It is a good thing Faramir keeps his silence on the matter, indeed, even if he is correct. For he very much is, but Éowyn does not see things that way; impatient and proud to the last. And discontent. Near constantly that, for all that she has gotten slightly less dour these past few days, and can find no fault in the company or the standard of care she has received in these Houses. It is none of those things that bothers her, but something far more intangible. And though she wonders the same thing as Faramir regarding Èothain's reaction to her dereliction of duty, she knows she cannot outrun the issue forever. Her own need for news outweighs her uncertainty in this.
"Of course I will," she agrees with a nod, a little belatedly from her ruminations. "Pray, do not trouble yourself overly. I am certain the Rohirrim have been housed and cared for with due honor and diligence."
Anything else seems dubious to her, but soon she would see. They walk on for a good while longer in the gardens together, at times in comfortable silence and at others speaking of less serious things, until going their separate ways to tend to their business. Èowyn sends for Èothain and meets with the Rider, spending a good while in conversation with him. How good it feels to speak in her own tongue for a change! But alas, that -- along with Èothain's happy agreement to share with her what work he possibly could without risking the Warden's wrath -- is at large the best news he could deliver her. But at least she could reassure Faramir the Rohirrim were indeed lacking no such thing that could be arranged by their hosts.
Suppertime comes along a while later with a maid toting a laden tray, and Èowyn finds herself with no appetite to speak of. Much to the displeasure of the maid who returns to find the stew in the bowl merely picked at. Éowyn ignores her clucking and asks her instead to help take down her hair, rubbing at the back of her head with some relief once her hair hangs down her back again. She remembers now why she rarely wears her hair up; the aching scalp is not worth it. The walls of her room seem to close in on her again, so she dons the starry mantle over her gown and leaves her quarters, restlessness mingling with other less than favorable emotions. It is a while yet before folk begin to seek their beds; there would be time enough to roam for a bit in search of calm. Perhaps even for a cup of that blasted tea.
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timeasmymeasure
let the skipping commence!
Date: 2018-10-23 01:02 pm (UTC)"Of course I will," she agrees with a nod, a little belatedly from her ruminations. "Pray, do not trouble yourself overly. I am certain the Rohirrim have been housed and cared for with due honor and diligence."
Anything else seems dubious to her, but soon she would see. They walk on for a good while longer in the gardens together, at times in comfortable silence and at others speaking of less serious things, until going their separate ways to tend to their business. Èowyn sends for Èothain and meets with the Rider, spending a good while in conversation with him. How good it feels to speak in her own tongue for a change! But alas, that -- along with Èothain's happy agreement to share with her what work he possibly could without risking the Warden's wrath -- is at large the best news he could deliver her. But at least she could reassure Faramir the Rohirrim were indeed lacking no such thing that could be arranged by their hosts.
Suppertime comes along a while later with a maid toting a laden tray, and Èowyn finds herself with no appetite to speak of. Much to the displeasure of the maid who returns to find the stew in the bowl merely picked at. Éowyn ignores her clucking and asks her instead to help take down her hair, rubbing at the back of her head with some relief once her hair hangs down her back again. She remembers now why she rarely wears her hair up; the aching scalp is not worth it. The walls of her room seem to close in on her again, so she dons the starry mantle over her gown and leaves her quarters, restlessness mingling with other less than favorable emotions. It is a while yet before folk begin to seek their beds; there would be time enough to roam for a bit in search of calm. Perhaps even for a cup of that blasted tea.