Nova was alive, and Boromir a hero – although she had to stay in bed for at
least a week.
A few days after the incident, Denethor held a counsel, to which King Theoden of Rohan came, accompanied by his son Theoden and nephew Eomer.
From her somewhat precarious perch atop a roof neighbouring the stables, Vivienne watched Eomer and Theodred ride into the courtyard, the latter leading Theoden's horse by its reigns.
She watched the boys as Boromir warmly greeted them, and she tried to move close enough to hear them talk as they went into the stables.
Carefully she shifted her weight onto her hands, raising herself from the tiles and slithering sideways.
A few metres further, and she could hear their filtered voices.
Theodred was retelling the story of Nova's rescue – somewhat embellished in the way of stories.
Much to Vivienne's disgust, neither her daring climb nor brilliant leap was mentioned – he had supposedly been drawn outside by a little girl's screams.
Boromir crossed to the window, bored by the boasting of the two older boys.
He was happy to be back in Minas Tirith once more – of course! Also, it was, as always, wonderful to see Boromir again.
But something about Boromir had changed since his last visit – the youth had gone out of him. All his fond memories of the great city were of the glorious adventures they'd had, and here was the ringleader obviously having outgrown them.
These thoughts seemed too deep, though, and he dismissed them.
A twitch of sudden movement caught his eye – he was sure he could see something on the roof opposite.
Suddenly, a high-pitched scream rent the air, and Boromir and Theodred started in surprise.
"What was that?" Theodred asked, slightly shocked.
Eomer couldn't move, only watch as the scene seemed to unfold in slow motion before his eyes.
Again there was movement on the roof – he saw now that it was a young, red- haired girl, and a second's thought told him her name – Vivienne, daughter of Lord D'Arcy. Something had startled, or scared, her badly, and she scrambled away, lost her footing on the steep tiles, slid down to the edge of the roof.
He found that he couldn't breathe as she hung, poised out of time for a moment, teetering between safety and danger.
But then she tipped backwards, and fell through the air.
She landed with a sickening thud and the crunch of splintering bones, and the noise jolted Eomer back into life – he raced outside faster than he'd ever run in his life.
He fell to his knees beside her broken form, almost too scared to see if she was alive.
To his surprise she was – and conscious. Her bright green eyes were clouded with pain, as she stared beseechingly at him, and though she tried to move her body – neither her arms nor her legs would obey, save for a feeble twitching of her fingers.
"It's going to be okay, Viv," He muttered, then shouted over his shoulder, "Boromir! Get... get help! Boromir – Vivienne's fallen from the roof!"
When Boromir heard this, his heart stopped.
It was Theodred who ran, crying out for somebody to come, while Boromir fell to his knees in despair.
Why me? He pleaded, Why again? Why now? Why her?
Nobody answered his questions.
A few days after the incident, Denethor held a counsel, to which King Theoden of Rohan came, accompanied by his son Theoden and nephew Eomer.
From her somewhat precarious perch atop a roof neighbouring the stables, Vivienne watched Eomer and Theodred ride into the courtyard, the latter leading Theoden's horse by its reigns.
She watched the boys as Boromir warmly greeted them, and she tried to move close enough to hear them talk as they went into the stables.
Carefully she shifted her weight onto her hands, raising herself from the tiles and slithering sideways.
A few metres further, and she could hear their filtered voices.
Theodred was retelling the story of Nova's rescue – somewhat embellished in the way of stories.
Much to Vivienne's disgust, neither her daring climb nor brilliant leap was mentioned – he had supposedly been drawn outside by a little girl's screams.
Boromir crossed to the window, bored by the boasting of the two older boys.
He was happy to be back in Minas Tirith once more – of course! Also, it was, as always, wonderful to see Boromir again.
But something about Boromir had changed since his last visit – the youth had gone out of him. All his fond memories of the great city were of the glorious adventures they'd had, and here was the ringleader obviously having outgrown them.
These thoughts seemed too deep, though, and he dismissed them.
A twitch of sudden movement caught his eye – he was sure he could see something on the roof opposite.
Suddenly, a high-pitched scream rent the air, and Boromir and Theodred started in surprise.
"What was that?" Theodred asked, slightly shocked.
Eomer couldn't move, only watch as the scene seemed to unfold in slow motion before his eyes.
Again there was movement on the roof – he saw now that it was a young, red- haired girl, and a second's thought told him her name – Vivienne, daughter of Lord D'Arcy. Something had startled, or scared, her badly, and she scrambled away, lost her footing on the steep tiles, slid down to the edge of the roof.
He found that he couldn't breathe as she hung, poised out of time for a moment, teetering between safety and danger.
But then she tipped backwards, and fell through the air.
She landed with a sickening thud and the crunch of splintering bones, and the noise jolted Eomer back into life – he raced outside faster than he'd ever run in his life.
He fell to his knees beside her broken form, almost too scared to see if she was alive.
To his surprise she was – and conscious. Her bright green eyes were clouded with pain, as she stared beseechingly at him, and though she tried to move her body – neither her arms nor her legs would obey, save for a feeble twitching of her fingers.
"It's going to be okay, Viv," He muttered, then shouted over his shoulder, "Boromir! Get... get help! Boromir – Vivienne's fallen from the roof!"
When Boromir heard this, his heart stopped.
It was Theodred who ran, crying out for somebody to come, while Boromir fell to his knees in despair.
Why me? He pleaded, Why again? Why now? Why her?
Nobody answered his questions.