"And whence comes that knowing?" Aragorn presses. It's a test, a way of telling whether Jack's story aligns with Éowyn's. He makes no secret of that in his tone. "For you are not a man of Rohan, that is clear. Nor, I think, of Gondor. How came you, then, to know Rohan's lady?" Clasping his hands in front of him, he leans forwards. His look is piercing, not precisely unfriendly but certainly stern, and weighted with a great sense of the strong will behind it.

Éowyn bites her lip, her shoulders tensing. Knowing that her story was true doesn't make this any less nerve-racking; it's a complicated situation, and although she trusts her King to tell truth from lies, she isn't at all sure Jack will know how to answer. Or, for that matter, that he won't lie.