I felt somewhat irked by Eowyn's stew sequence in LotR films. It was a cheap joke that became a popular phenomenon and gets recycled too often. So, I give you :
Revenge served hot
short one shot on Ao3, I also put it here under the cut.
Gen audiences, good vibes.
Eowyn washed the potatoes, grateful for the cool feeling of the water on her hands. The day had been too warm, but it was getter better. The sun was creeping down over the line of trees in the distance as she peered through the window of the castle tower.
She had insisted on having the kitchens to herself tonight. Her duties did not permit her the leisure of cooking too often, and she had several cooks, but she liked it, and they had gone willingly enough when she had given them the night off. In fact, she could see two of the oldest ones sitting far over, on the grass under a big elm tree, smoking pipes. The two women laughed and chatted, their voices only an echo in the breeze.
Eowyn had requested to cook because tonight was special. King Aragorn was to come and dine with her and Faramir, for the first time since he had been crowned. The coronation had happened some ten months ago already, but he had been very busy and was only getting around to visit them now.
Since they had received the message telling them of the king's arrival, only one thing had been on Eowyn's mind. She wanted to cook for him, and take her revenge, for she knew the last time she had tried to feed him had been a disaster. He had been very gallant about it of course, but the other people she had tried to nourish after that had not been so kind. So she knew it was bad. Well, try to cook in a war camp, why don't they? she thought hotly. Where you have to make do with the provisions you have, over a meager open fire, and when your mind is called to ramble over what will happen on the morrow…
It was a sour feeling, and Eowyn's pride was wounded for she knew she was a good cook. And tonight would prove it. The king would lick his fingers and ask for seconds. Or else.
She had decided she would make stable-master's stew. It was a simple dish, a peasant staple, and everyone loved it in Rohan. She loved it. So she washed the potatoes, then the carrots, and peeled them over the stone sink. The kitchen in her new castle had a lot of commodities she did not have back in Edoras, and she liked this. Truth be told, there were a lot of things she liked about her new life. Not least of all the rhythm she had found with her new husband, the kindest man on all of middle-earth, of which she was very much enamored.
While she blew on the little fire in the iron stove to make it catch stronger, Eowyn reveled in the love that filled her heart. Faramir was everything a woman could dream of : Kind and clever, strong, gentle, and handsome. She suspected it would take her years to discover in whole the depths of his personality. She let a faint chuckle out, remembering how she had, in passing, taken king Aragorn for the love of her life when she was despairing.
It all seemed so far now. King Aragorn was handsome, of course, and brave, and everything a king should be. But he was also grim, evidently duty-focused, and even a bit gloomy, now that she thought about it in the light of Faramir's whole behaviour. Faramir was warm as the sun itself, and as hot, she must confess.
Aragorn also was way too old for her, while Faramir was full of the life force of youth.
She blushed to herself and bade herself focus on the task at hand, for fear or enacting another fiasco.
She quickly chopped the potatoes in big uneven chunks, and the carrots in slightly smaller bits.
She took a heavy cast iron pot and put it on the fire, then, when it was hot, she let fall a big chunk of butter in it. The butter melted and sizzled and then she dumped in the same amount of flour and mixed swiftly with a wooden spoon, without stopping. It already smelled a bit like bread and pastries, and she loved this smell. When the flour was cooked, Eowyn poured some beef broth over it, a leftover from yesterday's dinner. The cooks had made it with all sorts of herbs ans spices and she knew it would be good.
She continued to mix lazily with her wooden spoon, listening to the trills of the birds outside.
She would need to change before dinner, else her dress would be smelling of beef broth and grease.
When the mixture had thickened a bit, she dumped in the potatoes and carrots, then she went to the cellar to retrieve several fat gleaming pork sausages, and added them in. Then, some parsley bound in string with thyme and laurel, and a generous pinch of pepper corns. They did not want for spices, even if they tried not to live too lavish a lifestyle, but these were priorities in Eowyn's book. Moreover, spices had been way easier to come by now that Mordor had fallen and the trade paths to the east were reopened. As a matter of fact, the gown she was planning on putting on tonight also came from the east; it was made of green silk adorned in a pattern of fern leaves, low cut, and light enough for the warm weather. She loved it. Her husband had gifted it to her not two months ago.
Eowyn added a pinch a salt, mixed one more time, hesitated, then added a bit more broth to cover the vegetables. She put a lid over the pot, leaving a gap for air and vapor to go out.
Then she put her apron away and went to wash her hair.
She came back in the kitchen half an hour later. She had braided her hair in Gondorian fashion in honor of the king, and put on the green gown. So, she was very careful not to approach too near for fear of splatters when she lifted the lid, and took a spoonful of sauce, tasting it. It was good, she judged, and felt the anxious vibration in her chest receding. But it needed to simmer for a bit longer.
Eowyn went to the cellar again, surveying everything. Their was a bright crisp salad, ready for serving, prepared in advance by the cooks, and they had also made a blueberry tart for dessert. Eowyn felt her stomach rumble, and smiled. Everything was in order.
She went to the window and stayed there a bit, leaning on her elbow, watching the sunset.
She was torn from her reverie by a voice, one she knew well :
" There you are. Oh, smells good!" Eowyn did not have time to turn before she heard Faramir stride through the kitchen, and she felt his big warm arms around her, squeezing her in a tight hug. He buried his nose in her hair, and inhaled, pressing his front to her back. " You also smell good." he whispered.
Eowyn smiled and turned to him. " Well, I hope I don't smell the same as the stew.
- Stew, huh?" Faramir approved. "Good idea. I'm sure our king is already weary of the pompous delicacies of court, having spent so much of his life wandering the wilderness.
-Well, I hope he likes it." Eowyn said, frowning.
"We will now soon enough. I've come to find you because he is to arrive momentarily." Faramir replied, breaking the hug reluctantly. He looked her up and down.
Aragorn was recounting for them all of the places where he had been on his two-months circuit around the realm up until now. Queen Arwen had remained at court to supervise the realm's ongoing affaire, and he supposed next time they would exchange roles.
He put down his wine cup and thanked that servant that was ladling stew in his plate politely.
The servant then filled Faramir and Eowyn's own plates, and went away.
Eowyn realized she was holding her breath only when she found it again, after Aragorn took a first bite and groaned with evident pleasure.
" Mmh! That is delicious! Exactly what I needed after a day of riding here."
Eowyn felt herself smile, a wide smile of victory, despite her best efforts.
" My lady wife made it especially for you, your grace." said Faramir, with contained laughter in his voice. " She fears last time she cooked for you (Eowyn gave him a HARD nudge in his side, that did nothing to deter him from continuing on), she fears that it was not the best expression of her ability as a cook."
Aragorn bit his lip, looking up from his plate. His mouth was full.
"Well… try and cook food in a war camp. Its not easy." he said only, after swallowing.
Eowyn let out a word akin to a yelp : "Exactly!"
" You know," the king added, " in my long years as a ranger I must confess I survived on all kinds of food, some things less deserving of the word than others. I struggled a bit myself, sometimes. Though I must say I am become a master in the art of wild rabbit soup." He smiled to himself, cringing slightly.
" Ooh!" cooed Eowyn. "You must give me the recipe sometime!
Only if you give me the recipe for this. " Aragorn said. " It's really delicious!
-This is stable master's stew. It's supposed to help you recover after a day of hard labor, and it's cheap, though I added pepper corns.
-Yes, I can taste them. They're very good.
- Well, I'm glad you like it, your grace." Eowyn admitted.
Like it he did indeed, for he finished his plate quickly and then made a second serving disappear. Eowyn allowed herself to relax, listening quietly to the conversation, feeling her head pleasantly buzzing with the second cup of wine she was drinking. It was a good night.
She felt Faramir's hand come over hers on the side of the table, stroking gently, tracing little circles into the flech of her thumb with his own. Aragorn stole a glance at their joined hands and smiled fondly, saying nothing.
They ate the blueberry tart in content, tired silence. It was good, and Aragorn asked if this one was also of her making.
" I must admit it's not, Alas," Eowyn said. "We have very good cooks. We're lucky. Though Faramir does make an excellent chestnut cake."
Aragorn turned his eyes to Faramir who put his hands up and said, laughing :
" Allright, allright! I did not get time to cook today, I had many duties. But if you stay with us for a few more days, i'll be delighted in making you one.
-I'll stay with you for a few more days with pleasure, if you'll have me. But I must not delay too much…" Aragorn's clear eyes twinkled suddenly and he added : " … as my lady wife is with child."
There was a commotion suddenly, though they were only three in the dining room. Chairs scraped, cups clinked when put down hurriedly and Eowyn and Faramir yelped in delight as they jumped to circle the table and hug the king, struggling for purchase in their hurry.
Faramir broke the embrace first, wiping away a dicreet tear. He cleared his throat and said :
" Congratulations, your grace. How far along is the queen?"
Their was a broad bright smile on Aragorn's face now, and he looked at them both when he answered.
" Four months. Well, she knew from the start, elven pregnancy and all but she did not tell me until a month and a half ago, in a letter, for she felt I would not go on this journey if I knew of it. She was right, of course. Now you know why I must hasten home."
They hugged again, and again, before going back to sit.
They spent the remainder of the night talking of baby names, comparing gondorian, elvish and numenorean possibilities. No one could stop smiling.
Before they went to sleep, Faramir sat down at the little desk he had in the corner of the room. He opened his sketchbook. Eowyn asked drowsily, already feeling herself drifting, in equal parts because of the third cup of wine and because of the emotions-filled evening :
" What are you doing, darling?
-I'm designing a leather sling, for Arwen and him to strap the babe to them when they will go walking. I suppose i will also make a saddlebag, as a gift for the new mother."
Eowyn closed her eyes, listening to the quiet, hurried scratch of the pencil on paper.
(the recipe is here , in french (definitely put only half the flour tho))
