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"Lord Boromir, eh?" Your mother folded her bony arms, eyeing the letter in your hands as though the words scrolling across it were a form of witchcraft. "What do you make of this, girl? Why do we need a letter warning us of his visit? Is he so high and mighty as all that?"

"He is the Steward's heir," you said absently, studying the thick parchment. Thankfully, you'd learned your letters years ago, though you hadn't needed them in a long while. "It says he'll only be staying one night. He'll be traveling to Edoras, for some matter of state or other, and will bring no retinue. The letter must be meant to ensure that we're prepared to host him—I suppose I'll have to write back and confirm it."

Your mother shrugged, mollified. The letter still seemed pretentious to you, but you supposed that for all those lords in Gondor knew, your little inn might have been raided or burned to the ground since last they'd heard of it, and then their high and mighty lord would have nowhere to sleep but by the roadside. After all, the next-closest village to yours had seen three raids by Dunlendings this winter alone. Those attacks, leaving farmers killed and thatched roofs set alight, had been enough to halt most travel in its tracks. Even as the weather began to improve, your inn had seen precious few guests since.

In fact, your only customers at the moment were your two friends from Edoras, Elfleda and Aldryth, who braved the journey once a year to visit you and some distant cousins in your village.

"Lord Boromir?" Elfleda exclaimed as you set mugs of ale in front of them. "The Steward-Prince of Gondor?"

"Yes—he'll be here in just a few weeks," you said, giddiness rising in your chest to match the bubbles in your tankard. "Just think, one positive word from him and every delegate, every soldier, every merchant traveling between Edoras and Minas Tirith will break their journey here for years to come!"

Aldryth squeezed your shoulder. "What wonderful news for your inn!"

"A perfect opportunity to turn things around," Elfleda agreed. "When was the last time you had any guests to host? Besides us, of course."

You wilted slightly at the question, and Aldryth elbowed her violently. "Don't dwell on that, dear. So long as Lord Boromir enjoys his stay, he will certainly spread the word, and your inn will be as prosperous as it was in your grandparents' time."

Elfleda tapped her chin thoughtfully. "But are you prepared to cater to so noble a guest? Your inn has only ever hosted soldiers and traders and such."

"Oh." You gulped at your ale worriedly—you hadn't thought of that. You had been forced to let your cook and stable hands go last year, and your ailing mother was all but retired. Would hosting the Gondorian equivalent of royalty prove too much for you to manage alone? "I could serve beef for his evening meal," you offered lamely, "though how we are to afford it I couldn't say."

"And what else?"

You shrugged. "What else can I do?"

Elfleda and Aldryth exchanged a glance. "You have never met any Gondorians," Elfleda said. "But we have. On occasion, delegates and traders come to the Golden Hall, you know."

"And?"

"They're a pretentious lot, I should say," she informed you. "So stern and subdued. All handsome enough, I suppose, though not a blond head to be seen among them."

"And they care little for their horses," Aldryth added. "Why, nearly all of them just handed the reins to a passing stable boy the moment they arrived in Edoras, then stalked up to the Golden Hall without a backward glance!"

"Goodness," you muttered, taken aback by their carelessness. Still, you were more than capable of looking after a neglectful lord's steed. "What else?"