It has become a novelty, to be comforted. It was never something that she sought out, not since childhood, preferring to project unyielding strength - but there was a time, she remembers, when it found her all the same. Her brother, holding her tightly against his shoulder and stroking her hair; her cousin, gripping her arm when she felt like she would fall; her uncle, his hands wrapped around hers, meeting her eyes and telling her it was no weakness to weep. She has so nearly forgotten how it feels, by now, to be soothed by hands that mean no harm.
It should help, she thinks. It makes things worse. She covers her mouth with shaking hands to stifle the wail that tries to escape her, and she can still be embarrassed, still find a new kind of humiliation even now, falling apart in front of a stranger.
It takes her minutes - not moments, but minutes - to catch her breath again, to steady the shaking, hiccoughing sobs that catch in the base of her ribs and tighten into a vice-grip. It is long enough for Galinda to be most of the way into the task of washing her hair, which only makes things feel more helplessly bizarre. But slowly, little by little, Éowyn regains control of herself.
"I am sorry." Her voice is low, and she does not raise her head. The tears drip from her chin, into the water. She wipes them away with the back of her hand, not caring if she gets soap in her eyes. "I would... I am very tired. I would appreciate it, Lady Glinda, if you did not speak of this to anyone."
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sforzinda
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Date: 2025-06-18 09:43 pm (UTC)It should help, she thinks. It makes things worse. She covers her mouth with shaking hands to stifle the wail that tries to escape her, and she can still be embarrassed, still find a new kind of humiliation even now, falling apart in front of a stranger.
It takes her minutes - not moments, but minutes - to catch her breath again, to steady the shaking, hiccoughing sobs that catch in the base of her ribs and tighten into a vice-grip. It is long enough for Galinda to be most of the way into the task of washing her hair, which only makes things feel more helplessly bizarre. But slowly, little by little, Éowyn regains control of herself.
"I am sorry." Her voice is low, and she does not raise her head. The tears drip from her chin, into the water. She wipes them away with the back of her hand, not caring if she gets soap in her eyes. "I would... I am very tired. I would appreciate it, Lady Glinda, if you did not speak of this to anyone."