Part 1

Westron wynde when wylle thow blow
the smalle rayne downe can Rayne
Cryst yf my love were in my Armys
And I yn my bed A gayne

A strong breeze, bearing warm, moist air from the Bay of Belfalas, was responsible for the unseasonably mild weather. Knowing exactly where to look for Legolas when a westerly wind was blowing, Eowyn climbed the stairs to the ‘sea flet’—a tiny platform, high above the trees, with a view of the distant ocean—and found her beloved standing upon the edge of the flet wall, gazing into the distance.

Legolas’ occasional bouts of mild sea longing no longer filled Eowyn with dread, for she believed him when he told her that he would never—could never—leave her, but she knew how dreamy he became when thoughts of sailing filled his mind, and she was careful to warn him of her presence before she spoke. “I have a message from Master Eldacar, my love,” she said, showing him the scroll of parchment in her hand. “He says that Valaina’s advice has proved invaluable: he has reinforced the seams as she described, and the bladder is now airtight. The experiments with miruvor, moreover, are proving ‘most encouraging’.” She suddenly grinned.

Legolas held out his hands and—despite her lingering fear of heights—Eowyn grasped them and, steadied by his strong arms, climbed up beside him.

“All that means,” said the elf, slipping an arm around her waist, “is that Arador has not yet set himself alight.”

“Master Eldacar invites us to go and see his progress for ourselves.”

They turned towards the south and—Eowyn shielding her eyes from the low winter sun—they looked for a moment at the large, curved object nestling, like a new-laid egg, amongst the russet carantaur trees.

“Why not this afternoon?” said Legolas.

“Yes,” replied Eowyn. “Why not?”