Legolas paced through the Houses of Healing. He had arrived early to meet Nimoë, for he had offered to go with her to meet with Galadriel. On finding her missing, he had begun to ask after her. Not a single person there had seen Nimoë that day, although one soul had seen her standing alone on the battlements throughout the long night. It was not like her to disappear for hours on end, especially without telling any where she might be found. Worry ate into his gut, and it made him abrupt. Soon those around him had ceased trying to engage him in conversation, for the set of his shoulders and the aura of simmering frustration made it clear that he wished to be alone with his thoughts.

A few hours before the sun would set, he found that he could sit idle no longer, and he set off to find Nimoë. All throughout the city he ranged, searching every public house, every hidden cranny. There was no sign of her, and still none could tell him that they had seen her. At long last he reached the tower at the pinnacle of the White City, and entered.

The secretary who sat behind the large oaken desk was just putting away his parchments for the evening. He looked up and greeted Legolas. "What can I do for you, Sir Elf?"

"Have you seen Nimoë here this day?"

A worried frown creased the brow of the secretary before he replied. "She was here early this morning, just as the sun was rising. Do you mean to tell me that she has not been seen since?"

Legolas planted his hands on the table and leaned over it urgently. "Why was she here? Who did she see?"

The secretary raised his hands in confusion. "I know not what was her business, but she spoke with the Lady Galadriel. Something must have upset her, for she ran past me not long after, and the poor lady was sobbing as if her heart were breaking. I tried to stop her, to ask her what was amiss, but she was gone before I had a chance. I was hoping that she would have gone to find you, for well do I know that the two of you are two halves of the same whole."

"Blast! I told her that I would accompany her to see the Lady. Why did she not wait for me?!" he asked, more of himself than the unfortunate secretary, who flinched away from the Elf's anger. "Is the Lady of the Golden Wood within?"

"Nay. She went out with the King, and many other of the Fair Folk that are here, to view the fields of battle. I do not know when they will return."

Legolas turned to leave, a new idea dawning as to where he might find Nimoë. Before he left, he instructed the secretary to alert the Houses of Healing if she were found. Then he left the palace and walked, as fast as his feet would carry him, down the steep streets of the city and out of the gates.

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The sun was setting in glorious hues of violet and scarlet, but Nimoë did not see them. She sat in the very spot, high in the foothills of the Ered Nimrais, where just the previous day she had lain in joyous innocence with Legolas. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, blurring her vision, but there were no sobs to accompany them. Too much of her strength had already been given over to sorrow for there to be any energy left for hysteria.

Unseeing, she sat, staring out at the Mountains of Shadow, oblivious to all that surrounded her. Birds twittered in the trees, and one even alighted on her shoulder, so long had she sat unmoving. The splendor of the sunset should have been enough to lift the spirits of any Elf, but Nimoë remained untouched, lost in the agony of Galadriel's revelation.

Thus she appeared when Legolas crested the hill and set his eyes upon her. By all the Valar, what could have happened? He approached her on silent feet, but even had he come yelling and screaming, she would not have heard him. The violet light of the sunset reflected off of her tears, giving them an even more poignant appearance, and as he dropped to his heels beside her, he reached out to stroke them away.

"Nimoë, beloved, what has happened? Why did you not come to me?" he asked, although he found that he was afraid of her answer.

Her gaze did not stray from the far-off point where they were fixed, but she spoke, "I could not come to you, Legolas. This is something that I must face first myself."

"But what is it? Surely I can lend you my strength to help you face it?"

At long last, she turned to face him, and the anguish in her eyes sent daggers through his soul. "Please," she begged in a tight, strained voice, "Please let me be."

Much as he hated to deny her anything, this was too much. "I cannot. I cannot leave you alone like this."

His steadfast loyalty moved her, and she spoke, "If you will not leave me, then hold me close, but do not ask me to speak, for that I will not do."

This one thing he could do for her, and he settled himself by her side, facing with his back towards Mordor, and he enfolded her tenderly in his firm embrace. Neither one of them spoke, but as her tears soaked relentlessly through his tunic, Legolas felt that each one that fell was another part of him being torn away, for as close as their bodies were nestled, he knew that she drew farther away with each passing moment, farther into herself.

As the sunset passed on into night they sat unmoving, leaning their weight against each other, until finally Legolas felt the resistance of her body give way and she collapsed fully against him. Once he was sure that she slept, he laid her back against the flowering grass. The starlight bathed her skin, giving it a translucent glow, and it shone off of the tears which still clung to her skin.

Even in sleep her brow bore furrows of great worry, and Legolas reached out his hand to stroke them away, wishing that she would confide her troubles to him. Nothing could be so terrible that they could not face it together. Had they not already faced death? There could nothing that would compare to that.

After long moments, the lines creasing her fair skin began to relax, and Legolas laid himself down beside her. He gently tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, and stared up at the sky, unable to sleep.

Starlight twinkled in velvet darkness, clear and pure, and Legolas watched mesmerized. Under his breath, he whispered, "Ai! Elbereth! Creator of the stars, Bringer of light in the dark times, help me to see what is hidden. Let your light pierce through the veil of fog which Nimoë has brought down between us. I ache inside, and I know not what to do."

For many long moments he lay, still staring up into the hypnotic starlight, when a small voice reached his ears, "Legolas, I am mortal."

Legolas held himself perfectly still, resisting the urge to leap to his feet, to make any sudden moves, although the crushing power of her words stilled his breath in his lungs. Now was not the time to indulge in selfish fears. He had to be strong for her sake. "Mortal. You are certain?"

"Beyond a doubt. Legolas, what will we do?" her voice was plaintive, lost.

An overwhelming wave of protectiveness broke over the Elf prince. He wanted to hide her from the world, to shield her from any thing that might harm her. Was this what it was like to live as a man? Always in fear? The frailty for which he had always pitied the race of men had suddenly become his own, and he fought down the urge to shudder.

"Do not worry, Nimoë. We will find a way." He paused for a moment, thinking, then with a note of hope in his voice, he said, "If you passed into the Undying Lands, surely you would be spared."

Nimoë turned her head toward his, "Do you really think so? Would not Galadriel have told me if that were true? Perhaps once immortality has once been lost it cannot be restored?"

Legolas rolled over onto his arm, looking down into her haunted face. "I do not know. But rest easy with this knowledge: until such time as your immortality is returned to you, I will keep you safe." Reaching out, he smoothed her hair. "Rest now. I know that you did not sleep last night. Tomorrow will be soon enough to learn what can be done."

Once she was soundly sleeping again, Legolas finally allowed himself to truly experience the reality of her mortality. His body shook with fear, a reaction which even the fiercest battle had never prompted in him. His own life meant little when compared with hers. There had to be a way! If she could indeed pass into the Undying Lands, he would see that she was brought there as rapidly as could be managed. There was too much risk in remaining in Middle-Earth.

A gull screeched in the distance, and he shivered. More urgently now in his breast beat the longing for the sea, for only across the Western Sea could he find any hope for his beloved. The words of the old song swam through his mind, "To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying. The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying. West, west away!" With uneasy mind, Legolas could not sleep, but he lay still, unwilling to disturb Nimoë, and began to lay his plans. West, west away.

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Author's Note: The poetry in the last paragraph is from Return of the King, page 234.