Thanks again for the reviews. To my guest reviewer (who I can't PM) – thanks again for your kind words. Actually I'm afraid they won't be going off on the quest: for an AU story, this is actually going to be fairly canon compliant (apart from Éowyn being in Ithilien that is).

Boromir took a sidelong glance at his brother. Faramir was quiet. Boromir suspected he was probably in a state of total confusion. On the one hand, from what he'd heard (before he stuffed the folds of his cloak in his ears in embarrassment) that was one hell of a reunion. On the other hand, it looked more than possible that he wouldn't see the Rohir lass again for months, if not the best part of a year. Poor bloke probably didn't know whether he was on his arse or his elbow. Clearly, he needed his brother to cheer him up a bit.

"I like your lass," he said.

Faramir's head jerked round in surprise.

Encouraged by any sort of response, Boromir continued. "Of course, she's way out of your league. Don't quite know how you did it. Mind you, although I always had you down as ever so scholarly and bookish, when it comes down to it, you're not as shy as you seem, are you?"

Faramir regarded him levelly. "Is this meant to be helping?"

Boromir had the grace to look slightly shame-faced. "Meant to be... but clearly I'm failing." He floundered around for the next words, then just decided to come clean. "Normally, teasing you helps a bit."

Faramir gave an irritated snort.

"Well, at least I know you well enough to know that when you're reduced to making inarticulate noises, it means you're really, really pissed off. If you were only a bit pissed off, you'd explain why what I'd said was so stupid in a single sentence that went on for five whole minutes and still made an annoying amount of sense."

Boromir risked another surreptitious look at his brother, and caught just a quirk of a half-smile. "Come on, you know you want to talk about it. So the two of you are back together. Are you going to admit you were a stupid arse ever to break it off with her?"

Faramir shook his head. "Just give it a rest, will you?" But Boromir could tell from his tone of voice that his heart wasn't in the admonishment.

"I mean, beautiful, brave, prepared to desert and ride half way across Ithilien just to be at your side, and spend silver she hadn't got in the process... I wish I could inspire that sort of loyalty in that sort of woman. I'm still wondering how you did it... I mean, for that sort of devotion I'd be expecting you to be hung like one of the blokes in those pictures – you know, the dirty picture collection of old Alcarin's that we found in that room in the palace back when we were teenagers. And I'm pretty damn sure that's not actually anatomically possible."

"Gods, Boromir, you've got a bloody one-track mind. Has it not occurred to you that I'm interested in her for other reasons? That maybe she likes me for other reasons?"

"What's wrong with having a one-track mind? I mean, if it was only pure and virtuous 'other reasons'..." Boromir conjured up a rather sanctimonious voice. "Then surely you'd just be holding her hand and likening the way her eyes sparkled to Elbereth's stars sprinkled across the firmament, or whatever rubbish it is you read to send you to sleep. Actually, no, you read it for fun. It would send me to sleep in double quick time..."

Boromir's voice tailed off as he finally took in the storm clouds building on his brother's face. He back-tracked rapidly. "Sorry, sorry! Morgoth's balls, Fara, I'm only teasing. Of course I know she means more to you than that. And I wasn't joking when I said I liked her. I talked to her while we ate that crappy porridge the corporal served up this morning. She's sparky, and brave, and funny."

A few moments passed. Then Faramir said, "What did you mean, 'had to spend silver she hadn't got'?"

"Ah, err, she borrowed it from one of your Rangers. Needed it for the ferryman. It's all right, though, I gave her enough to pay him back – and to get her back across the river. Figured there was no way her pride would let her mention it to you. But if you do get back to see her, for the gods' sakes don't let her know I told you." Then Boromir's eyes took on a twinkle of mischief again. "After all, it wasn't like I was making her a loan. More of a gift to my future sister..."

Faramir made a vague choking noise.

"Oh, come on Fara. I know you all too well. You are no doubt full of the most embarrassing, awkward, unbelievably, despicably, disgustingly... honourable intentions ever known to man." Boromir's face split into a grin from ear to ear as he watched Faramir blush a deep shade of scarlet. "And believe me, I don't envy you the task of breaking that particular piece of news to our father..."

~o~O~o~

Éowyn stood to attention, her face impassive, eyes fixed on a point in mid air somewhere a few feet behind Damrod's left shoulder. To say Damrod was raging would be an understatement.

Anborn tried not to look up from his bowl of stew. A few days earlier, he'd been amused and fascinated by Damrod's explosion of "fucks" in shouting at Mablung. But this... well, this was a fury so strong it wasn't funny. The phrase "desertion in the face of the enemy" had cropped up, and Anborn felt sick – it had been dinned into him as a raw recruit that this was, in some circumstances, considered a capital crime.

Eventually, sentence was passed, and Anborn was more than relieved when it turned out to be a month of double duties: picking up the lion's share of the more unpleasant chores round the hidden stronghold (when not out on patrol – it was made clear that there would be no let up in her normal duties). Things like cleaning and oiling armour, hauling water up from the pool below, scrubbing out cooking pans. And when the month was over, she was to take over from Mablung on shit-hauling duties: what's more, take over for the next three months.

Éowyn nodded wordlessly, then, still in silence, handed over a rolled parchment. Anborn tried to make out the seal on it – he was pretty sure it was the captain's. Damrod gave the tiniest of acknowledgements, then stomped off to his own quarters, carrying the news (whatever it was) with him. As the wooden door slammed behind him, Anborn saw the shieldmaiden's shoulders slump slightly. Then he felt Mablung kick him under the table. With a nod of his head towards her, Mablung got up from the bench he was sitting on and went over to her.

"I told you there'd be hell to pay," he said.

"Like I couldn't have worked that out for myself," was the reply. "Actually, on the whole that didn't go as badly as I'd feared it would."

"Too short of men to put you in the clink for any length of time, said Mablung, adding with a soldier's characteristic black humour, "And too worried about what the captain would do to hang you. And, talking of that, where is the captain?"

"Gone to the citadel to see his father. Then probably on some highly dangerous quest. As if facing death once at Osgiliath wasn't enough. Man must have a thing for danger." Éowyn tried to make light of it, but Mablung could hear the waver in her voice.

He decided to play along with her feeble attempt at humour. "Well, yeah, from what I've heard about your brother's temper, I think we can safely say captain's got a thing for danger." This managed to get a half-smile from Éowyn.

"Those papers were Damrod's temporary field-commission to captain," she added. Mablung noticed her swallow, hard. For a moment she struggled to control her expression, but then her face smoothed over again, became impassive. Then, almost as an afterthought, she pulled out a small leather pouch. "Your money – it's all there..."

Anborn, as usual, thundered in where even a Maia might have feared to tread. "So you and the captain... How did you get on?"

Mablung could have sworn he saw a look of exasperation cross Eowyn's face before yet again she produced that impassive expression. It occurred to him to wonder what exactly her life had been like back in Rohan before she arrived in Ithilien, that she kept all her feelings so tightly controlled. Now he came to think of it, the only time he'd seen her look unguarded, happy without a hint of reserve, was for the month or so after she and the captain got together. But now she was back to impassive and controlled – though he thought he saw just a flicker of a wicked grin flit across her face as she finally answered Anborn.

"Well, I helped fish him out the water – he and his brother and the other two blokes were half drowned." The faint grin disappeared. "Still, that was a lot better than most of them – the rest there was no 'half' about it." She paused and took a deep breath. Mablung recognised the look – trying to batten down the images in her mind's eye. "Anyhow, the bastards on the far bank were raining sharp iron blades and flaming tar barrels down on us, so we retreated to a watch tower on the outskirts of the city and regrouped. And – well by then it was getting dark. So we made a big camp fire to warm everyone up, hot soup, sang some songs lamenting the fallen... that was it really, till the captain and his brother rode off to the Citadel the next day, and I headed off back here with Damrod's field commission. Captain said if I was going to bugger off in contravention of direct orders, I might as well make myself useful as a messenger."

Anborn looked quite deflated at this news. But (perhaps fortunately for his continued wellbeing) before he could say anything stupid, the door opened, and Damrod poked his head back into the chamber.

"Oi, shieldmaiden. Get your arse off to the armoury and start hammering the dents out of that salvaged armour."

~o~O~o~

It was about three hours later when Mablung cautiously entered the armoury, carrying a couple of bowls of steaming stew, half a loaf tucked under his arm. Éowyn looked up from the boulder she'd been using as a makeshift anvil on which to hammer away at the various bits of steel plate.

"Béma, you don't expect me to eat that bread after it's been next to your sweaty armpit?"

"Gives it a bit of flavour it desperately needs," Mablung replied. "Still, if you don't want it, all the more for me."

"You wish..." She held out a grubby hand, and Mablung passed her one of the bowls, before tearing the bread in two. "Thanks."

They settled down side by side on the floor, and demolished half the stew. Eventually, cautiously, not sure whether to broach the subject, Mablung spoke.

"So, the captain's not coming back?"

"Well, I don't know for sure. Depends on what his father decides. But probably not."

"And... well, how are you?"

"All right so long as I don't think about it." Mablung glanced over at Éowyn. He could see her eyes glittering unusually brightly. She gave a kind of half-sniff, then wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Got to keep things in perspective. No point getting hung up over a man when I'm always going to come second to his duty." She tried for a half smile, and failed.

"I don't think the captain thinks of you as second best. Just that – well, there's no choice about the duty thing, not at the moment, not with things the way they are," said Mablung.

"Yeah, I know that really. We talked about that the morning he left to go to the Citadel. He said he was sorry, he didn't mean for me to feel second best. And I told him not to be daft. I'd seen the battle the day before, seen what we were facing. All of us come second best to that." She looked up at Mablung. "Four of them – that's all that survived from the company defending the eastern side of the bridge." She shook her head, sadly. "Not really the right time, or the right place, or – given he damn near got drowned and seems about to go off and risk his neck again – the right man to be thinking about a happily ever after with."

"Still, he's a fool for not kissing and making up before you left," Mablung said, slightly awkwardly. Emotional stuff did not come naturally to him.

Éowyn smiled at Mablung's attempt at being consoling, then forced a lighter tone to her voice. "So, I take it Anborn's money was on round about the four week mark." Mablung gave a start of surprise, and Éowyn laughed.

"You knew it was the pot?"

"Of course I knew it was the pot, idiot. What was your money on?"

"Two weeks."

This time, Éowyn's smile seemed more genuine. "Good to know someone has some belief in my womanly charms." She brushed her hair back from her somewhat sweaty forehead, leaving a streak of grime across her face.

"Well, I thought the captain was a right stupid bastard for breaking off with you at all, to be honest. And given how he looks at you when he thinks you're not looking, I'm amazed he's still holding out."

"What did Lieutenant Damn-his-arse bet on?"

"Two or three months."

"Ah, bugger it. I'll have to come clean to Anborn then... Don't want that miserable sod to win."

"Come clean... you mean..."

"You daft bugger. Did you really think we spent the night singing songs round the campfire?" She gave Mablung a wink. "I shagged him senseless."

~o~O~o~

For all her bravado, Mablung reflected, he had a very subdued shieldmaiden on his hands for the next week. Even turning the countdown to shit duty into a running joke didn't entirely perk her up. Still, he thought, At least I'm making an effort.

But there was a surprise waiting for her when they came back from an afternoon's tracking together. Having made their way up the hidden paths and winding track from the forbidden pool, they came through the entrance into the largest of the caves to find Damrod deep in conversation with none other than the captain, Faramir with his back to them. It was clear that Damrod disagreed with something Faramir said, and the captain was trying to get his point across. Typical, thought Mablung. While he had a will of iron on the battle field, if there'd been a chink in the captain's armour, it was being too reticent around the soldiers whose judgement he valued. If he thought one of his subordinates had a point, he'd often be too damned reasonable for his own good, or indeed for the good of tight discipline. Which was all well and good, except that sometimes, Mablung reckoned, military discipline worked better when approached with a devil-may-care confidence.

As far as he could tell, this was one of those occasions. The captain held Damrod in high esteem. However, although Mablung was the first to admit that Damrod was a damn good 2IC, he also felt that sometimes the veteran took liberties. In Mablung's opinion, the Rangers, tight outfit that they already were, would be even tighter if Faramir could at some point kick Damrod's arse, and kick it hard, just to remind the man who was really in charge. Not that it was a huge deal – Faramir did have a knack of inspiring the sort of devotion that meant his men would follow him anywhere. It was just that maybe, perhaps, devotion plus a no-nonsense, kick the arse of the dissenters attitude – well perhaps that would work even better. But enough of that, Mablung thought. What's more interesting is what's going on right now between the two of them. He turned his attention back to the 'frank and forthright exchange of views.'

As they argued, Damrod scanned the room behind the captain, and noticed Mablung and Éowyn. Sensing his lieutenant's shift in attention, Faramir turned, realising for the first time that Éowyn was there. For her part, she stood, frozen to the spot. With a curt nod to Damrod, Faramir strode across the cave to them. Damrod stood gaping at the summary dismissal.

Damrod wasn't the only person to be stunned by the captain's behaviour. With seemingly no care whatsoever for the presence of a considerable audience, Faramir caught Éowyn up in his arms and kissed her – not softly on the brow, but full on the lips – then stood with her held close to his chest, gently stroking her hair.

Only Mablung was close enough to hear the captain's words. "By all the Valar, I have missed you, my love."

Damrod's words were slightly louder, however. While the captain's attention had been otherwise engaged, he'd crossed the room, and now announced in stentorian tones, with an edge of sarcasm teetering just on the safe side of outright insubordination, "Sir, when you have a moment..."

Faramir released Éowyn, and turned, raising one eyebrow. Damrod stood to attention, looking at the captain with a certain disdain. The captain's eyebrow went up a bit further, as if to express disbelief that Damrod could think himself placed to take him, the captain, to task over any part of his behaviour. Mablung realised he was holding his breath and released it in a sharp gasp. Bloody hell, this was the showdown he'd been hoping for, and it looked like shaping up to be a showdown and a half – and so far conducted without a word spoken. Instead it seemed to be a straightforward contest in facing each other down. And the more surprising thing: the captain seemed to be winning.

Mablung thought once more about his theory that reason didn't matter in the end – that what really mattered was having the force of will to get your own way. For, according to the rule book, Damrod had a point and some, but it looked as though the captain simply didn't bloody care, and was going to carry the day with a display of sheer bloody minded arrogance Mablung hadn't thought him capable of.

Bloody hell, she didn't so much shag him senseless as shag some sense into him!

Faramir looked at Damrod and finally spoke. His words were quiet: the captain wasn't one to humiliate someone publicly. It was only by chance that Mablung was close enough to hear what he said. "I'll be with you in a minute, Damrod. If you could go and unroll the map on the table, I'll show you what I mean about troop depositions, and what we need to change. You've done a good holding job in my absence, but we need to strengthen some of the positions."

Damrod was left with no choice – he stomped back to the large table and rolled the map out as instructed. Again, only Mablung was close enough to hear what the captain said.

"I'd better go and deal with the grumpy bugger. In the mean time, how about going and getting your kit out of the dormitory and moving it into my quarters?" To Mablung's considerable amusement, his bold and blunt shield maiden blushed bright red at this, but also smiled like she was fit to burst with happiness, and gave a shy nod . (Shy? Her? What was the world coming to?)

The captain returned to the table, and the shieldmaiden slipped quietly through the arch into the dormitory. Mablung suppressed a grin as he waited, positioning himself so that he could see the faces of most of his comrades. When, about ten minutes later, Éowyn returned, bed roll under one arm, kit bag in the other, he was not disappointed. There was a look of stunned amazement on most of the faces, more than a few elbows in ribs, knowing grins and whispered ribald remarks. One or two braver (or foolhardier) souls even let loose a few wolf-whistles. Éowyn tilted her chin in the air defiantly, and strode across the room and through the doorway into the captain's quarters.