It is impossible not to notice the marks on Éowyn's skin, even with the briefest glance, and - at least for Galinda - almost equally as impossible not to imagine what has left them. Some are easy; her father has occasionally lost his temper and gripped her arm just a little too tight. Others, though...even the thought of them makes her blush a deep pink again, and decide it's best to pretend she simply hasn't seen a thing. Besides, none of it matters right now, when all they have to be concerned about is getting Éowyn clean - and perhaps more importantly hoping that if anyone is following, the men are able to beat them soundly or close the gates in time.
She is at least reasonably confident that they can close the gates in time.
Wordless, for a change, she offers an arm for Éowyn to support herself as she steps into the tub; wordless, she waits until the other woman is settled in the water before reaching for the soap and hesitating. Éowyn does not seem the sort of woman for florals, but she is also not about to insult her with the sandalwood that men seem to prefer. In the end it's the rosehip that finds its way into Galinda's hands, and she reaches to gently draw the other woman's hair back away from her face. Ordinarily there would be little or nothing to do with a woman's hair, but there is nothing ordinary about this, and so she takes up a brush and does her best to tease out the tangles that always seem to happen after riding.
What she ought to be doing now is asking how Éowyn's journey went, and where she plans to visit in the kingdom, but both of these seem rather insensitive. Worse still would be inquiring into the health of the other woman's family, who are - Galinda knows with a certainty - either dead or soon to be. And she is not at all inclined to say anything whatsoever about the bruises that colour Éowyn's body. It is part desperation that finally gives her the words, but once they come she does at least mean them.
"We are all glad to see you," she says, a little weakly, "my lady Éowyn." It's Galinda's turn to stumble a little over the name, stretching the first syllable more than it ought to be, but she thinks it's a credible attempt. "We had not looked for you so soon, and I beg you will forgive if anything is not quite ready, and tell me at once so I may have it fixed." It sounds foolish to her own ears, at best, and to cover her discomfort she takes up a pitcher to wet Éowyn's hair and begin to lather the soap.
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sforzinda
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Date: 2025-06-16 11:46 am (UTC)She is at least reasonably confident that they can close the gates in time.
Wordless, for a change, she offers an arm for Éowyn to support herself as she steps into the tub; wordless, she waits until the other woman is settled in the water before reaching for the soap and hesitating. Éowyn does not seem the sort of woman for florals, but she is also not about to insult her with the sandalwood that men seem to prefer. In the end it's the rosehip that finds its way into Galinda's hands, and she reaches to gently draw the other woman's hair back away from her face. Ordinarily there would be little or nothing to do with a woman's hair, but there is nothing ordinary about this, and so she takes up a brush and does her best to tease out the tangles that always seem to happen after riding.
What she ought to be doing now is asking how Éowyn's journey went, and where she plans to visit in the kingdom, but both of these seem rather insensitive. Worse still would be inquiring into the health of the other woman's family, who are - Galinda knows with a certainty - either dead or soon to be. And she is not at all inclined to say anything whatsoever about the bruises that colour Éowyn's body. It is part desperation that finally gives her the words, but once they come she does at least mean them.
"We are all glad to see you," she says, a little weakly, "my lady Éowyn." It's Galinda's turn to stumble a little over the name, stretching the first syllable more than it ought to be, but she thinks it's a credible attempt. "We had not looked for you so soon, and I beg you will forgive if anything is not quite ready, and tell me at once so I may have it fixed." It sounds foolish to her own ears, at best, and to cover her discomfort she takes up a pitcher to wet Éowyn's hair and begin to lather the soap.