Dúnedain are a stern folk, but perceptive.
The moment Gilraen opened the door, she looked past her father on the doorstep to mark Elrohir lingering in the shadows.
And she knew.
Now Elrohir scouts the road ahead while I accompany her escort. Dírhael rides beside his daughter, bearing her son awhile. Aragorn sprawls asleep in his arms, heedless of the silent grief weighing on his kin.
Gilraen, aware she is forever sacrificing the life she has known, displays the abiding courage of the Dúnedain. She sits her mare, back straight, chin held high, cloaked in her dignity.
And she endures.