Dawn breaks over Rohan, as a low horn sounds on an ash-soft wind. Éowyn stands by Théodred’s bier, her breath white in the chill, her lament as thin as frost. Later, a humble bowl of stew steams in Aragorn’s hands. A small smile flickers as he admits to the long years spent upon his road. The extended edition does not rush past this grief. It lets sorrow settle like snow, turning a shared meal ...
