Part 14

By the time Eowyn had written the note, and blotted it, trimmed it to size, and folded it, and Legolas had secured it beneath the leather strap on Rochiriel’s leg, The Shieldmaiden had left Faramir’s hawking party far behind.

Legolas released the falcon and, standing at the stern, watched her swoop down and, flying as straight as an arrow, return to her master. “Yes,” he cried. “He has her!”

“Let us hope he finds our message,” said Eowyn.

“He will, melmenya. He will examine her carefully. He will want to make sure that she has come to no harm on her strange adventure.”

…

Two hours later

“We are changing direction,”—Legolas looked up at the sky, checking the position of the sun—“turning west—why is that, Master Eldacar?”

The scholar took a deep breath, apparently preparing to deliver a long and complex explanation—

“Look, Lassui,” cried Eowyn, “down there. It must be Caras Arnen!”

Legolas patted her arm.

“I beg your indulgence, my Lord,” said Eldacar. “Some years ago, I created a map of the City on the Hills, measuring its dimensions by pacing its streets. This flight gives us a unique opportunity to verify the map’s accuracy—I would be most grateful if you and Lady Eowyn would compare its lines to those of the actual city, as we fly over.”

Legolas looked at Eowyn. She was grinning.

“The detour does serve another purpose, my Lord,” continued Eldacar. “At present, the Arnen hills are shielding us from much of the wind’s force, allowing us to cross the stream, as it were. When we emerge from their lee, we should be well within the valley of the Anduin, and can then safely follow its course, north to Cair Andros.”

“We will see Minas Tirith, Lassui, and Mount Mindolluin!”

“From a distance—a good distance—I hope,” said Legolas. “Where is this map, Master Eldacar?”

“In the drawer of my desk.”

...

Arador adjusted the flames, and brought The Shieldmaiden as low as Master Eldacar considered prudent, but the ship was moving quickly, and the couple could expect little more than a brief glimpse of the City on the Hills.

“Do not lean too far, melmenya. You must not rely too heavily on the harness.”

“There is the Palace,” said Eowyn, pointing to an elegant, turreted castle overlooking the rest of the city from the south, “and the stables—and, oh, look, there is my garden!”

“Berengar is tending it well. The trees are thriving.”

“There is the Guildhall,” she continued, as they sped north, “and the market square,”—Legolas checked them off on the map—“no market today, and—oh, Lassui—there is the playhouse!” Eowyn pointed to a circular building, standing just outside the city walls (in Caras Arnen’s least respectable district).

Legolas peered down its central well at the boisterous play-goers—all laughing, and jostling, and heckling, and generally having a good time—and at the players, acting out some sort of fight on the stage. “Is that supposed to be Aragorn?” he asked. “And Gimli? And—oh, Valar, who is that—do not tell me that bow-legged scarecrow in the yellow wig is me!”

“I shall take you to see that play one of these days,” laughed Eowyn. “You will love it.”