Unsure of what to do, Nimoë stood for a long moment with her back leaned up against the solid wall of the Healing House, afraid that her knees would buckle.  What could have happened to Caldarion?  And what about the two who had left Núrnelven in his company?

That uncomfortable thought brought Nimoë up short.  The watchtower!  She had left it unmanned.  Leaving Caldarion in the expert hands of her foster mother, and under the watchful eye of Legolas, the young Elf turned on her heel and walked quickly back through the deepening dusk.

The familiar looming shapes of the crops growing in the fields seemed to take on a new and frightening aspect.  Something dread was loose in the world, and it had been stronger than Caldarion.  Only one person was stronger than her dear friend, and that was Legolas.  Nimoë shivered and walked more quickly, almost at a slow jog, for it seemed that the looming shapes were moving closer, seeking to subsume her into their darkness.

An unearthly howl rose in the night, far to the north.  The cry was piercing, chilling.  There was no creature that Nimoë could name whose throat could produce such a sound.  Dropping all pretense at bravery, Nimoë sprinted the last long meters to the base of the ancient watchtower.  Her feet flew as she climbed the twisting stair to the relative safety of the high perch.

Once she reached the top, she grabbed her bow off of the floorboards, where she had dropped it earlier, and drew an arrow, her eyes darting through the blackness of the moonless night, the bow pointing frantically from one tiny sound to the next.  Her arms shook, and her breathing was erratic.

Curse her cowardice!  Once it was clear that nothing was immediately approaching, ready to tear her to shreds, she lowered the bow and leaned her weight forward on her hands, against the rail of the tower.  With her head bent down, she tried to calm her harried nerves, but it was a losing battle.  Something had nearly killed Caldarion!  Likely it was still out there, somewhere in the darkness.  Whether it was near or far was a mystery, but the unknown menace ate into her heart.

A full hour later, the night was still and quiet, and Nimoë had managed to bring herself back to some semblance of calm.  She stared out into the north with her clear grey eyes, watching the red fires of Orodruin glow fiercely in the distance.  It seemed that the mountain was growing more active.  Several times, as she watched, giant fountains of liquid red flame spewed forth from the high summit, lighting the darkness with a sullen orange glow.

A hand on her shoulder nearly made her leap from the heights.  A scream was forced from her throat and she spun about, tripping ungracefully over her own feet.  She would have fallen then, but a familiar pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her, pulling her close into a firm embrace.

"Hush, Nimoë.  It is only me," spoke Legolas.  His approach had been so silent that she had heard nothing.

For a moment she stood shaking in his arms, then she pushed back from him, her hands against his chest.  "Don't you ever sneak up on me like that!" she cried, angry at having been given such a terrible fright.  With one small fist she punched him hard in the chest, to emphasize her point.

At any other time, Legolas would have been greatly amused by her outburst, but his conversation with Caldarion pushed all other thoughts out of his mind.  Taking her shoulders firmly in his hands, he said, "Nimoë, I want you to go back to the village.  I will take this watch."

Irritation at having been caught unawares made Nimoë bristle, and she took out her pent up fear and anger on Legolas.  "Why?  I am perfectly capable of keeping my assigned duties.  I will see them through.  Of course, I would be happy to have company, but I will not go back to the city.  Why do you always treat me like a child?"

Legolas was taken aback by the force of her attack.  "Nimoë, I am very serious.  I want you back in Núrnelven."

"And I am telling you that I will not go."  She pulled herself out of his grasp, and stood to her full height, which was less than formidable.

Frustrated, Legolas turned and leaned out over the railing.  "Why will you not let me protect you?" he asked, tense emotion in his voice.

Nimoë felt tears spring into her eyes.  Always he was trying to take care of her, but that was not what she wanted from him.  Not all, at any rate.  Her heart ached to belong to this charismatic leader of the Elves, but he seemed to only see her as a child, never as a woman.  His attentions were always so careful, as if he did not want to encourage her yearning heart.

With angry tears held tight within her, she begged, "Why do you feel you must?  I am a woman grown, Legolas, not a waif to be tended to.  I passed that stage long ago.  Why can you not see it?"

Unable to hold back for another moment, Legolas released the railing and caught her upper arms, squeezing harder than he should with the intensity of his worry and love long repressed.  His ice blue eyes bored into her, and she squirmed in his grasp, suddenly afraid of him.  "You truly do not understand, do you?  By Ilúvatar, Nimoë!  Do you think that I seek to keep you safe because I think you a child?  I know better than any that you are a woman.  I watch you every day, aching to hold you close to me.  Your beauty is my sunshine, Nimoë.  Your voice is my lifeblood.  I protect you because I am in love with you!  Do you not see it?!"  His voice grew more intense, more impassioned as the words came rushing from the very depths of his soul.

As soon as the words were spoken, he wanted to bite them back.  He had sworn to himself that he would not try to influence the girl.  She would love him or not, and when her memories returned, he did not want her to be able to accuse him of tampering with her growth.  So for all the long years she had dwelt within the Colony he had held himself aloof, behaving towards her like a loving uncle, and nothing more.

He dropped his eyes, afraid to meet the rejection he expected to find her cloud-filled eyes.  For an agonizing eternity she made no sound.  Then, in a voice so small that he could barely hear it, she whispered, "You… love me?"

The joyous disbelief her heard in her soft voice brought his eyes up to hers before he could stop himself.  In her lovely face was amazement and welcome.  With trembling fingers he reached out and stroked the soft curve of her cheek.  "More than life itself.  You are my world."

The simplicity with which he made his unexpected declaration swept away all lingering doubt in Nimoë's mind.  She brought her hand up to capture the fingers which grazed over her face.  She pulled them down to her lips and pressed a trembling kiss upon them.  Then she bowed her head over their joined hands.  "Legolas, I have loved you for as long as I can remember.  You are the most honorable, heroic, wonderful man I have ever known.  How you can love a lowly healer's daughter I do not understand, but this is the greatest gift I could ever receive."  One small joyous tear fell from her eye and splashed on their intertwined fingers.

After so many centuries of agonized waiting, Legolas felt as though his heart would erupt like the fires of Orodruin.  Every song that had ever been sung seemed to burst upon his consciousness, with the power of a thousand voices raise high.  She loved him!  Even before her memories returned to her!  Unable to hold himself in check, he pulled her tight against her his body, placing a crushing kiss upon her upturned lips.

His hands clutched her desperately, trying to reassure himself that she was real, that this was not some fevered dream.  But no!  His beloved Nimoë was wrapping her small arms about his neck, threading innocent fingers through his long hair, returning his kiss with equal passion.

Schooling himself to reason, he pulled back.  This was no time to be distracted by his swelling heart or burning body.  Caldarion had made it very clear that a fearsome evil was loose, and likely making its way towards Núrnelven.  Why was it that love and danger always seemed to come at the same time for them?  Could they never have a time of peace?  A time that could be wholly dedicated to the joys of soft caresses and whispered words of love?

Seeing the sadness that stirred in her eyes as he pulled away, he bent forward and laid one last kiss on her passion-bruised lips.  This kiss was soft and gentle, like the brush of a snowflake grazing against skin on its way to the earth.  The innocence of it was almost more intoxicating than the crushing joining of mouths which he had first pressed upon her.

"Oh, Nimoë," he moaned.  "You must go.  Please…  If you remain here I cannot keep my mind focused on the dangers of the night.  Your beauty is like a flame, and I am a moth, which cannot leave well enough alone.  Go to Caldarion.  He needs the reassurance of a friend.  Leave me to guard your back.  Just go."

Although her heart rebelled at the thought of leaving him, just as her wildest dreams had been realized, she knew that she could not refuse.  She nodded, reluctantly.  "I will go.  Please, Legolas, will you find me when the watch is done?  Until I see you again, I will be thinking that this must have been a dream.  Please do not leave me lost and lonely," she begged.

With his fingers buried full into the silken moonlight of her hair, he pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her brow.   "You will never be alone, Nimoë.  I am always with you.  It matters not if we are near or far, I live always within you, as you are within me."  He pushed her away then, directing her towards the twisting stair.  "I love you.  Go quickly."

With only one last pause, to bend and pick up her bow, Nimoë turned and fled down the stair.  Legolas watched her run through the wheat fields, graceful as a deer, as long as the night would allow him to see.  Once she was gone, he pulled his eyes to the north, where Orodruin greeted him by sending up a new burst of liquid flame.

Caldarion's tale resonated in his mind as he stared out at the living embodiment of evil on the face of Middle-Earth.  Under his breath he swore, in a voice of cold steel,  "You will not take my people from me.  We will survive.  We will reach the shores of Valinor, and we will wreak revenge upon you.  Valar or no, we will fight you to the end.  The hearts of Men are easily corrupted, but you will find the Eldar to be made of much sterner stuff.  You will regret the day you chose us as your enemy."