Faramir's words warm her heart more than the sunlight. Eowyn stands in her stirrups and leans over the gap between their horses to kiss his cheek, heedless of their distant escort or anything else; Windfola merely flicks an ear at his rider's antics.

She sits back in her saddle, still smiling, though that fades as she begins to think. "I would need to start from the beginning, to give a context," she says finally. "But I find I cannot tell where the beginning was, for things changed most gradually. That was the difficulty; the trap had closed around us before we knew it was there." She glances at him. "What have you heard, of Grima Wormtongue?"

There is no question that that is what this conversation is about, for all that the name had not yet been spoken.