[The refugees have camped. Èowyn carries a pot of stew.]

Eowyn: "Gimli?"

Gimli: "No, I couldn't. I really couldn't."

[Èowyn approaches Aragorn.]

Èowyn: "I made some stew. It isn't much, but it's hot."

[She gives him a bowl and spoon.]

Aragorn: "Thank you."

[He tastes and looks up at her, trying not to grimace. He nods.]

Aragorn: "Mmm. It's good."

Èowyn: "Really?"

Aragorn: "Mmm."

[Èowyn begins to walk away. Aragorn turns to pour out the stew, but Èowyn turns around. He recovers, spilling some on his hand.]

Èowyn: "My Uncle told me a strange thing. He said that you rode to war with Thengel, my grandfather. But he must be mistaken."

Aragorn: "King Théoden has a good memory. He was only a small child at the time."

Èowyn: "Then you must be at least sixty. Seventy? But you cannot be eighty!"

Aragorn: "Eighty-seven."

Èowyn: "You are one of the Dúnedain. A descendant of Númenor, blessed with long life. It was said that your race had passed into legend."

Aragorn: "There are few of us left. The Northern Kingdom was destroyed long ago."

Èowyn: "I'm sorry. Please eat!"