Éowyn nods, soothing her fractious horse with a gentle murmur - hush, sweetling, hush now - as she takes her hand off the reins and reaches back to draw her crossbow. "Unloaded," she points out, thumbing back the string a little to show Bacopa the empty notch where the bolt would sit, and then returns it to the backpack she took it from. With her other hand, she draws the sword a little way, just far enough for its blade to glitter in the sunlight, then shoves it back into its sheath. "That, I cannot unload. But you have my word it will not be drawn against you." And she sighs, running a hand back through her hair as she picks the reins back up. "You are wise to be cautious, and I understand. But if I wished you dead, then you would not now stand before me. Trust me a little, if only for that."

Leaning down, she offers Bacopa a sword-calloused hand, meeting her eyes.