By the time that Nimoë and Caldarion reached the forest city, her violent trembling had ceased, but the dark haired Elven fighter kept his arm still about her and she did not pull away.  His silent presence was reassuring and Nimoë appreciated that he did not press her for details of the attack.  That memory was still too near, and she would not willingly relate it to anyone.

They passed through the heart of the city, which was bustling with Elves about their business: installing new ropes to replace those which were wearing out, carrying large bundles of soiled linens to the river to wash, or coming back home after a long day on patrol.  They moved as casually as they could, for Nimoë did not wish to draw attention to herself, but many still watched them, surprised to see the young ward of their Prince enfolded in another man's arms.

If Nimoë was senseless of the attention they were given, Caldarion was not.  Pride swelled within him, that Legolas would see fit to entrust the girl's safety to him.  All who lived within the Colony were aware that somehow the orphaned girl was of special significance to the Prince, although he took pains to make his interest unobtrusive.  Caldarion straightened his shoulders and walked on, solicitously leading Nimoë through the city to the Healing House.  Tinunél would be there, and Legolas had told him to deliver the girl to her mother.

They swiftly approached the building, one of a scant few which stood on the forest floor, rather than in the trees.  That was a concession to the fact that many who were forced to go there were not able to make the climb into the trees, or to ride the ropes.  The Healing House was not large, but it was built with many windows, which opened either out towards the city and the forest, or in towards the courtyard, which served as a place where the injured could rest, within the arms of nature, but away from the bustle of the city.

When the two young Elves entered in the door, Tinunél looked up from the bedside of a woman who had broken her leg.  They had been talking, passing the time before the injured woman could leave the house but, on seeing the haunted look in her foster daughter's eyes, Tinunél leapt to her feet and rushed over to her side.  Caldarion handed the youthful Elf maid over into her mother's arms.

Nimoë wrapped her arms about her foster mother and buried her face in her shoulder, seeking comfort.  Caldarion looked over the girl's head at Tinunél and explained what he had seen of the attack in the forest, then smiled brightly as he said,  "She seems to be well, Tinunél.  I think that she came through unscathed."

Tinunél thanked him for bringing Nimoë safe to her but, as she led her trembling daughter to a bed, she knew that the girl was far from unscathed, although her hurts might not be visible on the surface.  "Nimoë, love, I am here.  Nothing can hurt you.  Will you tell me what happened?"

The girl shook her head, "I cannot.  I do not wish to relive it.  Please, just let me rest."

Tinunél nodded reluctantly.  Nimoë was indeed growing up.  Not many years ago she would have unburdened her heart with no hesitation, glad to give her cares over to her mother, and have them off of her own small shoulders.  The older Elf pulled the blankets up to her daughter's chin and softly stroked back the strands of hair that had detached themselves from her long braid.  "As you wish, Nimoë.  I am here if you need me."

The girl closed her eyes and was quickly asleep, for the strain of the day had been great.  Tinunél looked over at her often as she worked, deeply concerned.  What was to become of them all?  It seemed that Men were growing ever more brazen in their attacks.  What had happened to the once noble sons of Númenor?  A deep sense of hopelessness swept down over her.  For the last several months not a single Elf had appeared on the borders.  It boded ill for the rest of her race.  Unless there was some other place that none of them had heard of, theirs was the last stronghold of Elves in Middle Earth, and they were wholly surrounded by Men, who seemed intent on rubbing them out completely.

Shaking her head to dispel the deep gloom of her thoughts, Tinunél went on about her duties.

That night, as the sun settled into dusk and the stars began to twinkle in the cobalt sky, Legolas returned to the city.  He stopped briefly at his home to shed his dusty patrol garb and dress himself in a pair of comfortable grey hose and a loose-fitting white linen tunic.  Fastening a rope tie about him, to pull the fabric tight about his lean waist, he stepped out onto his entry porch.

For a long moment he stared out at the lights of the city.  Candles glittered in windows, and lanterns glowed from where they hung, suspended over the public pathways.  Everything gave the illusion of stability and peace.  He sighed.  Soon he would have to tell the Elves of his Colony the hard truth.

For many years he had been sending out spies, well disguised, into the world of Men, trying to understand what was happening.  Recently, rumors had reached his ears which troubled him greatly.  It seemed that the attacks along the border were no longer solely the work of superstitious provincialism, but something much more sinister.

Pulling his thoughts back to more immediate concerns, Legolas stepped out onto his drop rope.  He descended swiftly down to the forest floor and moved with purposeful strides to the Healing House.  It seemed that he could no longer keep himself from interfering in Nimoë's upbringing.  Her presence at the border had shaken him terribly and he knew that he had to intervene, to keep her safe within the city, for clearly her mother was incapable of reining her in.

Softly he pushed open the door of the Healing House and walked inside on silent feet.  Tinunél was sitting nearby and she rose to greet him.  "Legolas, can I help you?"

He motioned her back into her seat, a slow anger within him.  Certainly Tinunél had been aware of Nimoë's  actions, and she had not stopped her or, in extremity, asked him for help.  He found that he did not wish to speak to her, for fear that he would say something that he might regret in the heat of his ire.

Legolas spotted Nimoë's moon pale hair in a bed underneath an open window.  Starlight shone down onto her fair young face, giving her an ethereal glow.  He approached her quietly, then gently shook her by her shoulder.

Her pure grey eyes opened and saw him.  "Prince Legolas," she spoke, hurrying to rise.  "I am sorry.  I said that I would wait for you."

"I did not mean for you not to rest, Nimoë.  I am glad you did," he said.  He went to a nearby chest and pulled out a warm cloak, for the autumn night was chill.  Handing it to her, he beckoned, "Come with me, child."

Nimoë pulled the rough wool cloak about her shoulders and followed after him, muttering under her breath, "I am not a child."

Legolas sighed and led her out into the courtyard of the Healing House.  Starlight illuminated the trees and bushes, and brought a strange glow to the changing leaves.  A carved pine bench sat next to a small fish pond, underneath the drooping boughs of a willow tree.  It was there that Legolas led Nimoë, and indicated that she should sit.

Pulling the cloak tight against the chill breeze, she obeyed.  There was an intensity to his presence which alarmed her, and she found that she was apprehensive of what he would say.  One hand came up to twine a loose strand of her hair around her finger, a nervous habit, and she looked up at him, awaiting his words.

Legolas stood facing the pond, with his back towards the adolescent Elf, trying to find the words to express what needed to be said.  At last, he drew breath and began.  "Nimoë, when I asked you what you were doing on the borders today, you told me that it was your duty.  You know as well as I that such is the duty of no Elf until they have reached their maturity.  Why did you take such a risk?  Did Tinunél not tell you that such an act was folly?"

She bowed her head ashamedly.  "Of course she did.  She loves me.  But I see the amount of work that the adults here must do.  My body is strong, and my mind is quick.  I can do the same work just as easily, and offer some rest to the others.  They work so tirelessly, but I know that they suffer for it."

Legolas spun around then to face her.  "Do you not understand why?"  His voice was urgent, and he dropped to his heels in front of her, taking her hands between his.  "Nimoë, we chose to toil because it offers security to our most precious possessions: our children.  Like it or not, you are still a child."  He reached out a hand to push the stray lock of hair back behind her pointed ear.  "What do you think would have happened to Tinunél and Hanadir if you had died today?" Inside he was screaming, "What would have happened to me?!" but he kept his voice low, reasonable.  "They love you as much as if you were their daughter by birth.  Do you not love them as well?  Why will you not honor their wishes?"

Nimoë tried to turn her face away from the accusing pain in her Prince's eyes, but he would not release her gaze.  Shifting uncomfortably, she said in a small voice, "I never thought that anything could really happen to me.  I never meant to cause anybody pain."

He sighed and shook his head.  Why were children always so blissfully unaware of the realities of the world?  "I can swear to you that every time you have left the confines of the city alone, your mother has suffered greatly.  Imagine the anxiety she must have felt!  Not knowing whether you would come back in one piece, but not able to force you to obey…  Take a moment to really think about what you have done!"

Tears of guilt began to fall from her eyes, and they burned into his soul, knowing that he had forced them to be shed.  Still, if making her acknowledge her selfish folly would keep her out of harm's way, he would do so willingly.  "I am sorry," she sobbed.  "Don't you understand that I didn't mean it?  Will she ever forgive me?!"

He reached out a gentle finger to trace away the tears that rolled down her cheeks.  "She has forgiven you already, because she loves you.  But you must swear to me that you will never do such a foolish thing again.  We nearly lost you today, Nimoë.  Had there not been enough of us nearby, it is likely that ruffian and his mob would have finished the job."

She nodded brokenly, accepting the truth of his words.  Memory of the attack crashed over her, and before she could pull the words back, she whispered,  "I was so very afraid, my Prince."

He gently pushed her chin up, forcing her to look at him.  "My name is Legolas.  You may still be a child, but you are old enough to call me by my rightful name.  I wish no title from you."

Legolas understood that she was holding the fear of the attack close inside herself, and he stroked her cheek and whispered, "You know that you can tell me anything.  It might give you comfort to get it out in the open."

Although she had been reluctant to open up to her mother, or to Caldarion, something about the man kneeling in front of her made her feel that she had nothing to fear from him, so she nodded.  Beginning almost reluctantly, she spoke, her eyes focused far away, seeing again what had transpired that day.  "It was so odd.  The birds had all stopped singing, and I was afraid.  But then I sang, and the birds again took up their calls.  It seemed that if the birds were unafraid, then I need not worry.  But then I saw them!  They had swords, and they were stalking me as if I were some sort of an animal…" A shudder ran through her, but she pressed on, encouraged by Legolas' firm grip on her hands.  "I ran.  I ran faster than I thought it possible to run, but it was not enough.  They caught me, and they held me against my will.  I can still feel their fingers digging into my arms.  The one you killed had his sword at my neck… The steel was like a burning flame, yet I could not back away!"

She brought her eyes up from their joined hands to look straight into his clear blue gaze.  "Legolas!  They wanted me to lead them to the city.  They said that they were going to burn it down, and then they would kill us all!  I couldn't do it.  I couldn't!  So I fought, but there were so many…  The last thing I remember is being thrown to the ground, and knowing that I was about to die.  That was when you came."  Through her tears she looked up at him and smiled.  "You told me that you would always come if I needed you.  I am sorry that I doubted."

It seemed to Legolas that at her words his heart burst with joy, mingled with crushing anxiety.  It is true that, had he known she was in danger, nothing could have kept him from her side, but it had been pure luck that he had been nearby.  Pure blind luck and, perhaps, the stirrings of fate.

Her quiet voice brought him out of his reverie.  "Legolas, do you think they will be back?  That Man said that the King himself wants us dead.  Will they ever leave us in peace?"

He shook his head regretfully, unable to hide the truth from her.  "I am sorry, Nimoë.  I wish that I could tell you that all will be well, but I am sorely troubled.  I fear that they will come again, and in greater numbers.  There are so many that I am afraid we will not be able to stand."

The gravity of their situation began to seep past Nimoë's more personal trauma, and Legolas saw the expression of her eyes change, growing even wider, more fearful.    He desperately wished that it could be otherwise, but found that he needed to share his deepest worries with someone, and her very nearness brought his confession pouring from his lips.  "I have told this to no other soul.  Please say nothing until such time as I share this news with everyone.  I am afraid that we will have to leave this place.  We must find a way to escape this world and sail for Valinor.  There is no longer any place in Middle Earth for Elves, but we are surrounded by those who would eradicate us.  We are trapped."

Seeing the pain on her Prince's face, Nimoë pushed her own small troubles down inside of herself, and impulsively gathered him into her arms.  "Do not fear, Legolas.  We will follow wherever you lead.  I see that the burden of command lies heavy on you, but please know that no matter what path you chose, it will be the right one.  We all love you, and we know that you will not lead us astray."

Allowing himself to take comfort from this exceptional maiden, Legolas permitted himself to relax.  Her healing fingers worked themselves into the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders, releasing the cares which he carried there.  It felt like bliss, and he bent forward, laying his head in her lap, where she combed her fingers gently through his long golden hair.

His nearness stirred something inside of Nimoë, a feeling that she did not recognize, but felt oddly familiar.  She felt her heart pounding in her chest, her blood thudding in her ears.  With fingers made strong by emotion, she pulled him up off of her lap until his face was but inches from her own.  The temptation to lay her lips against his own beat into her, but she shied away, instead kissing him softly on his cheek.  "Go and rest, Legolas, my Prince.  I know that there is much for you to decide.  I am here if ever you need me."

He rose gracefully to his feet, pulling her up after him.  His pulse was racing, for he was sure that he had felt a surge of electricity course between them, and he had seen the desire to kiss him flash through her wide grey eyes.  Could it be?  Were her memories beginning to return?

He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed them to back of it.  "Thank you, Nimoë.  You will remember your promise?  You will not leave the city alone?"

"I swear it."

Relieved, he led her back inside the Healing House.  He could feel Tinunél's watchful eyes on his back as he brought Nimoë back to her bed and tucked the bedsheets about her so, instead of kissing her brow as he wished to, he gave her hand one last squeeze.  "Rest, Nimoë.  Rest, and I will do the same."

Then he turned and was gone.