Éowyn grits her teeth and tenses as she is swept up into his arms, his hands hot and rough on her bare skin, his reek in her nostrils. Hearing Rohirric - or something very like it, like enough to be jarring - come out of his mouth only makes her stomach heave. It is deeply. deeply wrong that the first time she's heard anything like her own language in this place, it's coming from someone like him.
She is still, though, as he carries her out of the square, past the idiot crowd laughing and commenting as though her fate was a matter for their entertainment. She is still and rigid in his arms, making herself as heavy as she can - a petty revenge, but better than nothing - until they are in the Down, and the last of the weakness from being shocked has ebbed out of her. Unfortunately, it has taken some of her adrenaline with it, but once they are in the winding streets of the Down, which are by now more familiar to her than the Up ever was, she begins to fight against his grip, kicking and scratching at him. She's strong, but hampered by her own fear and confined in his grip; he is stronger. Still, she doesn't make it easy for him to carry her to the crumbling old building, and fights all the harder, writhing in his grasp, as they step inside and even the ugly, artificial light of the Down fades from view.
When at last he sets her down, she scrambles to her feet as quickly as she can, breathing hoarse and ragged. She could run, perhaps. She might get lost in the dark hallways, but she is a fast runner and given some strength by what, now, is building back into genuine panic. In the end, as so often before, it is her prideful stubbornness that dooms her; unable even now to flee without fighting, she instead lunges for him, her teeth bared and fingers like claws, scratching like a wildcat at his face.
At this point, it's so predictable a move that it undoubtedly gives him an opening to recapture her well before she can think better of it and run.
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sforzinda
lol like i use anything else for my old english
Date: 2019-08-24 06:23 pm (UTC)She is still, though, as he carries her out of the square, past the idiot crowd laughing and commenting as though her fate was a matter for their entertainment. She is still and rigid in his arms, making herself as heavy as she can - a petty revenge, but better than nothing - until they are in the Down, and the last of the weakness from being shocked has ebbed out of her. Unfortunately, it has taken some of her adrenaline with it, but once they are in the winding streets of the Down, which are by now more familiar to her than the Up ever was, she begins to fight against his grip, kicking and scratching at him. She's strong, but hampered by her own fear and confined in his grip; he is stronger. Still, she doesn't make it easy for him to carry her to the crumbling old building, and fights all the harder, writhing in his grasp, as they step inside and even the ugly, artificial light of the Down fades from view.
When at last he sets her down, she scrambles to her feet as quickly as she can, breathing hoarse and ragged. She could run, perhaps. She might get lost in the dark hallways, but she is a fast runner and given some strength by what, now, is building back into genuine panic. In the end, as so often before, it is her prideful stubbornness that dooms her; unable even now to flee without fighting, she instead lunges for him, her teeth bared and fingers like claws, scratching like a wildcat at his face.
At this point, it's so predictable a move that it undoubtedly gives him an opening to recapture her well before she can think better of it and run.