Many weeks passed and Nimoë spent her days deep in study. This new song which Galadriel made her repeat again and again, wrapped in ever changing words, to disguise the power behind them from others, was more powerful than any other magic which Nimoë struggled to master. Frustration dogged her heels, as she floundered among the strands of power, unable to truly master them. The memory of the dread presence at the Mirror haunted her nights and drove her to give every fiber of her being over to the knowledge which was imparted to her.
Galadriel wondered many times as they days flowed past whether she was making the right choice. Nimoë was very young, hardly more than a youth, as Elves reckon such things, and it seemed that the burden she was being asked to shoulder might prove to be too heavy, but there was no other to send. Nimoë was the only one who had the training and understanding of the ancient powers.
The Lady reassured herself each time that doubts assailed her by reminding herself that she knew something of Nimoë's heart. Nimoë might seem as frail as a spring blossom, but within was a deep and abiding strength of purpose, which held her firm when trials were placed in her path. It would have to be enough.
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Beset by weariness and grief, the fellowship of the ring made its way towards Lothlorien. As Galadriel and Nimoë observed their progress within their mind's eye, each perceived the hardship and anguish through which the band had suffered. Still they moved with purpose. Aragorn, lord of Men, led them forth, keeping a brisk pace. No tears had fallen from his eyes, yet the pall of loss was upon him. The four Halflings appeared haunted, and the trails of their tears still flowed down their small faces. Fear of what pursued them drove them forward, but their hearts remained behind. The three remaining companions, a Man of noble bearing, a hardy Dwarf and an Elf, both tall and handsome, ran onward, herding the Hobbits forward, although the Dwarf's eyes showed fear at approaching the woods of Lothlorien.
"They come. Nimoë, your time is upon you. Go to the Elf maids and they will disguise you. These men are proud, and would not suffer themselves to accept the aid of a woman. So you must be as a man. Garb yourself in raiment fitting for a long journey. Hide your hair and face beneath your hood. Never for a moment allow them to believe you anything but a man. Hurry now, they are approaching."
"Yes, my Lady."
#
When later that day the members of the fellowship were brought before Celeborn and Galadriel, Nimoë stood in the background, watching all that came to pass.
The Lord of Lothlorien addressed the fellowship. "Eight there are here, yet nine were to set forth from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf the Grey, for I much desire to speak with him."
Then, before any other could respond, the Elf-Lady answered him. "He has fallen into shadow."
All were made welcome to Lorien, and the weariness and care which rode them like a foul demon began to drop away. Nimoë observed as their bearing grew straighter and the grief began to lessen in their eyes. Still one, the man Boromir, did not seem to be affected by the powers of Galadriel's forest. His eyes darted here and there, and his muscles were clenched for flight. Indeed, all was not well within the fellowship. Galadriel was right. Their powers were needed.
#
When the time had come for the company to depart, and they made their way to the river, they were greeted at its bank by the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. The two stood straight and tall, and their faces were radiantly beautiful, surpassing even the usual splendor of the Elves. Galadriel addressed the fellowship. "Gentle Hobbits, valiant Men, noble Dwarf and my kinsman, far you have traveled, yet far greater is the distance you must now undertake. Your struggles have brought you this far, but your loss is great. Nine of you set forth from Rivendell. Nine of the Fellowship against the nine Nazgul. Yet now, you are but eight. This shall not avail you. I send one with you now, versed in the elven lore. He is very wise. Let his counsel guide you in the dark hours. Nimrodel, step forward."
Nimoë responded to the name she had chosen to use as a man. Close enough to her own name, and a reminder of her home in Lorien, the Nimrodel river was to be her namesake. True, the river had been named for a Elf lady who was sung in the ancient ballads, but there had been more than one male Elf since who had been given the name as well. She stepped forward from the assemblage of Elves, who had come to see the fellowship on its way.
Aragorn, shook his head, "My lady Galadriel, are we not strong enough? Elrond did send us as representatives of the free races of Middle Earth. We have already one Elf. Master Gimli may object to the addition of one more."
"You doubt my wisdom? Elrond himself seeks my counsel in matters of import. Yet perhaps you speak truly. Master Gimli," she turned the full power of her gaze upon the Dwarf's upturned face, "would you object to my counsel? Is one more Elf so terrible a thing?"
The Dwarf gazed at her enraptured. "My Lady, surely you are the wisest and most wondrous of creatures. If it is your will that one more of your ilk should join us, who am I to say it nay? "
"Is it decided then, Aragorn, son of Arathorn?"
"So be it."
Nimoë then bent to pick up the pack she had prepared. Pitching her voice low, she addressed the fellowship. "My good sirs, know that I will strive to aid you in all ways that I can. The ring of power must never fall into the hands of Sauron. My strengths do not lie in sword fighting or in archery. I am one who can influence the natural world. I do not have fearsome power, like that of Gandalf the Grey, and I can never take his place among you. Still I think that you may find I am useful to have along. The safety of the ring and its bearer are paramount. I thank you for your trust in Lady Galadriel's counsel. She shall not lead you astray."
Aragorn, reached out his right hand to clasp forearms with her. "Nimrodel, we welcome you." Then he released her and turned to the others. "Into the boats. We must be on our way."
Three boats there were, awaiting them at the banks of the river. Aragorn rowed the boat with Frodo and Sam, while Boromir took Merry and Pippin under his wing. Legolas, the Elven prince, held the last boat still as Gimli clambered on board, then beckoned to Nimoë. "Come, Nimrodel. Let us make haste. The future of Middle Earth awaits." And then he smiled. His face lit up like the sky at morning, and Nimoë felt joy stirring in her heart.
"So it does, Master Legolas. So it does." Nimoë stepped lightly into the boat, and Legolas pushed it off, landing gracefully behind her. Then, with strong strokes, he paddled to catch up with the others.
A great excitement stole over Nimoë. Here she was, casting off on the greatest quest of the age. She was to help save Middle Earth from destruction. And her companions were the most valiant of men.