Nova bustled along the corridor, careful not to drop any of the wood she
held stacked in her arms, and carefully pushed open the door with her toe.
It wasn't until she was halfway across the room that she realised the
occupant was awake.
"I'm so sorry!" She cried, terrified, and back out of the room, eyes averted.
"Wait," he called, sitting up in his bed, "I recognise your face! What is your name?"
"Nova, sir, if ye'll excuse me." She said in a rush, accent made even broader by anxiety. Then she disappeared, leaving him to wonder.
Boromir, however, was not satisfied with just her face and name – all the memories they stirred were of little girls in torn dresses, and that did not help him one bit.
He followed her into the hallway, and caught her arm as she was about to head around the corner.
"Nova," He said quickly, and she stopped dead, then looked at him.
As soon as she saw that he was only wearing trousers, and no shirt, she looked immediately at the floor in shame.
"Why are you so afraid?" He asked, "Answer me."
"If ye please, sir, ah'm just bein' safe, as it were... please, cannae ye just let me go? If she were to catch me I would surely get into strife..."
He released her, then nodded.
"Yes, go. Go."
She scurried away, pleased to be able to leave the presence of one with such power.
Secretly, the reason Nova had been so anxious to escape him was not because he was the son of the Steward, but because he was Boromir.
She had what could be politely termed a crush on him, and that in itself was a rather terrifying thing.
As a servant, Nova knew she had few rights, and if anybody were to find out about her infatuation, she would be – at best – thrown out. She did not want to think about the at-worst scenario.
The last room she had to go to that morning was Faramir's.
He, unlike his brother, was fast asleep.
Nova hesitated a moment before she left, just to listen to his peaceful, soft snoring.
Faramir was not like most nobles at Minas Tirith, he saw beyond station to the person there – he seemed to enjoy talking with her about the world.
Whenever they began, Nova would not think she even knew enough about anything to have opinions, but when Faramir was there to coax them out of her, she found she did.
Boromir had once been a lot like that – a friend, you might even say, if you were very brave. But as he grew up he had become more and more exactly what the Steward wanted him to be, which was really where the problem lay.
With a little sigh, Nova set off, this time down to the kitchen's to help put the finishing touches on the breakfast.
"I'm so sorry!" She cried, terrified, and back out of the room, eyes averted.
"Wait," he called, sitting up in his bed, "I recognise your face! What is your name?"
"Nova, sir, if ye'll excuse me." She said in a rush, accent made even broader by anxiety. Then she disappeared, leaving him to wonder.
Boromir, however, was not satisfied with just her face and name – all the memories they stirred were of little girls in torn dresses, and that did not help him one bit.
He followed her into the hallway, and caught her arm as she was about to head around the corner.
"Nova," He said quickly, and she stopped dead, then looked at him.
As soon as she saw that he was only wearing trousers, and no shirt, she looked immediately at the floor in shame.
"Why are you so afraid?" He asked, "Answer me."
"If ye please, sir, ah'm just bein' safe, as it were... please, cannae ye just let me go? If she were to catch me I would surely get into strife..."
He released her, then nodded.
"Yes, go. Go."
She scurried away, pleased to be able to leave the presence of one with such power.
Secretly, the reason Nova had been so anxious to escape him was not because he was the son of the Steward, but because he was Boromir.
She had what could be politely termed a crush on him, and that in itself was a rather terrifying thing.
As a servant, Nova knew she had few rights, and if anybody were to find out about her infatuation, she would be – at best – thrown out. She did not want to think about the at-worst scenario.
The last room she had to go to that morning was Faramir's.
He, unlike his brother, was fast asleep.
Nova hesitated a moment before she left, just to listen to his peaceful, soft snoring.
Faramir was not like most nobles at Minas Tirith, he saw beyond station to the person there – he seemed to enjoy talking with her about the world.
Whenever they began, Nova would not think she even knew enough about anything to have opinions, but when Faramir was there to coax them out of her, she found she did.
Boromir had once been a lot like that – a friend, you might even say, if you were very brave. But as he grew up he had become more and more exactly what the Steward wanted him to be, which was really where the problem lay.
With a little sigh, Nova set off, this time down to the kitchen's to help put the finishing touches on the breakfast.