"Whatever you wish, your grace," Galinda says, diverting them smoothly away from the stairs, heading towards the king's quarters; in his absence, with the woman he is determined shall be queen of Rohan in truth as well as in name, it would not do for Galinda to occupy them. She is gratified to see servants scurrying ahead of them, one lad darting towards the kitchens to alert cook that hot water will be needed, and fast. Without either of her parents here, the keep is still running, and man and maid both mind Galinda's orders. A little spark of pride is permissible, surely.
And in truth she is glad that Éowyn has chosen to bathe, rather than watch the battle. Galinda has never been much for the games of war, much less the real thing; it is no sport to watch men flung bloodied and reeling from their horses, even if she has learned to smile and applaud along with the other ladies. It is important, her mother says, to do what pleases a husband and king, and Galinda will one day have her own husband and king to please.
All things considered, she thinks the queen of Rohan a much more amiable prospect. Tall and fair, with such a regal countenance, and yet so young to have the weight of a country on her shoulders without a king to rule beside her. Older than Galinda, though - not by much, she thinks, only a few years at best, but still hardly old enough to rule as well as reign. Still, she will have Galinda's father to lend his might, at least for a while, and perhaps that will be enough time.
There is a lad to open the door for them, bowing low, and Galinda hopes Éowyn doesn't catch the way the boy tries to sneak a glance up at the young queen's face from his bow. The room is in order, clean and airy and white with sweet herbs scattered through the rushes on the floor, the king's second-best bed set up with its cosy woolen curtains drawn invitingly ajar. Another dress is hanging from a clothes-pole, and Galinda is comfortably certain that undergarments and new boots will be tucked into a chest, waiting for Éowyn to feel clean and soothed enough to want them.
"I hope it will do," she says, and cannot quite keep a note of pride out of her voice, stepping aside as two panting maids carry the bath in, followed by a pair of stout men lugging steaming barrels of water. "And I shall attend you, if you will have me." This, at least, she knows how to do; there is nothing much to it, once one has learned how to gently soap another person's hair and trickle the water over them without getting any in their eyes. She gestures to the men, nods to the maids, and watches with satisfaction as they retreat and close the door. It is not exactly peace, not when she still has to put on the best possible face in front of this new queen, but - it is easier, not having to be the mistress and the servant at the same time.
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sforzinda
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Date: 2025-06-15 12:15 pm (UTC)And in truth she is glad that Éowyn has chosen to bathe, rather than watch the battle. Galinda has never been much for the games of war, much less the real thing; it is no sport to watch men flung bloodied and reeling from their horses, even if she has learned to smile and applaud along with the other ladies. It is important, her mother says, to do what pleases a husband and king, and Galinda will one day have her own husband and king to please.
All things considered, she thinks the queen of Rohan a much more amiable prospect. Tall and fair, with such a regal countenance, and yet so young to have the weight of a country on her shoulders without a king to rule beside her. Older than Galinda, though - not by much, she thinks, only a few years at best, but still hardly old enough to rule as well as reign. Still, she will have Galinda's father to lend his might, at least for a while, and perhaps that will be enough time.
There is a lad to open the door for them, bowing low, and Galinda hopes Éowyn doesn't catch the way the boy tries to sneak a glance up at the young queen's face from his bow. The room is in order, clean and airy and white with sweet herbs scattered through the rushes on the floor, the king's second-best bed set up with its cosy woolen curtains drawn invitingly ajar. Another dress is hanging from a clothes-pole, and Galinda is comfortably certain that undergarments and new boots will be tucked into a chest, waiting for Éowyn to feel clean and soothed enough to want them.
"I hope it will do," she says, and cannot quite keep a note of pride out of her voice, stepping aside as two panting maids carry the bath in, followed by a pair of stout men lugging steaming barrels of water. "And I shall attend you, if you will have me." This, at least, she knows how to do; there is nothing much to it, once one has learned how to gently soap another person's hair and trickle the water over them without getting any in their eyes. She gestures to the men, nods to the maids, and watches with satisfaction as they retreat and close the door. It is not exactly peace, not when she still has to put on the best possible face in front of this new queen, but - it is easier, not having to be the mistress and the servant at the same time.