It's less germ theory in his mind now, and more that he really wants an excuse to wash his face after crying.
At the sink behind the privacy partition at the back of the cell, he runs cold water into his cupped hands, splashes his face. Stares at his own reddened eyes and stubbly cheeks, wet and dripping, in the mirror he's barely used since getting here.
Is it the custom in your land to wash the head before supper? something in his head asks, and he blinks; and places the quote in another moment. The Two Towers, Ithilien, one of Faramir's men asking Sam --
Water trickles into his eyes. He shuts them, gropes for the towel.
In a few moments he's out again, hands and face clean and dry, and carefully takes the stack of books off of the second chair so he can sit level with his guest.
no subject
At the sink behind the privacy partition at the back of the cell, he runs cold water into his cupped hands, splashes his face. Stares at his own reddened eyes and stubbly cheeks, wet and dripping, in the mirror he's barely used since getting here.
Is it the custom in your land to wash the head before supper? something in his head asks, and he blinks; and places the quote in another moment. The Two Towers, Ithilien, one of Faramir's men asking Sam --
Water trickles into his eyes. He shuts them, gropes for the towel.
In a few moments he's out again, hands and face clean and dry, and carefully takes the stack of books off of the second chair so he can sit level with his guest.