Work Text:
Splashing. A child's laughter.
Not just any child, though. Roland. She might not have Henry (and will never have him again, but she didn't want to think about that), and the loss was a gaping hole in her chest, but still, the little curly-haired hobbit was the next best thing.
She was surprised this was happening. Bath time was a sacred ritual shared by parent and child. Roland had come into her room, though, covered in dirt, and she hadn't wanted it to get all over the castle's nice carpet. It wasn't because she wanted to help the thief. Nope.