Summary: "Then, I will strike down terror."
Universe: Books
Author's Note: I like the idea of Boromir and Éowyn having met sometime in the past—sort of as friends, but more as bemused acquaintances. I also like to think they would have respected each other.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings.

The sister-daughter of Théoden of Rohan is a girl of fifteen, on the cusp of womanhood but still caught in that awkward stage between childhood and her adult years.

At fifteen, though Éowyn is just as awkward as any other adolescent she doesn't possess the gawky coltishness that afflicts so many others her age; no, Boromir can see that she was firmly left the coltishness behind in childhood. She has the makings of great beauty in her long fair hair and her proud, graceful bearing, beauty that has yet to be fully realized.

Boromir has met her once before, when she was ten. At the age of ten, Lady Éowyn of Rohan was a rather different girl than what she is now: unafraid to express her views to anyone whom she thought might listen, staunchly tomboyish and liberally freckled, often marching around Edoras in what was most likely her brother's old clothes with a small sword in hand. Boromir has to admit that he was rather impressed by her diligence in learning swordplay—This girl would far rather be soldier than lady, and in truth, she does seem to possess some skill with the sword—and more than a little bemused by her utter aversion to anything ladylike; he suspects that the Queen Mother of Rohan, this girl's grandmother, has fostered Éowyn's love of the sword, but he can not help but think that Morwen Steelsheen, venerable lady that she is, would wish for her granddaughter, a lady of Rohan, to behave with more decorum.

Ah, well. Éowyn is—was—young at the time, and so obviously earnest and good-natured that any who meet her can't help but overlook her coltishness.

All that coltishness is gone now, and Boromir sees a completely different soul.

Her grandmother has been dead for five years now. That, perhaps, has made her far quieter than she was before; Éowyn rarely speaks now, and Boromir finds that he misses her chatter. She does not stomp around in an old tunic and trousers anymore; perhaps Éowyn has finally come to terms with the undeniable truth that she is, yes, a woman, and as first lady of Rohan it really isn't seemly for her to be seen in her brother's old leggings. Boromir suspects that Éowyn is still quite opinionated; however, she does not express her opinions anymore, at least not in his hearing.

And she is more watchful. Those glass gray eyes, once bright and open, are now veiled, and even a little wary. Like she's waiting for something to happen. Boromir does not like to think of what circumstances Éowyn must find herself in to be wary. In all honesty, Boromir can not see anything within the Golden Hall that should be enough to make her guarded, but then, he is not a dweller of this place and the deepest of its machinations remain unknown to him.

There is something though, Boromir has noticed, some relic of the child-Éowyn, that has sustained itself into her adolescence.

Earlier in the day, Boromir happened to catch sight of Éowyn swinging a sword in the air, hewing into the corpses of invisible enemies. Not the childish short-sword of her childhood, but a long broadsword, after the fashion of the Rohirric warriors.

She is no less ferocious and precise in her sword strokes at fifteen than she was at ten.

"How goes Gondor's ongoing struggle against the orcs of Mordor, my Lord?"

Boromir starts when he hears her soft voice, and realizes that this is the first he has heard from Éowyn's mouth the whole time he has been in Edoras—Éowyn cranes her head slightly to speak to him privately at the table, other members of the court eating to their right and to their left. Her gray eyes, wide open and solemn—that solemnity does not sit well or easily on Éowyn's slight shoulders; she should be light as the air and without care but instead she is weighted down with things that she should not concern herself over—search Boromir's face for an answer before he ever gives one to her.

The elder son of the Steward of Gondor feels his mouth twitch ruefully, in what under other circumstances might be a smile. "Roughly the same as ever, my Lady." He does not think that she would appreciate a lie on such a subject.

Éowyn nods as though she understands and, given whom she most often associates herself with, she most likely does; neither Théodred nor Éomer are men to keep their grievances quiet or close to their hearts, and Boromir remembers that even at the tender age of ten winters Éowyn already found herself the somewhat unwilling recipient of confidences.

"We strike down foes right and left," Boromir goes on, eyes surveying the room around them, the smiling women and the relaxed men, noticing for the first time the lack of children in the hall, "and Mordor never seems to find itself experiencing a dearth of orcs, no matter how many the Men of Gondor slay."

A bit of wind catches through an open casement, and Boromir is brought to the thought that Faramir would appreciate Rohan. Appreciate it for its quiet, empty places and the stories of days long past told at night when the dusk creeps over the land—Faramir has always had more love for stories of the elder days than he has.

He doesn't know what has brought his thoughts to Faramir, honestly.

When Boromir brings his attention back to Meduseld and the young lady who sits beside him, Éowyn's eyes are glazed and far away, staring out of a window of the opposite wall, abstracted, watching the progress of a single bird outlined against the sky. The expression on her face is such that Boromir has the impression that she has spent many long hours watching the sky—for what purpose he is not entirely sure.

Boromir smiles suddenly, thinking of the sight he had caught, of Éowyn at sword practice. "I have seen you with a sword in your grasp, my Lady." She stiffens immediately, and Boromir becomes uncomfortably aware that this for Éowyn is not the most comfortable topic of conversation—of course the fact that a highborn lady insists on training with a sword must attract a fair amount of gossip, and Éowyn of course would be defensive. With a lighter tone, he adds, to put her at ease, "I was wondering what foe it was you saw yourself vanquishing, with the sort of ferocity you put into your practice."

Boromir realizes too late that Éowyn has interpreted his observation as the sort of patronizing statement given to a child who has over-reached herself; he can see it in the tightening in her narrow jaw. But she forces herself to be polite as she answers, "I see no one in front of me, my Lord, nor should I," Éowyn answers, somewhat stiffly.

He finds himself wincing.

But then, Éowyn blinks, somewhat shyly, and begins to speak again, in a whisper. "In truth, my Lord, I see my enemies in the air." For a moment, Éowyn hesitates, clearly wondering whether she should share her thoughts with the Man of Gondor; then, her resolve grows and strength shines in her pale face as she goes on. "I will slay the Shadow that comes from the East. Then, I will strike down terror, and hew the darkness, so that it can no longer blacken the land of my heart." A stern light glows in her eyes, and she seems far older than her years. "This I see, this I wish more than anything else."

Boromir finds that he can well believe Éowyn, purely from the staunch determination of her face and the way her long fingers curl and bite into her palms as she speaks. She is like a great bird waiting to swoop down on her foes and slay them. Rohan has a shieldmaiden, it seems, and the day may come when it has need of her skill with a blade.

For himself, Boromir hopes the day never comes when Rohan's need is so great that it calls upon Éowyn to fight.

"Well, my Lady, I must say… That is without a doubt an honorable venture to undertake." Boromir is careful to keep all traces of humor out of his voice, at least for the moment. "But I must tell you…" Now, he can allow humor to flavor his words "… that if you wish to strike down terror, there is something you must do."

Éowyn waits expectantly for his closing words, though Boromir can see her stiffening again, in case he returns with an answer mocking her love of the sword.

"If you wish, my Lady, to strike down terror, then you must keep your sword point up when you fight it." That was something Boromir had noticed when he saw Éowyn training; she had difficulty keeping the sword point up, no doubt because the sword had been made for a grown man and not a slender girl. "I think you will find that that will help."

Boromir cracks a grin, desperately trying to show her that he does not mock her efforts.

Éowyn nods soberly.

And then slowly, hesitantly, she smiles back.