So many statues! And they all seem to stare at them in stony silence as they pass, kings and stewards of times past. Èowyn thinks it feels a little foreboding, for all that these halls are as fine and lofty as the outside of the Citadel. Some strange coldness seems to cling to the whole house, reminiscent of Meduseld while Théoden was still unwell and Gríma had run of the place. It's good that Faramir guides her, for she thinks she would get lost here left on her own...
Èowyn suppresses a small cough at the musty air of the dark chamber Faramir lets them into, for clearly nobody has been here in a while. She wonders at the neglect, but soon has other things to think about once Faramir begins to pull aside the heavy curtains that block out the light of day. She waves a hand in front of her face slightly as the billowing curtains spill out some dust from their folds, fighting another cough for a moment.
"So many," she wonders aloud with some astonishment as light floods into the room and illuminates the arrays of paintings in all possible sizes, it seems to her. Then Faramir points out the one of Morwen, and Èowyn is drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It is impressive indeed, and for a while she takes in the likeness of her grandmother in her prime in reverent silence, pondering the question.
"The artist has captured her grace, for she ever seemed to glide rather than walk, and age never bowed her proud frame. Though I recall she often appeared... troubled." Èowyn frowns a little, trying to remember more, but it was a long time indeed since Steelsheen last walked among the Eorlingas, and she a mere child then.
"She had such dark hair, even in her twilight years-- but her children were born with grandfather's fair hair, as far as I know. How queer she must have seemed to the Rohirrim at first, tall and ethereal. I wonder if she thought the same of her new home and people after Lossarnach? I could not say. Steelsheen, my folk started calling her for her beauty and pride. They came to love her, no matter how foreign at first."
ooh i know just the thing, i'll spring it on you soon lol :3
Èowyn suppresses a small cough at the musty air of the dark chamber Faramir lets them into, for clearly nobody has been here in a while. She wonders at the neglect, but soon has other things to think about once Faramir begins to pull aside the heavy curtains that block out the light of day. She waves a hand in front of her face slightly as the billowing curtains spill out some dust from their folds, fighting another cough for a moment.
"So many," she wonders aloud with some astonishment as light floods into the room and illuminates the arrays of paintings in all possible sizes, it seems to her. Then Faramir points out the one of Morwen, and Èowyn is drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It is impressive indeed, and for a while she takes in the likeness of her grandmother in her prime in reverent silence, pondering the question.
"The artist has captured her grace, for she ever seemed to glide rather than walk, and age never bowed her proud frame. Though I recall she often appeared... troubled." Èowyn frowns a little, trying to remember more, but it was a long time indeed since Steelsheen last walked among the Eorlingas, and she a mere child then.
"She had such dark hair, even in her twilight years-- but her children were born with grandfather's fair hair, as far as I know. How queer she must have seemed to the Rohirrim at first, tall and ethereal. I wonder if she thought the same of her new home and people after Lossarnach? I could not say. Steelsheen, my folk started calling her for her beauty and pride. They came to love her, no matter how foreign at first."