After a moment's unconscious hesitation, Éowyn does reach out and take Galinda's hand, her other hand coming up to hold the towel around herself. Judging by the weight she puts through her grip, climbing out of the tub is not easy - the warm water has soothed some of the ache in her thighs and hips, but not all - but she manages it well enough.
"I would like that. Thank you." It is palpable, the way she is working to gather herself, to regain some kind of distance between them, as if hoping the bath has washed away the weakness that overcame her. She clears her throat, lifting the corner of the towel to wipe away both water and tears from her face, and lets go of Galinda's hand to lean over and wring out her hair into the tub. "Though if there is a comb or a brush, give me that first, and I will get my hair a little dryer before I drench fresh clothes."
There is more to it than just practicality. She wants to feel like herself again, or at least to look like herself: to seem put-together and ready for whatever comes. Not tangled and filthy, nor wet and bedraggled. Given half a chance, she wants her hair properly braided back from her face, fastened up out of the way; she wants clean, dry clothes and the knife back at her belt; she wants to retreat into looking untouched by anything, as though that will make it so.
And spiced wine. She has not, for the most part, been deprived of such small luxuries - not unless it has been a specific punishment - but it has not been soothing, for some time. Nothing has. Spiced wine drunk by the fire, without haste or horror, is a thing of the past: it speaks to her of winter nights with her kinsmen, in the rare moments of peace, sharing songs and reminiscences. There is pain in that memory, grief unhealed and unaddressed - but it is the kind of pain that calls out in invitation, like an old friend.
It is not a winter's night, of course. It is a summer's afternoon, and this place is a stone holdfast rather than the ancient welcome of Meduseld in better times, and the company she has is like her kinsmen only in the colour of her hair. But it is something. It is enough to start gathering herself again, and to settle into a silence that is a kind of exhale after two years of held breaths and fury and fear. She should take the opportunity to ask more questions, to plan the road ahead and to determine what other interests - beyond the obvious ambition of Arduenna - are at play. At the very least, she should find out something more about the woman who has set herself as her companion.
But slowly, it sinks into her nervous system that she is safe for the moment, that the flight from Edoras is over; and with that slow realisation, the exhaustion sets in fully. Her shoulders, held so stiff, begin to slump, her back softening. She feels leaden in every limb, all the aches and pains and weariness dragging her down, until raising the cup to her lips feels almost more than she can manage. The last thing she wants to do is talk - to ask questions, and have to answer them, and to risk another of those ugly moments where she is set off by the smallest misstep. It is exhausting to be around anyone, even - perhaps especially - someone friendly. She cannot be rude, or risk damaging her situation further; she cannot keep being weak, when all that is asked of her is strength; and she certainly cannot be intelligent right now.
The sun is still quite high in the sky outside, and perhaps two hours have passed since she arrived, when she slowly pushes herself to her feet. "I should rest," she says, and it is clear from her voice how true that is. "You may as well go, Lady Galinda, and make better use of your evening." Then, because she is still prone to honesty and because Galinda has been subjected to enough of it already that there is no sense in dissembling: "I have not been properly left alone for some months. I would like to be by myself a while."
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sforzinda
hopefully this is an okay time to fast-forward? idk lmk if you want something different obviously <3
Date: 2025-07-06 05:05 pm (UTC)"I would like that. Thank you." It is palpable, the way she is working to gather herself, to regain some kind of distance between them, as if hoping the bath has washed away the weakness that overcame her. She clears her throat, lifting the corner of the towel to wipe away both water and tears from her face, and lets go of Galinda's hand to lean over and wring out her hair into the tub. "Though if there is a comb or a brush, give me that first, and I will get my hair a little dryer before I drench fresh clothes."
There is more to it than just practicality. She wants to feel like herself again, or at least to look like herself: to seem put-together and ready for whatever comes. Not tangled and filthy, nor wet and bedraggled. Given half a chance, she wants her hair properly braided back from her face, fastened up out of the way; she wants clean, dry clothes and the knife back at her belt; she wants to retreat into looking untouched by anything, as though that will make it so.
And spiced wine. She has not, for the most part, been deprived of such small luxuries - not unless it has been a specific punishment - but it has not been soothing, for some time. Nothing has. Spiced wine drunk by the fire, without haste or horror, is a thing of the past: it speaks to her of winter nights with her kinsmen, in the rare moments of peace, sharing songs and reminiscences. There is pain in that memory, grief unhealed and unaddressed - but it is the kind of pain that calls out in invitation, like an old friend.
It is not a winter's night, of course. It is a summer's afternoon, and this place is a stone holdfast rather than the ancient welcome of Meduseld in better times, and the company she has is like her kinsmen only in the colour of her hair. But it is something. It is enough to start gathering herself again, and to settle into a silence that is a kind of exhale after two years of held breaths and fury and fear. She should take the opportunity to ask more questions, to plan the road ahead and to determine what other interests - beyond the obvious ambition of Arduenna - are at play. At the very least, she should find out something more about the woman who has set herself as her companion.
But slowly, it sinks into her nervous system that she is safe for the moment, that the flight from Edoras is over; and with that slow realisation, the exhaustion sets in fully. Her shoulders, held so stiff, begin to slump, her back softening. She feels leaden in every limb, all the aches and pains and weariness dragging her down, until raising the cup to her lips feels almost more than she can manage. The last thing she wants to do is talk - to ask questions, and have to answer them, and to risk another of those ugly moments where she is set off by the smallest misstep. It is exhausting to be around anyone, even - perhaps especially - someone friendly. She cannot be rude, or risk damaging her situation further; she cannot keep being weak, when all that is asked of her is strength; and she certainly cannot be intelligent right now.
The sun is still quite high in the sky outside, and perhaps two hours have passed since she arrived, when she slowly pushes herself to her feet. "I should rest," she says, and it is clear from her voice how true that is. "You may as well go, Lady Galinda, and make better use of your evening." Then, because she is still prone to honesty and because Galinda has been subjected to enough of it already that there is no sense in dissembling: "I have not been properly left alone for some months. I would like to be by myself a while."