Rising from her chair — her uncle's chair, a heavy wooden thing carved with intricate designs she remembers being fascinated by as a child — Éomer settles her skirts around her legs and adjusts the torque at her neck, glad in some corner of her mind for a lifetime's training bearing heavy armor on her back: the weight of the gold around her neck is a paltry thing compared to a full set of plate armor in the midst of battle, though the emotional weight of it feels much harder to bear.
Still. She has entertained envoys from other lands while still reeling with grief and mildly concussed, she can handle one late-night visitor even if she doesn't know who it might be.
Yanking the door open, she peers out into the dimly-lit hallway to see just who has imposed themselves upon her, her attention drawn first to Éothain standing in front of the door, his sandy beard doing a very poor job of concealing the twitching grin that's making itself known on his face.
"Sir witcher," he says, his amusement all the more obvious when he speaks, even with his heavily-accented speech. "May I present to you Éomer Queen, last of the House of Eorl. My lady, your...friend has returned."
Fighting the urge to sigh, she cuts her Marshal a quelling glance. "That's enough, Éothain, thank you." It's a little hard to properly chastise a man who helped train her to ride a horse without using her hands, but she does her best. It helps that she is taller than him now that she's grown. "You may go."
She waits until he does so, ignoring him until the sound of his boots on the cobblestones fades down the corridor, and only then does she turn to the only witcher that could possibly have come so far to see her, feeling a little bit like she has been punched at the sight of him.
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Date: 2020-09-12 02:08 am (UTC)Still. She has entertained envoys from other lands while still reeling with grief and mildly concussed, she can handle one late-night visitor even if she doesn't know who it might be.
Yanking the door open, she peers out into the dimly-lit hallway to see just who has imposed themselves upon her, her attention drawn first to Éothain standing in front of the door, his sandy beard doing a very poor job of concealing the twitching grin that's making itself known on his face.
"Sir witcher," he says, his amusement all the more obvious when he speaks, even with his heavily-accented speech. "May I present to you Éomer Queen, last of the House of Eorl. My lady, your...friend has returned."
Fighting the urge to sigh, she cuts her Marshal a quelling glance. "That's enough, Éothain, thank you." It's a little hard to properly chastise a man who helped train her to ride a horse without using her hands, but she does her best. It helps that she is taller than him now that she's grown. "You may go."
She waits until he does so, ignoring him until the sound of his boots on the cobblestones fades down the corridor, and only then does she turn to the only witcher that could possibly have come so far to see her, feeling a little bit like she has been punched at the sight of him.
"Eskel."