It would be a gross breach of courtesy, Aaron reasoned, to inconvenience a guest in any way. That included causing a guest to feel uneasy, or worse still, unsafe in his house.
He had allowed himself to become hungry. Aaron was used to solitude; the house of Elendil was never visited by choice, and no villager, he believed, would make the perilous trek to it in such inclement weather, no matter what sickness afflicted the village. He had not expected to have to master his thirst in the presence of a living man for some time.
It was a foolish, needless risk to take, and Aaron cursed himself as he fastened his cloak around his neck. Hunting in this weather would be difficult and tiring, and there was no guarantee of success. Most animals would have taken shelter, and all tracks washed away. However, he had no choice: even if he were to successfully master himself for the duration of the storm and the guest's stay, it would grow more and more difficult to conceal that he was looking at this Faramir fellow with hunger. At best, it would be impolite. At worst, it might drive the man to try his luck on the road, believing it to be the lesser danger.
The side-door by the kitchen may be too far away to hear as it opens and closes again. Faramir may not glance out the window in time to see a human figure slip into the trees. He may not hear any disturbance in the woods, and he may not see a great wolflike dog, its mouth bloodied, lope through the downpour and disappear under the eaves of the house. And if he does not go downstairs, he certainly will not see Aaron, soaked to the bone, hanging his clothes to dry in front of the sitting room fire, stoked to its full height and blazing so merrily it seems to mock the very storm.
no subject
He had allowed himself to become hungry. Aaron was used to solitude; the house of Elendil was never visited by choice, and no villager, he believed, would make the perilous trek to it in such inclement weather, no matter what sickness afflicted the village. He had not expected to have to master his thirst in the presence of a living man for some time.
It was a foolish, needless risk to take, and Aaron cursed himself as he fastened his cloak around his neck. Hunting in this weather would be difficult and tiring, and there was no guarantee of success. Most animals would have taken shelter, and all tracks washed away. However, he had no choice: even if he were to successfully master himself for the duration of the storm and the guest's stay, it would grow more and more difficult to conceal that he was looking at this Faramir fellow with hunger. At best, it would be impolite. At worst, it might drive the man to try his luck on the road, believing it to be the lesser danger.
The side-door by the kitchen may be too far away to hear as it opens and closes again. Faramir may not glance out the window in time to see a human figure slip into the trees. He may not hear any disturbance in the woods, and he may not see a great wolflike dog, its mouth bloodied, lope through the downpour and disappear under the eaves of the house. And if he does not go downstairs, he certainly will not see Aaron, soaked to the bone, hanging his clothes to dry in front of the sitting room fire, stoked to its full height and blazing so merrily it seems to mock the very storm.