Éomer made sure there were no traces of his morning murder left in the yard and put out the fire before he headed inside. He found Abigail in the common room where she put down a pillow and a blanket atop the now sheet-covered, padded bench. She had made him a bed to rest in and it looked comfortable indeed. He had not slept at all and already the sun was at its peak. Since he had eaten 'Happy' for breakfast, he craved no food, only sleep. Next to the made bed lay his neatly folded linen garbs. She had washed them, though he did not understand when she would have had the time.
She swept her hand over the bed as to tell him to claim it and he gave her a smile and a nod in response. It was kind of her indeed to go through such trouble. Éomer had not counted on catching much sleep at all and he was not unfamiliar with going a couple of days without it. One did not sleep while risking one's life in doing so. He unbuckled his sword and she eyed him. He had held on to it through the night but now he offered it back to her. She looked at it for a moment and then shook her head and gave a slight smile before she left the room. Abigail trusted him with his weapon, he was grateful that he had manage to prove himself worthy of such a trust.
He woke up some hours later to a horrid noise coming from the kitchen. It sounded as if several blacksmiths dropped their tools all at once. Dazed he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Through the noise he could make out a rhythm.
'Is this supposed to be music?' he thought, concluding that if so, it was the worst version of music he'd ever heard.
He got up and swiftly changed out of the clothes Abigail had given him to his own linen garbs. The tunic felt so light and airy in comparison to the snug one he'd worn since the other day. While untangling his hair with his fingers as best he could, he walked over to the kitchen. The noise came from a box sitting on the windowsill and all he could make out was the word 'rock'. Why they sang about rocks and stones he could not guess and he thought calling it singing at all was generous. Abigail did not notice him where he stood in the doorway. She was cooking something that smelled good atop the hearth with the strange black circles. She was moving along with the music. It seemed she did not follow any patterns, there were no steps nor claps. She only swayed her hips and moved as she seemed fit. Apparently she knew the song as she hummed along, underlining certain words by waving the wooden spoon in her hand about. He also noticed how her bare toes wiggled in rhythm to the music. Éomer watched her and a smile spread across his lips. He knew not why she was in such a jolly mood but it was contagious.
She grabbed a big silver kettle by both handles and turned around. Shrieking she dropped the kettle and it fell to the floor with a loud clang. Before Éomer had covered the the distance between them, Abigail cried out in pain and collapsed on the floor. She clutched her bare shin. Her breeches only came down to her knee so her skin had been exposed to the boiling water. Not until he hunched beside her did Éomer notice the white worm looking things that lay scattered about the floor.
'This is what she was cooking? What in the light may this be?' he thought.
It looked far from appetizing, in truth it looked like something he had seen the stable cat regurgitate at one point.
Abigail moaned and he tried to help her up. She was attempting to climb up onto the counter. Éomer could do nothing but assist though he saw no reasonable explanation. She sat down next to the basin and turned on the tap and let the water wash over her leg. She gave off a sound of contentment, as if the water lessened her pain, then she looked at him.
'Forgive me, I meant not to startle you.' Éomer said and Abigail gave him a modest smile.
Her cheeks took on a becoming blush as her gaze fell away. He felt like a true fool for having compromised her in such a manner. Sneaking up on a woman like he had was impolite at best. Sneaking up on a woman who had just experienced severe fright was not only tactless but cruel and he had caused her pain by being thoughtless. Her slight smile soon turned into a chuckle that broke into a heartfelt laughter. Éomer could not help but laugh with her. She gestured over the mess on the floor and laughed even more. He remembered his mother used to say 'The horse lost its shoe but still have its hoof.' and he figured this was one of those moments where it would apply.
After they had calmed themselves Éomer took hold of Abigail's foot to see how bad the water had burnt her leg above it. He was surprised by her dainty foot. His hands seemed enormous clutching it. It was so clean, as if she'd never walked on it and the nails were neither dirty, torn or grown. The skin had flared up and would in all likelihood be sore for a few days, though perhaps not blister. Her leg was sun kissed and smooth as silk. He felt her eyes upon him and looked up. They held each others gaze for only a short moment before Éomer cleared his throat and stepped away. Abigail busied herself with studying the burn. He turned to the mess on the floor and started by picking up the kettle that lay upside down. Then he attempted to gather up the worm like food and tossing it back into the kettle. Soon Abigail joined him, only after clicking the box on the windowsill to silence. She handed him a cloth and they wiped up the water.
After they had eaten what was left of their supper, a strange tasting meaty stew, they proceeded to her study where they could write each other. Éomer had now seen how easily startled she was, besides, she had been completely unaware of his presence. He had also noted her inability to heal herself. None of these things gave him any proof of sorcery. Once they were seated, he wasted no time.
'Are you a sorceress?' he spelled out, without care if it was blunt. Abigail chuckled.
'No.' she wrote.
'What of all the magic?'
'What magic?'
'The captured flames in the lanterns. The fire at your fingertips. The music in a box. This communication box. Your powerful weapon. All of it.'
'It is not magic.' she said. 'It is what this world is like. It is inventions. Like the wheel, or the horses reins.'
'How does it work?' he said. 'The lanterns? How do they work?'
'I cannot say.' she said. 'It is too complicated. Even if I understood fully, you would not. There are people who know and who creates them. I merely use them.'
This confused him.
'Would you know how to forge a good sword?' she wrote and continued. 'You know how to wield one. It's like that. Like saddlers and smiths, and bakers and weavers. They are masters of their crafts, and here people master other things as well.'
This made sense to Éomer. He knew not the first thing about weaving, yet he wore their fabrics.
'How are we going to get you home?' she wrote with a concerned look on her face.
'I'm going nowhere as long as there are orcs lurking in your woods. I brought them, I shall slay them.' he spelled out. He looked out the window and saw that dusk was settling.
'Night has come, and with it comes shadow creatures. I shall go and keep watch.'
Abigail offered a soft smile and a nod before he rose to once again put his armor on and spend the night outside.
Dusk turned into night. Éomer sat by the fire pondering this marvelous place. His view on it had began to change from a magical place to just another world like his own, only far more advanced. He started thinking about the battles he had fought. If he owned a weapon like Abigail's, how swift victory would be. Her father was a warrior. Did he fight with a gun and was there perhaps more of them out there? What if both sides of a battle would have one at their disposal? A battle where someone could stand form afar and send metal through the bodies of those who fought. Éomer could not quite picture how such a battle would play out. The more he thought on it, the less honorable it seemed. It was a weapon to Saruman's liking, not one for the men of the west.
He caught a movement in the corner of his eyes. He glanced over without turning his head. If there was trouble he did not want to reveal he had seen it just yet. There was no trouble, it was Abigail casting a shadow from where she stood in the window looking out at him. With the light coming from behind her he saw her as clear as day. He let his gaze linger on her for he knew he was disguised by night. Her hair was gathered in a messy knot atop her head and she had her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was biting her lip and studying him. Éomer wished they had a better way of communicating. There was so much he wanted to know about her and her world. There was something about her that moved him. Perhaps was it the otherworldliness she possessed, that sorrow concealed behind her blue eyes. Perhaps that lingering smile she often wore on her lips.
Éomer may never have taken much interest in the ladies he had come across in his years. Some were mighty fine to rest one's eye upon, some had offered fine company for a night. One day he fancied he'd take himself a wife but no woman had ever made him wish he could see what lay behind whatever image she wished to display to the world. Abigail made him curious. He pushed the thought aside.
'Hindrance breed desire,' he thought. 'I meet a woman I cannot pursue and my mind goes there like a fly seeks out dung.' He cursed himself for not being above such nonsense.
Abigail wrapped her blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her leg ached from the burn but it did not much bother her. She watched Éomer poke the fire to keep it burning. His face was shadowed but the fire painted his silhouette against the backdrop of night. He seemed even more massive when he wore his armor. Somehow he reminded her of her father. He had that calm demeanor one so often saw in soldiers. A mind molded by discipline and battered by brutality. She had made an absolute fool of herself earlier, throwing spaghetti around the kitchen and scolding herself in the process. He had almost scared her to death though by suddenly appearing in the corner of her eye. What must he think of her? Clumsy, frightened and inadequate. She knew all to well she would not have impressed her father with her behavior. Éomer raised a hand to her in acknowledgment. Before she knew it she ducked behind the curtains. It had not been her intention to let him see her, but he had.. And now she hid behind a curtain like some fool. She let out a low growl.
'Oh my god.' she whispered. 'What am I, twelve years old? She felt her cheeks flush.
'Why the hell did I do that Yoda?' she looked to the cat that lay on his side on the couch and watched her. As she spoke he turned away and tucked his paws in.
'Yeah, you're real supportive. You're welcome for your night snack by the way, don't mention it.'
She scowled at the cat, knowing it was not his fault she had just embarrassed herself further. She could have waved back but she had felt so busted. As if her fingers had been in the cookie jar. Impulsion had made her duck, not logic, that much was clear.
She pondered her next move. She couldn't very well pass the window and catch Éomer's eye. Well she could, but she wanted nothing less than to remind him of her existence right now. As if not seeing her would make him forget her behavior. For a moment she thought she could sleep on the couch for the night and thus avoid him. Instead she decided to crouch down below the window and awkwardly half-crawl past it to make it into her bedroom. Once there she stood back up and shook her head.
'I have lost my mind.' she thought. 'What on earth am I doing?'
