Three long, tension-filled weeks later, Legolas called for the citizens of the Colony to gather in the festival field.
The sun was sinking behind the trees and the crisp air of autumn chilled Nimoë's lungs as she left the Healing House, following in Tinunél's wake. They joined the current of mingling Elves, allowing themselves to be pulled along towards the festival field, which had been lit with extra lanterns, in preparation for the meeting.
Nimoë hugged her midnight blue cloak tight about her and shivered. Three long weeks, and she had not seen Legolas once. Ever since the strange and unnerving night in the courtyard of the Healing House, when she had ached to kiss him and thought that he would have welcomed it, she had longed to see him, to speak with him, but as each day passed into the next and he was nowhere to be found, she began to doubt her own memory.
Had she been mistaken? Had their exchange simply been one of a Prince to his ward? A chastisement? The more she thought on it, the more she grew certain that she had been imagining the magnetic bond that she had felt drawing them together. Silly fool! The Prince had better things to do than spend his energies on one imprudent girl-child. He could not possibly feel anything more than a paternal care for her. All her flights of fancy were as ethereal as moonbeams, and as insubstantial as dreams.
In a way, she dreaded seeing him at the field. She would be only one of the crowd, but she found that the thought of seeing him filled her with conflicting emotions: joy, at being near his reassuring presence once again, and humiliation, for she was afraid that he had seen the desire in her eyes, and been dismayed.
They reached the festival field to find a large number of Elves already gathered. All of the women and children would be present that night, and as many of the men as could be spared from the ever vigilant patrols. Tinunél took Nimoë firmly by the hand and pressed forward through the crowd, forging a path clear towards the dais which had been hastily erected at the head of the field.
When they could advance no further they were only a few rows back from the front of the crowd, although near to the edge, on the side closest to the city. Nimoë felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to face her neighbor. Startling brown eyes smiled down at her and she grinned in reply. "Caldarion!" she exclaimed. "I am glad to see you."
The tall Elven fighter had contrived to stop by the Healing House often in the last weeks, asking after her, and they had spent several hours walking near the city, talking of everything and nothing, all of little consequence. Nimoë knew his thoughts on trees, the weather, dinner, and fighting, but nothing of import. Still, she enjoyed his company and had not shunned to spend time with him.
"I am glad to see you too, Nimoë. It has been too long." His voice was not as full and melodious as that of the Prince, she thought, and immediately chastised herself. There was nothing to compare the two. Legolas was thousands of years older, a leader. Caldarion was just a boy, like herself. A pleasant boy, to be certain, but nothing when compared with the strength and power of the Prince.
Tinunél hushed them briskly. "Quiet. Legolas is coming."
Nimoë stepped onto her tiptoes, straining to see over the taller Elves ahead of her. When Legolas finally crested the stairs and walked forward to the front of the dais with purposeful strides, a hush fell over the assemblage.
There was a long moment of silence as the Elf Prince looked out over the heads of his people. So many, and yet so few! In total, there were nearly a thousand Elves within the Colony, but that number was as nothing when compared to how many had roamed Middle Earth just centuries ago.
At last, he raised his hand and began to speak. "My friends, I come before you with dire news. You are all aware that the raids against our borders have been increasing in number and in ferocity. Only a few weeks ago, one of our youths was almost killed." His eyes dropped down and rested for a moment upon the beauty that was Nimoë, still breathing, and as innocent as the sun. Raising his gaze, he continued, "I have had scouts among the courts of Men for many years now, but I just have learned from them that the King of Gondor and the Prince of Ithilien have banded together. They are intent on driving us from their shores."
A loud rumbling rose up from the assembled, and he again raised his hand to still the voices. "I do not understand what fell cloud has fallen over the race of Men. It is as if some strange sickness has shrouded their memory, leaving them afraid of all that is different. What of the Dwarves, you might ask? What of Hobbits and Ents and all the other races that once walked freely in this world? I have little news. The Dwarves, at least, have been able to secret themselves deep in their mountain fastness, and it is unlikely that Men will find them there. As to Hobbits, there has been no word from the Shire in decades. Perhaps they are well, but we have no way of knowing, and my heart fears for them. Fangorn forest is still feared, and Men will not pass beneath its boughs, so I have hope for the Ents.
"But for us, my friends, I can see little hope. The race of Men has multiplied and is strong in its numbers. If they chose to come against us, how can a scant thousand Elves hope to stop them?"
Legolas paused, allowing the import of his words to sink in. "We must make ready to leave this place. Plans are already being laid. Elves who are skilled in the working of wood will be sent south, to the mouth of the Anduin, to build ships strong enough to take us to Valinor."
A loud voice called from the back of the crowd, "But Men live all along the river! How will we be able to keep such a work secret?"
Legolas nodded, "A valid question. There are no guarantees. I can, however, see no other way. We must take the risk, or we will die. Our home here is no longer safe. We must institute this plan as rapidly as is possible. Are you with me?!"
A cry went up from the assembled, and Nimoë let out her breath, which she had not realized she was holding. For a moment, she had feared that the Elves would reject Legolas' plan. When the cry of acclamation reached his ears, she saw his shoulders drop, and the tension in his brow relaxed. How he worried about them all! Nimoë ached to go to him and offer him comfort but, knowing that it was not her place, she stayed where she was, absorbing the loud shouts around her, allowing them to buoy her spirits.
Gradually, she became aware of a strange smell, and she spun about, seeking to find the source of the acrid scent. All the other Elves had their attention focused forward, so she pushed her way through the crowd, unable to see over the tall heads. When she had forced her way free, her heart caught in her throat. All about, in the distance, was a surreal orange glow, a flickering and swirling light that leapt from tree to tree, exploding into raging flames. Thick black smoke curled upwards, and that was the smell that had reached her.
Raising her voice high, striving to be heard over the cacophony, she screamed, "Fire! The forest is burning! Fire!!!"
At that same time, others became aware of the heavy smoke, which began to swirl close. Legolas heard Nimoë's voice cry out over the rest of the clamor and he raised his eyes to the horizon. From his higher position he could see that intense flames were moving forward with terrible speed, coming at them from the north, south and west. His heart pounded, and his fingers crushed into the edge of the dais, as he realized that he was too late. The attack had come.
The blaze burst forward, almost as if it had its own mind, and he cried out, in a voice of thunder, "Run! Run to the east! Do not wait! Run!" He leapt over the front edge of the dais, landing on legs flexed for action, and began to push forward those who hesitated.
Nimoë stood staring in disbelief at the onrushing conflagration. Flames leapt from tree to tree, bursting them like tinder, as the pitch inside exploded in the terrible heat. The sound of crackling flames and bursting foliage filled her ears, and she could hear no other sound. Choking smoke rolled down upon the field like a black wave, but Nimoë found that she could not force her feet to move. All she could do was stare in open-mouthed horror while the Elves behind her sped away into the night.
Tinunél looked about her frantically, suddenly aware that Nimoë was gone. "Nimoë! Nimoë!!" she shrieked. Elves pushed past her, wild in their rush to escape the terrible inferno that bore down upon them, and she was buffeted from side to side. Caldarion caught her in his arms, using his greater height and weight to keep them both upright in the crush of bodies. "Can you see her, Caldarion?" Tinunél begged.
The dark-haired Elf peered through the melee and the descending smoke, and shook his head in regret. "I cannot. Perhaps she has already run?"
Tinunél shook her head frantically, trying to break free from Caldarion's strong grasp. "She would not leave me! I have to find her!"
Abruptly, Legolas was beside them, his hands on their arms. "Caldarion, get Tinunél away from here. I will find the girl."
Although the younger Elf did not want to abandon Nimoë, he could not disobey his Prince. "By your command," he said, then forcibly dragged the screaming Tinunél after him in the wake of the fleeing Elves.
Legolas tore off a strip of material from his long cloak and wrapped it over his face, using it to filter the smoke that threatened to smother him. Terrible heat burned against his skin as he fought his way back through the cloud of smoke, in the direction where he had heard Nimoë's scream of "Fire!"
One glance about him showed that there was not another soul left standing on the festival field, and for a moment he felt a flash of hope that she had indeed run. But deep inside himself, he knew that she would never leave her mother alone. He pressed on, deeper into the searing heat, keeping his eyes open, although the acrid smoke forced tears to flow freely down his cheeks.
It was a fit of tempestuous coughing that finally led Legolas to Nimoë. The choking sounds came from underneath a fallen pine bough which was smoldering dangerously near its end. He raced to the large limb and pushed the smaller branches aside. Nimoë lay there, struggling to shove the heavy branch off of her, choking on her breath as she fought to free herself.
"Hold on, Nimoë!" he cried, looking frantically about for some tool to help lever the burning branch off of her. He spied a sturdy looking limb and drove it under the branch holding the girl captive. With every ounce of strength in his body he pressed down, willing the heavy limb to move. When he thought that he could do more, an urgent moan reached his ears, "Legolas? Help me!"
Galvanized, he dug deep inside and found one last reservoir of strength. With a final heave, the burning limb rolled free and Legolas dropped to his knees next to the Elf maid. "Are you hurt?" he asked.
Nimoë shook her head, then was overcome by another fit of coughing. Legolas dragged her roughly to her feet, for there was no time to waste if they were going to escape alive.
With her hand clasped firmly in that of her Prince, Nimoë stumbled after him. Her heart was racing and the overwhelming heat bearing down on them made her head swim. Her lungs screamed in protest, and once again she was doubled over with coughing. The wracking spasms made her falter and she crashed to the ground.
She was aware of strong arms lifting her up, and then she was slung over Legolas' shoulder. He ran on, feet given speed by the need to get Nimoë out of danger. Her head bounced violently up and down, so she wrapped her arms around his waist, trying to keep herself as still as possible. It was all she could do to aid him in her rescue.
Legolas ran as if the hounds of the Shadow were upon him, but he could tell, without needing to look back, that they were losing the race. His mind sped, trying to think of some way to save their lives. Sparks were beginning to rain down about them, and he felt them burning into his skin when they landed.
He became aware of a pounding on his back, and he glanced down and back at Nimoë. She was gesturing wildly to his left, and he squinted into the smoke. They had reached the eastern borders, which were hard against the foothills of the Mountains of Shadow. If there had been time, he would have raced higher into the hills, and come to the place where trees no longer grew, but it was clear that the fire would overtake them well before they could reach that safe haven.
Where Nimoë was pointing was a field of boulders, which had rolled down from the mountains in long year past. Trees grew thick through the rock field, but there was a slim chance that they could find a hole to hide in.
There was no time to think, so Legolas sprinted forward with the last of his strength. Searing, burning heat felt as if it would melt the very skin from his body, but he leapt among the rocks, at last finding a deep cavern. He slung Nimoë off of his back and lowered her down. She slithered under the overhanging boulder and, once she was through, he slid in after her.
Inside the small cavern, which was almost completely encased in stone, Legolas pressed her small body into the ground, laying his own over her as a last line of defense. He wrapped his arms about her quaking form, burying his face in her soot-blackened hair, willing the inferno to pass them by quickly.
Nimoë shook with uncontrollable fear as the sound of the approaching flames roared about them. Her face was smothered under Legolas' chest, but it was clear when the inferno reached their hiding place. She would have screamed from the pain of the searing, agonizing heat, but the flames stole the very air from her lungs, whipping themselves into an ever greater frenzy.
Together the two Elves lay, struggling to breathe, wondering whether they would live or whether they would die. Before they could learn the answer, the torment of their bodies overwhelmed them, and both passed into darkness.
