Miranda is leaning against her horse between takes, her face buried in the animal's musty, sweaty mane, Eowyn's helmet rattling against her shins every time she shifts. She knew from the script that this battle would be exhausting, but she'd no idea just how exhausting. She's spent so many hours on her horse, it seems, that she's fairly certain that the calluses on her arse have calluses. She's trying to crack her neck without actually having to move while PJ rearranges something that doesn't have to do with her, when she's suddenly startled by a cool hand pressed to the back of her neck where her wig leaves her neck bare.
She doesn't mean to shriek like a terrified girl, but she's Miranda right now, not steadfast stalwart Eowyn, and so she jumps about six inches in the air, yelps, and has to grab at the reins so her horse doesn't go thundering off towards the cameras. When she turns, it's Dom standing there, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wants to break into a grin but feels at least a little bad for startling her, so he's trying to keep it in.
"Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to scare you, love."
Miranda closes her eyes, wills her heart to return to a normal pulse rate, and lets out a shuddery breath. "You didn't scare me. Shock me, yes, but not scare me."
Dom has his own helmet clamped firmly on, even though he's got to be sweating buckets between that and the wig, and he looks at her with a slightly cross-eyed expression that she can't read. She can never read Dominic. He's got this knack for being absolutely still inside all his frantic energy, and she's jealous and in awe of it all at once. He's moved while her eyes were closed, clever fingers stroking down her horse's nose while he whispers to the animal. She watches him, so sure of himself, so centered, and sighs. Dom blinks up at her, his hands still moving in soothing strokes. "I really had meant it to be relaxing. Breathe of fresh air and the like. I could try again, though."
Before she can respond, he's moving, his hands kneading into the knotted muscles in her neck, her shoulders, and all she can do is heave her breath out heavily and drop her chin into her chest. Her wig falls in her face, a dark curtain from the world, and his fingers know exactly how to manipulate the tension out of her back. Miranda slumps bonelessly against the horse, and the noise around her dulls to a haze of sound in the background of Dom's hands on her back, dispelling tension with each touch.
When someone calls for places, Dom stops rubbing and brushes the hair from her neck. Bending his head, he kisses the side of her neck gently and walks away. He stops to run his fingers down her horse's nose one last time and looks up at her, hobbit-curls falling into his eyes. He ducks his head briefly, flushes, meets her eyes again.
He says nothing, but the shimmer in his eyes and the quirk of his mouth are something she can read. There's an offer in his smile before he turns on his heel and walks away. It's hers to take, if she wants it.