of all with her chambermaid, so she lets the matter drop and finishes getting dressed.
As she had feared, her day drags on, a morning of meetings with the Marshals of her army segueing into the King's Court — well, now it is the Queen's Court, isn't it — after a wolfed-down luncheon of fresh bread and hard cheese with a tankard of ale to wash it down. It is a terribly dull affair, and before her uncle's death, Gríma Wormtongue had done away with the practice, citing the king's ailing health. There are times Éomer wishes she had not reinstated it, no matter how much she needed to be seen and trusted by her people; deciding over whether or not one farmer moved the boundary between his field and another is mind-numbingly boring, and even the discussion about whether or not recompense should be paid by the owner of a stallion who broke free from his paddock and covered his neighbor's mare is not that much more interesting.
The law was clear: compensation for an unplanned breeding to the mare’s owner and a fine because the stallion hadn’t been properly penned. In principle Éomer disapproved strongly of anybody who did not control their horses, saddling other people with unwanted foals. However, since everyone agreed that Greycoat was a much finer animal than anything the mare’s owner could otherwise have afforded — indeed there even was the suspicion voiced that he had let the stallion out himself — Éomer decrees that the mare’s owner could choose between compensation by his neighbor and giving him the foal or no compensation and keeping it himself. Unsurprisingly, the man chooses the latter.
She notices Eskel shadowing the edges of the hall at some point, though she is not entirely sure how long he has been lurking, but as much as she might like to, she cannot hurry things along. Each case must be brought before her and decided upon, and the whole affair will take as long as it takes.
Edited (forgot the end of that sentence oops) 2020-09-15 02:57 (UTC)
He has little idea of what's going on, since what he had learned of the local tongue was very limited. He can tell it seems like relatively petty disputes.
Once he catches her eye, he winks and then slips off again. She'll find him in her library, reading at her desk with his feet propped and up and generally looking very content. He also appears to have washed himself some-- in cold water, whatever was in her rooms, but he's at least taken off all the mud and sweat.
Eventually, after what feels like days but is probably only between one hour and two, the court disperses and she is set free.
Nimbly dodging Guthlaf who tries to speak to her about some undoubtedly important matter, Éomer lifts her skirts and strides through the rabbit-warren halls of Meduseld, doing her best to avoid running into anyone who might waylay her on her quest for privacy.
As she hoped, Eskel had let himself into her rooms again, whether because someone had allowed him access or he just didn't let them deny him it, and is seated at her desk with a book in hand.
"You look comfortable," she says, shutting the door behind her and moving straight towards him, settling herself in his lap like she has every right to do so and leaning back against his chest with a dramatic sigh. "I hope you had a better day than I did."
"More comfortable now." He snorts, even though he has to shift a bit to accommodate her properly as she unexpectedly sinks into his lap. He loops his arms around her.
"Didn't look especially exciting, I'll admit." He says, kissing her shoulder.
He really can't be surprised she decided to sit on him, considering he took the only available chair.
Also, he's a large, muscular man with thighs like tree trunks. A perfect seat, in her opinion.
"My uncle's mage convinced him to cease holding court and allowing petitions years ago when he first started to enchant the king, to take away his strength in an effort to hasten our fall," she murmurs, tilting her head a little to the side to make room for him and lifting her hand to cup his cheek as he presses his mouth to her shoulder. "I decided to bring it back. I almost wish I hadn't."
"And yet you did, because you are a good and responsible queen." He says, kissing her shoulder and up the side of her neck, above her queen's torque. He nips her ear and one hand smooths over her hip, following the line of her belt.
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Instead of poking him awake, or making some sort of quip to prolong their conversation, she lets herself settle as well, watching him until she is fairly certain he has fallen asleep, struck by the raw trust in that gesture. Here he is, in her bed, in her kingdom, as naked as the day he was born with his weapons all the way across the room. She could slit his throat if she so wished, or drip poison past his lips if the spirit moved her to do it, and she might even succeed.
Not that she would, of course. She has known Eskel less than a week's worth of days combined, but already she is more than passing fond of him, and the thought of harm coming to him distresses her intensely.
Slowly, carefully, she extricates herself from under his heavy arm and slips from the bed so she can pad about the room barefoot, tidying up their discarded clothing and banking the fire for the night, not wanting to give the servants who will come in to rouse her in the morning too much of a fright. It takes some creative maneuvering to winkle the blankets out from beneath him but she manages eventually, and when she climbs back into bed to settle down beside him, she covers them both first with a cool sheet and then with a warm blanket, then pulls the curtains closed around the bed to block out the light and keep in the heat.
Settling down beside him in the now near-dark, she waits for her eyes to adjust as much as possible so that she can watch him sleep.
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For him to be so asleep in Éomer's arms is a show of immense trust that cannot be overstated.
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She carefully leans in and brushes her lips to his cheek, murmuring a quiet wish for pleasant dreams in her native tongue against the cut of his jaw, and then curls up against him and closes her eyes.
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Everything comes back to him quite swiftly, however, when he spots the thing that woke him-- a fair-haired maid of barely sixteen standing at the foot of the bed and looking lol a deer caught in the eyes of a hound.
"Um..." She begins, blushing scarlet.
"It's alright." Eskel says, gently shaking Éomer's shoulder. "Éomer, duty calls, I think."
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Grumbling, she turns herself in towards the warm bulk of Eskel's body, hiding her face beneath his arm.
"Fuck off," she croaks.
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"Oh come on, I didn't wear you out so much last night, surely." He teases, before looking a bit sheepish in front of the maid, who won't stop staring at him even as she tries to bribe Éomer into wakefulness by saying she'll go and fetch breakfast. Eskel is relieved to know there will be half a moment to put his pants on.
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Thanking her, she asks Léofrith to bring enough food for two and then dismisses her all in their lilting mother tongue, figuring that the poor girl was flustered enough as it was, asking her to speak Common might be asking too much of her.
Once the door was shut behind her, she turns back to Eskel and reaches out to brush his tangled hair away from his forehead.
"So much for our lazy morning in bed," she laments with a smile.
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He glances out her window as he ties the laces on his trousers.
"You're sure your men won't mind if I go out and challenge them to a few rounds?" He asks. "Good naturedly, of course"
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If he stays in Edoras long enough, she'll do her best to make sure he's looked after.
"If you can wait until I am dressed, I will go down with you," she tells him, finally deciding to climb out of bed herself and making her way over to him to snatch up his shirt before he can grab for it, slipping it on to hide her nakedness like a robe. "Éothain, at least, will be glad to see you, he loves to poke fun at me but it's a little difficult now with me being his queen, so extending that to you should cheer him greatly."
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"He was one of the riders who trained me when I first took up my sword," she explains, glancing over to the door as it opens to watch as Léofrith brings in a tray with porridge and some preserved fruit on it, two mugs of tea steaming alongside. "I think he likes to think of himself as a brother figure to me."
As Léofrith sets the tray down on the table by the fireplace, Éomer rises to her feet and walks closer, thanking the young girl who seems to have regained some of her equanimity with a few moments of privacy to come to terms with the unexpected presence of a man in her queen's chambers. She still shoots Eskel nervous, sidelong glances occasionally, but she seems able to force herself to focus on her tasks, bustling around a little and then returning with a comb and some leather ties in her apron pocket so she can start to tame Éomer's wild mane as she sips her tea and pokes at her breakfast.
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"So what you're saying is that I should be sure to make a good impression." He jokes. "That's what you do with brothers, right?"
Gods forbid any of his brothers turn up.
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"I believe that is the accepted custom, yes," she agrees with a smile. "But feel free to knock him on his ass a few times. I doubt he'll take too kindly to you going easy on him for my sake."
She's curious about the other witchers, and wonders if she should ask about them. Maybe she will, but not right now, not with Léofrith in the room. Her Common isn't very good, but she doesn't want to frighten the girl with the words she might understand.
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"When do you want me to come back?" He asks, speaking quietly. Léofrith won't be the first young lady he's frightened with his harsh voice and ruined face.
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"Whenever you grow tired of being heckled by humans," she replies, her tone gentling to match his. She doesn't find his voice or his face objectionable, though she does wistfully wonder what he might have looked like before the injury, when he was more symmetrical, but then again, Éomer is a woman who built her life on warfare and violence, and a few scars are not enough to turn her stomach. Hopefully the people of Rohan are built from the same stern stuff, and Eskel will not have to put up with too much censure.
Finished with her hair, Léofrith takes a few hasty steps towards Éomer's wardrobe and hauls open the big wooden doors so she can select a dress for Éomer to wear, giving the two of them just enough privacy that Éomer feels it's not pushing propriety too much to slip Eskel's shirt up over her head and come stand in front of him, dropping the cloth in his lap and bending to kiss his cheek while he finishes his breakfast.
"You do not have to wait for me," she tells him, keeping her tone low even though Léofrith will most likely not understand what she is saying. "I am merely trying to postpone the inevitable boredom of my day. You are free to go whenever you wish and do as you please."
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"Enjoy your day, dêore," she tells him, picking a Rohirric endearment both because she felt like it, but also to send a message to the girl watching them fearfully.
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When he returns, he slips into the back of the throne room to watch her for a while.
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As she had feared, her day drags on, a morning of meetings with the Marshals of her army segueing into the King's Court — well, now it is the Queen's Court, isn't it — after a wolfed-down luncheon of fresh bread and hard cheese with a tankard of ale to wash it down. It is a terribly dull affair, and before her uncle's death, Gríma Wormtongue had done away with the practice, citing the king's ailing health. There are times Éomer wishes she had not reinstated it, no matter how much she needed to be seen and trusted by her people; deciding over whether or not one farmer moved the boundary between his field and another is mind-numbingly boring, and even the discussion about whether or not recompense should be paid by the owner of a stallion who broke free from his paddock and covered his neighbor's mare is not that much more interesting.
The law was clear: compensation for an unplanned breeding to the mare’s owner and a fine because the stallion hadn’t been properly penned. In principle Éomer disapproved strongly of anybody who did not control their horses, saddling other people with unwanted foals. However, since everyone agreed that Greycoat was a much finer animal than anything the mare’s owner could otherwise have afforded — indeed there even was the suspicion voiced that he had let the stallion out himself — Éomer decrees that the mare’s owner could choose between compensation by his neighbor and giving him the foal or no compensation and keeping it himself. Unsurprisingly, the man chooses the latter.
She notices Eskel shadowing the edges of the hall at some point, though she is not entirely sure how long he has been lurking, but as much as she might like to, she cannot hurry things along. Each case must be brought before her and decided upon, and the whole affair will take as long as it takes.
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Once he catches her eye, he winks and then slips off again. She'll find him in her library, reading at her desk with his feet propped and up and generally looking very content. He also appears to have washed himself some-- in cold water, whatever was in her rooms, but he's at least taken off all the mud and sweat.
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Nimbly dodging Guthlaf who tries to speak to her about some undoubtedly important matter, Éomer lifts her skirts and strides through the rabbit-warren halls of Meduseld, doing her best to avoid running into anyone who might waylay her on her quest for privacy.
As she hoped, Eskel had let himself into her rooms again, whether because someone had allowed him access or he just didn't let them deny him it, and is seated at her desk with a book in hand.
"You look comfortable," she says, shutting the door behind her and moving straight towards him, settling herself in his lap like she has every right to do so and leaning back against his chest with a dramatic sigh. "I hope you had a better day than I did."
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"Didn't look especially exciting, I'll admit." He says, kissing her shoulder.
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Also, he's a large, muscular man with thighs like tree trunks. A perfect seat, in her opinion.
"My uncle's mage convinced him to cease holding court and allowing petitions years ago when he first started to enchant the king, to take away his strength in an effort to hasten our fall," she murmurs, tilting her head a little to the side to make room for him and lifting her hand to cup his cheek as he presses his mouth to her shoulder. "I decided to bring it back. I almost wish I hadn't."
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