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Summary
“I lied,” she blurted, earning an utterly bewildered look from the Lord in the midst of saddling his horse. “There is a room, we, we keep one in reserve for visiting dignitaries.”
A slight lie, since if she knew her Gondorian Lords, Boromir was that dignitary.
For a moment he didn’t move, remaining alongside his large mare, one hand on its mane the other on the leather saddle. But his eyes were very much on her. What must she look like? Shivering, soaked through, stood in the middle of the stables all but begging him not to ride out in the storm.
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For Anon, who requested a one-shot of an innkeeper's daughter unwilling to let Boromir continue through the storm. But oops! There's only one room left... Hers.