Legolas led Nimoë through the dark night to his dwelling.  It was not as large as him home in Ithilien had been.  There was only the bedroom, a small room that he used as a study, and the entry hall.  In Núrnelven, the kitchens, dining areas, and other necessary places, were in communal buildings, to make use of existing structures.  Sauron had not much cared for the privacy of his slaves.

He pulled open the door and guided her through into his sleeping chamber.  His bed pallet was low, but soft, and she fell into it gratefully, burrowing into the downy depths.  Legolas pulled the worn coverlet over her, and she snuggled it to her chin, for now that she was out of the cold night, her body began to shiver with the chill that she had been able to ignore until she was warm again.

Squatting down to his heels at the bedside, he took her hand in his.  "Rest, Nimoë.  Tomorrow could prove to be the first of many long days.  I am going to check on Caldarion before I rest, but I will return quickly.  If you need me, I will be in the hall."  So saying, he pulled two spare blankets from a large chest at the foot of the bed.  "I will be silent, so as not to wake you."

She squeezed his hand gratefully.  "Thank you, Legolas.  For everything."

"It is nothing."  With a last kiss on her brow, he rose.  "Sleep.  I will return."

When he left his door, he smiled.  No matter what else was wrong in the world, it felt so incredible right knowing that Nimoë was lying in his bed, in his home.  It was where she belonged.  The Healing House was not far from his residence and he covered the distance in a few quick minutes, for he wished to complete his task with all possible speed.  He did not like leaving Nimoë alone, even though Núrnelven was well guarded and there would surely be a warning if danger came near.

Through the windows of the Healing House he could see the lights of the candles still flickering, and he pushed open the door.  Tinunél beckoned to him from her place at Caldarion's bedside.  "Legolas!  He has been asking for you again."

The Elf Prince strode briskly to his young protégé's side.  His burn was still angry and red, but his color was improving.  "Caldarion, I am here.  What did you wish to say to me?"

The younger Elf's deep brown eyes opened and regarded him.  Tinunél handed the injured Elf a goblet of water, and helped him sit to drink it down.  When all the water was gone, Caldarion licked what drops remained off of his parched lips.  "My Prince," he began, in a cracked voice, "There is something vital that I was not able tell you when we last spoke, before I lost consciousness."

Legolas sat on the edge of the bed and nodded encouragingly, "What is it?"

Caldarion did not begin immediately.  A strange succession of emotions seemed to flash across his marred face: fear, hesitation, pain and, lastly, resolution akin to compulsion.  "There is a place within the deep bowels of Orodruin; an opening, a portal.  It is that place where Morgoth is able to send his will through the Void and into Middle-Earth.  If we can seal this chasm, then we can end the threat."

Legolas' eyes lit up as if from within.  "You speak truth?  There is a chance?!"

Caldarion nodded, pressing on with his words.  "I learned this when the Balrog marked me.  Morgoth fears it, and so the idea was near the forefront of the creature's mind.  But it will not be easy.  This is no natural chasm, to be filled with stones, or sealed with strong boards.  It leads directly to the Void.  Any thing that falls within it will never stop falling.  An eternity of fear and suffering will be the doom of any man that passes through."

Caldarion reached out with desperate hands, grabbing at Legolas' tunic.  "Legolas, I have learned what can accomplish this dread task.  Only one with the power of the Elfsong can accomplish this goal.  One wielding this strength could, possibly, force the very rocks to shift their form, to grow together, effectively imprisoning the Dark Lord once again.  The Balrog was very clear in his mind that this was what Morgoth fears.  One must be found who possesses this strength.  It is the only chance of stopping him!"

Legolas felt something vital die within him.  No!  It could not be!  Only one living creature left in Middle-Earth could harness the power of the Elfsong, a gift left ages ago by the Ainur themselves, after they sang the world into existence.  The mysterious strength manifested itself, seemingly at whim, only once in an age.  And the one who bore it now was his own beloved.

No!  He could not ask her to take such a terrible risk.  Especially as she was untrained.  If her memories had returned, and she could call upon what she had learned in her last incarnation, then she might stand a chance, but as it was…

"You are certain of this, Caldarion?  There is no other way?"  Legolas felt a strong grip on his forearm looked up to see Tinunél clinging desperately to him, fear written plainly on her face.  She knew.  Not long after their arrival at Núrnelven she had confronted him about Nimoë, and her relationship to the lady who had followed the Fellowship.  He had been forced to reveal the truth about her foster daughter; both about her history and her power, for it was the Elfsong that she had used to call the Eagle.

Even to him the Elfsong was a mystery, an enigma.  After Nimoë's death at the hands of Grima Wormtongue, and Galadriel's unexpected revelation that she would live again, he had sought information from the Lady, hoping to gain some insight into the strange power that resided within his beloved.  Galadriel herself possessed the Elfsong, but not to the extent that Nimoë could wield it.  The Lady had admitted to being somewhat afraid of the strength of the maiden, that she had sought to restrain her learning, hoping that with maturity would come the discretion to use the power wisely.

It was entirely possible that she could wield enough strength to make the very earth change its formation.  The question was whether she would live to see the work completed.

"Legolas," spoke Caldarion, pleadingly,  "These were the very thoughts of Morgoth.  You must find one who can do this thing, and you must move with all haste.  Every day his hold in this world grows stronger!"

The light of the candle glow suddenly seemed insignificant and Legolas felt the dark shadows of the night crashing down around him.  He dropped his head down into his hands, his body shaking with reaction, unwilling to accept that Nimoë held the fate of Middle-Earth in her small hands.  How could such an innocent be the one that would save them all?

Yet, had not Frodo been the most unlikely of heroes?  And he had succeeded.  His life had been irrevocably changed, but he had succeeded and bought many hundreds of years of peace for his world.

Tinunél's soft voice echoed in his ear, urgent and pleading.  "Legolas, you cannot do it!  You cannot send her to that terrible place!  A Balrog guards the way, and there is no telling what other evils may lie hidden there.  It would be like sending a lamb to the slaughter!"

Angrily, he shook her hand off of his shoulder where it had rested.  "Do not lecture me, Tinunél!  I am well aware of the dangers.  I love her!  How could I do such a thing?  Yet I love my people, and all the other creations of Ilúvatar, so how can I not ask her to take the risk?"  He raised his hands skyward in a gesture of frustration and fear.  "If there is no other way…"

Caldarion nodded wildly, "It is the only way.  Nimoë must go.  And hurry!"

Legolas paused and stared down at him suspiciously.  "When did I mention Nimoë's name?  Is there something more that you are not telling me?"

"No… No!  I only guessed, My Prince!  The way the two of you spoke, I guessed that it would be Nimoë."  His hands waved about, as if grasping at the air.  "And when she called the Eagle…  Surely that was the Elfsong?  I know nothing else!  I am hiding nothing from you!"

Legolas felt the rush of suspicion drop from him, leaving him empty and with a weight of guilt upon him.  This was his friend, and what he said was true.  There was no reason to distrust him.  "Peace, Caldarion.  I believe you.  It is your right to know.  Nimoë does carry the power of the Elfsong within her, but it is untrained.  There has been none to teach her.  If she chooses to accept this charge, for I will not order her to it, then she will go with all the guard that we can provide.  I will not send her alone and unprotected."

Caldarion nodded.  "I will go with you.  I have seen the way.  I can lead you in secrecy.  Surprise may be our only chance."

"You are sorely injured, Caldarion.  You should not be about," admonished Tinunél.

The young Elf fixed her with a stern gaze.  "Nimoë is my friend.  I will not abandon her to her fate.  Do all that you can for me, Tinunél, for I will leave with the others."

Tinunél looked to Legolas for support in her cause but, to her dismay, he said, "So be it.  I will speak with Nimoë.  If she is agreeable, we will leave in two days time.  Do your best, Healer.  Caldarion's knowledge may be what saves your child."

Caldarion watched as his Prince left the Healing House.  It was done.  The trap had been set.  He wanted to scream.  He wanted to run after Legolas; to shake him by the shoulders and make him see the warning in his eyes.  He wanted more than anything that he could have died at the hands of the Balrog, rather than suffer as he did now.  Curse his weakness!  Curse his fear!  And now it was too late.  The plan was in motion, and no way to call it back.

So he did the one thing that the fell compulsion in his mind would allow him to do.

He wept.