Surely she had seen dark-haired men before, but none like him. His hair shines blacker than the sable trimming her finest robe. She  wonders if it feels as soft.

The future had always seemed a faraway land, but she sees it in a flash: husband, home, children. Shadow or not, the future shines beacon-bright, with a dark-haired man at her side.

“My little sister,” Eomer presents her, laughing, ruffling her hair.

 “A pleasure, my lady,” Lord Boromir smiles. He bows low, as if she were a great lady of Gondor, not a thirteen year old girl with scabby knees.