"What about eels?"
"Eels?" Éothain gagged. "Disgusting, slimey, slithering things. Don't know how you stomach 'em."
"They taste like chicken," Amrothos said with a shrug.
"Béma," Éothain muttered, utterly revolted. "Here's a novel idea: why not just eat a chicken?"
The two continued walking up the cobblestone streets of Minas Tirith, heading ever higher. It was a constant amusement to the Rohir, that Gondorians were comfortable living amongst so much stone. Their southern neighbours seemed to think that the Rohirrim were uncultured, peasant-like even, but Éothain was rather of the mind that they had the wool pulled over their eyes. Give him rolling plains over hard rock footpaths any day.
"What about squids?"
"What on Béma's good green earth is a squid?" Éothain turned to the Prince, cocking an eyebrow.
"S'got tentacles," Éomer drawled from beside them, having slowed his striding pace enough to join in the conversation.
"And you eat them?" Éothain was incredulous. What sort of place was this? Eels that tasted like chicken, sea creatures with tentacles on plates.
"Of course," Amrothos said matter-of-factly, quite unaware of the two blonde giants slightly behind him that were miming vomiting into the decorous potted plants on the side of the street.
Appearing out of thin air, Erchirion sniggered and clapped Éothain on the back. "No matter. I'm sure we'll have some meat at lunch."
"Finally, someone with more than a few sheep in the top field," Éothain grumbled.
"Ah, lunch!" Amrothos stared up into the sky, a fond smile on his face.
"Hungry?" Éomer questioned the Prince politely, though he was positively dreading the spread that they were about to sit down to.
"Famished," Amrothos replied. "I could eat a horse and chase the rider!"
Éothain stopped in his tracks, his face purple with rage. "That's it!" he growled. "You lot," he began, driving his point home by shoving his index finger in the general direction of the southerners, "are bloody barbarians!"
He strode off down the street, aiming a kick to a random bucket, swearing all the way.
Amrothos stared blankly after him, then turned back to Éomer, not noticing the King's guards were staring at him menacingly, hands on the hilts of their swords.
"What did I say?"
.
.
.
For Anna, because deep down the Rohirrim are Aussies in disguise.