When the sun rose, golden in the crisp air, the two Elves walked hand in hand back into Minas Tirith. Stopping only once, to tell the healers that Nimoë had been found, they went straight through the bustle of morning to the tower atop the White City. Their feet carried them forward rapidly, for hope seemed nigh, and they were eager to speak with Galadriel.

When they reached the familiar oaken table of the overworked secretary, who looked very relieved to see them both, he hailed them, saying, "The Lady Galadriel is waiting for you in the tower gardens. How she knew you were coming, though, is a mystery to me."

"Thank you," spoke Nimoë. "We will go to her directly."

Through the long corridors of the tower they went, tallow candles lighting their path, until they reached the gates of the garden. There they paused for only a moment, and Legolas held her faced towards him, offering his support. "Whatever is said here today, know that I will never abandon you. I will remain by your side, immortal or no."

Had she been alone, Nimoë would have paused to rally her courage before entering, but she was not alone, and therefore she was not afraid. She pushed open the wrought iron gate, which was shot through with mithril, clearly forged in the earliest years of the city.

Greenery grew lush within the garden, and the air was thick with the smell of blossoming wildflowers and delicate roses. Galadriel sat waiting for them by the side of a small fountain, carved out of stone to resemble Nimloth, the White Tree of Númenor. Crystal waters cascaded down from the stone leaves, sending ever-widening ripples about the still surface of the pool in which it stood.

"I know why you are here," spoke Galadriel. "You wish to know if Nimoë's immortality will be restored if she sails across the Sundering Sea to Valinor." She turned her intense blue gaze upon them then. "Did you think that I would not speak of such a thing if it were true?" A terrible hurt was in her voice, that they would think so little of her. "It may well be that Nimoë would still be allowed to reach that sacred shore, but there is no truth to the rumor that setting foot on that isle brings about immortality.

"The men of Númenor learned that, to their great cost, when they sought to set foot upon the hallowed isle, in search of eternal life. For that event is what brought about the sundering of the world. Númenor was sunk into the sea, men scattered to the four winds. Valinor was taken from the face of the newly bent world, and only Elves now may follow the straight road to find it. It may be that others will come there as well, if granted leave by the Valar, but residing on that ground does not bring life eternal. If that were so, does it not stand to reason that there would be a long history, certainly of Half-Elves, who would renounce their immortality for a time, and then, when it was no longer convenient for them, travel over the sea to eternal life? This is not the way of things, children!"

"But…" Legolas spoke.

Galadriel stopped his words before they could come forth, and anger was clear in her stern visage. "Let me speak!"

The power of the Elf Queen's voice silenced him, and he felt like a chastised child. Rebellion stirred within him, but he quelled it. This woman deserved his respect and his reverence. This was not the time to antagonize the one who might be his only hope of finding help for Nimoë.

"Half-Elves can choose to give up their immortality and take up the mortal life, for such is their heritage," Galadriel continued, then addressed Nimoë directly, "Child, what you have done is something which has never before been accomplished in Middle-Earth. While I know that you are mortal, I do not fully understand its consequences. It requires more time and study."

This time Legolas would not be restrained, "But time is what we do not have!"

Galadriel gave him an understanding, but pitying look. "I understand your worry, Legolas, son of Thranduil. I assure you, however, that Nimoë is a strong, healthy woman, unlikely to succumb to disease, and that even if she is mortal, she has many decades before such time as her death might be expected of old age. Ever since the dawn of time, men have lived with the uncertainty of life. It may be a useful experience for you to have to understand their fervent passion for living, for when death is an ever present specter, it makes each day so much more precious. Live each one to its fullest, and it will not be wasted."

Although Legolas nodded, for he had a deep, inborn respect for the ancient Elf Queen, he could not accept her words as they stood. Fragility was not something that he wanted to understand, not even if there was great gain to be found there.

"What should I do, My Queen?" asked Nimoë.

"Go out and live your life. Do not let fear keep you from those things which are important to you, for those things will increase in value tenfold as the time you have to enjoy them slips away." Galadriel then turned her stern eyes onto Legolas. "And you must not hinder her. Do not let your instinct to shelter and defend Nimoë keep her from her life. It is still hers to live, however it may run its course."

Nimoë bowed her head in acceptance. "If this is the way that my life is to be, then I will take your advice. I will not hide in corners, afraid of my own shadow. Many mortals have I encountered these past months, and they have shown bravery in the face of utter defeat, courage when ill unto their deaths. Some of these men I have had the privilege to call friend. I will strive to model my behavior upon theirs."

Galadriel rose then from the edge of the fountain. "Good. Nimoë, if you will give me a lock of your hair, I will use it to try to learn more of what exactly has happened to you."

Nimoë nodded willingly, and the Elf Queen pulled out a small dagger, its silver blade glistening in the sunlight, the handle encrusted with sapphires and emeralds. Approaching the Elf maid, she sliced off one long lock of moon-pale hair, and held gently in her hand, where it hung limp. After regarding it for a long moment, Galadriel tucked the hair into a small leather pouch that hung from her waist.

"Now go. I have heard that King Eomer wishes speech with you. He returned from Rohan not long after I arrived. It seems that he is even more tautly strung than usual. Something about "stubborn women" from what I have been told."

For the first time in two long days a true smile split Nimoë's face. "I will go to him. It seems that Halanna may have more steel to her than he expected. Come, Legolas, help me put out the fire?"

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Author's Note: Sorry about the history lesson in that chapter. I have been studying the Silmarillion and every online resource I could find to figure out how I am going to end this thing. I think I have finally figured out how I am going to do it, but I need to set up some explanation for it, so for those of you who have not read the Silmarillion, I needed to get some of that out there.

Next chapter will bring us back to more action… I know that this one was very slow, but it needed to be done. We're almost there! YAY!