Time passed onward, as it is wont to do, and Legolas slept. It was not, however, the usual, rejuvenating sleep of an Elf. Strange feelings of foreboding haunted the footfalls of his dream self. Warily he passed through closely growing groves, aware as he moved that the trees moved behind him to seal off the path he had trodden, denying a place to retreat. The only way open to him was the path which stretched onward ahead, and a sense of urgency and wrongness at being alone drew him forward at a brisk pace.
Dark presences began to filter through the shadowy forest, swaying as if in the steps of some macabre dance. Beyond the gnarled figures, the trees began to close off the path in front of him. And the sinister figures began to laugh. It was a sound that seemed to take joy in the withering of living things, like the last rasp of a dying breath. Then, as all routes of escape had been sealed off, he heard a scream. Far off in the woods, where he could not hope to reach her, Nimoë was screaming as if foul creatures were tearing the very skin from her body.
Desperately he tried to cut a way through the fell beasts surrounding him. They overwhelmed him at every attack, laughing as his attempts were repulsed. And the screaming grew more wild. One last time he attempted to force his way through the swaying circle, but this time a spear had been raised against him and he felt it pierce through his body.
With a jerk, he awoke, breathing heavily, surprised to find himself alive. At first his only thought was of relief to discover that it had only been a dream. Then, through his somewhat groggy mind, he realized that the screams had not been a part of a dream. At least not his. Nimoë was thrashing wildly in the bed, tangling herself in the bedsheet and screaming the same despairing wail which had pierced his dream state.
In an instant he had crossed the distance between them and caught her in his arms, lying behind her on the bed. Almost as much to soothe himself as the Elf maid, he crooned in her ear, "All is well. We are together and nothing ill can befall you. Rest easy. I watch over your slumbers."
Almost as soon as he had her within his embrace she had stopped screaming. It seemed that even in her sleep she recognized who he was and what he offered to her. She turned towards him and burrowed her face into the crook between his shoulder and his chest. Her fingers wrapped themselves trustingly into his tunic.
Well and truly he was trapped, it seemed. There was no way he could detach her without causing her to wake. He smiled a secret smile. Perhaps that was not so ill a thing. There were worse things than sleeping with a gentle lady curled trustingly in your arms. He nestled her more comfortably against him, then closed his eyes, content with her warm presence and the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. Soon they both slept, and neither was haunted by dark imaginings.
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An hour before the sun would rise and shed its light on the day, Aragorn entered the room where Legolas and Nimoë were sleeping. He regarded them briefly, and his gaze softened when he saw how comfortably they rested.
"Are you going to stand in the doorway and watch us, or are you here to roust us out of bed for a long day's journey?" asked Legolas, who had awoken the moment the door was opened.
Aragorn smiled. "The latter, of course. Food will be arriving shortly. See that you both eat, and give her this." He set the goblet in his left hand down on a nearby table. "It is more athelas. Make sure that she drinks it all. I cannot give her more after, for too much is almost worse than not having it at all."
Legolas nodded his understanding. Aragorn turned and was halfway out the door when the Elf's voice stopped him. "Aragorn, thank you. I do not know what I would have done without you."
Over his shoulder, the ranger threw him a wry grin. "You would have managed. Her healing would have been more prolonged, but you would have managed." Then he left.
Legolas shifted slightly, to raise himself up on his elbow. "Nimoë," he spoke her name lightly, making it sound almost like the caress of the wind against a flower petal, "It is time to wake."
Clear grey eyes opened then and smiled up at him. "I know. I heard what Lord Aragorn said." Then she closed her eyes to concentrate and slowly raised herself to a sitting position. When she was upright she opened her eyes again with relief. "Well, that at least is an improvement. Perhaps if I can sit on my own, I can even fetch my own medicine."
Legolas moved to stop her, but she stayed him with her hand. "Nay. I must do this for myself. If I cannot make my way around this small room, how can I hope to travel with you into battle?" Her legs swung down off of the bed and, while she did not have her customary grace and lightness of step, she did manage to walk to the table and drink the athelas brew.
Even as he watched, she began to stand up straighter, and color began to return to her cheeks, giving them the bloom of an early rose. The room they occupied must have belonged to a woman in happier times, for there was a dressing table with a brush and glass upon it. Nimoë picked up the brush and began to run it through her tangled hair. As it came unknotted it fell long and silky around her, almost the color of starlight in its paleness.
Legolas did not hear the knock on the door when a serving man arrived with breakfast, so entranced was he. There had been little chance during the course of their acquaintance for him to see Nimoë's face when it was not covered by her hood or tense with fear and anguish. And those few times that he had, her hair had been bound tightly. Nothing had prepared him for the sheer wonder of her loveliness. As much as he hated to agree with Eomer, he had to admit that the horse-lord's assessment had been accurate. Rarely had he seen such beauty. And that with bruises and scrapes still marring her features!
Savagely he shook himself free of such thoughts. Now was the time to prepare for war, not the time to contemplate the complexities of his heart. Nimoë had moved to eat some of the food which had been left while he was lost in his thoughts. "Not too much, Nimoë," he cautioned. "After so many days of fast, you must go slowly."
She smiled at him knowingly. "You forget that I am a healer, Legolas. I know what I must do to care for myself. Do not trouble your heart about me."
And so they ate, and savored their last few moments before they rode forth to face what may well be their last day. Nimoë plaited her fair hair into a thick braid, which fell down her back, and donned the men's garb which had been provided for her, while Legolas turned his back to offer her some privacy. Along with the pants and tunic was a vest of leather and a helm of the same sturdy stuff. Also they had found her short sword, which had been taken from her upon her arrival in Edoras, and she belted the scabbard around her slender waist.
Legolas slung his quiver over his shoulder and strapped his two short swords to his back. The dagger still rested on his right hip, where it had been the previous evening when he had contemplated embedding it into Eomer's unsuspecting back. Prepared, he turned to Nimoë. "Are you ready?"
Her hand rested lightly on her sword hilt. "I am ready. I am not afraid."
As he watched her trusting gaze, Legolas found that he was very much afraid. Yet there was nothing to be done but to face what was coming. So they left to join the other fighters and make the final preparations for war.