A/N: As usual, nothing is mine except the rather odd storyline.  In this chapter, a bit of Eowyn, and then we switch to see what's happening on the other side… what, you didn't think Boromir would just ignore the fact that his little brother had gone missing, did you?

The camp held only fifty riders, Éowyn one of seven shieldmaidens among them, and the youngest.  Eomer had insisted on staying with her in order to protect her – no matter how old she got or how many battles she fought, he never seemed to be able to see her as anything other than his little sister.

Hopefully she would not need to fight too many battles.  She had seen far too many friends and kinsmen fall to Gondor steel.  She reached, as she did when she was thinking of these things, for the token Elfhelm had given her, his mother's ring which she wore on a chain around her neck.

They had never spoken of marriage, or anything of the like.  But there was an understanding between them, Elfhelm and her, that if the day should come when peace returned to Rohan, then perhaps – well, Éowyn did not imagine herself much suited for days spent sewing and cooking, but she had upon occasion thought she might some day want to have a daughter of her own, a shieldmaiden like herself.

She had known for a long time that peace would not come, however, unless someone did something.  Now she had the chance to be that someone.  The idea of forcing Gondor to come to the bargaining-table at her demand did indeed have its own appeal.  The idea of forcing them to strike a peace-pledge – with the Westmen a fair enough threat to enforce it – was even better.  Not only would there be peace, but the Rohirrim would be the ones to bring it to the table – the sons of Gondor could come crawling for scraps like the dogs they were.

And when Éowyn's daughter learnt to fight, she would have to content herself with sparring partners and practice dummies – for Éowyn would make sure that there would be no battles for her to bloody her sword.

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Boromir's command of Sindarin was not even near that of his younger brother; neither did he speak the tongue of the Riddermark with any great skill.  Nonetheless, his ability to curse in these languages was being put to full use at the moment.

Elphir, the only one of Imrahil's sons who had not made excuses to be elsewhere for the time being, knew better than to interrupt.  He just waited until his cousin ran out of combinations of curse words before he spoke.  "Our forces have regrouped; the wounded are being tended to.  The Rohirrim have retreated, possibly planning another attack, but I have sent patrols out to keep an eye on them.  As you already know, the men under Faramir's command on the southern flank were hit the worst; however, most of the casualties were the green soldiers.  We've not lost too many of our veterans, they didn't reach our supply lines, and the pikemen accounted themselves well.  Really, Boromir, considering the circumstances, we didn't come out of this too…"

"Not too badly?" Boromir interrupted, coldly.  "My brother is either dead or captured, the Horsemen seem to think they can attack us and fade back into the grasslands without consequence – which, for all intents and purposes they can, because they won this one, Elphir.  Where were your patrols before?"

"They ambush and run raids because they have not the strength to fight us head on, not despite it.  They know the terrain, but we have every other advantage."

"I do not want to hear this, cousin."  Boromir grimaced.  "Father is going to be furious."

"If I recall correctly," Elphir said, pithily, "it is my uncle's fury that has us out here in enemy territory in the first place."

"You step dangerously close to treason, Elphir."

"It's a family hobby."  Elphir sighed and sank into the commander's chair, ignoring Boromir's glare.  "He is alive, Boromir.  Until the moment you see his body, there is hope.  And we do have something of an advantage here, as well."

"I see no advantage."

Elphir smiled slowly.  "Ah, but I have not finished my reports yet.  It seems that some among the Rohirrim grew a little too bold for their own good.  Their leader did not seem to be fond of the idea of being taken alive, but in the end Gondorian wisdom won out."

"Who?" Boromir asked.

"He's not much fond of the idea of giving us his name yet, either," Elphir said, grinning viciously, "but he wears the insignia of a Marshall of Rohan."