It is still true night when the maid creeps into Éowyn's room to wake Galinda, before the sun has even become a line of light across the horizon - and waking her is easy enough, for she has barely slept. In truth, she is sick with worry, for today is the day she has been dreading, the day when everything must change again. Today Éowyn rides out at the head of her army to reclaim her crown, and to take her revenge on the man who calls himself her husband. And Galinda is afraid - terribly afraid - that she will not come back.
They have scarcely been out of each other's sight, these past few days. They have walked together in the gardens, chatting about everything and nothing; Éowyn has sat patiently while Galinda tends her bruises with poultices that, in truth, she is not the best at making; they have brushed out each other's hair, like sisters would, and each admired the other's beauty. And Galinda, for her part, has started caring so much for Éowyn that she can no longer imagine a world without her in it.
It is ridiculous to think like this, she knows; they both of them have responsibilities, futures planned out that do not and cannot involve the other. She will marry, and be sent to her husband's country, never to see Éowyn again. And Éowyn must reign in Rohan, be the queen she was born to be, and likewise marry and have heirs to keep the succession stable. Knowing this does not, however, stop her from dreaming otherwise.
Reluctantly, Galinda pushes the covers aside and goes to stoke up the fire, waiting until it crackles into life before returning to the bed and Éowyn. She leans over to kiss the other woman's forehead, smoothing loose strands of golden hair away from Éowyn's face, taking one last long look at the beauty of the young queen's face as she sleeps.
"Éowyn, my dear," she says softly, wishing she did not have to. "Come, my sweet, it is time."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sforzinda
no subject
Date: 2025-07-21 03:01 am (UTC)They have scarcely been out of each other's sight, these past few days. They have walked together in the gardens, chatting about everything and nothing; Éowyn has sat patiently while Galinda tends her bruises with poultices that, in truth, she is not the best at making; they have brushed out each other's hair, like sisters would, and each admired the other's beauty. And Galinda, for her part, has started caring so much for Éowyn that she can no longer imagine a world without her in it.
It is ridiculous to think like this, she knows; they both of them have responsibilities, futures planned out that do not and cannot involve the other. She will marry, and be sent to her husband's country, never to see Éowyn again. And Éowyn must reign in Rohan, be the queen she was born to be, and likewise marry and have heirs to keep the succession stable. Knowing this does not, however, stop her from dreaming otherwise.
Reluctantly, Galinda pushes the covers aside and goes to stoke up the fire, waiting until it crackles into life before returning to the bed and Éowyn. She leans over to kiss the other woman's forehead, smoothing loose strands of golden hair away from Éowyn's face, taking one last long look at the beauty of the young queen's face as she sleeps.
"Éowyn, my dear," she says softly, wishing she did not have to. "Come, my sweet, it is time."