As Nimoë stood, cowering behind Legolas, a strange compulsion came over her. With every thought of her mind she cried out to be saved, and as she did so, she began to sing. Every fiber of her being became caught up in the song, weaving strands of some strange power that she somehow recognized, yet did not understand. Her eyes dropped closed, shutting out everything but the raw power of the song.
Legolas heard her voice raise behind him, and for a moment he allowed himself to hope. There was not a soul left in Middle-Earth with the ability that Nimoë's previous incarnation had manifested, so there had been nobody to train her. He had thought that the power would remain dormant. Still, if she was able to somehow access that power, there might be a chance that they would be saved.
The Elves who had reached the top of the high cliff screamed down at them, calling out that the first of the Men was nearly upon them. They could do nothing, however, to save their trapped Prince and his ward. If they moved from the heights they would be within range of the Men's arrows. High above the other voices was the agonized scream of Tinunél, crying "Nimoë! No!"
Legolas dropped down into a fighting crouch, the knife held out in front of him. Within moments a large, muscular Man loomed up over the edge of the cliff, followed by another, smaller and more wiry. They advanced with swords drawn against the Elf Prince.
Legolas did not advance, knowing that if he did he would be within range of the arrows from below. By the time the two Men had come within striking distance, two more had crested the precipice. The first Man swung his sword , and Legolas dodged to the side on nimble feet, lashing out with his knife. His long reach proved to be dangerous indeed, and the knife buried itself in the burly Man's thigh.
The Elf Prince yanked the knife free in time to duck under a swing by the second Man. Whirling about, he slashed viciously at the Man's undefended chest. Blood poured from the deep cut he had laid bare, but still Legolas was forced to retreat. All four Men came at them, although the burly one limped from the injury to his leg. With swords upraised they advanced, and Legolas knew that he could not stand for long. He could not hope to take all four at once, not with only a knife against their long swords.
Nimoë saw nothing of this, for she had fallen to her knees, still with her eyes pressed tight shut, and she was lost within the power coursing through her body. She was not consciously controlling the song, but words she had never before uttered formed themselves on her lips, and implied harmonies spun with the ease of a lifetime of practice.
Save us! Save us! Save us!
Those were the only thoughts that she knew, although she knew not to whom she was pleading. As the power ripped through her, she collapsed upon the hard stone, but forced herself to keep singing, somehow knowing that to stop would be the end of all hope.
The sun was beginning to rise in the east, but on the steep western face of the Mountains of Shadow, all was still in darkness. Still, a glimmer of russet in the skies to the north caught Legolas' eye. An Eagle! An Eagle was coming!
The Elves saw it too, and suddenly their cries changed from anguish to elusive hope. In the moment of shocked recognition, the third Man who had reached the ledge lunged forward, his sword impaling the distracted Elf Prince in the shoulder.
An agonized scream was wrenched from his throat, but he pulled himself back, off of the point of the sword, lifting his knife with his uninjured arm. "I will not yield!" he bellowed in challenge, still keeping his body between the attackers and Nimoë's prone form.
Only a few minutes more. That was all he had to manage. Surely he could buy her that much time. The gilded form of the Eagle was advancing on rapid wings, and he could now see the details of its striking plumage. Gritting his teeth against the pain radiating through his body from the wound in his shoulder, he brandished the knife with all the desperation of a trapped animal, and in the face of the Elf-Lord's violent wrath, the Men fell back, amazed.
But only for a moment. Then they renewed their attack with fresh vigor.
A rush of air swirled the dust off of the broad ledge, momentarily blinding every person standing there. Legolas threw his knife hand up in front of his eyes, unable to move his left. Through the dust, he saw a pair of vast wings soar past, and the giant talons of the great Eagle opened wide, dropping the stones it had clasped within its grasp down upon the heads of the Men at the bottom of the cliff.
Using the distraction of the Eagle, Legolas attacked. He moved like a whirlwind and, in an instant, the four Men lay dying upon the ground, their throats slashed, and looks of surprised horror pasted on their lips.
The Eagle screeched loudly, and Legolas understood that the great bird would bear them to safety, but, with one quick glance, he saw that there was no way it could get close enough to the cliff to reach them where they stood, so near to the rock wall. He sheathed his knife and grabbed Nimoë under her arm with his good hand, pulling her to her feet.
She staggered after him, weakened by the power she had used to summon the Eagle. Legolas found that he could hardly support her, as he himself had lost a great deal of blood, but he forced himself to persevere, although his head was spinning and his legs shook. Only a few moments longer! He had to retain consciousness just a few moments more! They reached the precipice, and Legolas looked down. Those Men who were left standing were drawing new arrows from their quivers and they raised their bows, sighting up towards the Eagle.
With a great screech, the magnificent bird circled one last time, swooping down beneath the ledge where Legolas and Nimoë were standing. There was no time to hesitate. Legolas wrapped his arm about Nimoë and leapt off into space.
The sensation of flying lasted for only seconds, and then they crashed onto the warm feathered body. Nimoë managed to muster the strength to grasp tightly, keeping herself from slipping off as the majestic bird soared up into the sky, evading the rain of arrows that were sent winging after it.
Legolas almost lost consciousness as the pain in his shoulder exploded from the force of his fall. For too long he could not control his limbs, and he began to slide down the bird's slippery feathers. Nimoë felt him slipping and reached out with one hand, gripping his tunic in her small fist, straining against the force of gravity which tried to sweep him away from her to his death.
It was all that she could do to keep her hold, both upon Eagle, and upon the Prince, and she almost sobbed with the strain, her muscles screaming their protest. Legolas was not aware of the valiant battle Nimoë was fighting to save him. All he knew was pain and the heady dizziness of his blood-sapped body.
Sweeping high on an updraft, the Eagle swooped down toward the heights of the Mountains of Shadow, with Nimoë clinging with all the strength left in her body. As the sun burst up over the Mountains of Shadow, the great bird alit nigh to where the refugees from the Elf Colony of Ithilien huddled together, watching the battle and the unforeseen rescue. Once the great bird folded its wings to its sides, Nimoë released her hold, and the two Elves slid down its back, all strength gone, and lay panting on the rocky ground.
Unable to move, Nimoë did manage to give voice to one last song, the soft music infused with, Thank you, majestic Windlord. We owe you our lives. If ever you are in need, we will come at your call.
The Eagle turned its head, gazing down at her from its deep brown, sentient eye. It seemed to nod once, then leapt off the heights into the eddying currents of the wind, soaring up and away, back to its secret home.
Within moments, the first of the Elves reached their sides. Nimoë was vaguely aware of calls of, "Bring a healer! Legolas is injured!"
Then Tinunél was there. Although she ached to tend to her daughter, it was clear that the Prince's injury was more dire. His eyes were glazed with pain and blood flowed freely from the deep wound. As Tinunél worked over him feverishly, trying to staunch the flow of blood, he reached out and grabbed her arm with his good hand. Only one word passed his lips, but it was filled with desperate fear, "Nimoë?"
Tinunél soothed him as best she could, saying, "Nimoë is well, my Prince. You saved her. You saved my daughter."
On hearing her words, Legolas smiled softly, realizing that he had succeeded, then allowed darkness to take him, and his crystalline eyes rolled back into his head.
As the exhaustion of her song began to fade from her body, Nimoë dragged herself to a sitting position. "Mother," she whispered, "Where is father?"
Tinunél shook her head sadly, her pale eyes haunted. "I do not know, child. So many of the patrol have not been seen… We can only pray that they will turn up when we return to our homes."
Nimoë glanced about and saw the eyes of her people trained on her, and on the still form of their Prince. In their eyes she read their fear. They did not wish to cross the Mountains. Mordor was anathema to them, and they dreaded it. Raising her voice so that she would be heard by all, Nimoë addressed them. "Friends, we must press on. Legolas wishes it so. You saw what the Men of Gondor and Ithilien have wrought against us. Is it not better to brave the perils which are unknown that the certainty of death if we return?"
Aware of the stir her words caused, Nimoë felt the desire to pull them back, to hide behind her youth, but, although she was no orator, she had to see that Legolas' orders were obeyed. He had saved her, and in turn she would help to save his people.
"This was his command! Do you not see it?! We must waste no time. Even now the Men may be scaling the cliffs. They will not hesitate to come this far. Only once we have crossed the pass into the east will they cease to pursue us. We must go!"
Murmurs of dissent reached her ears, "Are we to listen to the words of a child? Surely there must be another way? I will not willingly enter into Mordor…"
One voice rose above the others, however, and Nimoë smiled wanly as she realized that it belonged to Caldarion. "I will go on into Mordor. Such is the will of my Prince, and I will see it done. I think that we must take Nimoë's word that such was his command. He has confided in no other. Is it not clear that she is the child of his heart?! I believe that she speaks with his voice. Those who will may follow me. As to the rest, I leave you to your fate."
With that, the tall Elven fighter pushed his way through the throng and lifted Legolas' unconscious form in his arms. The surrounding Elves silently cleared a path for the brave young fighter. As he passed by, most turned reluctantly to follow in his wake.
Nimoë staggered to her feet and Tinunél reached out to steady her. "Can you travel, child?"
Nimoë nodded, then moved off after Caldarion into the deceptively pure light of the rising sun. "I have no choice."
