"Good news, I think I ingratiated myself to your soldiers." He laughs. "There were bruises all around, but all was forgiven after lunch. Also, I learned a new dice game and lost a little coin, which soothed any bruised egos, I figure. I dropped in to see how things were going for you, but don't know enough of the tongue to get legal matters. So I've been sitting around reading since then, and occasionally scaring a servant."
She smiles fondly at him and tweaks a lock of his hair with a gentle tug. "Details, Eskel. How am I to pretend I was there with you if you don't give me any details? But I am glad things went well."
She hadn't been worried, per se, but it's a relief to know that soldiers are soldiers always, and a game of fisticuffs and dice are usually all it takes to ingratiate yourself with them no matter where you are from.
"Mm-!" He growls playfully at her when she tugs his hair. "There's nothing to tell! Nothing exciting anyway. Unless you want a blow by blow of how I knocked Éothain on his ass. But at that point I suspect you're just delaying dinner."
Oh yes, he does like that. She'll remember that for later. For now, though, she lets his hair go and instead brushes a few loose strands back behind his ear instead.
"I don't know what you could possibly mean," she teases, affecting an innocent air as she strokes her thumb against the baby-fine hairs at the base of his ear with the pad of her thumb.
"You know full well what I mean. And I can't develop a reputation of distracting the queen from her duties." He does kiss her, however, and give her backside a good squeeze. "Though I may not be able to help myself for having had to sit through dinner with you so close but inadvisable for me to so brazenly touch."
"Can't you?" Of course he can't, even she knows that. Still, it's fun to at least pretend she will allow herself to shirk her duties while her lover is in residence. "Whyever not?"
Relenting a little, she pulls away from his kiss and sighs. "Perhaps we may retire early. I have such a dreadful headache, you see."
He shakes his head. "No one will believe for a moment I am tending to you while you're suffering. As you said, the servants carry gossip." He grins. "No, we'll get through dinner and then I promise I'll reward your patience."
She laughs, conceding defeat. He's right, not a single soul in the entire hall will believe he is doing anything more than bending her in half and fucking her with all the pent-up fury a year or more's separation can bring.
"Alright, alright. You'll have to let go of me, first. I can't very well attend the meal still sat in your lap."
He releases her reluctantly and rises, smoothing his shirt and adjusting his trousers.
"Promise, this will be as difficult for me." He teases. Perhaps more, for reasons other than the temptation of his lover just out of reach. After all, now everyone who dines with the queen will see him: her witcher with the ruined face. A stranger who doesn't speak the language, a dangerous and foreign thing.
"Maybe I oughta wait for you to come back." He says, after a moment.
Éomer has never been particularly adept at spotting subtle nuance in much of anything, but the change in Eskel's tone as they shift apart and she starts to prepare for supper does not pass her by.
"What's the matter?" she asks, torn between the urge to reach out and touch him and the equally strong urge to leave him be; she does not like to be coddled when she is feeling poorly, especially when there is no physical cause for it, and she's sure Eskel feels the same. "Are you so very tired?" It wouldn't be surprising. He's probably had a hard slog to get here to see her, and the first thing they did was fuck and then fall asleep, followed by a day of fighting and boasting to make some new friends. "If you wish to rest some, mîn swæs, I will not begrudge you it."
"Yeah." He says, hoping they can leave it at that, a delicately balanced half-truth. "Yeah. I might lay down for a while. If you just wanted to bring back something simple for me, I'll eat when you get back. If you don't mind delaying the evening's plans a little more?" He smiles at her, and hopes it looks convincing. How embarrassing it would be to admit that he was too shy, too afraid to face the others.
It doesn't feel like quite the whole truth, a small little niggle in the back of her mind telling her that he's not being honest with her, but she can't figure out any other reason for it, so she leave it be. He's allowed to keep his secrets.
"I waited over a year to see you again, I think another hour or two won't kill me," she teases gently, reaching out to take his hand in hers. "Come, you can help me dress and then I will leave you to your nap."
"It will make it easier for you to take it off later if you have practice doing the reverse," she agrees, tugging on his hand as she leads the way through the antechamber into the royal bedroom.
From there she guides him to the wardrobe and surveys her assorted gowns with a sigh. "I haven't the heart to tell my housekeeper that I despise these things," she confesses, stroking her hand across the collection of fabric on display. "It has been so very long since Merwenna has had a queen to attend to, ever since my aunt died delivering my cousin."
"Does it help if I tell you you look nice in them?" He asks. "Just as good as you do in your armor. A different kind of fierce and brave." He kisses the back of her neck, looping his arms around her waist while she decides.
Smiling, she leans back against his chest and hums. "It does, a little." Just because she's spent most of her life as a soldier doesn't mean she doesn't like being told that she's attractive. "Maybe I should have Merwenna dress you. She would love an appreciative audience."
"I think I'd look even more out of place." He laughs. "Witchers look ridiculous dressed up." Maybe that's because his brother's girlfriend dresses him, but Eskel's seen the finely embroidered doublets and tight trousers Geralt stashes in his room at Kaer Morhen-- always a new set when he comes back for the winter, Eskel thinks, as if he leaves them there in hopes he can duck formal obligations. And he doesn't think he'd look good in such things.
"Have a little faith, mîn swæs." Imagining Eskel in more traditional Rohirric garb has quite a lot of appeal, actually. She thinks he'd look very handsome in the tunic and trews that she is used to the men around her wearing.
She's not quite sure it's enough of an incentive for her to try and break out her embroidery needles, though. Making him wear something she's put her needle in feels more like a punishment for him than for her.
"Red or blue?" she asks finally, reaching out and touching two different sleeves that hang in front of them.
"Blue?" He suggests. He thinks he dresses pretty well, within the practicality needed for his profession, but hell if he knows how ladies like to dress. But he thinks the blue with compliment his lover's eyes, which appeals to him specifically.
She retrieves the blue dress and then closes the wardrobe doors, allowing herself one more moment to lean back against Eskel's chest and enjoy the feel of his arms looped around her, so casually proprietary.
"Are you sure you don't feel up to braving the great hall?" she asks, turning her head towards him so she can nudge the bridge of her nose against his jaw.
"Not tonight." He says, kissing her forehead. "Come on, I'll help you with the laces." He steps away. "I'd rather rest. It would kinda ruin the mood if I fell asleep while we were fucking, wouldn't it?" The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks it won't be so bad to rest his eyes for a while on her excellent mattress, however cowardly his motives.
"Whatever else you may be, you are also a man, darling," she points out with a wry little smile; that is to say, it's not outside the realm of possibility regardless.
All that aside, she smiles at the sweet kiss and reluctantly extricates herself from his arms so she can change into a different gown to go eat in, regardless of the fact that the one she currently has on is perfectly fine and not even dirty yet.
The rules and mores she's expected to abide by at court are baffling at best. Honestly, Éomer much prefers life in the éored, even though she hopes against hope that she will never have to ride out with them again. She had been convinced that she would not survive Pelennor Fields, or the march on the Black Gates. That she has feels something like a cheat, almost, like she's not supposed to be here and everyone will realize any moment and she'll...well, the metaphor falls apart eventually, but still.
Turning her attention to the task at hand, she lets Eskel help her undress and then redress again, his big blunt fingers surprisingly deft at handling the small, fiddly laces of her gowns.
"Surprisingly deft" is the hallmark of the witcher. There are no men who are more graceful-- especially considering their stature--, nor more quick on their feet, or precise with a sword. Their fingers effortlessly form the gestures that conjure and tame magic, handle alchemical equipment and mend clothing and gear. The laces of her gown are nothing, once he figures out where the eyelets are.
She would cite that as one of the reasons she finds him so attractive to her, but in reality, she has never seen him fight. The only experience Éomer has with Eskel's physical prowess is in the bedroom, and from there she has absolutely no complaints.
Her dress done, she turns back to him and smiles, opening her mouth to thank him when there's a knock at the door.
"Ah. I am being summoned, it seems." She leans in to kiss his cheek. "Enjoy your rest. I'll be back afore long."
He presses a fleeting kiss to her temple to see her off.
It's quiet in the bedroom when she's gone and he almost regrets his decision, as the solitude amplifies the sense of out-of-place-ness.
He does settle on the bed after a while, kicking off his boots and trousers so as not to get dirt on her bed clothes, and stretches out on top of the blankets. The bed is very comfortable and he's surprised to find himself genuinely nodding off before too long.
When his queen returns, she'll find him sprawled across the bed in just his shirt and small clothes.
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She hadn't been worried, per se, but it's a relief to know that soldiers are soldiers always, and a game of fisticuffs and dice are usually all it takes to ingratiate yourself with them no matter where you are from.
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"I don't know what you could possibly mean," she teases, affecting an innocent air as she strokes her thumb against the baby-fine hairs at the base of his ear with the pad of her thumb.
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Relenting a little, she pulls away from his kiss and sighs. "Perhaps we may retire early. I have such a dreadful headache, you see."
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"Alright, alright. You'll have to let go of me, first. I can't very well attend the meal still sat in your lap."
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"Promise, this will be as difficult for me." He teases. Perhaps more, for reasons other than the temptation of his lover just out of reach. After all, now everyone who dines with the queen will see him: her witcher with the ruined face. A stranger who doesn't speak the language, a dangerous and foreign thing.
"Maybe I oughta wait for you to come back." He says, after a moment.
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"What's the matter?" she asks, torn between the urge to reach out and touch him and the equally strong urge to leave him be; she does not like to be coddled when she is feeling poorly, especially when there is no physical cause for it, and she's sure Eskel feels the same. "Are you so very tired?" It wouldn't be surprising. He's probably had a hard slog to get here to see her, and the first thing they did was fuck and then fall asleep, followed by a day of fighting and boasting to make some new friends. "If you wish to rest some, mîn swæs, I will not begrudge you it."
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"I waited over a year to see you again, I think another hour or two won't kill me," she teases gently, reaching out to take his hand in hers. "Come, you can help me dress and then I will leave you to your nap."
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From there she guides him to the wardrobe and surveys her assorted gowns with a sigh. "I haven't the heart to tell my housekeeper that I despise these things," she confesses, stroking her hand across the collection of fabric on display. "It has been so very long since Merwenna has had a queen to attend to, ever since my aunt died delivering my cousin."
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She's not quite sure it's enough of an incentive for her to try and break out her embroidery needles, though. Making him wear something she's put her needle in feels more like a punishment for him than for her.
"Red or blue?" she asks finally, reaching out and touching two different sleeves that hang in front of them.
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"Are you sure you don't feel up to braving the great hall?" she asks, turning her head towards him so she can nudge the bridge of her nose against his jaw.
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All that aside, she smiles at the sweet kiss and reluctantly extricates herself from his arms so she can change into a different gown to go eat in, regardless of the fact that the one she currently has on is perfectly fine and not even dirty yet.
The rules and mores she's expected to abide by at court are baffling at best. Honestly, Éomer much prefers life in the éored, even though she hopes against hope that she will never have to ride out with them again. She had been convinced that she would not survive Pelennor Fields, or the march on the Black Gates. That she has feels something like a cheat, almost, like she's not supposed to be here and everyone will realize any moment and she'll...well, the metaphor falls apart eventually, but still.
Turning her attention to the task at hand, she lets Eskel help her undress and then redress again, his big blunt fingers surprisingly deft at handling the small, fiddly laces of her gowns.
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Her dress done, she turns back to him and smiles, opening her mouth to thank him when there's a knock at the door.
"Ah. I am being summoned, it seems." She leans in to kiss his cheek. "Enjoy your rest. I'll be back afore long."
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It's quiet in the bedroom when she's gone and he almost regrets his decision, as the solitude amplifies the sense of out-of-place-ness.
He does settle on the bed after a while, kicking off his boots and trousers so as not to get dirt on her bed clothes, and stretches out on top of the blankets. The bed is very comfortable and he's surprised to find himself genuinely nodding off before too long.
When his queen returns, she'll find him sprawled across the bed in just his shirt and small clothes.
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