If I am Eowyn... then you are my Aragorn... but where is my Faramir?

And then her heart changed, or at least she understood it; and the winter passed, and the sun shone upon her.

I want to be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren.

But I am the real Strider, fortunately. I am Aragorn son of Arathorn; and if by life or death I can save you, I will.

But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in?

It was an evil doom that set her in his path. For she is a fair maiden, fairest lady of a house of queens. And yet I know not how I should speak of her. When I first looked on her and perceived her unhappiness, it seemed to me that I saw a white flower standing straight and proud, shapely as a lily and yet knew that it was hard, as if wrought by elf-wrights out of steel.
(Aragorn talking of Eowyn, in the Houses of Healing)