“Make way for the King!”  Aragorn had been burdened, and had run in far stranger circumstances before.  There was a certain way to breathe, to conserve one’s strength, and apparently not all the guards knew it.  It had only taken a moment to judge the way the crowd stirred to know which way Pippin had turned.  Up, towards the Seventh Circle and the Citadel itself.  Cornered, he thought grimly.  Although—and perhaps Pippin was banking on this—within the Citadel itself it would be much easier to hide.  No matter, though.  The chase was not up until the sketch was safely lodged back in the hobbits’ Guest House.  And all he had to do was find Pippin to be rid of it.