Character: Théodred, Boromir and OFC
Source: Middle-earth, pre-Ring War
Disclaimer: Tolkien was also a gentleman... oh, and this world is his.
The roar of coarse laughter made Théodred turn; a serving-wench fought free of the brawny arms of a drunken smith. She banged the tray she clutched over his head – much to his friends’ raucous amusement. The inn-keeper scurried across to make peace, before turning to deal with the girl, who’d retreated to the kitchen door.
Théodred caught his eye, the inn-keeper hurried over
“Give it no mind Sirs; she’s naught but a loose scabbard.”
Théodred cocked an eyebrow.
“...meaning any sword will fit her.”
The Rohir’s frown made him scurry off.
“I like not these city ways, Boromir,” he said.
Awhile later, a young wench with a purpling bruised cheek threw open her mother’s door.
“Ma, Ma... you’ll never guess...”
The story poured out: her fight with the foul-breathed smith; how two outlanders stopped old Brekon, the tight-fisted sot, from hitting her and after, they’d have none but her fetch their supper - and they’d tipped with silver pennies. And guess what, Ma? One was really a lord of the Upper Circles... who said if she’d work hard, he’d apprentice her with a leather-worker... to make stays and scabbards for the Guard!
“Let them try calling me foul names then!”