The sapphires are the very colour of Glinda's eyes, the gold almost lost in the shine of her hair. It is, of course, a good choice. Éowyn would have expected no less.
"You may be more splendid than I." It is said lightly, with the cadence of a joke, but it is not altogether joking. There is a real concern behind it, seeing a crown - almost a crown - settled on Glinda's hair: the nagging reminder that misplaced trust is what brought Rohan to this pass, and that so much of Éowyn's position is dependent upon her lover's family. She can tell herself that she would have reclaimed her place without them, that Rohan would still have risen to her call if she had ridden alone - but the truth is that she did not, and that it was another land's men who have won the day. It is an unease that sits with her daily, and the only unease not salved at all by Glinda's presence.
But it is only an unease, and whatever doubts she may have of her allies' intentions, they do not extend to Glinda herself. It is impossible to think her capable of evil. She is the only thing that still seems pure.
Éowyn crosses the space between them, moving behind Glinda, and allows herself the luxury of fingertips against the warm skin of shoulders. "Hold still, then. Let me help you." And the mad thought seizes her to kiss that skin, to press her lips to the white column of Glinda's neck and draw her in, and fall once more to the bed, and never leave: find that brief carelessness again, and find a way to make it last forever, so that they need never be splendid or brave, so that she need not face duty. Her breath shudders, and she fastens the clasp with trembling fingers, and clears her throat as she steps away. "When you are dressed, will you go and call for Hlutor Halfspear, so we may make sure of the men at hand? And then you may as well make sure of your breakfast; for certainly I have no appetite, and I will be a while yet."
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sforzinda
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Date: 2025-11-12 03:44 am (UTC)"You may be more splendid than I." It is said lightly, with the cadence of a joke, but it is not altogether joking. There is a real concern behind it, seeing a crown - almost a crown - settled on Glinda's hair: the nagging reminder that misplaced trust is what brought Rohan to this pass, and that so much of Éowyn's position is dependent upon her lover's family. She can tell herself that she would have reclaimed her place without them, that Rohan would still have risen to her call if she had ridden alone - but the truth is that she did not, and that it was another land's men who have won the day. It is an unease that sits with her daily, and the only unease not salved at all by Glinda's presence.
But it is only an unease, and whatever doubts she may have of her allies' intentions, they do not extend to Glinda herself. It is impossible to think her capable of evil. She is the only thing that still seems pure.
Éowyn crosses the space between them, moving behind Glinda, and allows herself the luxury of fingertips against the warm skin of shoulders. "Hold still, then. Let me help you." And the mad thought seizes her to kiss that skin, to press her lips to the white column of Glinda's neck and draw her in, and fall once more to the bed, and never leave: find that brief carelessness again, and find a way to make it last forever, so that they need never be splendid or brave, so that she need not face duty. Her breath shudders, and she fastens the clasp with trembling fingers, and clears her throat as she steps away. "When you are dressed, will you go and call for Hlutor Halfspear, so we may make sure of the men at hand? And then you may as well make sure of your breakfast; for certainly I have no appetite, and I will be a while yet."